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mimisempai · 2 months

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This unavoidable between us - Chapter 3/8

Chapter Summary

Everyday it'a a getting closer, going faster than a roller coaster…

On Ao3

Rating G - 3494 words

Masterpost here

Day 2 :

Alfies antique market

Lunch at the Rooftop Kitchen (Restaurant above Alfies)

Public reading of Cyrano de Bergerac at the London Theater

Dinner at Clos Maggiore

Alfies Antique Market was known as London's largest indoor antique and vintage market, and visitors came from all over the world to explore it. Crowley had never had the opportunity, nor the time, nor, if he was honest, the inclination to visit.

Well, thanks to Aziraphale, or because of him, he apparently would today.

The day's schedule was not extravagant, and what worried him a bit more was the play reading in the afternoon. Crowley was a visual person, which was why he preferred movies and certain plays. But this was Aziraphale's wish, so of course he'd put up with it and hide his boredom if he had to, and at worst, dinner would make up for it, especially if the evening turned out like yesterday.

Last night...

To say that last night had surprised him would be an understatement. Though the surprise had been pleasant, of course. It had all happened so naturally that Crowley still felt like he was living a dream. Which was rather amusing, considering it was Aziraphale who had paid for his dreams to come true. He had to stop himself from reacting like a lovesick teenager and touching his forehead again. No one had kissed him on the forehead like that since his mother had done it when he was a child. Not that he had any filial feelings for Aziraphale. Far from it. Very far from it.

He just hoped they wouldn't be awkward this morning.

They'd agreed that Crowley would knock on Aziraphale's door a little before ten and then leave for Alfies Antiques Market.

Crowley looked at his watch: it was nine, so he had plenty of time to get ready.

**********

Aziraphale had just finished dressing when he heard a light knock on his door and smiled, knowing full well who was behind the door. Aziraphale couldn't help but smile at the anticipation of spending another day with Anthony. Yesterday had been enjoyable in every way until the very last minute, in fact he was tempted to describe it as perfect. There was something special about Anthony, an ease that Aziraphale had never felt with anyone else.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Aziraphale called out, "Come in! It's open!"

Once inside, Crowley greeted him with the same warm, irresistible smile.

"Good morning, Aziraphale."

"Good morning, Anthony. Let me get my wallet and we'll be on our way. "

Aziraphale took his wallet, put it in his jacket pocket, then walked over to Anthony, who held the door open for him. As he passed him, Aziraphale ventured a kiss on the other man's cheek, then walked across the hall, leaving Anthony to close the door behind them.

In the elevator to the second floor, though they were alone and had all the room in the world, Aziraphale moved closer to Anthony until their shoulders touched. Then, feeling bold, he slid his hand along Anthony's, but didn't take it. It was Anthony who made the final gesture, as he had the night before, intertwining his fingers with Aziraphale's, looking up at him and smiling softly.

Crowley savored the moment, for he was pretty sure that Aziraphale would let go of his hand once he was outside. So he enjoyed it while it lasted, savoring the sensation of Aziraphale's warm hand in his, and was jolted from his reverie by the sound of the elevator doors opening.

Just as he expected to lose contact, Aziraphale's hand tightened on his, almost pulling him out of the elevator and he didn't let go until the cab arrived.

Once they were seated in the back of the car, Aziraphale took his hand again and placed both of their intertwined hands on his own thigh.

Though Crowley had tried to hide his surprise, Aziraphale had seen it and asked him gently, "Would you rather I let go of your hand, I didn't realize you might not be comfortable with public displays of affection."

He started to release his fingers, but Crowley wouldn't let him, protesting vehemently, "No, not at all, on the contrary, I thought it would be you who..."

"Anthony, I've never hidden who I am, so there's no reason for me to do so today. Especially not today. I'm proud of who I am."

Crowley found him magnificent in his self-assurance, and unable to resist the moment's compulsion, he leaned in and kissed Aziraphale. It was only a light kiss, barely a peck on the lips, but to Crowley it was also a way of confirming that they were on the same wavelength. When he sat back down properly, he saw in the rearview mirror that the driver rolled his eyes, and it made him chuckle.

Then, still holding hands, they talked about the day's agenda as the car headed toward Alfie Market. Crowley, intrigued by their destination, asked Aziraphale why he wanted to go there.

"I love old things, you know that by now, the idea that these things have had a life before... kind of like they have a soul. It's important to me to spend this week with things I love, doing things I love." Then Aziraphale winked and added, "And doing it with someone special is even better."

It had been several times since Aziraphale had spoken of this week as special, and Crowley sensed that there was something inescapable about the other man's life, as if whatever he did this week, he would never do again, but Crowley didn't feel entitled to ask.

So he said in a lighter tone, "That's a good reason. A very good reason, in fact. I have to admit, I've never been one for this sort of thing, but you make it sound interesting."

Crowley confirmed this with a sincere smile. He didn't want Aziraphale to think he was doing this reluctantly.

They chatted lightly throughout the ride, only realizing they'd arrived when the driver coughed to point it out.

For two hours they wandered the aisles, stopping to look at the odd object that caught Aziraphale's eye. Then they moved on without buying anything, much to the despair of the vendors. Crowley wondered why Aziraphale hadn't taken anything when he'd obviously seen his eyes shine on one antique or another. But once again, he felt it wasn't his place to point it out.

Aziraphale, for his part, couldn't remember the last time he'd been so relaxed and at ease with someone. Anthony was quick-witted and humorous, and now that he felt comfortable with Aziraphale, he didn't hesitate to tease him. They both had a good sense of humor, and their exchanges were invigorating for Aziraphale. When they sometimes became separated by the crowd, it was often the other man who would take his hand again so that they could continue on their way.

After a while, Anthony looked at his watch and said sheepishly, "I'm sorry, I don't want to dampen your enthusiasm, but given the time, I think we should walk quietly to the restaurant, which is a few floors up."

Aziraphale nudged him with his shoulder and said in an amused tone: "There's something I love even more than old things, Anthony, and that's eating. So don't be sorry, you're not dampening my enthusiasm at all, on the contrary, you're rekindling it."

Five minutes later, they arrived at the Rooftop Kitchen, a rooftop restaurant. The weather was perfect, warm but not too hot, and most of all, Crowley was pleasantly surprised by the simplicity of the place. At least he didn't have to watch his manners.

"We've reserved a table, a bit away from the crowd."

Crowley exchanged a few words with the manager, who led them to a table effectively set back from the others and protected by an umbrella.

Aziraphale smiled at him, leaned back in his chair and, stretching his legs out in front of him, said, "I'll leave you in charge this time."

Crowley, a little surprised, took the menu. After a few moments, he placed his order with the waitress, and a few moments later they were seated in front of a plate of mussels and shrimp in a lemon and wine sauce. Judging by Aziraphale's appreciative moan at the first bite, Crowley figured he'd chosen well.

As they ate, they continued to chat until Crowley, looking a little uncertain, said quietly, "Aziraphale, may I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"I really feel like I'm the one getting the most out of this 'vacation' while you're the customer, and I want to make sure you're satisfied."

Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh before answering seriously.

"Anthony, I'm enjoying the company of a man who's more than attractive, who can hold a conversation, who makes me laugh, and we're doing what I've always dreamed of doing. Are you asking me if I'm satisfied? I couldn't have asked for more. Just keep being yourself."

Crowley couldn't help but blush at the compliment and stammered back a bit, "Ah...uh...well, okay then...okay."

Aziraphale placed his hand on hers, which was resting on the table, and added, "I'll be honest, I can't even remember when I've had such a good time. In my whole life."

Aziraphale didn't know if it was the thought of his impending death that had caused him to drop all inhibitions and speak with such sincerity, but what he did know was that he had no desire for pretense with the man in front of him.

Crowley felt the bond resonate between them at that moment, and was so touched by Aziraphale's sincerity that he almost told him about their soul mate connection, but he didn't want to break their fragile new bond, so he preferred to remain silent. He had seen the other man's face close up the one time the subject had come up, and he didn't want to spoil the moment, so he chose to continue the conversation in a lighter tone.

Aziraphale saw a smile he hadn't seen on Anthony's lips before, and that smile seemed to light him up from within as he asked, "So, Aziraphale, you know a lot of the things we're doing are new to me. So I'd like you to tell me a little bit about what we're going to be doing this afternoon so I know what to expect?

"Well, as the program for the day indicates, we're going to attend a reading of Cyrano de Bergerac. I've always loved this story, and when I heard there was a free reading at the London Theatre with Michael Sheen as Cyrano, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity. If not to see the play, to hear it one last time. Er, I mean the last reading."

Crowley had noticed the slip, but let it go, not wanting to spoil the lightness of the moment, and asked, "And what's this piece about? Yes, I know, I could have looked into it earlier, but..."

Aziraphale interrupted him with a wave of his hand and a half-smile before replying, "It's even better that you don't know anything about it, so you can find out during the reading itself, and then we can discuss it as much as you like. I'd like you to see it without any preconceptions. If you agree, of course?"

Crowley nodded.

"Very mysterious, all that, but I'm fine with it."

After coffee, having decided against dessert, they set off for the theater.

Aziraphale was impatient, but he wasn't sure if it was for the reading or for Crowley's reactions. The agency had done an excellent job on time. They sat down in the middle of the second row. The lights dimmed, the stage lit up, and the actors entered for the reading.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's hand in his excitement, causing Aziraphale to turn slightly toward him. Crowley's attention was focused on the stage, and Aziraphale already knew he would spend more time looking at him than at the actors. What a show! Watching all the emotions pass over Crowley's face, Aziraphale felt like a privileged witness.

"...But in spite of you, one thing goes with me now, and tonight, when I, at last, God behold, my salute will sweep his blue threshold with something spotless, a diamond in the ash, which I take in spite of you and that's...my panache"

After a moment of silence, the crowd began to clap, and Crowley joined in, before turning to Aziraphale and exclaiming, "That was soooo great, I've never seen anything like it! Thank you for letting me live this experience! Once again, I feel like I'm the most spoiled person in this arrangement. "

At that moment Aziraphale felt the full weight of his fate for a brief moment, the intensity of Crowley's joy made him realize that everything he was experiencing was the first and last time, but he pulled himself together, not wanting to spoil Crowley's happiness or his own. They left, following the audience as they made their way to the doors.

"So, what did you think of the story and the main character, Cyrano?" asked Aziraphale, curious to hear his companion's analysis.

"First, I have to tell you something I hadn't noticed before. Except for the beard and the gray hair, it's amazing how much you look like Michael Sheen."

Aziraphale couldn't help laughing, and Crowley added, "It's no joke, I assure you, although you do look prettier."

Then, unaware of Aziraphale's blush at his compliment, he continued, "I'm actually quite torn. I admire Cyrano's intelligence and panache, as well as his use of language. His sacrifice is admirable. But he deceives both his heart and Roxane's, since she's in love with the author of the letters, who is Cyrano himself."

Aziraphale listened, once again pleasantly surprised by Anthony's perspective, as he went passionately on, "and, yes, in the end he still has his panache as he says, but he won't have known a minute of true happiness in his life, since he will never have been able to enjoy Roxane's love. But if he had told her the truth..."

Aziraphale was genuinely surprised; it was the first time he'd met someone who shared his opinion of Cyrano's character. He refused to dwell on the fact that his fate was somewhat similar to Cyrano's.

They talked animatedly about the play all the way home and were still discussing it when they reached the suite. Aziraphale had no desire to end the moment, so as he opened his door, he asked Anthony, "Would you like to continue the conversation over a drink until we get to the restaurant?"

Anthony nodded eagerly and Aziraphale motioned for him to follow, showed him to the sofa and invited him to sit down.

"A drop of scotch?"

"Sounds good to me."

Aziraphale poured their drinks, took his and handed the other to Crowley. They raised their glasses and took a sip.

When suddenly Crowley's phone buzzed.

He set his glass down and pulled the phone out of his pocket.

"Ah, damn. Apparently there's been a mix-up regarding tonight's reservation at the restaurant. However, the agency is offering to find us a replacement. "

Aziraphale replied quietly, "After this day and the way it's ending, I must admit it's almost welcome, I don't feel much like going out again."

Crowley answered the agency, then put his phone away as Aziraphale said in a falsely concerned tone, "There's still one big problem though."

Crowley played along and asked, "Ah? What's that?"

"Well, how are we going to keep from getting bored tonight?"

Aziraphale, surprised again at the ease with which he flirted, slid closer to Crowley on the sofa. He was even more pleasantly surprised when Crowley murmured as he also moved closer, "Hmm... I might have an idea or two."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and replied in the same tone, "Oh, really? Show me, please."

Crowley moved even closer until he was leaning over Aziraphale, pressing his lips to his in a light kiss. When he pulled away, Aziraphale held him back and murmured against his lips, "This is just the starter, I hope?"

Crowley replied in the same tone, "It's up to you to decide what's next on the menu."

Aziraphale didn't wait and immediately showed Crowley his choice, pressing his lips against his. The kisses were light, hesitant, as if testing each other, rediscovering the budding complicity of their first kiss.

When Aziraphale pulled away a little, he murmured, "I prefer this to any Italian food from Clos Maggiore," before capturing Crowley's lips again.

Crowley moaned his approval in the kiss, then parted his lips slightly and Aziraphale took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Crowley's mouth.

There was nothing urgent about their kiss; it was soft and sensual, and they took their time tasting each other, tongues wandering between mouths, teeth nibbling gently on lips while the other took time to breathe.

Aziraphale's hands tangled in Crowley's red hair, now completely tousled, while Crowley gently stroked Aziraphale's hips, then his back, still without frenzy.

After a few moments of kissing, they both pulled away a little, their lips moist, red, and slightly swollen.

They both laughed softly and stayed that way, forehead to forehead, for a moment, catching their breath.

Then Aziraphale asked gently, "How far do you want to go, Anthony?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I like what we have here and I would be happy to let things happen naturally, and I know we don't have a lot of time together, but I don't want to rush things either, you understand?"

Aziraphale understood him perfectly, and raising his hand to trace the outline of Crowley's face with his fingertips, he said gently, "Anthony, it's important that we get through this week unscathed."

Especially you, Aziraphale thought as he continued, "So know that if it's going to stay the way it is, I have no problem with that. I'm already more than happy with what we are sharing right now."

Aziraphale was sincere. What had just happened was more than pleasant, and if that was all there was to it, he would be satisfied with it - after all, he hadn't had any particular expectations when he had planned the week. It was already more than he could have hoped for.

Touched by Anthony's sincerity, he simply said, "Thank you."

Crowley smiled and nodded gently, then leaned over and murmured against Aziraphale's mouth, "Now that we're done with the serious talk, I'd like to pick up where we left off."

Then, as he pinned Aziraphale against the back of the sofa, he pressed his lips to his, and it was only a matter of moments before Aziraphale found himself with Crowley on his lap as their mouths resumed the dance they had begun earlier. Then, as if they understood each other perfectly, every time things got a little more heated, one or the other would relieve the pressure in one way or another. After a while, Crowley slid back to Aziraphale's side and rested his head on his shoulder, while Aziraphale's arm came naturally around his shoulders. They remained like that for a long moment, in comfortable silence.

Aziraphale breathed, "...perfect... "

Then Crowley felt his hand slide down his arm and drop to the sofa. He looked up to see that Aziraphale had fallen asleep.

Touched by the trust this implied, even though they'd only known each other the day before, Crowley took a few more moments to gaze at him. He could now see a certain vulnerability in the face of the man sleeping against him. He didn't know if it was their bond that made him react, but he had a fierce desire to protect him, to remove that shadow from his face.

He felt that his feelings for Aziraphale were growing at a dizzying pace, and even though he knew it was hopeless, he wanted to surrender to it anyway. Just to taste it. Just a little.

He watched over Aziraphale's sleep for a few more minutes before he felt that he, too, was about to fall asleep. But knowing that waking up would be painful if they both fell asleep in that position, he straightened up gently. Then, seeing that Aziraphale was unresponsive, he settled him on the sofa, found a pillow for his head, and covered him with a plaid blanket he found on a chair not far from the sofa. Aziraphale was sleeping so peacefully that he hadn't even woken up.

Crowley looked at him tenderly for a few more seconds, then leaned over and brushed the light hair gently back, kissing him lightly on the forehead before whispering, "Good night, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale responded with a soft mumble that elicited an amused chuckle from Crowley, who headed for his room. He took one last look at him on his way out, then closed the door behind him.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #human AU #soulmate

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ohwhataniight · 3 months

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When all is said and done - Johnlock WIP - Part 1

Here's to us, one more toast, and then we'll pay the bill

Deep inside, both of us can feel the autumn chill

Birds of passage, you and me

We fly instinctively

When the summer's over and the dark clouds hide the sun

Neither you nor I'm to blame when all is said and done

“Angelo, you forgot the candle,” John smiles after they settle down on their table and take off their coats. It’s a tender spring night and the small restaurant is full with customers chattering vividly. John can feel the small box-shaped bump in his pocket vibrate with a heartbeat of its own, coming alive under the tweed fabric - his best for the occasion. He can feel Sherlock’s scrutinizing gaze on him. He can imagine what is going on through that brilliant mind. John has nothing to hide anymore. He could be dancing naked in front of Sherlock wrapped in nothing but a Pride flag and the detective wouldn’t bat an eyelash. John is head over heels for Sherlock and, as always, he feels like an open book.

Damn it.

They discuss their last case in the flickering candlelight. Sherlock’s gestures and facial expressions are animated by frustration and disbelief - he missed the obvious, again (the mud stain on the tip of the tailor’s right shoe didn’t match the left one). John wonders what has made Sherlock so scatter-minded. While Sherlock is venting away, John slides his hand over the table, curls his fingers around Sherlock’s own, stabilizing him. His pocket feels like it’s about to explode. It’s now or never.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sherlock smirks, out of the blue, with a dangerous glint in his eye. “Rosamund won’t ask for us for approximately another hour”.

He ends up cornering John against a grimy brick wall in a dark alley, his Belstaff wrapped around them like a protective veil as his hands slides down John’s corduroy pants, cupping him, eliciting a wanton moan.

“Sherlock,” John sighs, hazy from the wine, as his partner leans down and plants kisses on the curve of his throat - constellations that are going to bruise. John stays very still as Sherlock’s wandering hands barely miss the bump in the pocket of his jacket.

“Yes, John?” the detective murmurs in a sultry voice, hands on John’s hipbones now, pressing him hard against the wall.

“I want you, Sherlock,” John is panting by now, breath hitching on his throat, sucked in by Sherlock’s greedy kiss. I want you forever. Tell me how I can have this forever.

Soon he’s writhing under Sherlock’s deft touch, and he has to remind his partner that being arrested for public obscenity isn’t going to do their already clumsy parenting any good.

They’ve been doing everything backwards, raising a kid before long before they start going out on real dates. John takes a glimpse of the stars through a visible streak of sky. The moon looks like a glowing fingernail. Damn his bad metaphors. Sherlock has made him forget how to write. Words are not enough with Sherlock, never enough. John tries to come up with a tacky title for this blog entry he’s never going to publish.

Everything was so much easier the first time around, with Mary. Much more straightforward. Nothing is straightforward about Sherlock. If he accidentally touches John’s pocket, he says nothing.

The Detective, the Doctor, and the undelivered proposal.

In our lives, we have walked some strange and lonely treks

Slightly worn, but dignified, and not too old for sex

We're still striving for the sky

No taste for humble pie

Thanks for all your generous love, and thanks for all the fun

Neither you nor I'm to blame when all is said and done

He considers shouting his proposal from the rooftops, quite literally, as they’re currently doing parkour, jumping from building to building, yet the words never leave his throat (constricted, as always. Coward.)

Next thing he knows, they’re running around London streets hand-in-hand, lost in a haze of adrenaline. They’re laughing, which makes them feel even more breathless, but John wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

Later that night, crime solved and lungs spent, John takes Sherlock on the couch, Rosie’s monitor always present on the coffee table. They’ve been accustomed to quiet sex, to swallowing down the moaning and resort to exchanging greedy breaths and sweat instead.

When they wash the lovemaking off of them, Sherlock’s head propped up against John’s clavicle, his long limbs hanging out of the porcelain bathtub, John considers: now. Instead, he lets Sherlock vent away until the bubble water grows cold. All the while, John kisses Sherlock’s damp curls, massages his shoulders, washes his front and back. They kiss languidly and, once again, John wonders how he can have this bliss for eternity, never to be woken up from this delirious dream.

It's so strange, when you're down, and lying on the floor

How you rise, shake your head, get up and ask for more

Clear-headed and open-eyedWith nothing left untried

Standing calmly at the crossroads, no desire to run

There's no hurry anymore when all is said and done

They spend the weekend in a quaint little village somewhere in Yorkshire, hearing the stream trickle by as they stand on a scenic hill. Rosie is wrapped in a puffy pink jacket, and they have to be constantly vigilant because she seems set on munching on weeds she picks from the ground.

Rosie has a kiddie polaroid camera (Molly’s gift) and is taking photographs - mostly of their feet. Sherlock willingly makes faces at the lens, and John’s heart seems to bloom in his chest, spreading its branches, leaves and blossoms around his ribcage. Rosie babbles and screams as Sherlock tosses her in the air and fills her face with kisses.

John inhales a deep breath of clean air, feeling completely calm for the first time in years. This is them, with blurry polaroids serving as proof of their persistence. Images of Sherlock lying on the floor, delirious, eyes bloodshot, intrude in his mind, but now he can fight them back, replace old memories with new.

He has left the ring in Baker Street, not wanting to carry this specific flavour of anxiety and palpitations in their much needed break. For the first time in forever, John learns to accept, to go with the flow, to sit back and welcome things as they come.

Sherlock’s gloved hand finds his own. “Let’s take a proper selfie for Mrs. Hudson,” he suggests. “The three of us”.

With no second thoughts, John obliges.

To be continued...

#sherlock holmes #johnlock #bbc sherlock #john watson #sherlock #queer #johnlock fic #fanfiction #johnlock fanfiction #proposal

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masonmiamor · 2 years

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we meet again… - - Mason Mount x reader.

summary: 4 months apart… what happens when a sudden call to your workplace can determine where things go next…

send request or concepts 🫶🏻

“Morning beautiful! Anything new Nicole?” you asked while checking in for work. You wore plaid slant pocket pants, a black turtleneck, and some black stilettos. “Morning gorgeous, nothing new although your ex-boyfriend called. Mason?”

You let out a small soft gasp, looking over with wide eyes confirming her words. “Thank you, Nicole! I’ll see you later,” you were sure the tears were gonna come out as you replied with a shakey voice. You walked off, the only thing heard were your heels clicking against the white flooring.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. After four months of the sudden breakup, he wanted to call. Call for what? He ended the relationship. You wanted nothing to do, as you respected his wishes. Blocked his number, and unadded him from social media, but not quite yet deleted the photos and videos.

You weren’t ready to let go. Let go of the amazing and memorable times. When he first kissed you on a date inside the London eye. Meeting his parents at a barbecue, watching the sunset, and laid to see the stars. Taking you to an aquarium and ask you to be his girlfriend in a rooftop restaurant.

Why now? You wanted to move on, forget how he spoke to you when he did break up. Forget how you relive that night by nightmares, forget the amount of hate you’ve gotten, forget how his lips kissed yours when sad. Forget how he held you close when asleep. Forget of that stupid smirk he made when saying something cocky and arrogant.

“You’re so clingy Y/n! Let me breathe for god's sake!”

“You always have something to say.”

“I don’t need you, I never did.”

“Just stop. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Goodbye Y/n…”

You remember crying the entire night, the following day calling his mother saying you wouldn’t be able to make it for brunch. Her asking the reason why, and hearing her upset after saying you're out of town. What you remember was seeing the red spots on your cheeks and the puffy eyes from all the crying. You packed all of your stuff up, crying while folding his hoodies, neatly laying some of the gifts the bed gave you like a gold necklace, a promise ring, a bracelet.

That night was hard, drinking away on whisky and tequila rather than the usual vodka drinks you had. You sat on the bay window in his room, going through the album of pictures and memory box filled with many items. You left all of that… seeing as it was no use anymore.

When walking into your office you quickly settled wanting to forget about Nicole’s words. A bit sadder now as you rethought your whole relationship. Should you call back to see what he wanted? Maybe he’s in trouble? Maybe it was by accident? You shouldn't care, he wasn't yours anymore. You sighed dropping the glasses you had onto your desk as you received a call.

“Y/n speaking,”

“It’s Nicole. Are we still on for lunch?” you responded back with a quick yes, setting a time and place to meet up after your meeting. You chuckled sarcastically as you saw a notification from him… “Upcoming Chelsea F.C. Star Mason Mount has been called up for the England squad despite…”

Having enough from him, you arranged your folders and binders, touching up your hair and makeup to look presentable. “I'm sorry but you can't go in there. She’s busy and has a meeting soon… Sir,” You looked up when the door was slammed open, your mouth opened at the familiar figure. “Y/n,” he choked out walking towards you.

Looking up you saw Nicole’s face, you shook your head, and ignored Mason as he passed by. “It’s okay, I have this handled. Get your stuff ready after the meeting,” she sent you an apologetic look but you smiled and winked at her. She shut the door and you turned around slowly.

He looked different. A full beard, his buzzcut not present anymore, wearing a black hoodie, and his training joggers. Was he coming or going to training, you looked at your watch with a confused look. “Y/n we need to talk…” his voice slightly pleading. You walked around him behind your desk picking up your bag and binder in one hand. “You can’t just walk in like that. I can and will get trouble for it,” you scolded not bothering to look up, or else you’ll fall all over again.

“What are you here for?” you asked, picking at your nails, scratching the inner corner of your mouth anxiously. “To talk. We need to settle some things down…” you laughed not believing a word he said. “No,” you said firmly, seeing as he looked at you taken at back. “Yes,” he challenged crossing his arms over his chest.

You looked up and cocked your eyebrow in surprise. “No. I’m working as you can see. You had plenty to say that night. I think we're done here. I have to attend a meeting then on a lunch date,” he chuckled deeply thinking of your stubbornness. “Then I'll wait here till you're done. I don’t mind,” he said and sat down in the small single couch chair in the corner, next to all of your accomplishments and pictures.

“Mason. You’re just wasting your time here, go home,” you sighed, rubbing a hand over your forehead in stress. “I said I’ll wait. Have fun I’ll be here waiting,” he smirked at your annoyed face. “Fine suit yourself,” you simply walked over and shut the door. Nicole is waiting for you to walk together into the meeting room.

Already having a messed up day the meeting was even more. The said so “successful men” in the company weren't prepared with anything, practically making you present infront of the whole floor. Being judged, and even receiving sexist comments from them. “Well. that was…” Nicole drifted off, you sat down trying to focus and pretend the incoming headache wasn't going to appear. “Hello… Yes, this is she… What? No… is she okay… I see… I’ll be on my way… thank you,” she exhaled and walk towards your curled body.

“I have to cancel our lunch plans. Mia fell at school and she feels off,” you stood and gave her a hug, “Give her big and warm cuddles for me. I'll see you tomorrow,” before she left she peered over her shoulder and said, “Don’t overwork yourself, if you need anything I'm here…”

After mentally preparing yourself you walked back to your office, greeting other co-workers and the janitor. Mason looked up when you opened and shut the door softly. He sensed your mood and started to think of the way he could maybe cheer you up. “I’m sorry I forgot you were here…” you stated taking deep breaths as you set down the unsuccessful plans.

“You okay?” he whispered walking over beside you, you shook your head and replied, “Not really. But I will be…” After trying to hold off the intimate eye contact you saw his warm brown eyes staring deeply and almost getting lost in them. He frowned at your words, trying to hold your hand but unsure, “What else do you want from me Mason?’ you announced after a few seconds in silence, shaking away the tears.

“I respected your wishes. Gave you the space, forcibly moved away from your life, yet your back here… why?” you remarked seeing as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Because I missed you, and I love you,” he let out grabbing both of your hands. You laughed loudly, “You don’t expect me to believe that right? What happened to me being clingy or not enough or most importantly ‘I don’t need you. I never did.’ you can’t barge in here and beg to talk, ask for forgiveness it doesn't work that way,” you shook your head.

“Fuck! I love you so much, my love. I don’t know why I said those hurtful things. I get sorry won’t even be enough but believe me, I said what I said, it has been hard for me-” you cut him off removing yourself from his touch, “It’s been hard for you? Try to blame yourself for what happened, get the hate I’ve gotten, see and believe you weren’t any use to anything. Mason, I can’t I'm sorry. You hurt me so badly, I'm hurt, can't you see that?” you sobbed sitting down on your desk chair covering your face.

He teared up knowing he caused you to feel this way, so broken and vulnerable. He crouched down, trying to be close as possible to you. ‘What can I do to fix things? I want to fix things! I want you back in my life like before, seeing and hearing your voice in the morning while you prepped breakfast. Hold me like you did when it was a bad day, kiss me even when your mad, I want all of it,”

“It might be too late…” you said sniffling but he shook his head not giving up on the fight, “No it's not too late. I'm willing to do everything it takes to have you back, for you to be mine again…” he grabbed your hands kissing over every knuckle softly. His lips felt foreign after so long.

“What’s it gonna take Y/n?”

#mason mount #money mase #mm19 #cfc #mason mount blurb #mason mount imagine #mason mount one shot #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n

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rhysdasiorarchive · 1 year

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closed starter for @councillor-roland

Rhys visited Le Clair de Lune only on occasion – most commonly for the sake of the peace and quiet it offered alongside a drink selection that reminded him of the swanky overpriced restaurants just like it back in London in both menu contents and price. Finn’s trial had concluded in what Rhys considered to be the most jarring way imaginable. With Eros being attacked on the way to Finn’s execution, everything went straight back to square one and Rhys couldn’t shake the feeling that things were only going to worsen with each passing day; more so than before. Needless to say, a little overindulgence was a mandatory requirement consequently. He had to numb the jagged wound of shock with old pastimes and clinging to normality as he once knew it would likely do the trick. Whilst being a witch held many benefits, he found consistently heightened emotions to be a notable downside.

Offering a brief wave to the maître d' as he strolled through the doors, Rhys knew he wouldn’t have to say a word. Heading out onto the rooftop to overlook the castle grounds, he leaned against the railings and inhaled slowly, closing his eyes to let the events of the day roll over him in an all-encompassing wave. As his usual order of an old fashioned cocktail was gently placed beside him by one of the waiters, Rhys slowly opened his eyes and exhaled the stressors of the trial into the breeze. He took the glass with one hand and reached into the breast pocket of his blazer for his cigarette case with the other. If he would have known what kind of circumstances were awaiting him within Krovs, the witch wasn’t so sure he would have accepted the position he held now quite so readily.

Rhys took a tentative sip from the glass and clenched his jaw as the familiar burn of the bourbon begin to wash away the woe of the day’s events – his investigations conducted in Portugal and Spain with Seth had uncovered more information than they’d started with, that was something, but it hadn’t been enough. The attacks were still occurring and an innocent familiar was almost murdered because of a collective miscalculation that he had actively played a part in. Before his mind attempted to torture him any further, Rhys flicked open the case and nudged a cigarette out to rest between his lips, soon slipping the case back inside the safety of his blazer. He wouldn’t allow himself to wallow in disillusionment and self-pity for long: it wasn’t productive to do so but for a short while, it was still relatively acceptable. Digging out a lighter from another pocket, Rhys silently cursed his significant lack of skill with fire magic and inhaled sharply. Any form of distraction from his thoughts was welcomed, even in the form of acrid smoke and the false warmth of whiskey.

A distraction he hadn’t counted on, however, came in the form of Belgium’s councilman. Rhys had been so consumed by his own mind and emotions that he hadn’t even registered Roland’s presence as he’d practically stormed out onto the rooftop. It wasn’t until he took a step back from the edge and settled his focus in the immediate present that he sensed the unmistakable sensation of being observed. Turning his attention to the source, Rhys offered as genuine a smile as he could muster in his current state. “Mr de Rochefort. What a pleasant surprise. You’ll have to forgive me, I didn’t know you were here,” he neatened his posture before continuing – appearing unkempt before a councilman wasn’t quite the reputation he was willing to adopt just yet. “Can I get you anything? Something to take the edge off of that circus act of a trial, perhaps?”

#int -> roland.#( i TRIED to keep this short but... well. it's very clear that i did not manage to do so LMAO. there's no pressure to match length! :+) )#( apparently there's nothing i love more than setting the scene in an unnecessary amount of detail but hey. we move! )

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alarrytale · 7 months

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"Waiters and servers at parties are handed NDAs to sign and H and L rent out entire resturants or venues to ensure their privacy. H and L were out with Lewis Capaldi some years ago and he talked about it in interviews, but only mentioning being with one of them. But then pics came out where it was clear they both were there." If we believe that the voice very similar to H´s (funniest is someone even said his name like two times) from Lotties video from the restaurant right before Christmas really belongs to H - and it makes sense because imo it was for Louis´ birthday celebration with family and closest friends of theirs and H was mia until Dec 25th anyway - you can see that the restaurant is empty at least from where Lottie shoot the video. So when there´s some bigger event with both of them, they surely rent the whole restaurant.

Anyway, they were out with Lewis Capaldi? Do you have those pics? I love Lewis, love how cute friendship he has with Niall and totally adored how H got Brit award but when he saw Lewis, he totally ignored the rest and went to him, they kissed on lips like it´s a normal thing for them lmao and them hugging for ages became such a little viral moment of the night (right after H being too gone for Stanley Tucci haha). So if there´s any evidence like I didn´t know there is, please tell me more! Oh and I´m still waiting for Lewis to kiss Louis since that IG follow and Lewis even knows we are waiting lmao.

Hi, anon!

Yep, they do what they need to do. Things have a way to get out anyways though, so we know about several of these events. Check out my "fan story" tag for reciepts and my "larry evidence" tag for more confirmed stuff.

Lewis has been out together with one or both of them at least twice that we know of. Here is a tiktok of a girl's parents meeting the three of them out on a rooftop bar in London. I could have sworn we got a pic of H and Lewis from that roof top bar, H in a white t-shirt and Lewis in a bomber jacket, but i can't find it...

Here is Louis and Lewis in a bar in LA from august/sept 2020. Could't find a better pic for you, sorry.

Source

#lewis capaldi #larry evidence

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chokhidhanilondon3 · 2 years

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Best Rooftop Restaurant in London | Chokhi Dhani

Chokhi Dhani is a well known rajasthani theme Rooftop Restaurant in London. We provides an immersive and genuine taste of the delicious Rajasthani Cuisine with exquisite carvings, vibrant colors and traditional rajasthani products. Book a table today!

#rooftop resort #Rooftop Restaurants in London

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betweenthings2 · 7 months

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I wish you would write a fic where… everyone is so deliriously happy

Thank you for the ask!! I feel a little bit called out, but then this was a little bit too hard to write, so maybe it's deserved. Maybe.

Matty is pretty sure he'd never been this happy in his life. He's sitting on a private rooftop bar in London, George's arm over his shoulders. There's a cigarette between his fingers that he and George have been passing back and forth, and glass of what may be the most wonderful Malbec he's ever tasted in his hand. And there's George. George is next to him with a gin and tonic, a warm, solid presence in the cool evening air. Matty loves him. Matty adores him.

George squeezes Matty’s shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts, and asks, “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

Matty sips his wine, then answers, “That I love you. That I’m happy, really happy, maybe happier than I’ve ever been, ever.”

George smiles and holds Matty close. “Love you, too,” he murmurs.

They’ve been done with the tour, actually, properly done, for a few weeks now, but most of that time has been spent holed up at home, resting, recuperating, lazing about. This has been their first real outing since getting home, and it’s wonderful. They’d had dinner at a restaurant a few blocks away, then walked down to this bar at George’s suggestion. He could have taken or left the bar, really, but he’d wanted to enjoy this longer, wanted to enjoy being out with no responsibilities, no deadlines, no nothing looming on the horizon, just Matty and George enjoying themselves. He likes being out with Matty, likes Matty tucked against his side while they walk down the street or pressed together like this, sharing everything.

London has been unseasonably warm—climate change, Matty would be the first to say—but it’s hard to say it’s not nice, because it is. They get to sit outside for the first time in ages and even though there’s a slight chill since the sun has gone down, it’s warded off by light jackets and shared body heat. Matty can’t think of a better place to be. He's pretty sure there is no better place to be.

When their drinks are gone and it’s gotten properly cold, George presses a sneaky kiss into Matty’s curls and suggests they go home. Matty is quick to agree, quick to let George take his hand and pull him to his feet. He lets George pull him in for a proper kiss that tastes like cigarettes and wine and gin. Matty feels almost like he’s missed this, which he thinks might be a little bit silly because it’s not like they’ve had much space lately, but he also supposes it’s different to be home and not on tour or on a break in a tour.

“I love you,” Matty says when they separate, grinning.

George smiles back, echoing, “I love you, too.”

They're going home, they're supposed to be going home, but George can't help but rest his hands on Matty's hips and pull him close for another kiss.

"I thought we were goin' home," Matty murmurs when they separate again. "Am I that irresistible?"

George chuckles. "Something like that," he agrees. "Something like that."

#my fic

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libraryledge · 4 months

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A Part of My Story (A Reimagined Tale Set in the World of Wonka) Chapter 3

The sun was rising over the rooftops of the London shops. The town square was beautiful. Shop owners were slowly opening their doors, restaurants were decorating their tables, and farmers were arranging their produce. Everyone seemed to be following the same routine of making their business look as appealing to customers as possible.

A little boy carrying an apple box walked nearby, and Willy stopped in his tracks. The little boy crossed in front of us, too engrossed in his own thoughts to take notice of us. Once he was out of sight, Willy let out a huge sigh of relief.

“What was that about?” I asked in amusement.

“That little lad is quite the salesman. He tried to scam me out of a couple of sovereigns by attempting to shine my shoes and sell cologne to me.” Willy said. “Fresh cologne! Try this new scent and be unexpected!” he said, doing an impression of the young man.

I giggled. “Are you sure you aren’t secretly a cologne salesman too?”

“Maybe in an alternate universe I am a cologne spokesperson with my face on those fancy advertisements you see in shops.” he said, flashing me a dramatic smile to prove his point.

I shook my head with a smile.

“Speaking of shops, allow me to give you a quick tour of the town square.” Willy pointed to a few shops to his left. “Those are the tailors, who can get your clothes and shoes mended. Personally, I prefer my boots with a few holes in them.” He chuckled at his own joke. I smiled looking down at my own shoes, whose soles were tattered. I couldn’t really afford to invest in vanity at the moment since I spent much of my savings traveling to London.

“Over there is the Bar Parisienne, if you want to get a little…” Willy crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue playfully at me “...tipsy..”

We kept walking, and he pointed over to a restaurant.“That’s Brandino’s Restaurant. They say it’s the perfect spot to fall in love. Personally, I think one of my Sweet Romance Truffles will do the trick, but to each his own.” he said with a shrug.

“You have a chocolate that makes people fall in love?” I asked him suspiciously.

“Truthfully, it’s pretty hard not to fall in love with my chocolates, but yes this one is particularly useful in helping people find a mate.” He said winking at me.

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Interesting.” I replied, unsure how to respond to that.

We kept walking, and then Willy stopped in front of a small studio. I peeked through the window and saw shelves filled with magazines and newspapers. A short and stout older gentleman sat in the back of the local, sipping on what I presumed was hot chocolate.

Willy peered over my shoulder and looked inside as well. “That is the publishing house. Anything that you see in print here in London most likely came from here. Newspapers, magazines.” He smiled at me, “Books.”

“I need to go inside. Oh, but I didn’t bring my manuscript!’ I said, instantly filling with dismay.

Willy waved his hand dismissively. “But it’s all up here. Isn’t it?” he said pointing to his head. “How do you think I get by?” he asked good naturedly, reminding me that he did not know how to read. Then he headed over to the door of the studio and opened it.

Anxiously, I stepped inside. A cold draft followed us inside, but once the door closed behind us, the atmosphere felt warm. The man in the corner looked up from a newspaper he was reading and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Hello. This week’s edition of the paper won’t be available until tomorrow morning.” he said and then resumed his reading.

“Actually, my friend here has a proposal for you. Like for a book, not a marriage proposal or anything like that to be clear.” Willy said excitedly. I felt my face grow hot as the man looked over at us in bewilderment.

“Ok. What joke are you two playing on me?” the man asked suspiciously.

“No jokes sir. I do in fact have a manuscript that I am working on, and I would love it if you could take a look at it.” I said and then added, “Please.”

The man took a sip of his hot chocolate and replied, “Well. Can I see it?”

“Oh! Uh…I actually don’t have it with me now, but-” I began awkwardly.

“It’s amazing. It has heart, humor, and will leave you craving more!” Wonka interjected. “It will be the best story you’ve ever published Mr…” Willy trailed off unsure of what to call the man sitting in front of him.

“Doux-Amer,” the man replied. “Mr. Doux-Amer.”

“Ah! Such a bittersweet name!” Willy exclaimed.

“So what can you tell me about your plans for this book, miss?” Mr. Doux-Amer said, studying me.

“Well. It’s not done yet, but it will be soon. It’s about a little boy who lives in poverty with his family and wants to make his mark on the world to help them out. Then-”

Mr. Doux-Amer held out his hand to stop me “No. Not what the plot of the book is. I want to know what you plan to do with this book.”

I looked at him in confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. What do I plan to do with it?”

“What is the goal of this book? Why do you want to publish it?” he asked me, observing me carefully.

My throat felt dry, and I swallowed nervously as I responded. “I mean. I want my work to pay off. I want to sell enough copies to be able to get ahead in my life.”

Mr. Doux-Amer shook his head. “I’m sorry miss, but until you can answer that question properly for me. I’m afraid I can’t publish your story. Maybe once you figure it out, I can reconsider my offer, but for now it’s a no.”

“But Mr. Doux-Amer, she’s a fantastic writer! And-” Willy began, but the publisher held up his hand to stop him.

“I’m sure she is, but she needs to figure a few things out first before I can publish her work. Good luck to you both.” Mr. Doux-Amer said as he once again buried himself behind his newspaper.

“Good day.” responded Willy, with a tinge of sadness in his voice. I, on the other hand, could not bring myself to utter any parting words as I felt a lump forming in my throat.

As we headed outside, I felt tears sting my eyes. I tried to hold them back, as it was already humiliating enough to have been rejected by the publisher. I didn’t need to embarrass myself further by crying in front of Willy.

“Hey. Are you ok?” asked Willy with a look of concern upon his face. I nodded and tried to offer him a small smile, but I knew it was not convincing enough.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I traveled all the way here. I left my family behind in order to make this dream come true, and now I blew my chances of getting my story published.” I couldn’t stop the tears from coming, so I held my head in shame.

“You didn’t blow your chances. In fact, I think you have a great shot at seeing your work in print.” Willy said encouragingly. I removed my hands from my face and saw him take off his hat. He reached inside of it and much to my surprise, he pulled out a multi-colored handkerchief. “May I?” he asked, gently.

I nodded, and he blotted my tears with the silky cloth. Then he leaned in closer to my face and gave me an inquisitive look.

“What’s wrong?” I asked in confusion, as my heart skipped a beat.

“Oh nothing. Just wondering if you’d still be up for the sweetest part of our tour.” he replied.

I chuckled and responded, “I could use some sweetness in my life right now.”

“Great! Let’s go!” Willy proclaimed as he took me by the arm and raced through the town square, much to the bewilderment of the passersby.

We turned the corner towards a walkway that led us to an area that had some fancily decorated stores. It was difficult to describe it, but somehow I got the impression that this part of town radiated luxury. One locale smelled of fancy cheese, the kind that one would find in gourmet restaurants. On the opposite side, a woman was setting up tins of jellies and jams, near a storefront. Then, there were three chocolate shops that all faced one another in a triangle formation. Their respective names hung proudly on plaques above their entrances, Fickelgruber, Prodnose, and Slugworth.

“Welcome to the Galleries Gourmet!” announced Willy. He stood between all three shops and eagerly angled his head to look up to a glass mosaic that made up the ceiling and allowed the light to shine through. It was a beautiful location, and I looked around in amazement, not knowing where to begin because there was so much beauty to take in. I turned to face Willy, and much to my surprise, he was standing in front of an empty locale, which was barely illuminated by a single ray of sunlight from the mosaic.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked me, as a dreamy look crossed over his face. I took a step closer to the empty place to see if there was something that I may have missed.

“It’s certainly one of a kind.” I supplied, not sure what I was meant to be admiring.

Willy chuckled. “It’s not much right now, but humor me. I’m picturing purple banners in the front, candy displays in the windows, and Wonka written in a fancy font above the entrance” He placed one hand on my shoulder and gestured at the abandoned place with the other.

“Oh! I get it now. This is where you plan to open your shop.” I replied.

“Bingo!” Willy said excitedly. “Once I earn enough money to rent it out, the world will never be deprived of Wonka’s chocolate.” He pulled out a small parcel from his pocket and put it in the palm of my hand. I looked down at what he handed me and realized it was a chocolate bar, neatly wrapped in simple brown paper. The name, Wonka, was beautifully engraved on the wrapping.

“My mama gave this to me when I was a kid, and I first dreamed of opening our own shop alongside the chocolatiers at the Galleries Gourmet. I told myself that I wouldn’t open it until that dream came true. Now, she’s gone, but I still hold on to the hope that someday she will reveal her secret of making the perfect chocolate to me.” he said as he put the bar back into his coat pocket.

I smiled at him. “That’s really sweet. Have you met any of the chocolatiers here yet?”

“Oh yeah! I did last week and gave them samples of my chocolate.” Willy replied.

“It must have been incredible meeting people you've admired since you were little.” I responded.

“Eh! I’m not really a fan of people laughing in my face and telling me that I’ll never make it in the business, but to each his own.” Willy replied, with a teasing glisten in his eyes.

“They said that to you?” I asked, appalled.

“Yep! They call themselves the Chocolate Cartel and made their message loud and clear as they announced it to everyone in the crowded town square.” Willy said, chuckling at the memory.

“How horrible! That must have been so humiliating!” I said indignantly.

Willy shrugged and flashed me a cheeky grin as he said, “Not more than when a monkey ran off with my pants when I was gathering ingredients in a jungle in Mumbai. Can you imagine the shame of standing in your underwear in front of judgmental baboons?”

I giggled. “What?” He certainly had the most bizarre experiences.

“It’s true! Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is there are people in the world who will try to bring you down. Never let them steal your dreams. You might crash and burn or go up like a rocket, but you’ll never know if you give up on your ambitions.” he replied sincerely.

I gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I needed some encouragement.”

“Of course. The world deserves to hear your story, so don’t give up on it. It will be so incredible that Mr. Doux-Amer will have no choice, but to publish it.” Willy said.

“As for me, the Chocolate Cartel won’t get rid of me that easily.” he continued. Then, he took off his top hat and waved his hand over it. To my astonishment, several chocolate treats began to float out of it. I watched in awe as they spiraled above my head and then gilded gracefully back into Willy’s hat.

“How did you do that?” I asked incredulously.

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” he said, giving me a wink. “Let’s just say my expeditions to Mumbai did not go in vain, as I brought home a surprise, that is perfect for my creation. Come on! You will be at the front row of the unveiling.”

As Willy and I headed to the center of the Galleries Gourmet, I felt my admiration for him grow. He had the most determination that I’d ever seen in a person. Willy not only believed in himself, but he helped others see the light, when they were clouded by their own doubts. Hearing his story allowed me to feel hopeful, even after the painful rejection. Willy quite literally had the magic touch, and I could not wait to see what else he had up his sleeve.

#timothée chalamet #fanfic #wonka 2023 #wonka #timothee chalamet #willy wonka #wonka movie #fanfiction #timmy chalamet #roald dahl #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #charlie and the chocolate factory #sweets #story #writing #humor #chocolate #reimagining

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