After yet another disastrous date, Aziraphale Fell is ready to throw in the towel and resign himself to the solitary existence he doesn’t mind all that much. Enter Anthony J. Crowley, matchmaker extraordinaire, who bets Aziraphale the 100% success rate of Made in Hell, his matchmaking agency, that he can find him a suitable match in no time. After all, Crowley is a consummated professional with a troubled dating history who has learned from his past mistakes and has sworn off love himself: he’s certainly not going to fall for the charms of an extremely fussy bookseller… or is he? Between dubious romantic prospects, far too much meddling, ridiculous antics and a developing connection, Made in Hell’s success rate might not be the only thing on the line here.
Chapter 2/11: The White Whale (7.6k)
Crowley discusses his new pro bono client with Anathema, then makes sure Aziraphale’s first date goes off without a hitch…
❤️🔥 Read here on AO3 ❤️🔥
💜 Start From The Beginning 💜
Excerpt from Chapter 2:
Anathema seemed anything but impressed. “That’s different. You don’t know this guy.”
“So what?”
“So you’ve taken an interest, and you usually don’t.”
“Of course I’ve taken an interest, the man is absolutely bloody bonkers! If I find him a match I’ll have the royal family banging on my door and begging me to sort out their family tree for the next three generations, minimum.”
Okay, fine, this may have been a bit of an over-exaggeration, but it was also ultimately true: Aziraphale F was his (fluffy) white whale. If Crowley could find him a suitable match, it would make him unstoppable, the best matchmaker in the country – hell, maybe even the northern hemisphere! (Naturally, he could never publicly claim the title as his own without the Indian aunties’ army clamouring for his blood, but he could do so in the relative safety of his own head, which was victory enough in itself. That was where his biggest enemy was, after all.)
“Didn’t realise you wanted to work with the royal family,” Anathema muttered.
“‘Course I don’t. Bloody wankers, the lot of ‘em. They can keep inbreeding for all I care. Does wonders for their jawline.”
“But–”
“It will be great publicity,” Crowley cut her off, hoping – no, needing – to nip this thing in the bud. “News articles, tv appearances, podcasts – this guy’s going to be my cash cow.” The prospect sent a delicious thrill down his spine.
Anathema crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a look. “If you can find him a match, that is,” she reminded him drily.
Crowley pulled a face and stuck out his tongue at her for good measure, like the very mature forty-six year old businessman he was. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve been at it for fifteen years. Have I ever failed?”
“Yes, actually.”
Crowley sprung to his feet, such was the undiluted outrage coursing through him at the baseless accusation. “Watch your mouth, Device.”
Anathema gave no sign of cowering under Crowley’s glower, which was as annoying as it was ordinary, proudly holding his gaze instead. “There is one person you still haven’t found a match for.”
Crowley’s indignation took a little detour into panic territory before bouncing back to a healthy sort of rage. “I. Do. Not. Count.”
And the graphics, with the logo and poster courtesy of @beerok23 💜💜💜
@takaritsuweek continues and this time we’ve gotten a snippet of my rom-com au! It’s on my ao3 account so please check it out but the general gist of it is that TakaRitsu never broke up so instead they are a couple worthy of being a romantic comedy.
I swear no one died in this.
Also on my ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32949100/chapters/81895468
...
The first time Ritsu cooks, it’s an absolute disaster. Saga-senpai ended up in the hospital with food poisoning and Ritsu learned a valuable lesson that day: chocolate does not belong in curry, and you can not coat chicken in chocolate, either.
But White Day is approaching and Ritsu needs to make Saga-senpai at least something with chocolate. This is his chance at redemption after almost accidentally murdering Saga-Senpai. There’s no shame in buying chocolates from a shop, but it feels like he’s giving up, like he isn’t even trying for his boyfriend.
His boyfriend.
The thought still makes Ritsu burn bright red. Saga-senpai is his boyfriend. Saga-senpai said he loved Ritsu. They’ve been dating for over almost a year now and Ritsu needs to give him the perfect White Day present. It’s their first White Day together and Ritsu needs this to go well.
Oh god, what if he messes up again and Saga-senpai dumps him for a college girl who will be the perfect bride and Ritsu ends up all alone and unloved and-
His phone goes off, drawing Ritsu away from his panic. There’s a text from An-chan, replying to his panicked question of what Ritsu should do for White Day.
Why don’t we bake some chocolate cake for White Day?
God bless An-chan and her complete and utter genius, Ritsu would be dying alone after getting dumped on White Day if not for her.
That sounds great!! Thank you!! Ritsu texts back.
What could possibly go wrong with baking a chocolate cake?
…
Masamune is admittedly a little apprehensive of White Day.
He loves Ritsu; his sweet, naive, precious boyfriend, more than life itself. He would do anything for Ritsu. He would cross over mountains and jump into a volcano just to see him smile. But Masamune saw his life pass before his eyes on Valentine’s Day with what he later learned was his boyfriend’s first attempt at cooking. Ever.
That curry from the deepest depths of hell that he would eat again and again if it meant Ritsu would be happy, but also has haunted his nightmares for the past month.
Ritsu appeared in front of him, shy and unsure as if Masamune wasn’t completely and utterly hopelessly in love with him, holding a white box that strikes fear into his heart.
He’s glad they’ve gone through what to do during an emergency. Now, if something goes wrong, it’ll go wrong a lot smoother than last time.
He opens the box and to his surprise, it’s a cake.
It’s a little lopsided and messily decorated, with red frosting making out a heart that reads ‘Saga-senpai’ in the center, paired with an adorably blushing boyfriend that made it just for Masamune, because he loves Masamune.
It’s absolutely perfect.
He doesn’t actually get to the cake until a couple hours later, since he was much more preoccupied showing his darling Ritsu how much Masamune appreciated this little gesture of love.
He cuts both him and Ritsu a slice to enjoy and boost up their stamina in order to continue their White Day celebration.
Katherine Adams has exactly three fucks to give. One for the bar she manages, one for her patrons, many of whom have become friends, and one for her mum, who single-handedly raised her in London. She certainly hasn’t got any left over for tall drink of water Sir Thomas Sharpe, who’d like her to sell his estate distilled whiskey in her popular Soho bar. She’s tasted his type before, born with a silver spoon in his mouth with no concept of hardship or graft. But like his whiskey, Thomas has a distinct, unforgettable taste. One experimental sip might not be enough.
Yoooooooooo I love romcoms like no other bitch jem, what’re ur thoughts on Isn’t it Romantic? AU with andriel 🙀
no,,,,,,,,,,,,this is a terrible idea,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
*
Andrew knows this isn’t real.
Why? Because Neil just flirted with him, and Neil does not flirt with him. Neil barely knows how to function as a member of society, let alone understand romantic relationships, or be able to prompt one.
Nevertheless: Andrew had walked into work, and Neil had leaned into his cubicle with a dozy smile, before complimenting his slacks, winking, and walking away.
Another strong contender for this being a distorted version of reality: Kevin now hated his guts. His assistant - the gooey-eyed, exy-obsessive, tall-ass freak was now waltzing around with Jeremy on one arm and Jean on the other, his once-employers, berating the shit out of people and purposefully spilling his coffee on Andrew before asking for him to get a new one.
Then he was in the bathroom, ringing out his coffee-stained shirt when his cousin, Nicky, who worked in marketing, waltzed in whilst flamboyantly spreading his arms and proclaiming “Shopping trip! Let’s go!” And whilst Nicky did sometimes act like that stereotypical hyper-feminine gay guy, he wasn’t this one-dimensional.
After work had finished - or, rather, after Andrew had been whisked away, forced on a shopping spree, and then sent back to work with an hour to spare only to have Kevin demote him - he stumbled out of the building, ready to catch a bus home, just as a car came careening around the corner and almost catching Andrew’s hip. He stumbled, almost dropping all his shit to the ground, just as the person driving the car got out. He put his hands on Andrew’s shoulders to steady him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He shoved the man’s hands away, repulsed.
“I can’t believe I almost just killed the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” The man said, in a terribly breathless voice. Andrew looked up, seeing six-feet on tanned skin and expensive silk suit stretched across his shoulders. He was no Neil, but he was certainly easy on the damned eyes. “I’m Roland. Who are you?”
“Uh…”
“Doesn’t matter! Go on a date with me.” He tucked a business card into Andrew’s pocket, before blowing a kiss and sliding back into his priceless ride. Andrew was left, stunned, on the street corner.
Then he realised.
Best friend at work turned enemy? Overly-gay supporting character? Strange, handsome man almost killing him and then asking him on a date? Long-standing work-crush suddenly showing obvious interest?
Andrew was in a rom-com.
Shit.
*
“Neil,” He snapped his fingers in front of Neil’s face. “Neil, Neil, Neil, Neil, Neil. Earth to Neil?”
“Hm?” Neil looked up at him with those dreamy eyes, before smiling. “Oh, ‘Drew. Are you alright?”
“No.” Andrew snapped, fishing into his pocket for a cigarette. “Smoke break?”
“Sure.” He stood up from his desk and walked just ahead of Andrew, letting him appreciate how well-dressed he’d been as of late. Must have been Allison.
Not real, Andrew reminded himself. Neil had worn ratty jeans to work before (and gotten away with it because everyone loves him): His sense of fashion was beyond deplorable at best. This wasn’t real. None of this was real.
Andrew blinked: He’d just wanted to go out in front of their building to smoke, but suddenly, they were walking through a lush green park, where men and women laughed as they rode pastel bikes, whilst families picnicked on the little grassy knolls. Andrew was losing his damn mind.
“So,” Neil said, around his cigarette, smiling effortlessly. Another lie. Neil didn’t smile, albeit in a rare flash when Andrew said something particularly crude under his breath at work parties. Now he was grinning like a mad idiot, his scars much paler against his skin than they should be.
It made Andrew irrationally mad. Neil was gorgeous with his scars, but this dystopian hell-space had to wash him out and make him more appealing to a wider audience, like this was a real rom-com people were watching. Fucking gross.
“Roland, hm?”
“What?” Andrew echoed, blinking. “Who?”
“He almost hit you with his car, yesterday. He’s Kevin’s newest client for a new hotel on the south-side. Asked after your work because it’s the best. He also said he asked you out on a date but you hadn’t called him yet. What’s the hold-up?”
“No - I - well - what?”
Neil looked at the ground with an obviously disappointed pout. “I’m sure you’ll have a marvellous time with him.”
“No, Neil, I -” Not real, not real, not real. He eyed an escape in the form of a small flower stall that’d mysteriously popped up as they walked. This was ridiculous. Absurd. “I’ll be back. I just gotta go to the bathroom.”
“Okay,” Neil said, smiling again. “I’ll be right here.”
Andrew bought a rose, because that’s all the flower-vendor seemed to be selling, and turned around to return to Neil. If this was all gonna end when he woke up, he might as well make the most of it, shouldn’t he?
Walking back over to where he’d left Neil standing, he watched in dismay as a woman he’d never seen before leaned over and planted a kiss on Neil’s cheek. He gave her those doe-eyes that he’d been giving Andrew all day, holding her hands. She really was stunning, in a tight skirt and a floral shirt, with hair that was perfectly curled.
The rose fell from Andrew’s hand. What the fuck?
“Andrew!” Neil called out, waving enthusiastically. “Marissa just accidently almost hit me with her bike. Isn’t she gorgeous?” The girl laughed, leaning into his shoulder. “I’m going to head back to work later, alright? We’re going out on a date!”
“Sure,” Andrew muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as Neil and Marissa giggled at one another, whispering into each other’s ears. “See you later.”
*
Roland wouldn’t leave him alone. Neil was waxing poetry about Marissa, wondering if it was too early to propose. Kevin sneered at him at every given moment, and Nicky wouldn’t shut up about being in debt because he bought a Gucci belt that he was dying for and had to have.
He hit his head against his desk over and over and over, just wishing it’d end. For the love of God, just fucking let this torture end.
“Andrew, what are you doing?” Roland’s nerve-grating voice called. “You’re so silly. I love that about you. Should we grab lunch and talk about this project?” He batted his eyelashes. “I’d love to get to know more about your ideas.”
Andrew sat up slowly. How did rom-coms end?
By ending up with the person.
An idea formed. He looked Roland dead between the eyes and said “Sure. Why not?”
Roland took him out to a glass-walled restaurant in a penthouse apartment, miles above the ground. Andrew felt sick the entire time and could barely eat: He even resorted to talking about work and plans to avoid looking at the sheer drop to the ground below him. They were up so high.
“Are you alriight, cutie?” Roland teased. “You don’t look too good.”
“I wanna get out of here.” Andrew stood, shoving the chair back. “I had a good time.” Not. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” Roland winked. “Let me drop you home.”
Andrew didn’t protest, so long as he was on the ground once more and not dangling in the clouds. When he clambered into Roland’s car he let himself breath, unclenching his fists.
Neil knew he was scared of heights. Neil would have never taken him to a restaurant like that.
“Buckle up!” Roland insisted in his regrettably sing-song like voice, revving the car’s engine.
Andrew did not buckle-up, embracing the risk. Roland tried to hold his hand over the gearstick and he almost pulled a knife on the man, before remembering he was a client and Kevin would never let him live it down.
The last thing he remembered was wishing he could have given Neil a chance whilst he still had one, before another car came careening towards them with the lights glazing, head nose-first into Andrew’s side of the car -
*
“Andrew?” A distant voice called. “You’re moving your fingers. Can you hear me at all?”
His eyes peeled open: They felt glue-lined, crusted over with time. The face hovering near him looked relieved, settling back into the chair and reaching for a cup of water. The glass was held to Andrew’s lips who took a few hesitant sips, making sure it didn’t spill.
Andrew’s head throbbed.
“You were out cold for a few days. Your family will be back soon, but right now, it’s just me.”
Andrew focussed his eyes. Neil sat in front of him, not smiling, wearing an old t-shirt and jeans. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he hadn’t slept.
“Neil,” He muttered, waving heavy arms around. “What happened?”
“You were driving home from work.” Neil explained. “Kevin got the call from your brother who’d been working a shift when they wheeled you in, who told Nicky and I. We came here as soon as we could.”
“Kevin?”
“Yes, your assistant? Dark-haired giant, acts like a pathetic teddy-bear? He was crying a little when you came out of surgery.” Neil snorted, a hint of his tiny smile at the corner of his lips. “How are you feeling?”
He was back in reality. Thank fuck. “Fantastic.”
“Morphine does that to you.”
“Come here.”
“What?”
Andrew could still remember sitting next to Roland as they drove, wishing he’d just fucking taken the chance whilst Neil was available. Now he had the chance again. “I said come here.”
Neil shuffled closer, mildly confused.
“I want to kiss you.”
“Seriously?” Neil remarked, baffled. “Since when?”
Andrew rolled his eyes. “Since forever ago. You’re an oblivious idiot.”
Neil shrugged. “Can’t discredit you on that one.” He looked nervously down at his own hands, fingers wound together and knuckles white. “Maybe when you’re not stuck in a hospital bed. I’m not really sure. I would like to figure it out with you.”
“Yes or no,” Andrew admonished. “I’m concussed. Don’t make this any harder than it already is, junkie.”
Neil’s tiny smile, the one Andrew had fallen for in the first place, came out. “Okay.”
Andrew closed his eyes, hoping this was his reality. Neil’s fingers gently wove together with his own and squeezed. Andrew’s heart fluttered: He was pretty sure he couldn’t imagine that.
And then they lived happily ever after.
*
what a ridiculous and fluffy au. i’ll have to compensate for that in my next fic ;DDDD
Desperate times call for desperate measures when Louis’ mother realizes her adult son may never leave the comfort of home, so she hires Harry, a highly-recommended professional interventionist who’s skilled enough to help push her darling son out of the bloody nest.
What about a rom-com AU in which Haru is in a dating sim? XD
I’m working on it already, Nonnie xDRight now I need backstories for all the characters. Now, do we want it to be a second person pov story, or do the readers want to play as Haru?
