#i wish i could have some certainty somehow

[august--and-everything-after]

I think I need to get out of this country but thinking about that process is paralyzingly terrifying

[gdinthehouseee]

Fan Wars: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after managing to keep your relationship with ji-yong private, fans catch wind of potential evidence and refuse to let it go, so he decides to give them something real to talk about...

word count: 1341

tags: smau; fluff, established relationship, sneaking around, making out in semi public

You had done everything right.

Separate exits. Baggy hoodies. Sunglasses even though the sun had long set. Taking the longest possible route back to the car. And yet, here you were, sitting on Ji-yong’s couch with your phone blowing up, as the internet lost its collective mind.

“Ohhh, they are going insane,” Ji-yong muttered, scrolling through Twitter with an amused smirk.

You buried your face in a pillow. “I don’t wanna know.”

“No, but you have to.” He turned his phone toward you. “They’re dissecting everything.”

You peeked over the pillow hesitantly… only to immediately regret it. 

User: I swear I just saw GD at this tiny restaurant… and he wasn’t alone 👀👀

User: Okay. So. Evidence thread 🧵⬇️

This blurry ass video from tonight? Yeah. That’s DEFINITELY G-Dragon.

The person next to him? I compared their walking pattern to Y/N’s past airport footage. IT MATCHES.

In the video, Ji-yong laughs. I ran it through software that compares audio frequencies. IT’S HIM.

The hoodie he’s wearing? He posted it on Insta a month ago. Y/N had a suspiciously similar background in her IG story the SAME DAY.

User: IT’S REAL!!

YGFamily_Updates: 🚨 Some fans are convinced G-Dragon is dating Y/N after being spotted together tonight. Others refuse to believe it. What do you think?

User: that should’ve been me </3

User: He could do waayyy better…

User (reply): you think you're better than y/n?? you should pursue comedy

User: am I the only one who thought he was gay??

User: SHE'S NOT WUH LUH WUH???? NOOOOO </33

User: Whatever makes her happy ig

User: she settled for HIM????

User (reply): ppl like you are why they kept it a secret

User: i can’t be the only one who thinks they’re rlly cute together :(

User: now they really are the parents of kpop

User (reply): i wish they were my parents

User: their kids would be so cute!! They’d have the best life fr

User: y'all are insane...

As much as you want to hide, you can’t seem to take your eyes off his phone. Not even when he continues scrolling through the battle of the fandoms to stumble across some diehard fans trying to piece together more of the timeline.

That one interview from three years ago where Ji-yong was asked about his ideal type, and he gave a vague answer that suddenly sounds a lot like you. A music award show from an entire decade ago where he held the mic for you and fans swore he was looking at you differently. One year ago – a rehearsal clip where you and Ji-yong were standing next to each other, not even talking, but somehow that was now evidence.

“They’ve gone too deep,” you groaned, finally managing to tear your eyes away.

Ji-yong chuckled, continuing to scroll, while he wraps his other arm around you, pulling you into his side. “They always do.”

“How are you so calm about this?” You turned to face him fully. “Half of your fanbase is ready to burn me at the stake, and the other half thinks I’m too good for you.”

He smirked. “Sounds balanced to me.”

You shoved him. “Ji-yong.”

He caught your wrist easily, pulling you closer until you were practically nose-to-nose. His voice softened. “Jagiya, it’s okay.”

Your lips pressed into a tight line. “What if this doesn’t blow over? What if they keep digging?”

He exhaled, brushing his fingers through your hair. “Then let them.” His tone was steady, unwavering. “We don’t owe anyone an explanation. They can talk all they want—we know what’s real.”

You searched his eyes, finding nothing but warmth and certainty. The tension in your chest loosened, just a little.

“…You’re really not worried?”

He smiled. “No.”

You hesitated. “You’re not gonna post anything cryptic and make it worse?”

Ji-yong laughed. “Tempting. Very tempting. But no.” He kissed your forehead, lingering there for a second. “I just want you to feel safe.”

Your heart melted. You sighed, relaxing into him. “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

“And yet,” he murmured, his lips grazing yours, “here you are.”

Outside, the internet burned. Inside, you were home.

That was, at least, until your next event. 

You knew from the moment you stepped onto that damn red carpet that tonight was going to be hell. The flashing cameras. The way certain interviewers perked up when they saw you. The way the entire internet had spent the past three weeks analyzing your every move, convinced that your so-called “secret relationship” with G-Dragon was either a definite reality or the greatest fan delusion of the decade. And now? Now you were both in the same room. At the same event. With hundreds of thousands of eyes watching.

You had never been more aware of your own facial expressions in your entire life. Every breath, every blink, every slight movement of your lips—someone was watching.

Across the room, Ji-yong sat with Seung-hyun, Youngbae, and Daesung. Not even they knew his real relationship status, while the man in question was completely unbothered, sipping his drink like he wasn’t currently the center of a full-blown fan war.

Seung-hyun tilted his glass toward him. “So… are you gonna acknowledge her tonight?”

Ji-yong smirked. “Who?”

Seung-hyun let out a slow breath. “God, you’re insufferable.”

Daesung, who had been watching you like a hawk for the past ten minutes, leaned in. “Okay, but why hasn’t she looked at you even once?”

Youngbae scoffed. “Because she knows people are watching.”

Seung-hyun nodded. “Which only makes it more suspicious.”

Ji-yong just swirled his drink, looking far too entertained. “You guys think too much,” he mused.

“And you think too little about how insane you make people.”

Ji-yong just smiled in response before pulling out his phone.

Slowly, carefully, you glance down.

A message. From Ji-yong.

You hesitate. You know cameras are on you right now. You know people will read into whatever expression you make. You know that someone will try to zoom in on your screen. But still…

You freeze. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes flicker across the room and meet his. It’s only for half a second. A single heartbeat. A blink. But it’s enough. Because he sees you and, to make it worse, he smirks.

After that split second of eye contact, Ji-yong tilts his head ever so slightly. A silent invitation.

You swallow. Pretending to check your phone, you slip out of your seat and disappear into the dimly lit hallway. As much as you really shouldn’t be doing this, you can’t help the way your heart’s pounding with excitement, fluttering at the thought of being sneaky like this. Then— A hand grabs your wrist. Ji-yong pulls you into a darkened corridor.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” you whisper, peeking up at him. 

“And yet, here you are.” Before you can retort, his fingers graze your wrist, trailing up your arm slowly, deliberately. His touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake. “You look too good tonight,” he murmurs, voice husky.

“Ji-yong—”

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he interrupts.

He moves you backwards, pressing you against the wall behind you, and his mouth finds yours. It’s slow at first; teasing, testing your patience. But your hands instinctively reach up to grab his jacket, pulling him closer, and his own restraint is thrown out the window. He loses it. His own hands slide over your waist, gripping, exploring, pressing you firmly against him. His lips move against yours with urgency, hunger.

“Missed you,” he mutters between kisses, trailing down your jaw, your neck. His breath is hot, his hands possessive.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, and he groans.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” you whisper breathlessly.

Ji-yong laughs softly, kissing you again. “Let them.”

You shudder. Your hands clutch his blazer, pulling him back up, crashing your lips to his in another heated kiss. This time, he’s the one who shudders. His hands roam lower, tighter, needier. And just as he presses even closer—

A loud camera shutter clicks.

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @petersasteria @allthoughtsmindfull

[flawseer]

Became curious based on a Smaugust piece: What are your thoughts on everyone's favorite royal suck-up, Pike? (also ofc compliments to your writing and art)

Surprise, I am still kicking. And thus my Sisyphean quest to answer all the questions in my inbox continues.

I like Pike. I used to think moderately favorably of him, but pondering this question and then drawing a bunch of pictures of and about him made me realize that, yeah, I am rather fond of him. He is funny and cute in the same way a small, yappy dog is.

I remember once talking to my partner about Pike and I asked: "Do you think the JMA staff has to deal with Pike constantly trying to sleep in the hallway in front of Anemone's room?" Only to then realize, upon re-reading the books, that this actually happens in canon. I was thrilled.

Most of the time when people ask me what I think of a character, they want to hear what my take on them is, so I'll get into that.

Background

I don't think a lot is known about Pike's life, outside him having been assigned as Anemone's (questionably) covert bodyguard. He is one of those background characters that fill out the student roster at JMA but don't get a lot of development, though he is one of the more lucky ones as he gets comparatively more lines and scenes than, say, Barracuda, or Garnet.

We don't ever hear about his home life or familial situation, but I think he comes from a common military family. Not a particularly prestigious one, but rather one of middling significance. I imagine one of his ancestors--like his great grandmother--once made it to captain and ever since the whole family has prided themselves on their military legacy and loyalty to the Seawing throne, even though nobody else really knows who they are.

Pike's parents are both bottom rung palace guards; trusted enough to be stationed vaguely near the seat of government over a remote outpost, but nothing more. As is tradition in their family, they signed up as soon as they were old enough to hold a trident. Pike was expected to follow in their footsteps, and so did the same. He is naturally eager to please, doesn't ask many questions, and knows how to follow orders, so he took to this life relatively well.

One thing immediately apparent when observing Pike is that he is very blunt, headstrong, and reckless. He is prone to self-injury and mishaps, routinely making a tail end of himself during exercises. One day, I imagine, he was out in the courtyard, practicing his combat maneuvers, when he somehow managed to trap himself underneath a training dummy in a humiliating way. Unbeknownst to him, the Queen and Princess were walking past a window overlooking this scene, and the latter happened to spot him.

Princess Anemone, starved for normal social contact due to being permanently leashed to her overbearing mother, immediately took a liking to the clumsy guard and wished to take Pike into her service. The Queen though, hated the idea. Anything she couldn't control with 100% certainty was not to be let near her only living daughter. She didn't even let her own sons approach the Princess for this very reason. So she refused.

But Anemone, sensing an opportunity to finally snatch a tiny mote of control over her own life, didn't relent. She would never overtly defy her mother, but pushed back against her in the most passively aggressive way she could muster. She WOULD have this one thing that was hers, no matter how many times she had to sigh wistfully or forget to eat.

Coral meanwhile still disliked the idea, but after some pondering figured this could work to her advantage. Granting her daughter this favor would make her grateful, and thus easier to keep in check. It was not like the boy would be able to do anything undesirable since she would always be there to watch anyway. And if he ever displeased her, a random guard was easier to dispose of without turning heads, than if she let Anemone play with one of her brothers.

So eventually, she acquiesced, and extracted Pike from the palace guard to assign him to her daughter's protection.

The news hit Pike's family like lightning. Suddenly, after decades of being nobodies with delusions of grandeur, the whole palace was paying genuine attention to them, and the new recruit who, overnight, got assigned to be the Princess' personal retainer. Pike's parents took him aside and impressed on him how important of a task this was. If he did his job well and kept the Princess content and safe, not only would the current Queen think favorably of all of them, but Anemone would remember his service and reward him once she took the throne herself. For his sake and theirs, this was an opportunity not to be squandered.

And thus, Pike shouldered this great responsibility suddenly thrust onto his wings and embraced being Anemone's personal servant and protector. Pushed forward by his sense of honor and loyalty, a desire not to disappoint his family, and the knowledge that, if he were to fail and lose the only heir, Queen Coral would surely kill him.

Day-to-day life

Pike takes his duty very seriously, both out of loyalty to his liege, and because of how much is at stake for him personally. I picture him getting up during the small hours each morning and beginning his daily exercise routine, to stay in shape for his job. His roommate Flame often wakes up to him noisily doing squats in the middle of the sleeping cave and yells at him. "Am I cursed to be tormented by a diminutive idiot Seawing wherever I go!??!" Pike is lucky that his other roommate, Bigtail, is a heavy sleeper. Otherwise the training session would likely be cut short, with Pike tied to the ceiling lamp.

After wrecking Flame's sleep, Pike usually seeks out Anemone and attempts to stay near her at all times. Initially this caused friction between him and the teachers, as he would often skip his own classes to attend Anemone's. He only stopped doing this when Tsunami made it clear skipping classes would get him sent home, and thus away from Anemone permanently.

As they spent time at the Academy, the Princess began to get better and better at giving Pike the slip whenever she got fed up with his overprotectiveness. He freaks out whenever she vanishes, which is often. To help manage his stress, the JMA staff make him attend regular seminars on inner peace and meditation hosted by Fatespeaker. He is not very good at it, but enjoys the exercises that involve listening to running water.

He began to mellow out for a bit after initial growing pains, until the History cave incident occurred. The bombing shook him back into the bodyguard mindset and he began sleeping in the hallway outside of Anemone's sleeping cave. It weirds out Ostrich whenever she has to climb over him. Attempts to get him to stop this have been unfruitful. The current policy seems to be to let him do this until things calm down and he stops on his own.

Anything else

I believe Pike may have a thing for Rainwings. He is generally hyper-aggressive and rude towards everyone he talks to, with two notable exceptions. One of them is Anemone, whom he is sworn to serve and keep safe. The other is Tamarin, whom he is uncharacteristically kind to. My personal impression is that he may have a bit of a crush on her, but keeps himself from pursuing it as to not upset Anemone.

To my knowledge, Pike never really interacts with Turtle. That is a shame, because I would like to know how they would get along. Pike may be greatly disappointed at Turtle's general un-regal-ness, but still begrudgingly respect him out of obligation. I can picture a scene where he berates Turtle for his demeanor, only for someone else to chime in with an affirmative "Yeah Turtle, you suck", upon which Pike turns around and starts ripping into them about disrespecting Seawing royalty.

Concerningly, Pike's future is very uncertain. He is actually in grave danger right now. If Queen Coral ever finds out that he allowed a murderous, seawing-hating ancient wizard to abduct Anemone, she will have some opinions on that. If Coral has one consistent character trait, it is homicidal vengefulness against anyone who fails to protect her children, regardless of circumstance, regardless even if the perpetrator IS one of her children. That means there is a very real chance she will recall Pike from Jade Mountain and try to tear him apart.

I don't think Anemone would allow this to happen, mind you. She has been privy to her mother dragging poor sods out to the plaza to rip their teeth out, enough to recognize the signs of it coming. If she suspected Pike's life was in danger, I believe she would prevent him from leaving.

For now though, he remains at Jade Mountain, doing the best he can with the responsibility he was dealt, acting as Princess Anemone's retainer. It is a difficult, stressful, at times thankless job, but he would not have it any other way.

"Honor, and duty."

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Can you write fuego with a pregnant wife?

Hi!

I thought that I had done quite a few of them, but... apparently not ^^' Admittedly I took some inspo from my own long fic (aka Embers -series) for this, and basically used a scene as a basis. Anyways, hopefully you like it ^^

Pairing: Fuegoleon x f!reader Genre: Romance/fluff Fanfic type: Oneshot Length: ~0.9k Contains: pregnant reader, marriage mention, Fue gets kicked by the baby in the face, a lot of fluffy feels

Fuegoleon had always deemed himself to be a family man. Granted that he has other aspirations as well, and hadn’t had a partner for such a long time, which was why such a status and aspect of his life had been placed on the backburner for the time being.

Not that it had particularly stopped thinking about the future, and the family he might like to have. A wife. Kids. Maybe a few. One was too few for his liking, but he wouldn’t push for more if his partner so wished.

It was a personal preference if nothing else.

But. It had existed in a daydream for a time longer than he could tell.

Until he had met you.

Not that the images had flashed through his mind clear as day from the very first moment he had laid his eyes upon you, but rather… it was like a gentle, comforting sensation. The knowledge that this… this would be it. With you he could go on to build something.

What he had felt, was a kind of familiarity. Like this was how it was supposed to be, and nothing less would suffice.

A part of him wanted to rush. To just move together. Get married. And have the titles of husband and wife. But another part of him held back. Because that seemed more courteous. Something that one does. Bids their time and takes slow, tentative steps to the ever after. Not marry the woman he met less than a year ago.

Though people did do that.

But people, aside of royalty, were more free to make such actions. And he didn’t wish to place such scrutiny onto the two of you. Because it would just be unwanted attention. Rumours of a bastard child possibly.

Senseless gossip.

Attempts to tarnish a reputation.

No matter how displeased even the mere idea of it made him, he chose to abide the customs. Little steps. One by one. And yet with each day he tried to show his devotion, even if with words, scattered here and there, a passing touch, lingering gaze. Some if which came without a thought, because it, too, was easy; as natural as breathing.

And now…

As you sat there, in the arm chair with rings in your ring finger, and a baby bump on your tummy, he couldn’t help but smile.

Because it was his whole world that existed in that chair. And he made a point to cherish the moments where he could know, with absolute certainty, where the two of you were; away from harm and trouble. In the sanctity of your shared living quarters.

“Come here,” you told him with a whisper while stroking your stomach.

He perked up, eyes opening just a little wider, as he made his way across the room and crouched by your chair.

“The baby is kicking,” your tone was hushed, delicate and tender, as if you were speaking out a secret that was only for the two of you to know.

His eyes shifted between your expression, gorgeous and loving like the first rays of dawn, to the little bump in which your precious child resided.

He placed his hand onto your stomach, and waited.

Waited for a moment longer, eyes attentive and curious.

“Come on,” you cooed. “No need to be shy, kick some for dad too.”

‘Dad’… he thought as the corners of his lips tugged further up.

One of the most esteemed titles he could be granted.

“Come on,” you encouraged again, as if your child could hear. But… somehow it didn’t seem to make a difference, if they could, or could not. After all, they didn’t have the language to comprehend for a good while still. So, you were speaking because… speaking to your own child was one of the most natural things to do.

Your precious miracle.

“It’s alright,” he chuckled and pressed his cheek against your tummy. “You are far better acquainted with your mother,” he mused while closing his eyes. “But I can’t wait to meet you to-“

*Bump*

A kick right to his nose.

He jolted back.

You raised your hand to cover your mouth.

“Feisty,” he said while holding onto his nose. “And packs a punch already.”

There was a laugh that flowed from your lungs; equally amused and concerned.

“Are you okay?” You asked while placing your hand onto his shoulder.

“I am,” he chuckled before placing his cheek against your stomach again. “It seems we’re having a true Vermillion here,” he mused to himself with a wide smile again. “But no kicking or punching your mother,” he told, sternly, to your bump and the child. “Understood?” He quirked an eyebrow.

And… almost as if to reply, there was another kick, but this time against his hand. A much softer one this time.

“Good,” he smiled while closing his eyes.

You placed your hand onto his head, and let your fingers stroke through his silken hair, as your eyelids closed half way at the tender sight before you.

Because this… this really was him, at his happiest. While holding you, and being held by you; when he was with his family.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Do you think that the fab five have their own favourite ships between Yuu and the twst boys? I somehow get the feeling that Daisy doesn’t actually have a preference, she just loves the chaos and gossip.

So I'm going to turn the Fab Five into the Sensational Six because I feel Pluto would like to add his own two cents into this:

Mickey Mouse: he just wants a break, you know? He thought that the most stress he'd get from running the club would be Pete's constant sabotage, the odd villain being up to no good, and Professor Von Drake being so irritatingly pompous. Yuu is such a sweet girl and he loves her a lot (he also really wishes Walt could have met her) - he's the founder and chairmouse of the Yuu Protection Club - but ever since she joined the club, his life has gone to both be both better and worse - yes, everyone is so much more better behaved and their solidarity in all things Yuu related is a breath of fresh air but then there's *gestures to everything*! You'd think that being almost a century old could have prepared him for one teenaged girl but he's broken out the wheel more times in a fortnight than he has in the years that club has been running. Between the petty insults, underhanded tactics and full on shouting matches that leads to destruction (and some of it coming from the heroes no less) as well as Yuu's own obliviousness regarding the situation, his fur is going to go grey - not to mention, the constant texts he'd get from Felicity and Oswald over how they want to meet their new niece (as if they haven't already kidnapped her that one day). I feel like he'd prefer a heroic character but he doesn't have anything against the villains at NRC because he knows with absolute certainty that they all do genuinely care for her. But at the end of the day, he just wants Yuu to be happy so who ever she decides would be fine by him - as long as they never hurt her :)

Minnie Mouse: okay so I'm going to say Neige. Here me out: while she is neutral on the shipping war, and is the one to reel everything in when it gets too crazy, she does have some of fondness for the boy that reminds her of her favourite Disney character. Yeah, she and Mickey say they don't play favourites but there's no doubt that they definitely hold a soft spot for the very first Disney princess/character and the main character of the first animated feature film (especially when you consider the history behind that movie and what it meant for Disney/Walt). she wouldn't want to admit it but watching Yuu's lovelife is kind of her guilty pleasure

Pluto: Probably Jack - you know, canine solidarity and all that. To be fair, I think he'd be split between being protective of Yuu and being jealous that Yuu would spend less time with him (I HC that there was a time that he was jealous of Minnie when she and Mickey would go on dates because he thought he was Mickey's number one). Would probably be conspiring with Donald to keep everyone away from her.

Goofy: He just wants her to be happy :D. No seriously, I don't want to make the 'Goofy is dumb' statement because he isn't - he's just a bit oblivious sometimes and we love him for it - but he has absolutely no idea that the shipping war is happening. He's just so happy that Maxy has a new friend and that he could look after Yuu while she works at the club ♡

Donald Duck: Absolutely Not! I get the feeling that after Goofy, Donald is the most dad-like (I haven't seen either of the Ducktales shows so I can't comment on his behaviour there) - like, I remember how sweet he was to Max during that one episode where he wanted a car and how he stood up to Goofy to tell him to stop being so overprotective. Plus, I feel like he's really distrustful of villains so the NRC boys being who they are probably won't earn any pointers from the sailor duck who isn't afraid to use his navy training.

Daisy Duck: is just absolutely loving this - there's more gossip during one night at the club than there is in a week at her salon! Like you said, she doesn't have a preference. She'll just take a seat next to Kuzco and ooh and aah at all of the tea she gets from Tinkerbell.

Thanks for the ask ♡

[fanfics4all]

Warming Up

Request: Yes / No Fluffcember Day 30! 

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Bellamy Blake x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 475

Warnings: Just warm comfy fluff!

Prompt(s): Warming Up

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

Winter on Earth was nothing like winter on The Ark. Up in space, the seasons didn’t change. It was always the same cold, metal walls and the constant hum of recycled air. But down here, snow covered everything in a thick, glittering blanket, and the air bit at any exposed skin, leaving everyone in a constant state of shivering. 

Bellamy and I were bundled up in layers, huddled in a small abandoned cabin, that was somehow still mostly intact. It was dark and cramped, but it had a fireplace and right now that was enough to make it feel like paradise. 

“You know what you’re doing with that?” I tased as I watched him try to light a fire with some wood we managed to scavenge. 

“Have some faith. I’m not gonna let us freeze out here.” He gave me a look, smirking. 

The first finally caught, the small spark flickering to life, and warmth started to spread in a tiny circle around us. Bellamy tossed a few more small logs on the flames and sat back, smacking the soot from his hands. He looked rather pleased with himself. I scooted closer, desperate for any bit of warmth. 

“Better?” He asked, scooting close enough that our knees were touching. 

“A little.” I said, rubbing my hands together and inching even closer until our shoulders touched. Bellamy wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into his side. I rested my head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of smoke and the faint earthy scent of the forest that clung to his jacket. The warmth of his body seeped through our layers and I felt a bit of tension slip away as the fire crackled softly. 

“It’s almost hard to believe there’s any peace here.” He said quietly. 

“Like, there’s a whole world out here that doesn’t know anything about what we’ve been through.” I nodded, resting my head against his shoulder. 

“Sometimes, I wish we could just stay in moments like this. Where it’s just us, the quiet, and nothing else.” He shifted to look at me, his face softened by the glow of the firelight. 

“Hey…” He took my hand and laced his fingers with mine. 

“We’ll find a way to have more moments like this… not just surviving but living. Together.” There was something in his voice, a promise that was unspoken but understood. Despite everything we’ve been through, he still carried this hope that we could have something better. When he looked at me that way, with such certainty in his eyes, I couldn’t help but believe him. I leaned in and kissed him, feeling his warm soft lips against mine. The chill of the room melted away as his hands gently brushed my cheek and for a moment, it really felt like we were the only two people in the world.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @emo-godess-loves-you @now-imagine @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @vanessa-kom-skaikru @jjmymaybank @nadiagazecka

[athousandbyeol]

keep up the thamepo [episode 5]

i was a bit frustrated with myself initially because, after the first watch, I was left confused... and jaded... and a bit dissatisfied with this week's episode.

it has nothing to do with the acting, but I thought it felt a bit fragmented? nano's story arc didn't flow as smoothly as jun's or dylan's? i was trying to make sense of it—why it felt like there were still missing puzzle pieces in nano's portrait. but I guess, after making another observation, I guess nano was the last puzzle piece. i didn't realise it until I watched the episode again.

i wonder if this has to do with how the story is told from thame's perspective? the simplicity, somewhat straightforward nature of how everything unfolds kind of reflects thame's perception of his feelings for po? how he thought that po was just wanting 'to be friends' with him. how he didn't know he was in love with po—not until pepper provided a different approach for him to understand and come to terms with his feelings?

therefore, in this week's recap, it'll be a bit shorter than my previous posts because this episode was quite straightforward in terms of storytelling. however, I do want to address some apparent parts that itch my brain, which are, jun and thame's dynamic, the parallelism between nano and po, and also po and thame's upcoming love arc.

1. jun and thame — one who ignites the fire; one who is on fire

i think 80% of the confusion comes from me not understanding what on earth jun was doing.

in last week's post, i said that jun might be fond of po in the sense that he was concerned about him because of his closeness with thame? jun might have an idea of po and thame's emotions for each other, so this is his way of showing his concern.

however...

everything he did somehow sent me to the edge. it made me assume that he might... like... po? romantically. i mean, if I don't know jun and po the way I do now, I might assume that they have feelings for each other (or at least, jun has feelings for po).

but then again, when i watched the episode, I didn't think jun likes po romantically? it's more like jun's trying to test the connection between po and thame—or he was just testing thame all along.

but one thing that i really like about the whole 'jun answered all of thame's calls on po's phone' is how transparent thame's jealousy is to everyone, but it's still transparent to him.

it's so interesting how thame is visibly uncomfortable with the idea of jun being close to po—at least in his eyes—romantically. because I feel like thame has always tried to conceal some parts of himself from the world due to his selflessness. yet, in this week's episode, I can safely say that thame has finally shown his selfishness.

and it kind of makes my heart skip a beat because po is the reason. thame's behaviour and demeanour in this episode stem certainty in me that aside from his dreams of making everyone's wishes come true, making po happy and loved is his new dream. and it's not forced, this dream of showing and giving po the whole world—it's because he genuinely loves him. (but at this point, thame didn't realise it yet xD)

a quick shoutout to pepper for being the group's observer. he's closely monitoring the group, helping thame bridge the members together, and giving advice to thame from the perspective of an outsider—a watcher. I'm thankful that thame has pepper as the vice leader because in my opinion, pepper judges with this sense and intuition, while thame makes decisions more on his senses than feelings. so it's great that thame and pepper are the leaders of the group because they complement each other well; pepper emotionally supports thame and helps him get a better grasp of the smaller picture—thame's way of helping pepper will unfold next week, I assume (and I'm excited/nervous for it to be honest...)

but again... the jealousy thame portrays is delicious.

it's fascinating because thame's jealousy is directed solely at jun and not po.

he could still smile at po. he was excited to have a conversation with po. he was always looking out for po.

but whenever he was looking at po, there was jun.

i like that in this scene, po was really just genuinely sharing about his day (I could imagine them being exactly like this when they start dating). he was so happy to talk to thame (po's so precious I'm actually devastated T_T). but as soon as the mentioned jun... thame just... he was set aflame. and it's so satisfying to see him this way. he's finally being selfish for once.

and jun kept pushing thame's buttons, all the right ones. and he was on edge. he was jealous. he was fuming. he was confused. he was... dejected.

however, i wonder still if everything jun said to po holds an opposite meaning? was he trying to tell po that "can't you see? thame really likes you?" what are your thoughts on jun? i really want to know (because I still don't understand his intentions t_t)

thank you pepper for helping thame realise his feelings for po :(

i like the idea of thame's inexperience of never liking or having a crush on someone makes his feelings for po appear stronger, bolder and limitless. thame has so much love to give po once he accepts the buzz in his head and the heaviness in his chest as I'm in love with phi po.

i think, the moment of epiphany for thame is beautifully done. the self-acceptance, the happiness and the relief that he finally understood his fondness for po are gorgeous. (so, jun, stop teasing thame and po, will you? po is definitely thame's type and thame's definitely in love with po.)

2. nano and po — a shadow, a reflection, two hearts

i'm actually geeking out at the idea of nano and po as a shadow, a reflection and heart to the people who regard them as important in their lives.

nano is just... beautiful.

to me, nano navigates his thoughts and feelings as a member of MARS with his heart. it makes him somewhat pure and innocent. he just loves his members. he loves MARS so much.

but it's heartbreaking how he doesn't see his significance as a member of the group—as the group's core.

all these stills of nano building the tent, helping the members, etc, illustrate his importance to the group. to me, he enhances each member's charms. he brings them to the spotlight. he helps clear the mist clouding them so that people can see MARS in all of their glory.

however, i do realise that nano is struggling with self-confidence. he doesn't know if he could ever make it without MARS. he's unsure if he could ever exist just as nano and not nano of MARS. he feels like a shadow underneath the members' feet. he doesn't feel he holds any importance.

nano reflects po. nano parallels the old po.

it's a beautiful parallelism—these two broken hearts were just afraid of disappointment. of uncertainty. of grief. of incompetence. of falling apart.

but i'm so thankful that po steps up to help nano realise that he's important—he's the heart and soul of MARS. with his portrayal of honesty from past experience, I love how sincere and raw po's words are. i surely believe it's everything nano needed.

(and i absolutely love how nano and po are wearing the same shade of yellow, indicating that both of them experienced similar scenarios. i think po will be nano's favourite phi in the future. he'll emotionally lean on po the most because po understood him through and through. it's so sweet T_T)

i think it's also healing po emotionally. he has finally confronted his past emotional trauma by indirectly talking about it to nano. it must've been tough to share a part of our utmost vulnerability with someone, but I'm glad po was strong enough to make a truce with everything he experienced in the past and helped nano see just how important he's to MARS. thank you, po <3

i love that MARS finally feels complete now—they finally feel like a family again.

even if the future is uncertain, at least they have each other to lean on (I'm just going to cry in the corner when that time comes...) and nano being in the centre? that's MARS's heart and soul right there. <3

3. thame and po — one step closer, 5 cm

finally, thame and po are physically close.

episodes 1 to 4 did an amazing job of showing us how thame and po build their emotional closeness through heart-to-heart talks, helping each other out, eating sandwiches together, remembering one's phone number, etc. thame and po are already close without thame realising, without po thinking.

i'm obsessed with how thame's deepest feelings now overboil once it's constantly triggered by the idea of jun and po's ambiguous connection in his eyes. i think it's how most of us realise our first crush on someone—the intensity, and the confusion are somewhat daunting. but again, I'm glad pepper was there for thame to understand his feelings—and jun was there for po to doubt if it was ever true.

this shot is INSANE.

my heart really skipped a beat. really.

i think it's because thame initiated this touch and it was the first time that they've ever touched this intimately (at the waist—in my head it's one of the most intimate places to touch) and it was after he made a move to understand his boggling feelings for po—

(distant screaming and screeching)

the shock and happiness and yearning and intimacy is just SCRUMPTUOUS I'm honestly jumping off—

just the notion of thame finally coming to terms with his emotions—finally understanding that he likes po and he likes everything about po and it makes sense now is just gorgeous.

the happiness on thame's face... my heart is aching. i hope he'll be happy for a long time.

(AND THE HUG! THE HUG! instead of holding po's hand, thame hugged po. i like the idea that they are chest to chest, heart to heart, listening to the sync beat of their thundering hearts, realising that oh, I like phi po. ph, phi po likes me too. INSANE INSANE THAME I SWEAR THIS IS THE START OF A HAPPIER JOURNEY FOR YOU DON'T WORRY LOVE PO LOVES YOU AND YOU LOVE PO AND THAT'S ENOUGH)

but...

what will happen next week? are we finally getting pepper's (devastating) story arc? and what's up with the heartbreaking tension between po and thame? and why are we getting jun's "between phi and thame, it's impossible" next week? I'M NOT EVEN MENTALLY SANE TO TAKE IT—

*jumps off* *crying* *screaming* i don't know anymore.

[amywritesthings]

Hi babe! Congrats for one year of Silver Underground! 🎶

I was wondering if you could write a little Drabble or one shot of James and Levi in the early days of their relationship. Maybe it’s still a secret from Isabelle and Farlan, and they almost get caught…you know…😏

Love you, Bestie!!😘

hello, my dearest Sailor! Your wish is my command. xo

down bad. / levi ackerman x f!reader

word count: 1.3k summary: you and levi secretly make out before furlan/isabel get home. that's it, that's the horny plot. tags: 18+ minors dni! pre-aot timeline, heavy petting, making out, dry humping, mentions of sex, secret relationship, interruptions, set in the silver underground universe credit: @saradika-graphics for dividers

“Huh.”

You hear Levi’s voice echo from the living room as you climb the stairs to your apartment.

The anticipation of a shower after making deals with some of the cretins of the Underground has kept your tired feet propelling forward, onward, until they come to a stop at the mouth of the door.

One after the other, you kick your boots off beside Levi’s discarded pair to pad gently across the wooden floorboards in dark socks.

He reappears from his bedroom with a furrowed expression, brow holding his apprehension.

“They’re not home.” 

He points a thumb behind his shoulder.

The silence corroborates his findings.

By now, Isabel would have launched herself from your shared bedroom proclaiming sorrow without the two of you around. Furlan barely ever left the living room, and there are only so many places he could go in such a cramped space.

As you drag the apartment’s front door closed and locked, you wipe your hands off on your trousers.

“Where could they be?” you inquire. “I thought they were supposed to meet with that one asshole tomorrow.”

“They are. Maybe they went shopping for food,” he suggests, rolling up his white sleeves to the point of his elbow on the right arm. “Furlan owes you anyway.”

“It was one stolen leftover, Levi.”

“Still owes you,” he chides, fixing up his left arm’s sleeves after. “Doesn’t matter.”

Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest and stand in the silence.

No one talks.

Someone should, but —

You’re still not used to this — balancing what the hell it means to be James, the friend, and the James that kisses Levi in the shadows.

It’s only been a few times.

A lie — under fifty isn’t a few.

Maybe a hundred, if stolen pecks in passing when you both know the risks qualifies.

At this point, you’ve lost count how many times the two of you have made out. And losing count means that the two of you are prone for mistakes.

(A lack of judgment, if you will.)

Because as soon as it hits — no one’s home — eyes of twin curiosity connect across the room.

At the same moment, at the exact same time, an idea passes telepathically. An argument.

We shouldn’t. 

We never tried in the house. 

We always—

Too late.

He propels towards you with the urgency of losing you and your feet slide against the floorboards with urgency.

Your head tilts and he follows suits, and without an ounce of real thought, his lips claim yours.

Levi’s hands are already trying to open up your shirt, unbuttoning with certainty a starving man wouldn’t have.

You aren’t as controlled — your hands fumble with his vest, angry at the little notches for giving you a problem. “Don’t worry about me,” he mumbles against your mouth, his tongue experimentally poking out to flicker against your lower lip.

“But—”

He abandons your lips and kisses the tiny gemstone on your sternum to make you gasp; a sign of worship, leaving an offering to an altar he created.

Obediently your head drops back, too focused on the heat traveling up your collarbone to your neck.

His lips are always so careful, as if somehow if he presses too hard he’ll bruise you. 

It doesn’t matter how many times your hands grip at your hips. 

It doesn’t matter how many times he backs you into a wall—

Or in this case, a table.

Your hips hit the kitchenette table, faltering your stance. His strong hands find purchase on the plush of your thighs.

“Fall back.”

You pull away from the kiss to finally survey those blue-gray eyes, stormy and benevolent all the same.

Both of your chests heave, though yours is half-revealed and there’s a pink hue of a blush crawling across his cheeks to his ears.

“Wait, what?” you ask him in a huff.

He nods once, lifting your legs only a little for emphasis. “You’re not gonna break it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m— there are about a dozen other things I’m worried about,” you shout in a whisper. “I don't give a fuck about the integrity of the table."

"Good," he decides, and leans back in for a kiss.

Your hand blocks his lips from finding yours.

"I wasn't done talking," you say. "The other dozen things, Levi, like when are they going to get—”

“I don’t care,” he rasps, too far gone. “We’ll hear the lock.”

“Will we?”

“Yeah.”

“And if we don’t—”

“I’m covering you.”

“Barely.”

“Enough.”

“But the table—”

"So you do care about the table?"

"Well, no, but if it—"

“Fuck the table, James,” he groans, so unlike him that the arousal shoots to your core.

Timid in the moment, you scoot your rear end to the table’s edge and fall back. His arm catches your back to ease you down, but not without kissing down your throat again to pull a short cry from your lips.

His other hand pulls your thigh with him so he can slot his hips between yours, and you both lose your breath at the heated connection of his hips to yours.

You haven’t gotten that far yet, but you damn well wish you could.

His head lifts from your neck so he can stare at your eyes, stalling for content, as the hand on your thigh lifts it.

There’s nothing hotter than your knee caging in his hip, and his hand keeping it there. Nothing.

“You’re wasting time,” you growl in return, dragging him in from the white collar of his shirt. 

He grunts in appreciation and hovers over you, pleased with himself now that you’re virtually beneath him.

His lips find yours, chin tilting to deepen the action. 

Your moan vibrates against his mouth, causing his hand on your thigh to clench the flesh.

You want everything.

In that moment, you realize you’ll do just about anything if it means you get to have him.

Late night trysts, early morning sparring kisses, midday dry humps—

The best kept secret of your entire life.

His hips experimentally roll against yours, and you both moan — probably louder than you ought to. It doesn’t matter, because it spurs him to try it again. Again, again—

And when your hand boldly reaches for his belt, something clicks.

Not in your brain, but at the door.

Trained ears force Levi off of your body, lips and cheeks equal parts reddened.

He whips his attention to the door, fixing his clothes and clearing his breath.

“Calm it with that key, would you?” he calls, voice a little more gruff than before.

He strides across the room, buying you time to fly off of the table and re-button your shirt in your own bedroom.

When you catch your eye, he mouths sorry — but the shit-eating smirk on his face tells you otherwise.

“We’re trying!” Isabel. Shit. You know that whine anywhere.

Levi’s palm slams against the door frame from the other side. “Give me a sec, I’ll open it.”

“Why?” Furlan. He sounds perplexed more than anything. “I almost had the door—”

“You’re gonna break it,” Levi flatly tells him, before finally opening the door.

When you ‘enter’ the room, Furlan and Isabel pour into the apartment with their arms full of bags and nearly-fresh produce. You yawn, padding barefoot.

“Sorry, took a nap,” you lie, stretching your limbs overhead. “Where were you two again?”

“Shopping!”

They chirp in unison, heading straight for the kitchen.

Your eyes meet Levi’s once more while you rearrange the chain of your necklace.

That smirk hasn’t left his face, even in the face of your friends.

All you respond with is a middle finger, rubbing against your nose.

One of these days—

Narrowly missed today, maybe, but one of these days they’re going to find out.

(And maybe one day it won’t be such a secret.)

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 7

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 4024

Warning: Angst - lots, longing, some Fluff. Not much that I can think of.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 7

The following morning, you were up with the sun, despite the late night celebration. The kitchen was already warm with the scent of apples and cinnamon as you moved with practiced ease, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand while the other worked on shaping the turnovers. On the outside, you looked calm—relaxed even. But inside, you were a mess, nerves coiling tight in your stomach, your thoughts running endless circles.

Why does he think I’m not ready? 

That question refused to leave you alone, looping in your mind as if the repetition might somehow reveal an answer. Was it really about you? Or was he just using it as an excuse—to keep from claiming you, from either of you claiming each other?

You tried to shake the thought off, focusing instead on the bittersweet reality creeping up on you. In just a few weeks, Jess would be leaving for college again, and you’d be alone on the land once more. Well, not alone, but still alone. Maybe I should start thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my life. 

The thought lingered as you set another tray of turnovers aside, fingers moving on autopilot. What did you want to do?

Your mind drifted back to when you were fourteen, sitting at your desk, pouring over the old files of the Touched in your pack’s lineage while the two professors spoke in the background. Even then, they’d felt incomplete—clinical accounts stripped of anything personal, as if something vital had been erased.

And just like that, you knew.

For the first time that morning, a smile curved your lips, the tension in your chest easing. I’ll write a book. Not to fix the files, but to create something real—a guide for others with the genetic mutation, for those who didn’t have the answers they needed. Your pack wasn’t the only one with Touched. There were others out there, struggling the way you had.

And then there were the alphas.

Your grip tightened slightly on the edge of the counter, heart picking up as another realization settled into place. I’ll write the things I wish I’d known. The things I wish someone had told me. The things I wish Dean could understand.

The idea settled deep, a quiet kind of certainty replacing the unease that had followed you all morning. For the first time in a long while, you felt like you had a purpose again.

You had just set the last batch of turnovers onto the cooling rack when a quiet shift in the air prickled at your senses. The windows were open, letting in the warm summer breeze, carrying with it the scent of pine and wildflowers. But something else was there, too—something familiar.

You didn’t look up, not right away. Instead, you casually reached for your coffee, taking a slow sip.

A shadow flickered in your peripheral vision.

With a smirk, you set your mug down and spoke without turning around. “You even think about touching one of those, and I swear, Jess, I’ll swat your hand with this spatula.” A sharp gasp came from behind you, followed by a groan. “Dammit! How do you do that?” Jess whined, stepping fully into view, arms crossed in defeat.

You turned, arms mirroring her, one brow arched. “You really thought I wouldn’t catch you?” “Honestly? I had hope,” she said, eyeing the turnovers lovingly. “It’s not my fault! You left all the windows open, and my cabin is right next door. You expect me to not follow the smell of fresh apple turnovers?” Shaking your head, you sighed with exaggerated exasperation before nudging the tray toward her. “Fine. But if you burn your mouth, that’s on you.” Jess didn’t need to be told twice. She snatched one up, bouncing it between her hands before taking a careful bite, humming in satisfaction. “Mmm. I knew you were making these for Dean. Lucky bastard.” You rolled your eyes, but warmth crept up your neck anyway. “It’s just brunch.” She shot you a look over her turnover. “Sure.”

You ignored her teasing, choosing instead to lean against the counter, fingers tracing the rim of your mug. You both knew why Dean was coming over. “Actually, I wanted to tell you something. I finally figured out what I want to do.” Jess swallowed her bite and tilted her head. “Oh?” You took a breath, a small smile forming as the words settled into place. “I want to write a book. Not a novel or anything like that. A guide—something for others like me. For people who have the Touched mutation. There’s so much I didn’t know, so much I wish I’d known growing up.” You hesitated, then admitted, “And maybe… it could help people like Dean, too.” Jess softened, her usual teasing giving way to something quieter, more thoughtful. “That’s actually… a really great idea,” she said, nodding. “You always did hate those files.” “Because they’re cold. They don’t tell you how to live with it, just the facts.” You gestured vaguely before sighing. “Anyway, I wanted you to know.” Jess nudged you with her shoulder. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think it’s perfect.” 

A comfortable silence stretched between you as she savored her turnover, and you nursed the last of your coffee. The kitchen felt peaceful, sunlight slanting through the open windows, the lingering scent of cinnamon in the air.

Then, almost at the same time, both of you glanced at the clock. He’ll be here soon. Your fingers curled around your mug, the lingering warmth grounding you as your stomach twisted with nervousness and anticipation.

Jess noticed. She always did.

“Hey,” she said, keeping her voice light, “Sam’s not coming by today. Come over after Dean goes. I’ll pull out the ice cream.”

You exhaled softly, some of the tension easing from your shoulders as you leaned your head against her shoulder. “Thanks, Jess,” you murmured. “I’ll probably need it.”

The rumble of an approaching truck sent a jolt through your chest. You glanced at Jess, but she was already on her feet, licking the last of the cinnamon sugar from her fingers. “Well, that’s my cue,” she said, grinning as she made a beeline for the back door.

“Jess—” Too late. With a laugh, she snagged another turnover from the cooling rack and slipped outside before you could stop her, the screen door swinging shut in her wake. You shook your head, exhaling a steadying breath as you turned back toward the front. Dean was here.

Through the open windows, you heard the truck door creak open and slam shut. Not the Impala, you realized. He must not have wanted to risk her on the dirt roads again. A moment later, his footsteps hit the porch, slow and measured. Then, a pause—like he was hesitating.

You wiped your palms against your jeans, just as he finally knocked.

When you opened the door, the first thing you saw, him—standing there, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, greens flickering with something unreadable. The second thing was the slight lift of his brows as he caught the scent lingering in the air.

“Turnovers?” he asked, almost like he didn’t believe it.

You folded your arms, tilting your head a bit. “You sound surprised.” His lips twitched like he wanted to smirk, but something about today had him guarded—like he’d been last night, right before he kissed you for the first time at the celebration.

“Just—apple pie’s my thing,” he admitted, finally stepping inside. His gaze flicked toward the kitchen, the warm scent thick in the air, before shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. “Didn’t expect—y’know…”

“I did say I was going to make something,” you reminded him, voice gentle.

Dean shrugged, eyes darting anywhere but at you. “Didn’t expect you to know I like ‘em.” You huffed a soft laugh, walking past him toward the kitchen. “You told me that first day we met that you loved apple pie. I thought you might like turnovers, too.” He followed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He wasn’t used to omegas remembering those little details—wasn’t used to them caring. But you weren’t just any omega. You were his. His true mate. And that? That was still something he was attempting to wrap his head around. 

“That’s… sweet,” he finally admitted, sitting down at the kitchen table.

You poured him a cup of coffee, setting it in front of him, then plated the turnovers and placed them between you. It was all the little things: the way his fingers curled around the mug like he needed something solid to hold onto, the way the muscle of his jaw ticked every so often, and the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes. 

Yeah, he was just as nervous as you were.

Taking a slow breath, you reached across the table, setting your hand softly over one of his. His fingers tensed, then relaxed under your touch.

“We don’t have to start with the hard stuff first,” you murmured. “We can talk about something simple. Like…” You let a small smile tug at your lips. “Did you remember to bring the blanket back so I could make it smell like me again?” 

A pause. Then, finally, a huffed laugh from Dean—small, barely there, but real. You’d take it. “It’s in the truck. I’ll, uh—I’ll grab it in a few.”

His fingers tightened around the mug, thumb tapping against the ceramic in a restless rhythm. The rich scent of coffee curled through the air, but he wasn’t drinking it. His eyes flickered to the turnovers between you, then back down to the table, like he was searching for something—an anchor, an excuse, anything.

You waited, letting him find the words. He seemed like he wanted to dive straight into it, but whatever it was, it tangled in his throat before it could make it out.

Finally, with a sigh, he dragged a hand down his face as you reached for one of the turnovers. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I do,” his voice was rough, low—like gravel rolling in his throat.

You said nothing, just watching as he shifted in his chair. His wolf had been calm when he walked in, drawn toward you as naturally as breathing, but now? Now, his scent was turning sharp, his frustration bleeding through. He hated this—hated how tangled everything felt. Dean exhaled sharply and grabbed one of the turnovers, breaking it in half just to keep his hands busy. “It’s not just about you going into your first heat.” He chewed on the words, rolling them around like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “It’s not just about that possibly triggering my rut. I just—I want some… some us time.”

He took a bite, chewing slowly, his jaw working harder than it needed to. You could tell that wasn’t all of it, and possibly not even the full truth of what he was going through.

You reached for your coffee, keeping your voice soft. “I understand that. Would it be easier for you if I claimed you first?” You knew that would help him, would counteract his genetic mutation, and he’d be able to bond with his wolf, would let him get those memories only his wolf had. 

There it was—the thing he didn’t want to talk about.

His muscles tensed, his jaw going rigid as he forced himself not to react outright. Dammit! Why did you have to ask me the one thing I was avoiding? 

So, he did what he did best—tried to logic his way out of it.

“Do you know how it works?” he asked, finally looking up to meet your gaze.

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Yes. It’s typically done at the height of climax, so it’s not painful.” It was something everyone knew. They taught it in high school. Plus, he was your mate, so what was the point of being shy around him?

Dean nearly choked. You’d said it so casually, like it was nothing, like it was just another fact to state. And last night—hell, last night when he kissed you, you’d melted against him like you’d never been kissed before. But now, the way you said that—so damn matter-of-factly—had his brain careening down an entirely different track.

Had you been with someone before? Were you untouched?

He cleared his throat, swearing he could hear his wolf laughing at him in his head. “Okay,” he drawled out, mostly to buy himself time. “I just—I want your first time to be special.”

He meant it, but he also hoped it would answer the questions rattling around in his skull without having to ask them outright.

A small, almost playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “I didn’t say we had to have sex for me to claim you,” you tried not to giggle. You may have been inexperienced, but you were not innocent by any means.

The way you said it—calm, sure, with a quiet kind of confidence—was enough to wipe whatever argument he’d been building clean off the table.

His wolf let out something that felt like a smug huff in the back of his mind.

Dean, on the other hand, was fighting his frustration. He didn’t want to tell you. Didn’t want to admit what really scared him—learning how to bond with his wolf, something he should have learned as a kid. Something that should have been natural. Easy. Second nature. But for him, it wasn’t.

And now? Now, it wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about you. 

He sat there, silently lost in thought, his expression unreadable as you nibbled on a turnover. His fingers curled around his mug, grip tightening like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He finally took a sip, eyes still locked on you, like he was trying to decipher something—like maybe if he looked hard enough, he’d find the answer he didn’t want to admit he was searching for.

This wasn’t how he had pictured the conversation going.

You may not have been able to scent emotions the way others could, but you had learned how to read people. And right now? He was a storm behind green eyes, brewing with things unsaid. 

“Maybe just… think about it,” you offered gently. “Today was just about talking.” 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Talking. Saying things out loud meant they were real.

The two of you had only known each other for a couple of months. Some days, it felt like so much longer, like you had always been there, woven into the very fabric of his life. And then there were moments like this—where he felt like he didn’t know a damn thing about you. 

The questions that circled his mind were ones he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Questions his wolf probably already had the answers to, and that was more frustrating than anything else. His wolf knew you.

Dean pushed abruptly to his feet, the scrape of his chair against the floor sharp in the quiet space. He didn’t say anything as he stepped outside, crossing the distance to his truck with measured strides. He needed space. Air.

Leaning forward, he braced his hands against the hood, the metal still warm under his palms. He exhaled slow and deep, forcing his lungs to stretch with it, but it didn’t help. Your scent clung to his skin, wrapping around him, a constant pull.

His wolf, on the other hand, had no such doubts. It wanted him to go back inside. To hold you close, feel how you fit so nicely against him. Relish just being close to you like he had when Dean had finally relaxed at the celebration the night before.

Inside, you watched him go, lips pressing into a small frown. With a quiet sigh, you set your coffee down and grabbed a ziplock bag, carefully tucking away most of the apple turnovers—saving a few for Jess. Then, without hesitation, you headed outside. You approached him cautiously, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The instant tension beneath your touch was answer enough.

“I’d understand, if you wanted to head out,” you murmured.

Dean’s head dipped slightly, a quiet exhale escaping him. Last night, he’d told you he didn’t want to screw this up. And now? That’s exactly what it felt like—like he was failing. All because he couldn’t admit what he was afraid of. 

“I just need some time…” his voice was barely above a whisper. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you, too afraid of seeing disappointment staring back at him.

But you weren’t going to let him retreat into himself. Moving with quiet determination, you stepped under his arm, positioning yourself between him and the truck. He had no choice but to face you now.

“Take all the time you need, Dean.” Your voice was soft, steady, a lifeline he didn’t know how to reach for. “You’re my soulmate. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Your hands cupped his face, grounding him in a way nothing else could. The gentle press of your palms, the warmth of your touch—it soothed the ache in his chest.

“I promise,” you whispered before leaning in, brushing the softest kiss against his lips. It was fleeting, but it lingered, something unspoken passing between you as you pulled away.

Dean groaned, torn between the desperate urge to hold you close and the frustration coiling inside him. He took your hand in his, turning his head just enough to press a kiss to your palm, as if sealing something sacred. 

“I promise, I’ll come back,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “This isn’t goodbye.” He swallowed hard, trying to push past the tightness in his throat. He needed to talk to Sam. He needed to find a way to break through this fear, to figure out how to bond with his wolf without losing himself in it. One last kiss to your forehead, and then he was moving, opening the door of his truck. But as he reached for the seat, his hand stilled. The blanket you had given him sat there, waiting. A silent reminder.

Something inside him cracked.

With a shaky breath, he pulled the blanket out and turned back to you. His lips twitched, just slightly, as he handed it over. And in return, you pressed the bag of turnovers into his palm. 

“I’ll be back for that,” he said, trying to ignore the way his wolf pushed at him, demanding he stay, hold you, breathe you in one last time.

You held the blanket against your chest. “It’ll be here, waiting for you.” 

The words carried more weight than either of you were willing to acknowledge.

Dean hesitated for a fraction of a second before slipping into the driver’s seat and shutting the door—harder than he meant to. You flinched at the sound but said nothing, watching as he started the engine. He only looked at you once before forcing his gaze ahead, locking onto the dirt road that led off the land.

What is he so afraid of? 

The thought settled heavily in your chest. With another quiet sigh, you turned on your heel, heading inside. You didn’t even want to see Jess right now. Your mind was a mess of questions, circling things you didn’t have answers to. Whatever Dean was going through—it wasn’t about you.

But that didn’t mean you knew how to help him through it. It was clear that whatever it was, he couldn’t lean on you. Couldn’t let you be his rock, his safe space. 

—------------------------------

Dean didn’t remember the drive to Sam’s place. His mind had been too tangled up, replaying everything over and over—the way you looked at him, the way your scent lingered even now, the way his wolf clawed at his insides, desperate to turn the truck around. But he couldn’t. Not until he got a damn grip on himself.

The Winchester land was busy, pack members preparing for the upcoming celebration, but Dean ignored it all. Sam’s cabin sat nestled in a clearing, neat and methodical, just like everything else about his little brother. He barely had the truck in park before he was out, apple turnovers in hand, slamming the door harder than necessary.

He didn’t knock. Just pushed inside, knowing Sam wouldn’t be surprised.

His brother was at the kitchen table, flipping through one of his endless books, a half-empty coffee cup beside him. He barely looked up, just arched a brow. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” Dean ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “That obvious?” Sam finally shut the book, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve been off since the day you met her, and it’s only gotten worse. Figured you’d either show up here or start a fight with someone to avoid dealing with whatever’s going on in that head of yours.”

Dean huffed, dropping into the chair across from him. He set the bag of turnovers on the table, yanking one out and taking a large bite. “Might still do both.”

Sam smirked, already knowing those weren’t just any turnovers—you’d made them. He didn’t even try to steal one. His smirk slowly faded, though, as he took in the tension in his brother’s frame, the tight set of his jaw. The way his scent carried an undercurrent of unease.

He waited, letting the silence stretch. Dean had never been great at admitting when he needed help.

Finally, Dean stared at the table, his fingers tightening around the pastry in his hand. “I need you to tell me how to do it.”

Sam frowned. That was vague as hell, but he had a damn good idea what Dean meant. “Do what?”

Dean’s jaw clenched, briefly. “Bond with my wolf.” His voice was gruff, frustration simmering just beneath his skin.

Sam leaned back, arms crossing loosely. He knew how hard it had been for Dean, growing up with a mutation that left him disconnected from his wolf. While Sam and the others had bonded with theirs from childhood, Dean had been left with nothing but blackouts and the knowledge that when he turned, he wasn’t fully there. It had always been like waking up from a dream he never remembered. 

And now? Now, he was terrified that when you claimed him, all of it—the instinct, the bond, the primal need—would hit him all at once, and he wouldn’t be able to handle it. That he’d hurt you.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. 

Then Dean swallowed hard. “Last night…” His voice caught, and he shook his head before forcing the words out. “Last night, he knew her. He knew everything about her. I felt it.”

Surprise flickered across Sam’s face. That shouldn’t have been possible. Not with Dean’s condition. But somehow, it had happened.

Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “You’re afraid you’ll lose control and hurt her, aren’t you?” His voice was quiet, steady.

Dean scoffed, like he could brush it off, but they both knew the truth sat heavy in his chest. 

Sam sighed, leaning back again. “You don’t trust your wolf because you don’t trust yourself.” Dean’s fingers curled around the edge of the table, but the fight drained from him just as fast. His shoulders slumped, his whole frame sinking into the chair. When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “I know my wolf won’t hurt her. It’s me. I’m afraid of hurting her.”

Sam didn’t press him further. Instead, he offered, “Why don’t we go talk to Professor Saltzman? He has all the records on Touched.” If this didn’t work, they only had one other person to go to, their mom.

He knew that the two of you were supposed to talk today, but his brother hadn’t been gone long that morning. Sam suspected you’d brought up claiming him, but wasn’t about to ask. Not now.

After another long moment of silence and Dean taking another bite of the turnover, he finally relented. “Sure. When?” 

----------------------------------------- Chapter 8

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21 Days - Day 15

Something inside of Xavier has shifted. You can’t quite define it or give it a name, but you can sense it, see it in every glance and feel it in every touch. He is not the same man he was yesterday.

What a difference a day can make.

The change isn't anything obvious—most things haven't changed at all. He is as shy and sweet and earnest as he has always been. He still blushes when you touch him, he still pouts when you tease him, and he is still playful and warm.

But the shadow behind his eyes, the hint of sadness in his smile, is disappearing. There is a growing certainty in him that was not there before, as if he has made a choice -some choice- and it has freed him in a way that seems to extend beyond just his secrets.

It's absurd, but you can't shake the thought that he chose you yesterday—that, somehow, you were always a choice he had to make. You don’t even know what the alternative might have been, but now, when he looks at you, the affection in his eyes feels complete, as if it’s here to stay.

Maybe his fevered promise not to leave again was truly meant for you after all. But that only raises more questions—had he been planning to leave you? And when did he leave the first time?

If you were the choice, then what was the other option?

He has remained tight lipped about this particular detail - unwilling to share any part of it. Other small secrets about his past have trickled out in fragments over the past 24 hours—never fully explained and always a little vague, but still unmistakably genuine. He’s trying to open up, and you’re trying your best not to push him. The rest will come later, you tell yourself.

In the meantime, you have a much more immediate issue to deal with.

There is no other way to put it - Xavier has become adorably, maddeningly clingy. He hasn’t let you stray more than an arm’s length since yesterday, and if he weren't so infuriatingly old fashioned, you're pretty sure he'd have slept with his cock buried deep inside you last night. Instead, he’d settled for holding you close, your back pressed firmly to his chest, with his hand resting possessively between your thighs.

It’s not exactly a bad thing; in fact, you love him even more like this. Every time he teleports to your side instead of walking, you can’t help but laugh, as if the seconds saved are simply too precious for him to waste. You marvel at the confidence in his touch now, the way he explored your body this morning like he owns it. And you fall even deeper for him every time he willingly gives you some crumb of information about who he really is.

You're savoring every moment with him and wish you could pause time and stay like this, just the two of you, forever. But you have a plan today - one that he cannot be a part of because it would spoil the surprise.

"Xavier," You whisper, trying to pull away from his insistent kisses, "I really do have to go soon. I have to check in with Jenna. In person this time. You know how she feels about being kept waiting."

Xavier acts as if he didn’t hear you, keeping you pinned firmly against the front door. His lips find a sensitive spot on your neck, biting gently before soothing it with a warm flick of his tongue. By now, he’s already delayed you at least ten minutes with those distracting, lingering kisses—reminders of just how skilled he is with his mouth.

"Xavier," you say more firmly.

He huffs as he pulls back just far enough for his blue eyes to lock onto yours, and the pout in them is nearly enough to break you.

"Why are you calling me that?" He asks, his forehead dropping to yours as he holds you to him, his nose rubbing against yours.

"What?"

"You usually call me Xav now. Or bunny."

A soft laugh escapes your lips at his confused, slightly pouty tone. "Xavier… Xav, I really need to—"

"But...," He protests, ducking his head to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck again. "Let's go together. We're partners. I go where you go."

"It's supposed to be 24-hour surveillance, Xav. You know we both can't go. We already agreed on this yesterday."

"Yesterday was yesterday. Can't we make a new agreement today?"

The whine in his voice is killing you, but you really do want to surprise him. This birthday needs to be special; he deserves to feel special.

"Not this time, Xav."

Xavier's mouth trails down to your neck, each kiss sending a spark through you as his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. You have to bite your bottom lip to keep from moaning as you feel the insistent press of his hardness against you, even through the layers of clothing.

"Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?" he murmurs, his voice a low, promising whisper.

His mouth is pure temptation against your skin, making it hard to remember why you need to leave. But there will be time for this later—hopefully endless time, forever, if you have anything to say about it.

"Bunny, please." You breathe out, threading your fingers through his hair to gently tug his greedy lips away from your skin. "I have to get going. I'm going to be late."

Xavier pulls back and fixes you with the saddest puppy dog eyes that have ever existed. "I can't believe you'd actually...leave me alone in this house."

"I'll make it up to you when I get home, I promise. And I won't be gone long."

Xavier sighs and nods as his arms tighten around your waist. He lets out a defeated groan, and mumbles, "How long?"

"It's just a few hours. I'll be back before you know it." You smile gently at the boyish sulk that has spread across his face as he continues to mope and press small kisses along your jaw.

Finally he gives in and lets out a heavy sigh that fans out along your skin. “Alright,” he grumbles, releasing his hold on your waist and taking a step back.

The small bit of distance clears your head just enough, and you shake it slightly, trying to dispel the lingering desire coursing through you. God, this man has you so wrapped around his finger that you can barely think straight.

You flash him a quick smile and turn to open the door, but pause, throwing him a puzzled look as he moves to follow you.

"Xav, you know you can’t come with me, right?" you say, a mix of amusement and exasperation in your voice.

He nods, pulling the door open and gesturing for you to go ahead, slipping an arm around your waist as he guides you through. "I know," he says with a grin. "I’m just escorting you to the station. I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?"

It’s hard to believe that the man who used to vanish for days, even though he was just next door, now can’t imagine being apart from you for more than a few hours. It’s a clinginess you’re not used to—not from him, not from anyone—but oddly, it doesn’t bother you. There’s something deeply comforting about being wanted this much, and you can’t help but hope it never changes.

"I’ll miss you," you say, rising on your tiptoes to press a kiss to Xavier’s cheek as your train pulls into the station. "And try not to blow up the house while I’m gone, alright?"

He looks like he wants to argue, his hand tightening around yours, but then his eyes soften, and he gives you a gentle smile, slipping into his practiced, fake-husband role. “Come back soon, Mrs. Shen. Stay safe.”

He’s an exceptionally good fake husband. So convincing, in fact, that the word itself—fake—irritates you as it echoes in your mind on the train ride into the city. Your marriage to him is fake, yet with each passing day, it feels more real. The thought of it ending… It's almost unthinkable.

As soon as you step off the train and into the city, your plan for the day begins to unravel. The check-in with Jenna is mercifully brief, but her urgency to wrap up this mission leaves you tense and uneasy as you navigate sidewalks that are already too slick for comfort.

Snow in October is a rarity in Linkon, but here it is—thick, heavy flakes falling from the sky, dusting the sidewalks in a thin layer of white. It’s beautiful, but bitterly cold, and you're not dressed nearly warm enough for it.

You shiver as you wander from shop to shop, collecting things for Xavier’s birthday. A surprise party had crossed your mind, but inviting a bunch of fellow hunters to your covert mission apartment didn’t exactly scream discreet. So instead, you’ve opted for something simpler—something you hope he’ll love, even if it has the potential to set the place on fire.

But if it makes him happy? It just might be worth the risk.

The cake ingredients were easy enough to acquire, but the decorations were trickier, the items scattered throughout the city, rather than all together in one single shop. By the time you finish collecting everything for the perfect birthday cake, you're freezing and damp with snow. 

The warmth of the nearby cafe and the promise of something sweet was impossible to resist, and you sigh with relief as you dump your shopping bags onto a table and strip off your cold, damp jacket. A steaming cup of hot chocolate and three macarons later, your phone buzzes in your purse. You dig through the clutter of your wallet and keys to find your phone. It vibrates in your hand again as you pick it up and the screen glows with a notification:

(4) Voice Messages from Xavier

Xavier: Is it snowing there?

Xavier: We ran out of vinegar. Can you get some on your way home?

Xavier: Are you on your way back yet?

Xavier: Are you talking to someone outside right now?

You try not to smile at your phone like an idiot, but you fail as warmth floods through you at the sound of his voice. It’s amazing how a handful of words can make you feel so secure. There's something foreign but comforting about having someone care for you like this - someone waiting for you to get home. It's been a long time since you've had such a simple luxury, and you hadn't realized how much you've missed it.

You: I have to stop and pick up a few more things. But I'll be home soon.

Xavier: What do you want for dinner?

You're contemplating the least disastrous option as footsteps approach your table, and you glance up just in time to see a familiar face.

"Fancy meeting you here, miss bodyguard. There are easier ways to find me, you know. You don't have to stalk me." Rafayel smirks.

He slides into the chair across from you, meeting your wide-eyed gaze as he casually plucks a green macaron from your plate and takes a bite.

Has he always looked like that? you wonder as he flashes you a playful, disarming smile.

Seeing Rafayel is like looking at a masterpiece—he’s almost too perfect, so striking it’s hard to believe he’s real. You thought you’d grown used to his looks ages ago, that you had built up a certain immunity to it. But a few weeks apart have undone that, leaving you vulnerable to his effortless charm again.

Xavier is undeniably handsome, but Rafayel—even dressed simply in a sweater and dark pants—is goddamned majestic.

"Raf! Hey! Uh, what...what are you doing here?" You manage, surprised.

He's wearing his signature look of lazy amusement. His inky purple hair is slightly damp from snow, and he runs a hand through it as he takes another bite of your dessert.

"What do you mean? I come here all of the time. Shouldn't I be asking you that question? You're supposed to be locked away somewhere trying to catch a bad guy, yeah?"

"Oh, shut up. I haven't been locked away; the mission is just taking a while. I came into town today for a mission update." You say, and wave toward your bags, "and some shopping."

His eyes flick toward your bags, narrowing on the pastel letters spelling 'Happy Birthday' across the card that's peeking out.

"Mission update, hm? Interesting," he drawls as he pops the remaining bit of macaron in his mouth. "I'm surprised you escaped your tower, your highness. You haven't really bothered to respond to my texts for the past week. I was starting to think you'd been captured or that you got possessed by Wanderers or something."

"Uh," you stammer, quickly sliding another bag over the one he's eyeing, shifting awkwardly in your chair. "Sorry about that. I’ve just been... really busy."

Though his tone is playful, there's a hint of hurt beneath it that tugs at your heart, just as it always does. He’d deny it until he was blue in the face, but you know he can’t stand feeling ignored—and it sucks to know you're the reason for it this time.

He shrugs and leans back, draping his arms across the back of his chair as he casually crosses an ankle over his knee. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Secret missions and saving the world and whatever. Same as always."

The tired sound of resignation in his voice makes your smile falter, and you can only guess at what's really going on behind those galaxy eyes of his.

After countless late-night phone calls, you used to wonder if there might be something real between you and Rafayel. He was a flirt—that much had been clear from the start—and you’d brushed off his advances, wary of reading too much into them. But sometimes, when it was just the two of you, when the flirting grew a little more heated or the light touches became bolder and hungrier, you were almost certain there was something more. That he felt it, too.

But he never took it further, and the moment would fade as if it had never happened at all.

It doesn’t matter now, you remind yourself, tearing your gaze away to stare out the window. The sky has darkened, snow falling steadily against the glass, and your train will be leaving soon. Whatever might have been between you is just a memory now—one you are scared to dwell on any longer.

"We'll catch up when my mission is over, okay?" You swear, rushing the words as you stand up and shove your jacket on, reaching for the bags on the floor. "I'll come over, you can tell me all about your newest exhibit, and we'll make fun of Thomas together. I pinky promise."

"What?" His eyes widen, and he quickly stands, reaching out to still your hand as you go for another bag. "You’re leaving already? You just got here."

"Raf—" You sigh, guilt gnawing at you for more than one reason. Xavier is waiting. "I really do have to go. My train leaves soon."

His grip tightens around your wrist, his warm hand almost scorching hot as he stares at you with a rare flash of desperation in his eyes. It makes him look vulnerable for just a fraction of a moment, and something inside you tightens, torn between the urge to ease the ache you've caused in him and the need to put distance between yourself and old feelings you’d rather not think about.

"Let me walk you to your stop then," he says, his tone light and easy, but he's still holding your hand prisoner. His suggestion isn’t really a suggestion—it’s more of a demand.

"Fine," You say, rolling your eyes dramatically even as a smile forces its way onto your face. "But make yourself useful. Help me carry this stuff."

Rafayel grins and lets go of your wrist, bending to scoop up most of the bags. "Jeez, these are pretty heavy. I better get some kind of awesome reward for all of this labor."

A chill wind and swirling snowflakes greet you as you step out of the café, making you mutter a curse under your breath. If you’d known it was going to snow, you’d have worn a real coat.

"I hate snow," you grumble as you fall into step beside him.

"What do you mean?" he grins, bumping your hip with his. "Snow is like magic. Look around!" 

He gestures to the snow-dusted trees and buildings blanketed in white. "Each flake is unique, perfect in its own way, turning everything ordinary into something miraculous, if only for a moment. And...it also looks really pretty in your hair."

His enthusiasm is infectious, and his words make you feel warm despite the chill wind cutting through the thin material of your jacket. Maybe you don’t actually hate snow after all.

The walk to the station goes by in a blur as you catch up on the last two weeks: gossiping neighbors, Thomas, how cold the city is this year, his new exhibition, your boring surveillance work—keeping it light and casual.

It almost feels like nothing has changed—the two of you chatting, him cracking jokes and teasing you to get a reaction, and the way your stomach flutters every time he brushes against you. He doesn’t do that by accident; you're sure of it.

A pang of longing hits as you realize just how much you’ve missed this. Despite how he gets under your skin like no one else, his friendship means more than you’d ever care to admit. 

Yes, he drives you crazy, and your feelings for him are confusing—but he’s always had this way of making the world seem brighter, lighter, and somehow more beautiful than you could ever see it on your own.

"It's so cold. I’m frozen solid," you declare, setting your bags down on the bench outside the train station. You’re about ten minutes early, and the air is only getting colder. Your fingers sting with the chill, and you blow on them in a vain attempt to warm up.

Rafayel sets the rest of the bags beside yours with a chuckle, shaking his head, "You're right, it is cold. Too cold for my delicate hands." He pouts, his brows knitting together as he exaggerates a shiver and opens his arms wide. “Hold me.”

"Raf..." You laugh, amused and exasperated.

"Come on, cutie. Don't you know how body heat works?" He quirks a brow, stepping toward you. "You wouldn't let me freeze to death, would you?"

His smile is dazzling, effortlessly charming, and completely irresistible—the kind that melts your resolve into a mushy mess. It’s the sort of smile that can't be refused.

You reluctantly return his smile, already mostly deaf to the alarm bells ringing in your ears, and step into his embrace. “Okay, okay. Just for a little while.”

Rafayel laughs, a warm sound rumbling through his chest as he wraps one arm tightly around you, pulling you close. With his other hand, he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing gently over your cheek and neck. The sharp, clean scent of him—citrus and sea salt—fills your senses as you lean into him, soaking in his warmth.

The alarm in the back of your mind grows louder, more frantic, the closer you get. Yet the soft thrum of his heartbeat, syncing with yours, drowns it out, and the warmth of his breath against your skin is enough to silence the knot of warning you feel in your stomach. The familiar scent that clings to him wraps around you like a shield, blocking out even the smallest of doubts.

"Hold still," he says softly, his fingers threading through your hair as he gently combs it out. "You've got snowflakes in your hair."

A sarcastic remark hovers on the tip of your tongue—of course you have snowflakes in your hair, he does too, it's snowing—but the warmth in his eyes as he strokes your hair holds you silent. His fingers are gentle as he carefully smooths your hair back even as more snowflakes continue to fall, and he leans even closer to see his task clearly in the dim evening light.

Your cheeks flush as he moves closer, leaning into you, and a familiar warmth builds inside of you, making it hard to breathe evenly. You turn your head away from his hand, but he frowns and gently cups your cheek, tilting your face up to his.

"Hey," he scolds gently, "I'm not done. Don't move."

But his hand doesn’t return to your hair. Instead, he gently caresses your reddening cheek, a soft smile spreading across his face. "You're being pretty shy," he murmurs.

And you are. No sarcastic remarks or witty comebacks come to mind, not with the way he’s pressed against you, the softness of his touch on your cheek, and with his face so close to yours. The only sound you can make is a quiet hum that doesn't mean anything at all.

His eyes roam from your cheek to your ears and down to your neck, and he slides his hand along the same path. "Hmm. Your cheeks, and your ears, and even your neck...are all so cold. Do you want me to help warm you up?"

It’s not just warmth in his eyes anymore; it’s heat, and your stomach flips as he drops the tone of his voice to a low purr. The feel of his warm breath against the side of your neck makes your pulse quicken and your own breath catches in your throat.

"Is it working?" He whispers, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks.

You nod, barely breathing, as the heat that has built inside of you threatens to ignite into a blaze, your body trembling as you press against him.

“What about here?” Rafayel asks, shifting to the other side of your neck. His warm breath caresses your cool skin before he nuzzles close, trailing slow, lingering kisses from your ear to your neck.

He’s never kissed you before; of that, you’re certain. Yet somehow, in this moment, it’s as if you’re reliving a memory. His warmth, his scent, his touch, the way his body presses against yours—it feels natural, achingly familiar, as if you’ve known it all along. You could lose yourself here, drown in the sensation, and never surface again.

You’re trembling, but not from the cold, as Rafayel pulls back, his hands gently cupping your face. “You’re so quiet,” he says, his voice laced with curiosity. “I haven't the slightest idea of what’s going on in that head of yours. Have my awesome heating skills truly rendered you speechless?”

All you can manage is a shaky laugh, more like a breathless gasp, unable to form a single coherent word as a wave of déjà vu hits you, overwhelming and intense.

"Looking at my bodyguard..." He pauses, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "I can't tell if she's happy right now..." Leaning in, he brushes a soft kiss against the corner of your lips, then locks eyes with you. "Or maybe she's not?"

You stare, wide-eyed, unable to break free from the grip of the dizzying familiarity of this all— frozen in place by how deeply, unexplainably right it all feels.

"Raf, I..." You trail off, lost for words, unsure of what you're trying to express, but knowing you have to say something. Anything. That you can't do this with him, or that you need more of him. Or that, sometimes, two things can be true.

Before you can untangle your thoughts or find the words to express your conflicted feelings, he silences you with a kiss. It’s gentle at first, tentative—his lips brushing softly against yours. Then the kiss deepens, his mouth pressing to yours with an intensity that feels raw, as if the longing comes from the depths of his soul.

You’re drowning now, clinging to him as if he’s your anchor amid the waves of emotion and memory crashing over you. For a moment, time and space collapse, and it feels like this has always been your life, as if this is just one second in a lifetime spent with him like this.

But the brush of his tongue against yours snaps you back to reality, and you tense in his arms, your hand moving to the back of his neck to gently pull him away.

"What?" he whispers, breaking the kiss as he rests his forehead against yours. "Do you want me to stop?"

His voice sounds so tender and hopeful that it breaks your heart a little, and your stomach twists with guilt as you lean away from his embrace.

In another life, you’d beg him to keep going. In another universe, you’d be his completely—mind, body, and soul. You can feel the way his heart calls your name.

But not this life; not in this universe. In all of the world, there is only one call your heart answers to, and it is Xavier's.

“Raf,” you whisper, your voice soft and aching, “I’m so sorry, but—”

"I know what you're going to say," Raf cuts you off before you even finish, hurt replacing the warmth in his eyes, "Sooo you don't have to say it."

He drops his hands from your face and steps back, and the cold wind that cuts through you is nothing compared to the burning ache flaring to life in your chest.

He runs a hand through his hair, shaking loose a few snowflakes, and lets out a bitter laugh. “I guess things with the ‘fake’ husband aren’t so fake anymore, yeah?”

"I love him," you admit, the words escaping before you can stop them, leaving you stunned. You’d never said it out loud before, never dared to voice what you felt. But now it’s out, and there's no taking it back.

Rafayel laughs again, a choked sound that gets stuck in his throat, and looks up at the sky as if searching for an answer there. After a moment, he groans softly before his eyes return to yours, "Oh, that intense, huh?"

You nod, silent, unwilling to say anything more for fear of deepening the hurt in his eyes. The few feet of space between you feel insurmountable, and you itch to close the distance, to reach out and comfort him somehow.

Rafayel sighs, his hand motioning toward the empty air, as if Xavier were standing here, too. "Is he... is he better than me?"

"No, Raf," You groan, the ache in your heart burning even brighter, "He's not better. It's just...different. I can't explain it."

Rafayel looks away again, his lips pressing together in a tight line, before turning back to you with an uncharacteristic seriousness in his eyes. "Just...promise you won't forget about me, okay?"

Tears sting your cheeks, and the hurt, desperate sound of his plea is all the proof you need to understand that a broken heart can keep breaking.

"Oh, Raf, I could never forget about you," you promise, stepping closer. You reach for his arm just as the train pulls into the station, the loudspeaker announcing its arrival.

"I won’t," you swear, ignoring the blaring sound. "Never."

He steps back from your outstretched fingers, and his voice and eyes harden as he replies, "You will. You always do."

The train stops, passengers streaming past, and you open your mouth, trying to reassure him—but no words come. A wave of uncertainty hits as his cryptic words echo in your mind, and you fail to make sense of them.

The option to reach for him, to pull him close and comfort him, is stolen from you as he turns around and starts walking back in the direction you came.

"Get on the train," he calls over his shoulder, "Don't keep Romeo waiting."

You hesitate, your fist clenching as your heart and mind fight for control. Watching him walk away feels like losing a part of yourself, though you can't quite understand why.

You board the train with tears in your eyes, and search through your purse for your phone. You send a quick message to Xavier to let him know you'll be there soon, and try to collect the pieces of your heart as the train speeds toward home.

Xavier chose you yesterday. And today, you chose him.

This star isn't going anywhere. 

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 6

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

Did he just say that? He just said that. Right?

I wondered if I had somehow inserted that last excerpt from Dr. Miller’s mouth into the conversation on my own. Had my mind made it up because I wanted him so badly?

He was smiling now, not at all able to fight it back. I could tell that he was attempting to without avail.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” His voice caused my knees to part under the table. I didn’t know if it was instinctual or if the muscles in my legs had suddenly just turned to Jello but I literally felt myself melt down further into the oversized mahogany chair.

“That, uh..” I toyed with a strand of my hair for a half-a-second in my nervous tic, “That makes me a lot of things.”

“Another round?” The waitress appeared out of thin air and I was about to speak but Dr. Miller responded, with a simple, “We’ll take the check.”

I wanted to stay. When he was so eager to get the check after just one drink I couldn’t fight off the look of discouragement that was written all over my face. I knew what I must have looked like and I couldn’t reel it in. And then I thought about it some more. Maybe he was getting the check because he wanted to go somewhere else.

Like his house. It was wishful thinking.

“Stop looking like someone just shit in your cereal.” His accompanying laughter made me grin. There had to be something up his sleeve. This night couldn’t end with such an obscene, suggestive comment and lead nowhere.

“Didn’t want another drink?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“It’s a school night. We both have to be up early.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock.”

Dr. Miller gave a chuckle again and then looked up as the waitress handed him a black, leather case with the tab for two drinks tucked inside. He held up a finger, slipped a one hundred dollar bill inside and then handed it to her.

“I’ll be back with your change,” replied the woman.

“It’s yours.” He looked me in the eye as he spoke to her again and then began rising to his feet as he reached for his coat.

I followed his lead and allowed him to lead us out of the place.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

Was the night really over? On that note? On that red hot amorous note that had been left with a teetering, ‘dot, dot, dot’ next to it. To be continued? Would it?

Stop freaking out! My brain was screaming, shrieking; throwing a fit like a five year old in Toys ‘R Us that didn’t get the toy she wanted to play with. On the outside I smiled, gripped my keys and tried not to stare for too long as I walked beside Dr. Miller.

“You never gave an elaboration to your response,” he said to me once we stood by the driver’s side door in front of the old church.

I looked down and back up. “Should I elaborate?”

“I’d like to know where we stand.” He looked at me with certainty but, again, there was the slightest hint of uneasiness in his posture. Dr. Miller was tense in his shoulders and it traveled up his neck into his jaw as he waited.

“So would I,” I responded, taking a breath. I couldn’t look away from those brown eyes that were swelled black around the pupil. I knew what that meant - at least I thought I did.

“Well, how about this?” He took a step in my direction so there were only a few inches between us. “If you want to discuss it further, I’m opening up my office hours during our regularly scheduled class time on Thursday. Seven-thirty, I’ll walk you into the building, myself.”

I cleared my throat. Of course I was going to go. “Thursday.” I gave a little nod, wishing I had something to say that would affect him as much as he was currently affecting me.

“Email me if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” I said right away. My chest heaved beneath my jacket and I opened my mouth to speak. At first nothing came out but then I finally asked the question that had been on my mind for the past seven or eight minutes, “Was that true what you said?”

“Which part?”

“About the elevator.” I swallowed hard now and Dr. Miller laughed again.

“Save all of your questions for Thursday at seven-thirty.” He took a step toward me and then nodded toward my vehicle, “Now get in your car so I know you’re safe.”

I looked at his lips. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to lean in and see if he reciprocated, but from what I could tell of Dr. Miller, he was a forthright individual. If he wanted to kiss me, he would kiss me. He wanted to tell me about his racy musings when we were alone in the elevator. He wanted me to meet him alone at the school on Thursday. If he didn’t lean in for a kiss that means he didn’t want one.

Yet, I told myself.

I hit the button on my key fob and heard the click as my headlights flickered to let everyone in the immediate area know I had just unlocked the car.

“Goodnight (Y/N).” Dr. Miller gave a pained smile that emphasized the crow’s feet on the outskirts of his eyes.

“Goodnight Dr. Miller.” He didn’t correct me this time or ask me to refer to him as Joel. I knew at least a part of him liked having the title roll off my willing lips to acknowledge his authority over me.

Shutting my car door might as well have been shutting the jail cell. I gave a wave and started up the vehicle before reluctantly backing away from where he now stood on the walkway.

Even as I drove down the road, I glanced in my rearview mirror until I could no longer see his figure there and then finally turned the corner to head towards home.

The next day-and-a-half had me worrying about myself. My behavior felt obsessive. I had inspected every social media outlet in search of Joel Miller but there was nothing. He didn't even have a LinkedIn. That one, I had to say, surprised me.

No Snapchat. No Instagram. No Facebook. Nothing.

For my own senseless reasons it frustrated me. I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to see a collection of pictures from his life over the course of the past decade. I decided I was spoiled for having access to just about anyone else's life I wanted to dig into.

Maybe I should put my profiles on private. It was Dr. Miller's casual piece of advice. Anyone could dig into my life and I was too concerned about getting “likes” than I was my own privacy. 

I'm a walking cliche of today's pre-thirty generation. 

Seeing as though my plan to gain access to Dr. Miller's life fell flat on the pavement, I carefully adjusted the private settings on all of my accounts. It had been a suggestion echoed to me by numerous friends and professionals that I hadn't taken seriously; yet here I was after one fleeting proposition from a man I just met making the meager change to my digital identity.

After work on Wednesday I found myself driving past The Library. My eyes scanned for the black Mercedes and I was actually satisfied in knowing that Dr. Miller wasn't out at the bar - at least when I drove by. It allowed my brain to rest rather than toy with the idea of dropping everything to go search inside for him.

Yes, I was officially obsessing. It felt like a violation of not only Dr. Miller's privacy, but also my own sanity.

It didn't stop me from repeating the action on the following afternoon after work. My amateur investigations weren't particularly thorough, though I assumed his car would stand out if he had been around, especially when my eyes were actively seeking out one specific automobile. 

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, however. It was Thursday. It was the evening I would be attending Dr. Miller's office hours.

Office hours. I was sure he hadn't actually posted any office hours. I was going to be alone with him.

In all of my years I hadn't had an off-kilter fantasy. My brain had never fancied the idea of taboo love affairs, or men in uniform or any of the typical sexual scenarios that I had heard others speak about.

Now, the idea of letting my handsome, older professor take me on his desk was enough to ignite a fire in every single part of my body - my head, my heart, my soul, my.. everything.

I wouldn't deny him. Correction, I couldn't deny him. I had created the scenario in my mind time after time. It was far too heavy a weight on my shoulders by now to just shy away from. I wanted Dr. Miller in the worst way.

Tori, my roommate, eyed me suspiciously as I exited my bedroom that evening. My clothes were casual, though rather than a sweatshirt and my white Converse sneakers I wore knee-high, brown boots and a tight, gray sweater that revealed just a bit of cleavage. 

My ponytail was replaced by perfectly straightened hair and just a tad more than the average amount of makeup I typically sported. Yes, if our roles had been reversed I would have had questions. Unless we were going out somewhere I always slummed it in the most comfortably acceptable clothes I could manage.

“Umm..” My roommate’s eyebrows pressed together, “Do you have a date I don't know about?”

I decided to meet her questions in the middle. “I'm going to a quick study session.” Tori gave me an ‘I don't believe you’ look and so I went on, “And then I'm going out with a guy I met at school.”

My professor, I added in my mind.

Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth. But she seemed to believe it and so I smiled when she offered me good luck.

“I'll fill you in,” I lied, knowing whatever happened that evening I would surely be keeping to myself - at least for the time being. Although I loathed the ‘YOLO’ expression, there was a time for everything and so I reminded myself, you only live once.

The drive to Woodbridge had my stomach in knots. I didn't know what was going to happen. Suddenly I wondered if I would even know what to do. I was twenty-seven. I had had sex before - plenty of it actually. I wasn't a nun.. but I wasn't a freak either. What was Dr. Miller expecting? He had certainly been around the block a time or two.

The faintest hint of sweat coated my hairline, a result of my budding anxiety. I couldn't wait, but then again I was so completely out of my league. I had never met a man so sure of himself. The guys I had dated, we were on an even playing field. I felt like a fan in the stands of a rock concert that was just called on stage to sing with Bon Jovi.

Stop putting him on such a pedestal, I told myself; though I truly couldn't help it. All reason had betrayed me.

The black Mercedes was there when I pulled into the lot and I saw Dr. Miller casually step out of his vehicle the second my blinker winked in favor of the parking lot on the left off the main road that cut through campus.

I parked closer to the building and slowly climbed out of the car as he approached. I knew I was a mess. There was no hiding what I was feeling. I was sure he might even be able to hear the thudding of my heart in my chest.

“I offered to walk you in,” he reminded me, to which I nodded as we walked in silence through the threshold of the academic enclosure.

Dr. Miller walked with a purpose toward the elevator in the main lobby, eagerly pressing the down button that would lead us to the basement where his office and our lecture hall sat vacant.

I thought of his words from Tuesday night at the bar as the doors opened and we entered. There were no other people in the building that I saw. There were no cameras in the elevator. As the doors shut with a resounding thump I side-glanced at my professor.

Out of my peripheral vision I could see how tensely straight he stood. His eyes were straight ahead; focused. He didn't blink or move. It almost looked as if he was holding his breath.

Please. I begged him in my mind, though I have to say when the doors reopened and we emerged to the basement level I was disappointed that he didn't immediately try to jump my bones. The opportunity had presented itself for Dr. Miller to do all the dirty things he claimed to have been craving and he hadn't even flinched on the ride. It was okay, now, wasn't it? Now that he knew I was a willing participant.

You're being ridiculous. I was currently questioning my every thought, my every word, my every move.

The stillness of the typically buzzing building heightened my anxiety. It felt as if butterflies were having a rave inside of my stomach. The only sound that gave a mild echo off the walls of the vacant corridor were the gentle clicks of Dr. Miller's shoes.

My temperature felt like it was rising with each door we passed. I counted them to maintain some level-headedness.

One. Two. Three. Four.

When the fifth door came into clear view, Dr. Miller reached a hand into his khakis and removed a ring of keys. 

Next to the oversized, wooden door was a black piece of plastic with Dr. Miller’s name etched into it. Below his name was the door number: 007.

Of course it is, I thought, almost smiling and rolling my eyes. The heat returned to my cheeks, however, when my gaze met his from just a few inches away.

I swallowed hard when the silver key eased into the door handle, glancing down for just a second, before regaining his eyes.

There was a moment of hesitation on Dr. Miller's part before he finally turned the key and let the door swing open from a little push of his forearm.

“After you.” His arm extended outward now and the light automatically went on as I crossed through the threshold. “Can I get you something to drink?” 

He waltzed in, loosening his tie a bit as he rounded an oversized, espresso desk. 

“Umm.. no.” I shook my head, “No I'm fine.”

The corner of Dr. Miller's mouth tipped up in a little smirk. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned to a chair across from where he made himself comfortable and leaned forward with both hands folded on top of the desk.

I did as I was told. On the surface I thought I appeared like I had my shit together; like I wasn't imagining him pinning me down on the desk and having his way with me; like I wasn't conflicted about whether my feelings on the matter were wrong or right; or if he could lose his job if something did happen between us.

The man had a way of building tension. The brief moment of silence that lingered was deafening. His stare was almost too much for me. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn't find the words to kick off a conversation.

“I assume you still have the question in your mind.” Dr. Miller finally spoke. “From the other night.”

My chest heaved up and down once from a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. I opened my mouth to speak but I was interrupted.

“Dr. Miller!” An overzealous young man waved a stack of papers and held an IPad under his arm as he entered through the open door from the hallway.

I held my breath for half-a-second. It was Trevor Nelson. I had had two classes with him and his sheer presence alone was enough to drive me crazy. Right then, he was the bane of my existence. What was he doing here?

His stammering repetition of Dr. Miller’s name almost led me to a physical eye roll.

“Good evening.” Dr. Miller extended his arm out and Trevor eagerly shook it. “Remind me again of your-”

“Trevor,” he more-or-less shouted, glancing at me briefly.

I could see Dr. Miller was taken off-guard, though it was his organically, suave nature that allowed him to get through the unwanted conversation with ease.

“What can I do for you Trevor?”

“I just wanted to discuss a few points from the reading if you had a moment,” Trevor said, “And seeing as though you sent out an email with office hours I suspected you had the time.”

Office hours. He did send out his office hours.

Fuck! Was I all wrong?

“Yes,” Dr. Miller motioned to a second chair beside me. “I wasn't expecting you,” he admitted, “I sent out a sign up sheet-”

“My Wifi kept malfunctioning,” Trevor went on, cutting him off. “I tried. And that's why I printed some things out. I just assumed you would be here anyway and..” He shrugged and then looked at me for the first time, “I'm surprised to see you here.”

Dr. Miller huffed a laugh now. He looked at me with raised eyebrows as if to study what my reaction would be. What would I say to Trevor’s snide remark?

His very tone and uppity attitude was the precise reason why I couldn't stand him.

“I had questions about the reading, as well.” I remained cordial. There was no way I was about to air out a petty reply that would make me seem bitter or immature in my ways.

“Well.. great. We can bounce questions off one another then.” Trevor forced a smile that, while mum, seemed to have the same whiny tone as his nasally voice. 

“I blocked off twenty minute time slots,” Dr. Miller reminded him. “I have another appointment at 7:50.”

My stomach dropped and our eyes caught one another’s. He winked as Trevor took a fleeting peek at his watch with as much disappointment as I knew my face had suddenly been white-washed with.

Despite the wink I couldn't tell if he was serious or lying. Was Trevor really fucking up my twenty minutes alone with Dr. Miller? Was there another student coming in at ten of eight?

As my classmate began his vexatious ramblings I felt a burning hostility brewing in my core. At one point Dr. Miller's foot grazed mine beneath the table but he didn't look in my direction as it happened.

I decided I had to harness my disdain, which I knew was heightened to an unwarranted degree for poor Trevor. I actively told myself to stop being a jerk.

The genuine question that I had from the reading the other night popped into my head. Hallelujah, reason prevailed.

“If it's not too morbid, do you think whoever killed the girl on campus might be suffering from Antisocial Personality Disorder?” It was my first genuine attempt to engage in the conversation. 

Typically, I truly did enjoy the subject matter. That night, however, my mind was deep in the gutter. That's why I had to run with the lone, pertinent thought that inhabited my brain.

Dr. Miller turned and a small smile formed on his face. The dimples that drove me crazy were out in full force and I could see he was intrigued by my question.

“Interesting.” He leaned back in his seat and folded one leg over the other. “Depending on the motive I could entertain it as a possibility.”

I smiled wide, enjoying his mild praise.

“That is an interesting question,” Trevor added.

My eyes shifted toward Trevor for a second as he eyed the ceiling as he pondered my question. When I looked back, Dr. Miller had tipped his mouth up in a half-smirk again.

When Trevor came back down to earth, our professor motioned to the clock above me on the wall. “I'm sorry to kick you out.” Dr. Miller looked directly at Trevor now, “I think we've ended this session with a valid question that we can open with during Tuesday's class.” He rose to his feet and extended an arm in my classmate’s direction, “Sit on that idea over the weekend. Bring some notes to class.” He glanced at me and added, “I think that was a great topic of conversation Ms. (Y/LN).”

“Thank you.” I gave a little nod and Trevor appeared appeased as the three of us began a natural shift toward the door.

“Thank you for your time Dr. Miller.” The young man smiled and tucked his IPad back under his arm before vacating the room ahead of me. He turned for a second and asked, “Do you think they'll catch whoever killed that girl?”

My gaze switched from Trevor to Dr. Miller and he sucked his teeth while folding his hands together on top of the table. “I'm no investigator,” he said, “But if you want my honest opinion..” a breath exited through his nose and he finished with a simple, “No. No, I don't.”

“Why not?” Trevor leaned an arm on the door and Dr. Miller laughed while motioning to the clock again.

“Save it for another time.”

Like Trevor, I wanted to know his reasoning; though I didn't dig deeper into it right then. As intriguing and scary as it all was, other emotions were tugging at my core.

“I'll see you in class,” Trevor said, though I didn't know if he was speaking to me or our professor. 

I wasn't so quick to leave, but I knew it was time. I hadn't expected Dr. Miller to actually post office hours so it was probable that there was another student about to arrive.

Was it a female student? Yep, sparked jealousy inside of me.

When Dr. Miller didn't immediately make a plea for me to stay, I wandered through the open door toward the hallway.

And then I jumped. It was almost inhuman how fast his arm wrapped around my midsection and pulled me back into the room with him with the ferocity of a wolf mauling a lamb.

A gasp escaped my lips when he turned me around to face him as the door closed and my back planted against it. It was all one giant obscure action; a whirlwind of tension released when our bodies were finally pressed up against one another's and I was left panting.

“I thought you had another-”

His finger found my lips to shut me up. A wicked smile advertised his true intentions and his blackened eyes could have set me ablaze right there.

“You are as gullible as your friend Trevor.”

Before I could respond his lips crashed against mine. They literally crashed leaving the back of my head slamming against the thick wood behind me. I barely felt it. 

What I did feel was a rush of adrenaline and desire and a thirst for the man that I couldn't suppress - not when his hands were roaming my body and his tongue aggressively penetrated my lips.

I could barely keep up. I had built the moment up so much and now that I was wrapped up in the middle of this avid tornado of passion it had far surpassed my fantasies.

My arms wrapped high around his shoulders, though he quickly pinned them above my head against the door with one hand. His other hand hastily fiddled in his pocket to remove a set of keys, at which time my cheeks blushed a more fiery red when I saw his arousal peaking the front of his khakis.

My eyes were the only part of me capable of moving freely. The rest of me was a willing prisoner to the force of his body against mine. I never wanted to be released.

Dr. Miller's key slipped into the slot in the center of the doorknob and a click secured us behind closed doors.

With an echoing clank the keys hit the floor and my aching, vacant lips were welcomed back with the immediate warmth of his. When his hand released both of mine on the door my arms instinctively wrapped around him again. I was on cloud nine; in a state of mindless bliss. For the first time, possibly ever, I thought of nothing and just acted without reserve.

It was only when I struggled to breathe that I took a parting breath, allowing air back into my aching lungs. Dr. Miller groaned with the brief separation though it gave him the second he needed to wrestle with the button on my jeans.

In that one swift movement of his fingers he had access to everything I had to offer. I bit my lip in anticipation of him touching me for the first time. Just before my eyes were forced shut I saw his hungry eyes drinking in every part of me.

Dr. Miller's over-pronounced sigh accompanied the sensation of his first two fingers as they made home against my most sensitive areas.

I moaned as quietly as possible, though he made the task more difficult when his lips grazed the area just beneath my ear.

I let out a louder moan when his fingers pushed inside of me and his hot breath landed on my neck, the other cupped over my mouth and my eyes suddenly snapped open.

“Shhh..” Dr. Miller gave a hushed reminder that we weren't exactly in our own private love shack while his fingers continued their exploration. “We wouldn't want Trevor to wander back here because he heard a suspicious noise would we?”

Slowly, his hand was removed from across my mouth. I reached a hand down toward his waist but he swatted it away.

“You're not ready for that yet,” he growled, still speaking in a voice just above a whisper.

I was paralyzed. Paralyzed by pleasure. Paralyzed by the thrill. Paralyzed by my raw attraction to Dr. Miller. At that moment I didn't think I could speak if I tried.

A brand new combination of nervousness and arousal made home within me when his free hand now lingered on my throat. The barely-there pressure added something to what I had been feeling all along.

“You like that?” It was closer to a statement than a question but I choked out a whispered, “Yes,” in response.

There was a shake in my legs that I couldn't relieve. Dr. Miller felt it. There was no way he didn't. I was writhing beneath him against the door as the distance between my parted feet on the floor widened with the spread of my legs.

It didn't take long to reach my climax that was induced by his fingers, his hand on my throat, and the dirty nothings he whispered as he encouraged my impending orgasm.

I struggled to maintain my composure. As the first curse word escaped my lips his hand more forcefully clamped over my mouth again, though all the same his lips found my ear again as he encouraged me to, “Let it out,” in a hiss of whisper.

That was the final push. Fireworks might as well have gone off in my lower half as my muffled moans sounded off against the warmth of his palm. My eyes alternated between open and closed in those final seconds and Dr. Miller's provocative growling voice took my right back to the dream I’d had. This was no dream.

The shot of adrenaline had filtered through my body, numbing my limbs like some type of drug had just been injected into my veins.

Fuck! For several seconds I could only focus on the pleasure as I breathed heavily in and out in an attempt to remain quiet.

When I began to come down off the high. All of my senses began to return and I could hear my own breathing as his generous hand warily crept back out from beneath my damp panties.

A smile formed on my face as he stared at him. I was hot and disheveled. My pants were still down off my waist and as I went to tug them back up Dr. Miller stopped me.

“Oh we're not done yet,” he assured me, glancing over his shoulder toward the oversized desk. When he turned back around he reached for my hand and towed me across the room. I felt like I was floating.

When he made himself comfortable in the oversized chair, I just stared at him. With the two fingers that had just been inside of me he waved for me to come to him and pulled me down in for another heated kiss before whispering against my lips. “Now you're going to get down on your knees and return the favor.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @michilandcof @morallyinept @akah565 @cesspitoflove @brittmb115

[softboo]

love me, ever so gently - part II

pairing: austin x reader

summary: you recently moved to a new apartment, making some new eccentric friends along the way. but what you didn't expect was falling in love with a stranger. a stranger you somehow couldn't stop thinking about

words: 2.8k

warnings: more hints of domestic abuse, dark themes in relationships

author's note: soo i made a part II and i made it so quickly that it kinda blended into part III. i also want to say thank you to everyone who read part I because my heart melted. like i was already excited when it hit more than zero lol. but wow thank you so much!! it truly means the world :3 i hope you like this next part heh c:

previous part // next part

part II

you piled the books onto the cart, the last group needed for organizing before the store closed. today was pretty slow as customers came and went, but your thoughts were somewhere else. on someone else rather.

it's been almost a week since the fair and this stranger was eating away in your head. maybe some part of you wished you would see him again. but what were the odds of that happening? the days started to blend into each other and you were so afraid that if you stopped thinking about him, just even for a little bit, the memory would disappear.

the more time that passed, the less you thought he would show up again.

but you missed seeing him. you wished for anything just to talk to him just a little bit longer than the last. you felt crazy for feeling so attached to him, but there was something so pulling about him. the way he would listen to you talk about the stories you loved and hated. the way his eyes would just gaze right through you, like you were someone he had missed seeing.

oceans filled your head, the calm waters flowing through your heart. but knowing it was going to disappear just as quickly as it came.

because he was only temporary. the waters weren't yours to stay in.

the backdoor swung open and you heard george hobbling over at you, almost tipping you both off balance as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

"look who it is! my favorite girl!" he smiled, completely disrupting your last task before you had to close the store. he flashed a toothy grin as cassandra appeared right behind him.

"george please, you're going to fall on the poor girl." her tone annoyed, but with a hint of concern. "do me a favor and go to the storage room to get the books for the events before i throw something at you."

she shot him a glare before he waved goodbye to the both of you. cassandra came towards you, picking up a few of the novels on the cart to help you finish.

"you're still thinking about him, dear?"

you quickly turned your head to look at her, eyes widening at the sudden accusation.

"how did—?"

"sweetie, it's written all over your face. and you've had that same expression since the fair. i'm not clueless."

you gave her a weak smile, confirming exactly what she thought. you couldn't look at her now though, feeling as if she could see right through you if you did.

"am i crazy cassie?"

she let out a small chuckle, settling the last book down on its appropriate shelf. she shook her head.

"no, you're just being young. and there's nothing wrong with that." she reassured you, not realizing that she completely finished organizing the rest of your books.

"if he ever decides to show up again, then you'll have another chance with him. if not, then you learn to move on."

that last sentence was something a part of you didn't really want to accept. your heart was still holding on to that possibility. but the more days that passed since the fair, the more you wavered on your certainty.

~ ~

"there's only two new neighbors cassie... why did we make three welcome gifts?" evelyn stated, all four of you were now squeezed into your apartment, staring at the gifts on the kitchen counter.

"because the other one is for our favorite girl!" george exclaimed, jumping up to give you the last gift. cassandra swatted at his arm, glaring at him.

"you ruined the surprise." cassandra remarked, as you gave them a weak smile.

it's been almost a month now and the thought of you ever seeing him again was fading even more. you reassured them that you appreciated the surprise anyway and george pulled you into a hug.

"if i only knew it was for her, i would've baked more cookies." evelyn stated, but you truly did appreciate the gesture regardless. they all knew something was wrong for awhile, but cassandra was the only one that knew why.

"it's okay, thank you. really. i love the gift."

cassandra caressed your cheek again as evelyn added, "if anything, i can bake more tonight and stop by to drop them off."

you smiled and nodded. "i would love that."

evelyn gave you a warm smile with her rosy little cheeks. she loved cooking for all of you, even remembering the first time she gave you your personal welcome gift when you moved in. and you remember it vividly because george ate half of those cookies.

"alright let's go drop off these gifts," cassandra stated, "george and i will go downstairs. you two will go to the one across the hall."

you all held your respective gifts and walked to where you needed to go. you and evelyn approached the apartment, evelyn knocking on the door as you held onto the gift.

you could even smell the cookies inside as it fogged a bit of the plastic, knowing how much hard work evelyn put in them. george made the little welcome sign, cassandra wrote the card with all the events planned for the year, and you placed two books. each from the ones that the store no longer needed.

it took a while for someone to answer, evelyn had to knock a few times but soon enough, the door swung open and suddenly something caught in your throat.

there she was. the same dark haired woman from a month ago. you couldn't believe it, the fact that she was your new neighbor. the fact that you saw her a month later instead of him.

and the fact that she stood there, her eyes in flames as you both somehow were at fault for knocking on her door.

"how can i help you?"

her tone was dark, it almost felt like she spat at you. evelyn noticed the slight negative connotation in her voice and opened her mouth to speak, but you came in first.

"we just wanted to drop off a gift to welcome you to the building." you gritted through a fake smile and evelyn saw you tense up. she just couldn't figure out if it was from annoyance or something else.

"oh how thoughtful," her voice was so empty. there was nothing behind it other than wanting to push you both out of her apartment.

"we also added a list of events that happen in the building like a cooking class, taught by—"

"my boyfriend and i are not interested thank you."

she cut you off again and you felt that spark of a flame growing right inside your heart.

"i'll take the gift though," and the woman snatched the beautiful piece from your hands. "austin loves this kind of thing."

she gave you a big toothy grin, something that vaguely made you uneasy but also reminded you of a poorly painted clown. she didn't even say thank you before shutting the door on your faces.

you couldn't even fathom any words, just blankly stared at the closed door. you glanced over at evelyn who was as shocked as you, opening her mouth to speak.

"what a bitch."

~ ~

your mind was racing as you ate your dinner, your favorite tv show playing in the background. the thought of austin's girlfriend being your new neighbor placed a sour taste in your mouth. like you couldn't catch a breathe as the whole situation wrapped around your throat. you had no idea if austin was living with her, but if he was, you weren't sure if you could face him with her breathing down your neck.

or if she'd even allow him to be in the same vicinity as anyone else but her.

the things you saw during the fair flashed in your head, the bruise on his hand. the tight grip of her arm around his. you shook your head, doubting that that possibility could be even true.

but if it was...? you weren't sure how you would react.

a sudden knock on your door broke you from your thoughts as you slowly got up from your chair to check who it was. as you looked through the peephole, you didn't see anyone.

you hesitated for a moment before opening the door, to find something that shattered your heart into a million pieces.

your welcome gift was staring back at you from the floor. the plastic wrap was ruined and the sign was ripped. the card splattered with wine stains and the cookies looked like they were stepped on. the only thing that was missing were the books and the event page.

you had no idea what to do, all of your hard work. everyone's hard work was ruined. a kind gesture completely taken advantage of and it was fueling your hatred even more.

you tossed it to the side, gently placing as much of the gift together as you could before closing the door. you wondered if austin took those missing things. if he knew how badly his girlfriend was treating other people and if he was even aware of the hold she had on him.

maybe that part of you was right.

~ ~

you sat in your assigned seat, the second table from the center. evelyn was busy up in the front, preparing her demonstration table full of ingredients. the kitchen right behind her with all the other food items needed for their meal. you could see how nervous she was with the way she kept fidgeting the same utensils and pans, making sure it was facing a certain way.

george appeared from the kitchen entrance, carrying supply bags out so it was easier for the class to get what they needed. he was beyond ecstatic for this as he was not only going to see a huge turnout of people again, but he was excited for the secret batch of food evelyn promised she would make for them when this was over.

you noticed cassandra passing through, a sign up sheet in her hand and you noticed a compile of names, each having their own seat and assigned table.

"so why can't i look at the list of names?" you asked her when she passed your table. all she did was smile as she handed you your name tag.

"cassie, he's not going to come." you remarked and she shook her head at your negativity.

you weren't able to tell anyone about your suspicious, thinking it probably wasn't your place to begin with. it wasn't until evelyn talked about "the dark red haired bitch from 4B" that cassandra started to connect the dots.

you just weren't sure if they were connecting all the dots.

weeks passed since the incident and each passing event with him not being present made it harder to stop thinking about him. even so when he would put his name and not show up.

this was yet, another one of those times, which was why you were doubting cassandra's optimism.

"we'll see. you never know dear," she let out a soft smile, "but if he does, give him his name tag for me?"

she handed you the tag with austin written on it, just like she did for all the other events. and yet each time, your heart skyrocketed in hopes that he was actually going to show up.

soon enough, the class started and evelyn began her introduction. the turnout was quite a lot; families, some friend groups, a few couples, an empty table in the back, and you.

with one empty seat next to yours.

~ ~

you were halfway through rolling the dough when you heard the main entrance door open. you didn't really have time to look because your stupid dough wasn't flat enough.

but it wasn't until you heard the footsteps and the water that followed suit from the rain that your now empty seat was occupied.

and your heart stopped.

"hi i'm so sorry i'm late. i'm usually not like this," his voice wavered, he sounded so flustered and embarrassed. so different from when you first met him.

you finally had the courage to look at him and you saw those same calm waters in his eyes, except they weren't as blue anymore. it was muted, like a greyness overshadowing its true color.

he had a hat on that covered his wavy blonde hair and some kind of shadow near his eyes, but he no longer had a mask and you could've sworn you heard your heart beating against your ears.

you were so overwhelmed by who he actually was that no words came out so you could respond to him. a part of you was so grateful he didn't see you as he was so preoccupied with his mistake of being late.

and when he finally settled into his seat and placed his things down, he looked at the nametag you placed on his side of the table. he quickly pinned it on his sweater to hopefully catch up on what he missed.

"i'm austin," he introduced himself, hoping you would say something to him. anything.

"hi."

your voice was so meek compared to his, even when he was the one all flustered.

"how much did i miss?" his was soft, and somehow sounded like he was comforting you.

"oh um... just the mixing part. i have the dough ready, but i can't seem to..."

you stopped as you noticed yourself ramble, completely avoiding his gaze as you looked right at the roller and your very stubborn piece of dough.

you heard him chuckle and it made your heart flutter slightly.

"can i?"

you just nodded as he placed the dough in front of him, taking the roller to knead the whole piece out. it wasn't long until he flattened it to the perfect shape that he gave you a small smile. he even followed the next few instructions from evelyn, placing the dough into a pie crust pan.

"have you cooked before?" you asked him, as he noticed the way you looked extremely impressed. and something about your expression made him flustered all over again.

"not really, but i do love cooking. i even thought about becoming a chef."

"really?"

"yeah," he let out the softest little laugh, pressing against the dough to form the crust, "that's why i moved here. i wanted to take a break for awhile and learn about the things i love to do... like cooking."

"you live here?"

a part of you wished he wasn't going to say it, but you already knew his answer.

"yeah on the 4th floor, apartment 4B."

and your heart sank to the ground.

"do you live around the area too?" he asked curiously and you nodded absentmindedly.

"yeah, i think we're neighbors. i'm 4A."

and you could've sworn you saw the blueness come back in those storm covered oceans.

"really?"

"yeah..." you hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not you should say the next part, "my friend and i actually dropped off a welcome gift for you."

and the blueness left as fast as it came.

you bit your lip, scared he might react a certain way. you started to doubt yourself. what if he was the one that ruined the gift, not the girlfriend.

he paused for a moment, going quiet as he finished mending the dough in place.

and you panicked.

"i totally understand if you didn't like the gift."

"no i liked it... i liked it a lot actually."

there was something hanging in the air now and you felt this immense guilt that you ruined the whole thing. you've thought about meeting him again for months and now that the chance arose itself, it felt like you were sabatoging everything you ever wanted.

"whenever you're both done filling your pie and adding the top crust, you can go to the kitchen and place it in the oven," evelyn instructed, smiling at the both of you as she passed your table. she cut the tension between you two for just a moment before it all came crashing back again.

you filled the pie pan and topped everything with another dough crust. the silence wrapped around you two as you finished the pie completely.

"i'll put it in the oven," austin offered, but as he got up, he winced in pain, clutching at his torso.

and that was all the confirmation you needed.

"let me, it's okay."

you took the pie from him, his body settling down on the seat again. he seemed so exhausted all of a sudden, like he no longer had the energy to put up a front anymore.

and it killed you on the inside that you had to sit there and watch.

when you came back from the kitchen, you noticed he took off his hat to fix his hair.

and that's when you saw his eyes. just above his eyebrow was a bruise and few cuts, a small bandaid on his upper temple, right where the brim of the hat would be.

but what broke your heart was the way he no longer had those lights in his eyes anymore. he rubbed his face for just a moment and you saw something else stain his hands.

it was makeup.

[sabotage-on-mercury]

i need your love (and something human)

(exerpt, soon on AO3)

for @tonydaddingham happy birthday my sun! 💖 A bit too late for your birthday, but nevertheless with a lot of love!

England, 1239

Aziraphale's already fragile facade crumbled under Crowley's razor-sharp clarity.

"I guess I'm just tired." Aziraphale closed his eyes.

 His voice faded to an airy whisper under the impact of confession.

"I'm tired. And I can't... I'm so tired, Crowley."

There was no denial, Aziraphale pleading, begging, for something, anything that would lift the weight of all these years, millennia of his existence on his shoulders, something that would ease the tightness in his chest and let him breathe again, a miracle that would make him whole again.

For that was the point. He was an angel, by default and by choice. He knew what was expected of him, and he was happy to do it. And yet he seldom felt less angelic than he did these days.

Crowley seemed to instinctively understand what Aziraphale needed, sitting quietly, watching him with the same unreadable expression he had worn for millennia, waiting patiently as Aziraphale fought the little tremors that shook his body and the tears that seethed below the waterline.

He can't do this anymore.

No. He would. He had to. Somehow.

A minute passed, and a few more, and Aziraphale just breathed, one deep breath after the other, until the storm died down.

Crowley was still looking at him intently, a steep wrinkle in his eyebrows, his lips pressed together so tightly it must have been painful.

Aziraphale tried and failed at a reassuring smile that only drew a sigh from Crowley.

"Angel-"

He shook his head defensively. "No, please, it's alright. It's just that the last few centuries have been... well, they-"

"They've sucked. And massively so," Crowley supplied eloquently.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a scolding look. "They have proven to be a challenge."

Crowley raised an inquisitive eyebrow and Aziraphale obeyed with a sigh.

"I mean... I mean, look at these people," he gestured around the guest room of the inn. "They're always fighting each other. And that's just here. All the fighting, all the hate.  Even when there are no wars, they find ways to make each other miserable. And there's hardly anything I can do about it..."

"Well, not to mention that your side has its share in that matter."

"Don't you dare be smug about it!"

"I'm not. Just stating the facts."

Again, Aziraphale could do nothing but sigh deeply. "I guess there's no denying it anyway, is there?" he asked quietly.

"Little crisis of faith, Angel?"

"I still believe She has a plan."

Crowley groaned lowly. "Because all Her plans always work out so well."

"They do," Aziraphale replied with more certainty than he felt. "In the grand scheme of things."

"Well, that's all right then!"Crowley sneered, reaching for his mug.

"No - I mean yes. " Aziraphale's hands began to shake again. "I hope so. I don't wish anyone any harm," he added helplessly, forcing his hands to still around his mug.

Loud voices and shouting broke out, and Aziraphale's eyes wandered to the group of people gathered around the ingel. Fists were raised, punches thrown, two men stared at each other through gritted teeth, noses almost touching, and before Aziraphale could process, a roar of laughter filled the room, breaking the tension. The two opponents stepped back, one clapped the other on the arm, and the next thing he knew, arms were wrapped around each other and the men began to sway to the song of a drunken singer.

Aziraphale watched the group with a furrowed brow. There were certain things about humans he'd never understand. A contradictory set of rules and behaviours he couldn't wrap his mind around.

And yet. In some ways, their lives seemed so much simpler.

Truly remarkable.

Crowley shifted in his chair, the movement immediately catching Aziraphale's attention and his eyes snapping back to the demon leaning on the table, head tilted and a subtle grin on his lips, making Aziraphale already dread his next question.

"But that's not everything, right?"

"I-"

"Whatever's bothering you. It's not just this ghastly century. Something... personal."

Heat crept up his cheeks and Aziraphale hoped Crowley would mistake it for the play of candlelight.

There was only one proper answer to that question. But the night was dark and he was so tired, the ale was quaffable, Crowley was finally here again, and in the end it wouldn't matter anyway, so he settled for the truth. Or at least the closest he could get to the truth without making a fool of himself.

"I just thought, as tragic as their lives are, humanity has this... potential," Aziraphale let the word slip over his lips like something delicate.

"How mean?"

Aziraphale took a measured sip from the mug.

"All these rules they live by, they make them up themselves. Not that they're always good rules, mind you. But people have the potential to change them all the time. Haven't we seen that ever since we've been here? Societies come and go, countries rise and fall, everything changes all the time. They can decide what they want to do, where they want to live, who they want to- There are far fewer restrictions than-" He interrupted himself. He couldn't even tell if the heat on his cheeks was from the ale or his wicked thoughts.

Crowley's lips twitched. "Do I smell jealousy, Angel?"

"No! No, definitely not." Aziraphale nearly drowned the rest of his ale in a doomed attempt to shut himself up.

"I'm just saying that being an angel comes with certain duties and responsibilities that can't just be thrown overboard."

Crowley leaned across the table and Aziraphale instinctively did the same. White fangs flashed, a smirk danced on his lips and Crowley lowered his voice to a whisper. "That definitely sounds like envy. How entirely... sinful."

"I'm not jealous!" exclaimed Aziraphale, straightening up again. "Just admiring the potential."

He reached for his mug, only to find it empty. Why was his cup empty already?

His fingers began to fiddle with his robe again, straining the scuffed fabric even more.

Crowley was unperturbed, in fact the look behind those dark glasses seemed to burn even more ferociously. "And what would you do with that potential?" he asked with a dangerous lightness.

The sounds in the tavern faded, only the crackling of the fire and the wailing of the wind remained.

"I think..." Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I've never really thought about it. It's neither appropriate for an angel, nor in terms of my decision, so..."

"Hmm." Crowley's drawled as he lowered his head, and for the first time that evening Aziraphale caught a glimpse of his serpentine eyes over the rim of his glasses, glowing in their golden grandeur, and Aziraphale had to choke back a gasp.

"And what if... what if you weren't an angel?"

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes together a few times, trying to make sense of the words. "But I am an angel."

"Yes, obviously. That's why I said what if."

Clammy fingers claw into the white linen.  "I don't think I understand what you're suggesting."

"Just humour me for a second," Crowley's voice was low and calm, the rasp so pleasing to Aziraphale's ears, a warm invitation that Aziraphale was only too happy to follow. "Forget heaven, forget hell. Miracles and blessings and all the rest of it. Just for now, pretend that it doesn't exist."

Worn leather shoes scraped across the uneven floor.

"Well, technically I'm on duty. The assignment -"

"- can wait until tomorrow."

"I don't think that's a very good idea. I can't just ignore - what if... someone is looking for us?"

"Nah. Not today."

"How can you be so sure?"

Crowley leaned in towards Aziraphale, his glasses sitting so low on his nose that his serpentine eyes fully glistened in the candlelight. "Just trust me, Aziraphale."

It was a temptation to capture him in a moment of weakness, Aziraphale was sure. But more than that, it was a question, a plea. Aziraphale felt any resistance he might have had crumble away under Crowley's unguarded gaze. There was really no logical reason to justify his trust, other than that he wanted to. And so Aziraphale nodded.

He cleared his throat. "So what exactly are you proposing?"

"The question is, if only for tonight, you weren't an angel." Crowley hesitated for a moment. "And if I weren't a demon. What would you do?"

"How should I know..."

Crowley smiled softly. "Use your imagination, Aziraphale."

"So..." Aziraphale tried to keep his foolish heart from beating out of his chest, "I could be a human?"

"Well, not very imaginative, but if that's your thing, sure." Crowley swung a graceful hand through the air. "Whatever tickles your fancy."

Aziraphale paused for a moment, his mind wandering.  "I don't think I know how to be human," he finally said.

"You have passed as one quite successfully for over 5000 years!" quipped Crowley with undeniable bemusement over the brim of his jug.

"That's not entirely true. I was just trying to avoid being recognised as an angel." And even that hadn't always been so successful.

Crowley washed Aziraphale's objection away with another wave of his hand. "Same difference." He crossed his arms on the table and leaned closer. "It's just being yourself, minus the miracles."

Aziraphale's eyebrows lifted. "Well, that definitely sounds too simple."

"Don't think about it too hard. This isn't a challenge for you to pass. Just having a bit of fun, and, hell, your Boss knows you need some."

"You know as well as I do that angels, and perhaps even demons, can't just go around having fun as they please."

"Yeah, that's why I said we just pretend for tonight, right?" Crowley arched an eyebrow over his glasses. "As if I didn't know your angelic duties always have to come first, don't they?" he muttered under his breath.

"Quite right," Aziraphale huffed over the uncomfortable knot in his stomach. "I shouldn't let personal feelings interfere with my duties."

"Then don't," Crowley shrugged, his shoulders tightening noticeably. "Just seemed like there were no obligations for you tonight, so why not give yourself a day off, hm?"

"That much is true, but tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow is tomorrow. You can go on being all prim and holy-"

"You mean like it never happened." Oh, that idea tasted bitter in his mouth.

"Sure, whatever. It's just a game." Crowley leaned back in his chair, the glasses obscuring the view of his eyes again, and a tense pull at his mouth. "It doesn't mean anything."

The rough edge of Crowley's voice was a dagger in Aziraphale's chest, cutting off whatever sharp retort he was about to make.

"Indeed it doesn't," Aziraphale confirmed half-heartedly, his fingers twitching and twisting with the lie.

It can't mean anything. That's the whole point. It was the only way this could work.

Oh, this was going to hurt so much. Why did he do this to himself? Surrendering to the idea that he could get a taste of the freedom he longed for, knowing that it wouldn't last forever? Not even for the next day?

Crowley seemed to sense his unease and shifted in his chair. "You don't have to if you don't want it,” he spat. “Was just an idea.”

"I want to." Aziraphale cursed as his tongue outpaced his brain. He was a victim of his own desires, the anticipation tickling under his skin, the sheer desire eating him alive, his common sense worn down by the grindstone of misery and loneliness of the past centuries.

It couldn't last, but did it really matter? Wasn't one night of pretending to be someone else, of feeling alive, better than none at all?

"It's just a game." He was repulsed by the distanced, cold ring his voice left in his own ears.

"Just a game," Crowley repeated as matter-of-factly, and Aziraphale knew that they were already in the middle of the play. "All right. So tell me. What human thing would you like to try out?"

Aziraphale swallowed. His mind was filled with everything he had ever dreamed of, every desire that should remain buried deep in his mind. Was this what potential felt like? How to choose the right one from all these possibilities?

As if he didn't already know.

No. Some things should remain out of reach, even if he were human. If they were human. Who knew if his most secret wishes would even be answered? There were things too precious, too fragile, to be risked just for the sake of a silly little game.

"I think I'd like to try what they have," he replied evasively, gesturing to the group of people sitting by the fire.

"Ale?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "No. Although another round wouldn't hurt." He gestured at their two empty mugs.

"Message received. What is it then?"

Aziraphale studied the group intently, desperately searching for an answer as close to the truth as he dared to say. "Connection," he said after a while. "They don't know each other and yet - they seem quite happy, don't you think? They don't seem lone-. They seem to enjoy each other's company."

Crowley's lips parted in a smile, wide and soft, lacking the usual hint of a smirk he hid behind, a smile Aziraphale hadn't seen in a very long time, and for a moment he forgot to breathe.

"Very well then." Crowley relaxed in his chair.  "Who are you?"

Aziraphale frowned in confusion. "You know - I'm Aziraphale?"

Crowley held out his hand across the table. "Crowley. My pleasure."

Aziraphale paused before leaning across the table. "And what do I do now?"

"You tell me."

This was completely unhelpful. Aziraphale stifled a snort. Crowley stood up with a wink behind his glasses and swaggered over to the bar, offering Aziraphale a forbidden view of his backside. Why couldn't he just stop entertaining these crude thoughts?

Why else would he be here, if he was human? His eyes darted around the room as he tried to let the warmth of the fire and the slight dizziness from a few ales ease the tension in his body.

Crowley stepped back into their little corner and placed two fresh mugs on the table, which Aziraphale accepted with a grateful smile.

"I'm meeting a friend," he blurted out, blushing immediately at his sudden display of affection.

"A friend, ah." Crowley dropped into the chair, one arm across the armrest, fingers tipping the mug. "A special friend of yours?"

Aziraphale nearly choked on his ale. What was that supposed to mean? He studied Crowley's face, but even in its relaxed and softened state, his features remained an unreadable mystery to Aziraphale.

His instinct was to deny the truth at once. But he didn't need to, not today, when the truth didn't matter anyway.

"Yes," Aziraphale said quietly, and the warmth in his cheeks spread even further. "He's very dear to me." What a thrilling sensation it was to say those words aloud. He almost burst out into a giddy laughter. What an absolutely ridiculous game.

Crowley tilted his head, a familiar mischievous grin on his lips. "Something more than a friend?"

The trace of a laughter died in his throat and Aziraphale's eyes widened. Was that -? Did he really -? What was -?

"N-no," he choked out. "That's -. No."

"What a pity." Crowley lifted his mug and took a long sip of his drink.

Holy s-. Could it actually be... No, that stood not in the prospect of belief. Crowley wouldn't really be interested in him the way he was... or would he?

Maybe he is not, a voice in Aziraphale's head supplied helpfully. But this was a different Crowley, a stranger version, someone who seemed willing to play along with this game.

And why shouldn't that be enough?

Aziraphale's heart thumped up to his throat, his fingers trembling as he longed for the mug in a pathetic imitation of human self-confidence. He took a sip, licking his lower lip as he caught Crowley's gaze again.

"But he could be. Tonight."

Crowley stared at him, his mouth slightly agape before he cleared his throat, which didn't quite remove the roughness in his voice. "Then your friend must be a very lucky bastard."

"You think so?"

"Nah, don't play modest. You must know what you look like with your hair and that smile and - ngk. Forget it."

Did he really know? Aziraphale felt his blood pulsing feverishly in his veins, the rough but sincere sounding words fogging his mind. 

Crowley looked at him expectantly, his raised eyebrow demanding a response, but there was a look behind the glasses that was all too familiar to Aziraphale. Hope laced with desperation. 

Was this just an act? Or was it always there?

Does it matter?

Aziraphale folded his hands on the table and raised his chin.

"Do you really think I'm so simple that a single compliment is enough to make me fall in love with a stranger?"

A flash of disbelief flashed across Crowley's face before he found his playful grin.

"No, of course not. You would never fall for charm alone."

"Not that you have been very charming so far, for that matter."

"That's fair. But I have a feeling you don't want me to be. You wouldn’t want something as boring as that, would you?"

Aziraphale drew a shaky breath. How could Crowley know him so well? "I suppose you have all night to find out.”

"It will be my pleasure." Crowley shifted on his chair again. “I just don't want to keep you from your date with your friend."

"Lucky for me, he's already sitting here."

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

Thank you so much for taking the time to reply to my ask! The way you write your view on things is very beautiful and reading your reply actually brought me a lot of peace on the subject. Your comment on Paul being somewhat akin to a soundboard for everyone’s grief really stood out to me in particular. I know for one that I can find myself wishing to believe a certain narrative to ease my grief. Maybe to a certain extent Paul has done the same, the other alternative too awful to acknowledge. Hence the adamant love he shares about John with the world today. Alongside this, everyone looking to him to give something, an answer, a comfort to allow them to understand this tragedy somehow. He could feel a certain sense of responsibility. I also wonder if it could be mixed up with other things. Like the very angry public reaction Paul received immediately after Johns death and the months following. His comment “it’s a drag" being misinterpreted for example. Perhaps there’s a part of Paul who’s learnt not to share any sign of complexity at all, instead only one of devoted love. However I believe if that was some part, it would be a small one, perhaps even an unconscious one. I think mostly it would be growing with his grief over time and being able to see things in a clearer more simple light. Which was one of a deep love, platonic or not, for his best friend. What do you think?

In terms of what a more tragic scenario would be, I found your opinion on these very eye opening. Each one being awful in different ways of course but each one also having a certain acceptance you can find within them. Your thoughts on the one sided love and the sting being somewhat lifted through the ‘nothing to be done’ notion was strangely very comforting to me! I thank you for lifting my own thoughts on this as it was the one I originally found most depressing. On the other hand the mutual love scenario where (assuming here) they were both aware of each others feelings I still find myself drifting towards. I suppose I find this less tragic as it meant that at one point in their lives, they were on exactly the same page with each other. On every aspect. A fleeting time I’m sure, but a time of certainty on both sides. It could be argued that this certainty would be a like a rock for Paul to fall back on in his doubting moments after John’s death. (However I can also see your point of this actually having the opposite effect.)

In terms of the ‘truth.’ As you say there’s a lot of evidence to make an educated guess that John’s sexuality wasn’t straight. His wife being one of them. But what I find strange is Paul being so adamant that John most definitely was straight. Surely he would have known John best after Yoko, potentially even more, so I find him not knowing or not picking up on that at all very unlikely. Then why the denial? I had thought he was either outright lying (Maybe to hide something between them or to protect his memory?) Or there might be a certain internalised homophobia within himself? Or indeed the thought that Yoko was exaggerating things massively. I’m not sure at all, what are your thoughts?

I can see the story of the boy from your high school being a reason for John’s behaviour towards Paul in the 70’s. I can also see this as a reaction to a certain on off relationship between the two. One minute being emotionally vulnerable with eachother, perhaps sleeping together, the next minute getting scared and backing away, leaving the other confused and hurt. (John having a public reaction while Paul having a private one.) This cycle repeating itself until apparently reconciling in the late 70’s. It rings true to me whatever their relationship was, an intense platonic one, a sexual one or a pining one sided situation.) I wonder what you thought of the James McCartney quote where he remembers sitting on Johns lap, which meant Paul and John saw each other after 1976? I don’t have a source for the quote so I’m not sure if it’s real at all!

Lastly, what I loved about your reply was the reminder (which I sometimes forget) that even if it was one sided, it doesn’t mean Paul loved John any less. Indeed him craving John’s attention I could believe too. A powerful friendship can be just as tumultuous, passionate and deeply moving as any other kind of relationship. I find your holistic view on mclennon very refreshing, I love the discussion!

Hi anon! This is a very long, thoughtful message, so I'm going to break it up into points:

Perhaps there’s a part of Paul who’s learnt not to share any sign of complexity at all, instead only one of devoted love.

I think this hits the nail on the head quite well, though I also think Paul does often imply there's something more complex going on in his John feelings, he just doesn't very usually bring that part out in the open. Because few people want to hear it, for one, and because whatever truly negative feelings he has towards John, they're probably ultimately unproductively upsetting to him.

Your thoughts on the one sided love and the sting being somewhat lifted through the ‘nothing to be done’ notion was strangely very comforting to me!

I'm very happy I was able to give you a perspective which made thinking about the whole thing easier :)

On the other hand the mutual love scenario where (assuming here) they were both aware of each others feelings I still find myself drifting towards. I suppose I find this less tragic as it meant that at one point in their lives, they were on exactly the same page with each other.

This is interesting to me, because I tend to find it rather unlikely that John was in love with Paul all along. So I would wager there was a pre-attraction period during which they were on the same page. When that was exactly, is hard to say, but I do believe it existed. I'm also unconvinced that if they had reciprocated attraction towards each other, that they were both actually aware of this at the time.

In terms of the ‘truth.’ As you say there’s a lot of evidence to make an educated guess that John’s sexuality wasn’t straight. His wife being one of them. But what I find strange is Paul being so adamant that John most definitely was straight. Surely he would have known John best after Yoko, potentially even more, so I find him not knowing or not picking up on that at all very unlikely. Then why the denial?

I was talking to someone about this recently. There's ways in which the bird's eye view we have of the band's history is actually advantageous with regards to understanding these things, as opposed to spending every day with someone. Paul probably did see a lot of "clues" about John, and I do think he has some cognitive dissonance regarding some of them, but if these clues were "sparsely distributed" enough, it would be hard for him, living through the 60s from day to day, to assemble them into a coherent conclusion. (Tangential, but I wrote a fic that is kind of 100% about this as a concept lol) I also think Paul, while having had friendships with many gay people, probably hasn't actually dealt with a friend he already knew well coming out to him, and is thus underestimating the amount John may have been hiding (however bad John was at hiding). It also just seems like a thing he finds inappropriate to speak about in public. It's hard to know how "personally" the denial he expresses should be taken.

I wonder what you thought of the James McCartney quote where he remembers sitting on Johns lap, which meant Paul and John saw each other after 1976? I don’t have a source for the quote so I’m not sure if it’s real at all!

I honestly think it's complete conjecture that they last saw each other in '76/taking John far too much at his exact word (in the Playboy interview, I wanna say?) There's a fair amount of evidence pointing to them seeing each other as recently as '79, I think. Some people say they saw each other weeks before John was killed, but that's a lot more speculative. How often they saw each other is another question, one I don't know the answer to (and fear is quite depressing).

I find your holistic view on mclennon very refreshing, I love the discussion!

Thank you! :) Holistic is certainly what I strive for in my analyses

[kichous]

✧･ﾟ:*   you could use me

summary. you're afraid that two weeks in a box is all that it takes to undo all of the progress you've made. series. a night of dark trees. bonus scene ! pairing. gojo satoru x gn!reader. warnings. none. word count. 1930.

Gojo’s different.

Ever since he emerged from the Prison Realm, he has been taciturn, morose, subdued. It’s disconcerting. He’s one of the liveliest people you know. It’s one of the things you love about him.

You’re still not sure how he says those little words so easily. Gojo Satoru’s world was torn asunder years ago, and he’d been dealt the same debilitating, staggering blow that still causes you to panic every time you hear the three syllables ‘I love you.’ Yet, somehow, some way, Gojo finds it in himself to voice that simple declaration to you. And he means it every time, with every fiber of his being.

It’s harder for you to speak it, your vocal cords uncooperative to an almost petulant degree, your subconscious locking the action away even in spite of your visceral protestations. You’re still searching on your hands and knees in the murky depths for the key. Only alcohol makes the search a little easier. But in your heart of hearts, you know it—it is a certainty that you love Gojo Satoru. A fact, as immutable as gravity (unless you were Kenjaku. Then you’d have to come up with another simile).

To that end, his absence hurt you. The moment you allowed yourself to fall for someone else, to finally move on from that one great loss, he was torn away from you. But it’s not his fault.

It must've been infinitely worse to be Gojo himself, stuck in what was essentially a cursed deprivation chamber for any duration of time from eternity to an instant. Not sure if eons had passed or but a second. Not knowing if the world burned his absence and those who remained rued his name, or if it had survived and everyone moved on without him. If anyone even bothered looking for a way to free him. You tried to put yourself in his place, imagining if he had gone and found a third love while you were trapped. You would’ve been happy for him, but you couldn’t deny that the simple idea of it broke your heart.

After he emerged, you stood by his side, your hand in his as he was informed of everything that had happened—everyone that had died—during his imprisonment. With every word, his shoulders sloped more and more, crushed by the weight of the world in each consonant and each vowel.

He won’t talk about it with you. When you kissed his temple and stroked his hair, uncaring of your audience in Shoko and Ino, he’d sighed and leaned a little closer. But he was silent as stone.

You wish you knew what to say to him. The way he and Geto bantered was so instinctual, an easy back-and-forth like a tennis match. You can hold your own with him, no doubt. But you’ve also got a history of deepthroating your foot where he’s concerned, so you can understand why Gojo’s a little hesitant to confide in you. He’s never had to before, why should he start now?

Oh, maybe because you love each other and that’s what supportive partners do—lean on each other? If only he’d stick around long enough for you to just tell him that.

Naturally, he refuses to make anything easy for you. Satoru’s hardly alone these days. You can’t even fault him for spending every waking moment training. If he’s going up against the King of Curses, he’ll need every advantage he can get, no matter how confident he is. You support him where you can in that regard, but you have no choice but to ambush him in between sparring with Okkotsu and sparring with Maki to actually get a word in.

“Hey, dumbass,” you call as you approach. Where it might’ve elicited an equally dry ‘What’s up, shitlips?’ once upon a time, it now earns a tired smile. Not the ideal reaction.

“I didn’t do anything,” protests Satoru, allowing you to soften the insult with a quick kiss. He’s sitting on a bench with his legs wide enough for you to step in the space between, and he wraps his arms loosely around your waist. “Why’re you being such a meanie?”

“Why are you overcompensating?” The verbal suckerpunch gets him in the solar plexus, causing Gojo to stare up at you wide-eyed with his mouth falling open defensively. You press a finger to his lips. Satoru goes a little cross-eyed trying to focus on it, and so you flick him on the nose to retrieve his attention. “I get it, if it’s for the kids. You’re their teacher. You’re everything they want to be when they grow up, they see you as a protector, blah, blah. But you don’t have to be strong with me. I know you. I know you. You don’t have to pretend, okay?”

“Don’t I?”

That stings, probably more than he meant it to. You don’t imagine Satoru ever intends to be cruel, because even at his worst, his sadism is meant for curses. But you’d thought he considered you an equal. Or as close as one could be without being a special grade, at least. It was foolish of you to think that the wall between you had crumbled any, at least as far as your skill level was concerned. It’s been years since anyone ever talked about how you could’ve become the fourth special grade if you ever managed to get a tighter rein on your technique. Okkotsu’s taken your place since then.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you move closer to tuck his head into your sternum. “No, you don’t. We’re partners, aren’t we?” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. Something warm stirs in your chest as his eyes flutter shut and he hums a quiet, pleased purr. You’re a haven to him. “You love me and I—I love you. That means you don’t have to do this alone.”

He says nothing at first, simply nuzzling closer. There’s no sound but your shared breath, steady and even. His arms tighten around you. It’s a little uncomfortable having to crane your neck down to kiss the top of Satoru’s head, but the little sigh he gives is worth it. It’s the little things with Gojo. With such a bombastic person, large and grandiose efforts are commonplace, attention-grabbing gestures all Satoru knows. The strongest must be larger than life. So you end up treasuring the opposite—the way his long, spindly fingers fit in the slits between yours, the way his long lashes tickle your cheek when you kiss, how he loves to rest his elbow on your shoulder when you stand next to each other, the perfect roost. These tiny bits combine to make everything feel grounded, real.

After a moment, he pulls away, and light starts to creep back into his eyes. They look more like the sky again, rather than an iceberg field in the Arctic Circle. Good. “Does that mean I can tap you in during the fight?” Satoru asks cheekily.

You toss your head and give an exaggerated tsk. “I haven’t decayed from my Grade One rank, I’ll have you know! I may not be a spring chicken, but I can still pack a punch!” For emphasis, you smash your fist into your other palm.

“Not a spring chicken?” Satoru repeats incredulously. “We’re the same age! What does that make me?!”

You tug lightly on a few strands of his snowy hair. “A geriatric old man, duh.”

He raises a brow. “Oh yeah? Could an old man do this?”

Satoru’s up on his feet in an instant, one hand sliding up your back and the other wrapping just below your shoulders as he dips you in a kiss. He savors it, plying gently past your lips with his tongue. Satoru moans as you slip your fingers through his locks, a sound that makes your lips and extremities tingle. He steals the breath from your lungs, and you don’t hate it.

“Well.” Your voice is but a rasp when he finally pulls away. The man radiates smugness. Somehow, you find it endearing. “I’m sure Harrison Ford could.”

Satoru’s face breaks open with a full, hearty, genuine laugh. Pulling you upright to use as an anchor, he buries his face into your neck. His entire body vibrates in tandem with his giggles, the warmth of his breath a pleasant sensation on your skin compared to the wintry frost around you. Satoru blinks as you use your index finger to tip his face upwards. “What is it?” he asks, a little breathless.

“I love your smile,” you tell him honestly. “I love you.”

His cheeks grow pink. You doubt it’s because of the cold, your heart fluttering at the thought. You’ve managed to make Gojo shy. In lieu of a verbal response, he gently rests his forehead against yours. You’re aware you’re probably obstructing the walkway, and that if any of the students happened upon you, they would violently gag, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Satoru is here, in the flesh. You thought you’d lost him when he got sealed away, and then again when he emerged sweeping the broken pieces of himself under the rug. That even if you could hold him, it wouldn’t be the Satoru you loved, nor the Satoru who loved you. Who saw something broken in you that was worth cherishing, worth putting back together piece by painstaking piece. Who never faulted you for giving up but encouraged you to try again, whose heartbreak echoed yours and stood as proof that there was a brighter tomorrow. The Satoru who taught you it was okay to be okay again. You’re sick and tired of lost chances, of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Maybe that’s why the words finally, finally slip so easily from your mouth—so you wouldn’t ever miss the opportunity to tell him again.

Gojo rubs his cheek gently against yours, sharing his heat. He’s always run a little warm. “I promise that I’ll share my burdens with you from now on. Even if I can’t promise you won’t hate me by the end of it.” A solemn vow, the seriousness of his tone unfamiliar to you. But not unpleasant.

“I already knew loving you was going to be rotten work,” you tease. “That’s never bothered me. What you can promise me is that you’ll come back to me. Otherwise, I’ll bring you back as a curse when you die. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Satoru chuckles. “Will you at least make sure I look prettier than Rika?”

“She heard that.” You have no idea how long Okkotsu’s been standing there—what he heard or saw, whether he’s going to blab to any of the other kids. There’s a small bemused grin on his face, but it’s eclipsed by the overall chagrin of his furrowed brows. He’s embarrassed for you. PDA at your old age? His generation probably thinks you look like two skeletons mashing their teeth together.

Breaking out of your frozen shock, you and Satoru share a glance. Then, after a moment, you break the silence with simultaneous cackling. It’s hard to tell whether it’s the situation or the looks on your faces that sparks such an interminable fit. You fall against each other in your laughter, using one another as a column. He’s sturdy and solid and he’s there for you. And that’s what you’ll be for Satoru too. Steady and strong and unmovable. Unbreakable. Everything he’s been for the world, you’ll be for him.

Whatever it takes.

[yuseirra]

Seriously though, it’s so, so strange… Really strange.

What’s odd is that, just now, I opened the manga to reference it for my work, and I’m thinking… Why do I still feel like Ai chose the best possible person among those she could have? Even after seeing everything that became of him?

Why do I still feel like she found someone truly good—someone absolutely worthy of love? If I were the writer, I’d want Ai to meet such a person. So emotionally, I can accept this, but looking at how the story is unfolding, I’m confused about how it’s supposed to make sense. I want it to end this way, and emotionally, I’m convinced it will. But logically, it’s hard to imagine what path the story will take to get there.

How can I still be so strongly convinced that Ai’s boyfriend, at his core, has one of the most genuinely good personalities in the entire series? No one’s ever told me he was a good person. In fact, there’s been a lot of negative impressions about him, but somehow, this feeling pushes through all of that. How?

I can’t shake the thought that someone with a nature like his couldn’t just twist like this on his own.

There were bad circumstances, despair, incredibly poor luck, and the guilt he’s carried—sure, that’s all there. And narratively, it makes sense. He’s written in a way that he couldn’t help but deeply, deeply love Ai, so after her death, of course, he wouldn’t be okay. How could he be?

But something else pushed him beyond the point of normal breakdown. It feels like something shattered him far more than what he could have endured naturally. It’s as if something made him lose his mind completely. It’s too strange. Why do I feel this way?

But when the line about him having a “noble soul” came up, I accepted it immediately. I thought, of course. It felt so obvious to me that I wondered why it hadn’t come up sooner. It was exactly what I expected.

Ai really did find someone who wanted to be with her forever, someone truly good. I am convinced yet again. That feeling strikes me really strongly.

But how did he end up like this? I have some ideas, but I can’t know what the author has in mind. And no matter how much a reader tries to predict a series still in progress, ultimately, it’s up to the author, right?

He’s barely appeared in the story, yet why do I feel so strongly about this?;;; Why do I feel like this? But I’m still relying on that feeling when I draw fan art.

It’s so strange…

He’s an extraordinarily kind person, I think? but… this is strange. Why do I feel this way after seeing everything?;;; What’s going on? Why am I like this?

The good thing is, with a personality like that, I know I can handle him well. I always love these types of characters, so drawing him would be fun. But really… is this right? I mean, he’s someone who is accused of having killed many people and even tried to kill his own daughter—how could this feeling even be correct?

One more thing I’ve noticed—if just two or three good things had happened to him along the way, Kamiki wouldn’t have ended up so broken.

When I think about what the author is trying to show by completely destroying a character who was once so gentle…

I think I get it. There could be a message that can be derived from it, if I'm inferring things right. But… I’m not sure because I'm not the writer themselves, so… haha.

Ah, if I couldn’t sense anything, I’d just shut off my brain and go along with whatever, I wouldn't care at all. I keep feeling like I see something faint, though, so I keep talking about it. But since there’s no certainty, I feel like I’m making a fool of myself.

Ah. Really… I rarely misread these kinds of things. He’s such a fundamentally good person… I wish they’d show more clearly how he ended up like this. He’s worth studying. Since both of the authors are so skilled in psychological portrayal, I’m sure they’ll express this in a way that makes sense. I feel like I could predict it, but it’s still too vague for me to say.

These intuitions are so hard to explain. But they’re usually right. I don’t get these things wrong often… So for now, I’m just writing it down because feelings are fleeting and I would think of different things at different time. These little notes live in the now.