#it's one thing if you're a stranger and have never seen it written out

[isfjmel-phleg]

My name is not Rebecca. That's a completely different person. And she doesn't work here.

[munsster]

road trip (trope bingo)

A/N: thought i might try this format out. also introducing a new face to my tumblr repertoire. i’ve written marvel before, just never on this site. enjoy!! (gif creds: @bubbarnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You think Bucky is shallow for rejecting a pretty stranger in North Dakota. Little do you know. 1.6k words

Warnings: fluff, dummies not talking about their feelings, pet names (doll), slight angst but resolved, perhaps mutual pinging, a really good hug, playful bullying, cursing

"Ooh, she's cute."

You've been doing this for over an hour. He's downed at least four coffees by now. And the worst part is you call it finding a suitable mate. But he's just not interested in the women you're scouting for him at a rest stop a few miles out from Fargo, North Dakota. He would've just left, gone and sat in the truck, but he'd feel bad leaving you rambling to yourself when you're the one paying for this meal.

"Come on, Buck, you're no fun," you huff, dropping your spoon into the thick mug now emptied of hot cocoa.

"You're right. Can we go now?" He starts to slide out of his seat when you scoff. He goes still like a deer in headlights. This should be fun.

"James Buchanan, you're telling me none of the lovely ladies in this diner tickle your fancy? Not even third barstool? She's tall, Buck, like... model tall," you suggest with your brows raised.

"I'm not... we're in North Dakota, you think that's what I'm lookin' for?"

"Just one date! You wouldn't take her on one, single date? The little bar across the street seems sensible, why not?"

"Um—"

"Tell meee," you whine, leaning over the sticky, vinyl tablecloth with a pout.

He shrugs. "Not my type."

"Bullshit. She's everybody's type. She's my type, Bucky. Are you blind or just plain stupid?"

"I'm not interested."

You pull a face like you're offended on her behalf. Bucky rolls his eyes and wishes you'd drop it.

"Oh, I get it," you say. Leaned back, arms stretched across the length of the seat, you huff and glare at him. "You think you're too good for her, huh? Just 'cause she's a North Dakota ten, and you're a Brooklyn eight, you think that makes you better, don't you?"

"What? An eight?" he mumbles, shaking his head.

"Ugh, you men gross me out sometimes. Massive egos, teensy little brains," you say, slapping a twenty on the table and standing with a vicious squint. "Well, let me learn you something, James"—you loom over him and poke your pointer finger at his chest—"you're shallow, and you're no better than her. You prob'ly couldn't take her out if you wanted to. Goodnight."

You huff and walk away, but he chuckles and calls after you: "It's noon, doll." Flipping him off, you march out into the parking lot. He considers the woman for a moment. You called him a Brooklyn eight. She's pretty, he'll admit, but he wasn't lying when he said he wasn't interested. Bucky's seen the far stretches of the Earth, which means he's seen women of all forms. Accountants and soldiers from all over, all professions, all languages. All beautiful. But nothing intrigues him quite as much as you do.

...

"Did you ask her out, or are you choosing to remain a coward?" You've got your boots propped on the dashboard, the truck bumbling eighty down the highway. An emery board swipes back and forth at your middle fingernail as you snap your bubblegum.

"Come on, doll, play nice. We're leavin' anyway, didn't want to hurt her feelings," he grumbles.

"Tough. Doesn't make you any less of a pussy, Barnes."

You flick the nail file at his cheek and drop your feet heavily on the hot car mat. You called him a Brooklyn eight. You cringe at the remembrance while Bucky revels in it. He even grinned stupid all the way back to the parking lot. To himself, but still. He hates how deep under his skin you are. He hates how he likes the itch.

His tongue twists with all the things he could have said. He should have said. But he grips the steering wheel tight and drives till you cross the border into Minnesota.

"Wanna go anywhere before Wisconsin? They've got... lakes here," he shyly suggests, voice soft, hoping you'll just ignore him and turn up the radio. He doesn't think you'll ever ignore him, even if he did prefer it.

"Only if I could push you into one of them."

"Listen, kid—"

"Kid? That's great, Bucky. It's getting dark, why don't we just find a motel." You cross your arms. The cold is getting to you. Even in a down jacket and two pairs of pants. It gets like that up north.

He does what you tell him because the last thing he needs is for you to hold another grudge against him. This one's quaint, so he gets the last double available, chuckling nervously when the older woman at the front desk mistakes you for a married couple.

"Sure you don't want a single, honey? Not gettin' any kids outta separate beds—"

"Nope—thanks, miss—that's—double is fine, double's perfect, thanks," he huffs. You chuckle.

She gives a rolling, belly laugh, head tossed back as she croaks, "Won't file any noise complaints against youse! Have a fun night."

"Geez, she was great," you sigh, still smiling from the ridiculous interaction. You flop face down onto the bed closest to the window, rattling the ice from the crevices in your boots. It crunches to the floor and you wriggle out of your coat as Bucky locks himself into the pale yellow bathroom.

He starts mumbling from the other side of the door, so you sit up and toe your boots onto the floor with a thud. Digging your fingertips into the edge of the hastily tucked sheets, you stare at a wine stain in the middle of the beige carpet. At least it smells nice in here. Even if half the lights are out, and cable doesn't come through clear enough to watch.

You find yourself, cheek pressed to the door, eyes wide as you listen through the flimsy wood.

"I don't think so, Steve. No, listen, it's like... beyond repair. She wouldn't take an apology even if I knew what i was sorry for—no—she's way too good for me, I can't do that to her."

Still moping over women found in North Dakota's lowest rated diners? That's highly unlike him. But even Bucky's a wildcard six-thousand miles into a roadtrip. You press closer, chewing your lip and closing your eyes.

"No, no, everything—this stuff's easier for you, pal, you don't get it, 'kay? I'm just saying... I mean, even a stranger thought we were married"—What—"has to mean something, right? Even strangers are realizing... there's something... there. I just don't want to accidentally—no, I know, not like that, I mean...well, I like her a lot and I don't want it to scare her—"

You back up slightly, hands held in front of you like surrender. Not out of fear, but realization. That's why he didn't ask her out. Or even fish for her number. Because—

You hit the floor with a thump.

"Steve. I gotta go."

The door whips open and floods the room with warm light. You scramble to your feet.

"Were you... I was just talking to... Did you hear any of that?"

You shake your head. He shoves his hands into the shallow pockets of his jeans.

"Okay," he says with a nod, "good." He blows hot air out of his mouth and runs a swift hand through his hair. But he doesn't meet your eyes. Like a little kid so terrified of fibbing that he'd rather swim deeper into the abyss than float to the surface. Can't catch his damn breath around here.

"So..."

"Goodnight, Bucky!" you chirp, turning on your heel with a whoosh of air. And he stops you in your tracks, hand on your bicep. You don't turn back around, stuck staring at the foot of your bed.

"Doll," he whispers, roped up by fear and a pinch of self-pity. Attending his own funeral with a sick smile on his face. "Just how much did you hear."

You spin on the balls of your feet, going hot in the face, fueled by the electricity at his fingertips. "A lot."

"Oh."

You nod and try your best non-psychotic smile. "Sorry."

"No, no... don't be," he says, trying his own. So you're just a couple of smirking idiots at a stalemate in a stale motel room. A couple of idiots with feelings for each other. Unresolved feelings. Unspoken, too.

"I actually—could I?" You point behind him into the cramped bathroom, and he lets go of you like it's his last move before you put him in check. Before he has to hand you the game. Though, he'd do that in a heartbeat. Every game of his is yours. "Thanks."

"No problem." He shuts his eyes when you close the door with a calculated tenderness. Like you don't want to frazzle his poor heart.

But then why would you open the door again? Why would you wrap your arms around his waist and nuzzle into his back? Why would you make it all so much worse and spread your fingers over his abdomen, taking a deep breath when he runs his hand down your forearm and turns to face you. Then you melt with his strong arms holding you thisclose.

"Like you a lot, too, Barnes. You're just a big dunce a lot of the time. But that's like... half the draw or whatever," you mumble into his shoulder. And you've never been this close, and he thinks he could pass out. Become a chalk outline in a dusty motel in Minnesota. But if it happened like this, he'd be okay with that statistic.

marvel masterlist

[wonderlandwalker]

A Hero on Socks | Virgin!Eddie Munson x Reader

Stranger Things Masterlist / Inbox

Summary: You've always known your now boyfriend Eddie was a virgin, but with how worked up you've been while teasing him recently, you're not gonna let the first time be over that quickly

Content Warnings / Tags: Smut, mdni, virgin!eddie, established relationship, wrap it before you tap it obviously, overstimulation, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Couldn't resist my Eddie Munson fixation any longer. The title comes from a Dutch expression and it basically means someone who seems courageous but is actually a nervous little shit and it seemed perfect for Eddie. I haven't written in a little while so I hope this is still good <3 (This accidentally posted early so enjoy xx)

The two of you had been dancing on a delicate line of 'just friends' for a while now, and you're not even entirely sure what the turning point was, but eventually you crossed it, now officially being able to call Eddie Munson your boyfriend.

He made heart eyes at you every time you walked in a room, and not a single one of your friends failed to point this out when you told them you got together, none of them the slightest bit surprised. 

It might be a new relationship, but you have known each other for years now, and you knew how to get what you wanted from Eddie. So yes, you knew he was still a virgin, but you failed to see how this would make a difference to you, you didn't care, people shouldn't have to worry that others will hold that against them. What you hadn't counted on, however, was how shy he actually turned whenever you started to tease him.

While you were still friends he would flirt with you unrelentingly, constantly making suggestive comments and touching you in one way or another. But maybe the fact that nothing was supposed to come of it gave him the boost he now seemed to have lost, because whenever you slipped your hand underneath his shirt when you were on the couch next to him, every moment you tried to heat up a kiss, he would go rigid, you would feel his body tense as he ceased any and all actions to create some distance between you. 

You asked him what was going on, asked him if he didn't want to have sex with you, and you had never seen him swivel his head in place so fast, his eyes wide with confusion as he looked at you, sputtering to tell you that wasn't the problem at all. And that's when you learned that the dungeon master of the hellfire club was in fact nervous. 

And really, it was quite cute to see the blood rush to his cheeks when you took your top off, his Adams apple bobbing as you sucked on his pulse point. The boy was downright bashful. 

As the days passed, you found more and more ways in which to get a rise of out him, in more ways than one. From walking into the chill living room without a bra under your t-shirt to not so subtly grinding your ass into him while standing closeby, but your plan began to backfire as you just wanted him more and more yourself, wondering how much longer your patience would hold up. 

The silent curses and groans had you losing your own mind with lust as the days passed, up until the moment he had finally snapped, dragging you into his bedroom in frenzy, trying to get you on top of him as fast as he could.

All of your hard work had led to this moment right here, you could hear his panting from underneath you, his breath becoming more shallow as the muscles in his abdomen started to twitch, and if you weren't so lost in pleasure yourself, you might have teased him for how fast he was becoming undone. 

It's only been a few minutes, and there's a heat creeping up on his neck, you can't resist bending over to meet his lips in a searing kiss. When you move on to mouth at the soft skin of his neck, delicately sucking hickeys into it, the sounds that leave him are nothing less than sinful.

His hands have a death grip on your hips, trying to ground himself but miserably failing every time you grind yourself further into him. You're trying to figure out what he's saying, but it's no more than mumbling in-between his moans of your name, and with how hazy your head is you don't have it in yourself to figure it out. It's only when he suddenly slams his head back against the pillow, face screwed up in a way you can see the small crease between his eyebrows as he curses wildly that you pick up on the fact he wasn't just close, no, he just came. 

At any other time you would have found it adorable, you would have giggled and coed at him softly as you assured him with a sweet kiss that it's okay, but not this time. This time you've been getting yourself worked up from teasing him, from leading him up to this, from the feeling of finally, finally  getting his dick inside you. So no, not this time, this time you won't let the feeling in your stomach fade away, won't stop just yet. 

You feel his cum coating your walls, and the feeling only keeps you going further. It takes Eddie a few seconds to catch on in his state, heavy breath he's trying to catch and a permanent look of pleasure now etched on his face, but you know the exact moment he realizes from the small twitch his dick is already giving again.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing?" He sounds almost close to tears, but he looks at you with nothing but amazement in his eyes.

"You might be done Eddie, but that doesn't mean that I am" youre starting to get a little out of breath yourself, the sentence caught between small whimpers, he scrunches his eyes shut again when you tell him, and the most heavenly moan leaves his mouth as you continue to roll your hips. 

You knew deep down that if he truly wanted to, he could easily get you off him, even in a euphoric state, and so you knew that he is enjoying himself just as much as you are.

His eyes snap back open as you start to go faster, chasing that warm feeling bubbling up inside you, his dick is fully hard again inside you, and you don't doubt it has turned an angry red colour by now. 

"It's too much baby, I can't-" he doesn't manage to finish his thought from the guttural groan that follows him, and you can't deny it only turns you on further to see him this blissed out. 

He's struggling to keep his eyes open, wanting to watch you but gettig lost in the vision of it. Torn between pleasure and pain, the two merging together as you keep going. You can feel the satisfaction of it tugging at your heart as you keep moving, feeling his throbbing dick inside of you as you change the rythm. Eddie is still a mess underneath you, whimpering and groaning for anything, for everything, and it’s too fun not to tease him further.

“What do you want Eddie, tell me and I might give it to you.” You wonder if it even matters what you’re saying, sure that at this point he’s far beyond reach, but he doesnt dare leave you unanswered. 

“You’re so warm baby fuck, just please, please”

You lean into him again, leaving a trail of kisses down the spot on his neck you know make him go weak. “Please what, finish your sentences honey, or I’ll stop right now” The both of you know it’s an empty threat, you’re too close yourself to even dare abandon your goal, but the mere thought of it is enough to make Eddie give you anything you’d want, youre decently sure you could ask for the moon right now and he would go out to catch it for you.

“Please let me cum, I wanna cum so bad holy shit” He can feel you tightening around him as he asks, another pornographic moan leaving him, and you would have made fun of him for it if you weren’t basking in the fact you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

“Alright baby, because you asked so nicely, go ahead, cum for me.” you whisper the response in his ear, and it takes him mere seconds to find your lips, hiding away in the sweet escape of your tongue against his. For the second time you can feel his cock pulsing his cum inside of you, desperate for the realease. And it’s that feeling exactly, the feeling of his pleasure, that tips you over the edge yourself. The ecstasy taking over your mind, helplessly keeping rocking against him as you slump over, moaning his name as you cum. He catches you in his arms, already tracing patterns in your skin as you’re still riding out your orgasm. 

It takes you a few minutes to fully come back to earth, stars twinkling in your vision. You can feel Eddie’s steady breathing underneath you, his heart still thumping rapidly as you listen for his regular pattern of breaths, mimicking it in order to catch your own. 

“You alright?” His soft voice soothes you, always so gentle, even if most can’t see it. It makes you chuckle this time around, amused at the irony.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” He mirrors your expression now, a grin breaking out across his face.

“Never been better sweetheart” He accompanies his words with sloppy kisses all over your face, smacking his lips against you in a manner that has you giggling against him.

“Was worried it was too much is all” You look down when you tell him, and he cups your jaw, silently asking you to face him again

“There isn’t a world out there where there could be too much of you.” He kisses you slowly this time, not rushed, not chasing anything, simply enjoying the moment as it is.

You lift yourself up slightly, feeling him leave from inside of you, and when he does you already miss the feeling again. You feel his seed dripping out of you, revelling in how he filled you up until you were so, so full. He’s watching, and you can feel his dick make a small twitch at the sight as he’s holding his breath, completely fixated on it.

“Fucking hell-” he still can’t seem to tear his gaze away, and you’re not immune to the effect itself.

“Give me a few minutes and we can go for another round” You’re laughing at his antics now, his nerves seeming to have fully disappeared and the Eddie you know so well has made it back to you.

He coaxes you to the side to lay down next to him as he slides his arms around you, your leg tangling over his as you snuggle up beside him. Your limbs feel like jelly as he holds you, his fingers still delicately moving across your skin as you can hear his heartbeat evening out from where you're lying down on his chest. This was Eddie, your Eddie, a guy who put on a big show for everyone, but when he was with you got to see his true self, and it only made you love him more.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

eyes on the monitor

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: mike catches something on the security cameras that really shouldn't be happening at a family-friendly pizzeria—even an abandoned one

warnings: 18+ MDNI, stranger!reader, submissive!mike, trespassing, smut, m&f masturbation, public masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, squirting, finger sucking, cum eating, looming danger

word count: 3k

Mike has seen a lot of things on the security monitors in his three short nights working at Freddy's. 

Old animatronics that still roam about like they're possessed, cryptic messages written on dusty windows and mirrors. But he can honestly say he never saw this coming.

As the cameras shift from right to left, one of the screens glitches and crackles, and then there's you, tucked into a booth like you belong there. Except you don't. He's not even sure how you evaded his notice, let alone how you got into the building.

Don't you have any idea what's lurking in these halls? The dangers that patiently wait behind the curtained stage not even ten feet from where you're sitting? From where you're...

Fuck.

There's no way you possibly can because you're still lounging there without a care in the world, your legs spread wide and your jeans dangling off one ankle while you fuck yourself on your fingers. Two of them, your ring and middle, pump a steady rhythm in and out, dribbling slick all over the vinyl beneath you. You're so wet, even the camera's picking up the refracted light from the prize counter glinting off your pussy.

He should be panicked. He should be halfway to the auditorium by now to stop you, to drag you out of the pizzeria before the unthinkable happens, but—

But he can't bring himself to move or stop watching. He can't stop himself from palming his stiffening cock through his pants, either. Your head lolls back onto the booth and your body readjusts, giving him the perfect view of your languid movements. Now, it's almost like you're on display just for him.

And suddenly, he doesn't care about Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, or Foxy. He definitely doesn't care about his job or whatever else that career counselor said on the phone. The only thing Mike cares about is getting his dick out as fast as humanly possible so he can match the calculated press of your fingers and your frustratingly unhurried pace. 

You're thoroughly enjoying your pleasure—that much is clear—and it would be so easy to just...join in. He'd planned on sleeping through his fourth night, but now that you're here, there's nothing else he'd rather be doing than spending his shift fucking his fist and pretending it's you.

It'd be wrong. So, so wrong, but as you continue on, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil, he can feel himself getting harder and harder. There's a growing wet patch on the front of his sweatpants that's getting difficult to ignore, and he nearly moans as he grinds the heel of his hand into his lap for relief.

His gaze trails down your figure, surprisingly clear on the aging monitors, and he watches, dry-mouthed, as your unoccupied hand snakes up your body to tweak a nipple through your shirt. 

Fuck it, he can't take this anymore.

He yanks his pants down so fast, he's shocked he doesn't knock himself onto the floor, and hisses out a breath the moment his fingers wrap around himself. It aches with how good it feels, but he only allows his eyes to roll back for a split second before they're locked back on you. 

And you're sexy as hell. Your shirt's been tugged up and tucked under your chin to reveal that you decided to forgo a bra, in addition to the rest of your inhibitions, and he's thanking every deity he doesn't believe in that he doesn't have to imagine the plush curve of your tits and how they'd look sucked into his mouth.

Crap. He can't keep thinking shit like that if he wants to last longer than a few minutes. Ignoring the angry pulsing against his palm, he starts to stroke himself in time with your thrusts, diligently following your lead. But you're moving so slowly like you've got all the time in the world in this abandoned wonderland you've claimed for yourself, and Mike's time is limited. 

The longer this night goes on, the more restless they become, and it won't be long before those curtains open and you're interrupted. For good. There must be something seriously wrong with him, because he doesn't give a shit about that, either. They can wait. He's got another job to finish, and he needs this.

It's been so long since he last allowed himself to let go, and even longer since his body actually wanted to. He's harder than he's ever been in his life, and it's confusing and a little painful, and yet he hopes he lasts until his alarm goes off at 6 a.m., teetering on the edge of nirvana right alongside you. He wants you to make him cum so badly, and he knows you will, even if you don't know it yourself.

Tiny, hushed pleas escape him as your fingers speed up, begging you to coax him, to encourage him to be good for you and follow your every move. His office is too far from the auditorium for his words to carry, but he continues to moan them anyway, desperately. Obediently.

His eyes flutter closed as he succumbs to the fantasy of your lips grazing the shell of his ear, giving him firm instructions and praising him when he proves how well he can listen.

Such a good boy for me, Mike. A little faster, not too much. Nice and tight, just like that.

"Fuck. Like this? Is...is this okay?" he whimpers aloud, thumbing over the tip on his next upstroke. 

His hips buck into his hand at the sensation, and he grits his teeth, anticipating an admonishment that never comes. He's more than a little disappointed. 

That is, until he hears it, crystal clear as it filters through the cracked door and reverberates through his entire body. A needy, perfect moan, rising in pitch and volume with each passing moment. Yours.

You must've heard him, somehow. It's the only explanation. He has no idea how long he's been babbling, drunk on the tight, slick slide of skin against skin, but you're responding to it encouragingly like he's only ever imagined in his wettest dreams.

Mike's eyes shoot open, darting back to the monitor, and he has to grip the base of his cock tight to keep from cumming then and there. You're staring directly at the camera now, your chest heaving as you fuck yourself with three fingers, and he winces at how quickly his balls start to tighten.

He's going to cum. Shit. Shit.

But you didn't tell him he could. You're not even aware of the power you hold over him, and yet—

"You sound close, baby. You gonna cum for me?"

He sees your lips move and then your voice rings out a moment later, breathy and labored, and...how the fuck did you end up in this place? Who are you? He fucks into his fist frantically, leaking precum all over his fingers, and he can feel sweat matting his dark curls to his forehead, pooling where his aching wrist meets his hip bone. 

Maybe it doesn't even matter how or why you're in this pizzeria, not anymore. He can't stop anyway, not when you're urging him on and calling him baby. He feels delirious, blind to the rest of the security monitors and newly flickering lights. To the purple curtain slowly opening behind you.

Right now, it's just you and him. The familiar, searing heat in the pit of his groin, and the wet squelch of your fingers stroking your convulsing walls and rubbing tight circles into your clit—you're both so close, he knows it. He just needs you to say it. He needs your permission.

"Only if—," he gasps, belatedly realizing that his other hand is cupping his balls, squeezing reflexively without his permission. "—only if you say I can."

He watches your jaw drop, and your thighs begin to quake in response. Quicker than he can process, there's a sudden shift, and your gaze darkens mischievously to match the subtle quirk of your lips. You're in control now and you know it. You like it. He does, too.

Your pace doesn't slow at all and, instead, your hips begin to swivel into your touch, grinding into the sticky vinyl bench for more friction. 

So, that turns you on, huh? If he strains his ears, he swears he can just make out the squeaking of a diner booth being pushed to its limit. He's never been more jealous of furniture in his life.

That could've been him, if only he'd manned up and done his damn job. He could've had you bent over that table or bouncing on his cock; felt you gushing around him, clamping down on him. You would've wrung him dry.

Turns out you still do, just from a little further away. 

"Still hanging in there?" you coo from the other room, but the teasing in your voice is undercut by something headier. You sound wrecked.

His eyebrows pinch together, his expression almost pained, and he can feel that telltale pressure building, building.

"Y-yeah, but I...fuck, I can't hold it anymore," he whimpers, unable to keep his hips from snapping up into his hand. His thrusts are getting sloppier and tears are beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes. He wishes you could see him right now. "C-can I? Please."

Your fingers stutter and, for a second, he thinks he might've pushed you over the edge, but you recover just long enough to give him one final push. To tell him the one thing he's been longing to hear since he tugged down his pants and started playing your little game.

"Such a good boy," you repeat from earlier, a murmur that just barely reaches his ears, except this time it's really you and not just a fantasy. "Cum, baby. Let me hear you."

Then, his mind goes blissfully blank.

Mike doesn't just cum, he bursts. Soft whimpers taper into something guttural and animalistic as thick spurts coat his security vest and dribble down his length, soaking into the thick fabric of his sweatpants. He moans his way through it, nearly giving himself a friction burn with the intensity of his grip and speed. And he's loud, just like you told him to be. Much louder than he should be.

For a brief moment, his vision whites out, and he almost misses what he's been looking forward to all night. He blinks away the lingering spots obscuring his sight, and that's when it happens. Bathed in flashing green and yellow fluorescents, your entire body curls in on itself, shaking as your orgasm overcomes you and soaks the floor. 

His cock jerks pathetically in his hand as you work yourself through it, your eyes heavy-lidded and still locked on the camera. After a few more pumps, you slump into your seat and remove your fingers from your cunt, sucking them wetly into your mouth. 

He should get up. He should walk right into that auditorium with his dick still out so you can clean him up too, but he feels frozen in place. The skin at the back of his neck prickles and erupts into goosebumps and it feels like a warning, yet he still can't bring himself to look away from you. 

So, he doesn't notice the purple curtain opening just a fraction more in the background, and the curved, silver hook that peeks out from behind it. The blood rushing in your ears and steady heaving of your chest masks the metallic rattling, leaving you dangerously in the dark, too.

But Mike's eyes on the monitor are just enough to keep the pirate in his cove, and you're captivating enough to ensure they stay there. 

Sticky fingers twitch in his lap and, as if you can tell, you smirk around your own before pulling them free with a lewd pop. His mouth waters at the thought of what you must taste like and, unbeknownst to him, you're thinking the exact same about him. Since you're not there to help him yourself, you ask him to be good for you one last time.

"It's your turn," you laugh teasingly, swirling your tongue around your fingertips. "You should probably clean yourself up before you head home. It's almost six."

Heat curls low in his stomach and compels him to obey again. A cursory glance down at his watch tells him you're right—his alarm will go off soon, way sooner than he expected, and he's still covered in sweat and his own release. He could pop out of the office to the bathroom and be back before any real damage is done, probably. But that's not really what you're asking for.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he calls out, not bothering to hide the neediness in his voice. He's never experienced anything like this—like you—before and he's not sure he'll get the opportunity ever again.

"Lick it off. All of it," you instruct, dropping your fingers between your legs to swirl around your clit before popping them back into your mouth. Slowly, you show him exactly what you want, and he's a little horrified to realize he's getting hard again. "Can you do that for me?"

He nods quickly, forgetting you can't see his approval, but it doesn't matter, anyway. He's sucking the drying cum off his palm and fingers faster than he can reply, and his muffled responding moan tells you everything you need to know. After everything that's happened during this unexplainable night shift and everything you've made him feel, he'd likely do anything you asked.

"Such a good listener," you continue, ceasing your ministrations to lazily slip your underwear and jeans back into place. 

He's hit with a sudden wave of panic. This can't be over yet. There's still so much mystery shrouding you and whatever connection you have to this place, and if you leave now, he'll be left wondering forever. He wants answers, but disappointingly, you only leave him with more questions.

"How did I get so lucky with you, huh? The other security guards weren't nearly this fun," you smirk, dropping another bomb he never saw coming.

Oh. Oh. He freezes as he finishes laving the remaining wetness between his thumb and index fingers, the reality of the situation finally making itself known. This isn't the first time you've done this. It's probably not even the second or third. This is a habit, and he's not the only unwitting participant to fall prey to your seduction.

Fuck, he knew you were too good to be true. He hates that his body's still fighting his rationality while you sit there genuinely believing you've done nothing wrong. So innocent and, yet, still such an enigma. No one's ever made him cum that hard but, thankfully, his head is finally clear enough to put a stop to all of this. It's time to do his job.

The opportunity presents itself almost immediately. The flickering lights that have progressively gotten worse since his shift started reach a fever pitch, and the familiar figure in the corner of the screen reveals itself, wrenching his attention away from you. 

Mike barely has enough time to warn you before the screens start to glitch—every single one of them—and display nothing more than lines and lines of meaningless code. 

"You have to go. Now," he yells, struggling to be heard over the tinny screeching and jarring sounds of children's laughter crackling violently over the intercom. "Just—get out of here. Run, you have to run!"

He doesn't wait for a response, operating on autopilot as he wrestles his pants up and shoots out of his seat to the breaker box across the room. Terror and adrenaline pump through his veins, puppeteering him through the instructions left for him by Mr. Raglan.

Pull the lever down then back up, reset the power, and wait for the monitors to reboot. All he can do now is hope the machines don't deem you a threat and let you go. The room is plunged into darkness and the speakers go eerily silent.

Then, the systems come back online just like they're supposed to. But you're gone. He frantically searches the monitors for even a trace of you, evidence that you ever existed at all, but there's nothing. The only relief he's granted is that there's no blood or pieces of you scattered across the building. There's nothing at all.

Bracing himself on the desk in front of him, he breathes in desperate lungfuls of air, crashing from his adrenaline-fueled high and giving in to exhaustion. Just one more night. One more night at Freddy's, and he'll take that paycheck and never look back.

After a while of waiting for his panic to subside, his watch starts to beep, signaling the end of this night from hell. Fighting to ignore his conflicting feelings and lingering confusion, and even more so the phantom heat still licking at the base of his spine when he lets his thoughts stray back to you, he grabs his backpack and all but speed walks to the breaker to cut the power again.

As his fingers close around the lever, the intercom suddenly crackles to life. Something akin to hope blooms in his chest, and he whips around to see your image picked up by the camera at the entrance, radiant and unharmed under the morning sun of a new day. 

You're smiling, and he can't find it in himself to care that he's smiling back. You turn to leave, then think better of it.

"Same time tomorrow?" 

He scoffs, shaking his head at how ridiculous his life has become since he started this gig. If not even haunted animatronic mascots and the looming threat of death can't keep you away, then who is he to try? 

Yeah. He'll see you tomorrow.

thanks for reading!

[eiralunaire]

Damian Wayne/Reader latina.

Warning:AU soulmates, fluff

For as long as Damian Wayne can remember, he has lived with the intrigue of the phrase written on his right arm: "Green-eyed moron. You're an pendejo.". He knew what that mark meant, like everyone else in his world: it was the first phrase his soulmate would say to him. What he didn't understand was why, in a universe where soulmates meet with words of love or admiration, his was so insulting, aside from the fact that it had a Mexican word so he assumed his soulmate had Latin ancestry, it wasn't like it bothered him if that was the case. There was no context to help him understand the reason for that sentence, and, with his serious and analytical nature, he had questioned it more times than he was willing to admit.

Over the years, Damian became an expert at dodging that thought. Fighting crime in Gotham, following in the footsteps of the League of Assassins and being trained by the best didn't leave him much time to think about that future connection. But, like everyone who carried the mark, she knew that when she heard it, her life would change forever. An invisible bond, deep and strong, would be created with that person.

On the other hand, Reader had her own mark on her left arm for as long as she could remember: "Watch where you're going, garden gnome.". She couldn't help but laugh every time she read it. A "garden gnome"? Who the hell would say something like that when meeting their soulmate? Sometimes, she joked with her friends about how ridiculous her first interaction with her soulmate would be, but deep down there was always a part of her that wondered when it would happen. The idea that a simple phrase could unite two lives was both exciting and terrifying. And even though she wouldn't admit it, it also generated a certain amount of expectation.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was a normal day in Gotham, which meant chaos was the norm. Reader had gone out to run some errands around the city. As she walked, absorbed in her own thoughts, she didn't notice someone coming straight in her direction at a fast pace, dodging the crowd as if it was part of their daily routine. Suddenly, the crash was inevitable.

“Watch where you're going, garden gnome! ”a male voice growled, deeply irritated.

Reader stopped dead in her tracks. Her head whipped around to the source of the voice, her eyes meeting those of the boy who had just spoken to her. Green eyes. Intense, piercing, and clearly annoyed. But that wasn't what stunned her. No, what paralyzed her was the phrase she had just heard. The phrase. That absurd phrase that she had written on her arm since she was a child. Her heart raced, and a feeling of electricity ran through her body, as if something inside her had clicked. There was no doubt: this guy was her soulmate.

But, instead of reacting with surprise or softness, the only thing that came out of her mouth was: “Green-eyed asshole. You're an pendejo.”

Damian stared at her, his features hardening for a split second before his brain processed what he had just heard. That sentence. His sentence. His damn sentence. The one he had seen on his arm his entire life. And there it was, spoken by this stranger, whose voice rang in his ears like a bell he couldn't ignore. He felt the same click, that connection he had heard so much, but had never really believed. An invisible force tied him to her at that very moment.

They both stood there, staring at each other in silence, as if the world around them had disappeared. The words were the indication that they were soulmates, but the bond they felt was deeper, a connection that seemed to have been waiting a lifetime to activate.

Finally, Damian was the first to break the silence, although his tone was still somewhat harsh. “You’re not very nice to your soulmate, are you?”

Reader laughed, a mix of disbelief and relief. “You didn’t start off with the best of phrases either, ‘garden gnome.’”

They both relaxed slightly at the strange situation they found themselves in. It was surreal, and yet so natural. There was something about each other’s presence that fit, as if, despite the bad start, the universe had put everything in its place.

Damian, still a little bewildered, couldn't help but look at her more closely. Despite the accident of the encounter, there was something about her that attracted him in a way unlike anything he had ever experienced before. His always logical and calculating mind was now challenged by the emotional connection he couldn't ignore.

“I suppose this means that... ”Reader began, not quite knowing how to continue.

“That we are soulmates ”Damian finished, nodding slightly.

She looked at him for a moment, still processing the reality of the situation. “I never imagined I would meet my soulmate this way.”

Damian let out a sigh, letting his guard down for a moment. “Neither did I. I thought... it would be different. ”He paused for a second, and then a small sarcastic smile appeared on his face. “Though, to be fair, the sentence made it clear.”

Reader laughed again, and although Damian was not someone who usually showed emotions so openly, he felt that, somehow, he had found a part of himself in her. A part that he didn't know he was missing.

[vechter]

ao3 for dick grayson fics is such a trying experience, truly bc what do you mean there's not one, not two but an overwhelming abundance of fics where dick is a bad sibling and jason todd is the ideal, supportive, drops-everything-for-your-crisis sibling?

like i can understand the appeal of exploring the lesser of dick's choices and character traits and how those impact his relationships with the rest of the bats but you mean to tell me that any of them- damian, tim, cass- tim, especially- would willingly go to jason for help when they have the option of asking dick?

as much as red robin is a deeply rich, complex story about grief and morality, i'm afraid it did irreparable damage to dick's character, not to mention tim's (that boy does not have an egregiously high body count, comics would never gloss over that kind of mass death or be implicit about it in any way if that had actually happened)

dick's primary character thesis is being a safety net for people who fall- the way bruce and batman were for him after his parents died. it's one of his chief driving forces. there is no world where he doesn't help out a stranger, let alone his siblings if they come to him for help. and despite all of the bats being notoriously bad at asking for help and support, the number of instances where dick is an empathetic listener, doling out advice and emotional support and compassion (even when people are tight-lipped about needing any of those things) far outweighs the times he has been short-sighted or intentionally harsh. no character is perfect but to see how often jason is written favourably whilst simultaneously dragging dick is maddening fr

like, fine you like jason a lot. it can be fun and cathartic to write about him choosing to develop relationships outside of his grief/trauma/revenge with bruce (although i think that the most compelling thing about jason is how much of his character post-resurrection is driven by existing as a dead boy walking so to see him actually care about living and making healthy choices would probably require something beyond therapy with harley quinn lmao) but is it really necessary to do that while putting dick down? both tim and damian have seen dick while he is decidedly not at his best (reeling from the circus burning down in nw '96, grieving bruce, finding his footing as batman) and have come out the other side firm in their belief in him. cass, unfortunately is more removed from dick's immediate circle but that's a whole other tangent about how peripheral dick is to both of the batgirls that come after babs. steph, by virtue of having a parent who is alive, is lucky enough to be removed from more of the complicated dynamics all of them have with each other. and while dick is an ass in her initial batgirl days, he does warm up to her (but that again is a whole other post considering the legitimacy and nuances of characterizations in batgirl- tim never gets the same flak for his treatment of steph despite being much, much closer to her and actually knowing her beyond the second robin to die- and even then, when dick finds out about steph's death, the gist of initial reaction is to blame bruce, perhaps, rightfully so)

like you're falling for his act!!! as readers of a form of media like comics, we are lucky enough to get a glimpse into dick's inner neuroses and thought-processes while simultaneously seeing how he acts on them. ofc we see him make mistakes but a lot of the other characters don't!! and if/when they do, they don't see beyond the performance he delivers. even barring the fucked-up-ness of a high stakes job like vigilantism where trauma and death and adrenaline are linked together messily, no relationship between two people is perfect. people hurt each other, people lash out!! but the most compelling thing about dick is how often he reaches out, how often he swings back even after he has swung away!! that's what makes him such a source of light, hope and positivity for everybody he encounters

and this is not even touching n52 which seems like the most hasty kind of decision making and writing from editorial with no consideration for a lot of the characters' histories, lore and their core characterizations

[gilverrwrites]

Dickies Mom has got it goin’ on

Had to get this convoluted, angsty but fun idea out of my head. One day I might expand it into a better-written, fleshed-out fic, but for now please enjoy my yappy ramblings.

Wally West/BatMom!Reader

CWs: Wally being a not so great friend.

So like, imagine you're roughly late 20s/early 30s and happily married to the love of your life Bruce Wayne, there's an age gap sure, but ultimately that's not important. What matters is that you've made a life with him and his children. You're especially close with Dick, his eldest (late teens/early 20s) as you've known him since he was a teenybopper.

All is well, until one day in true comic book fashion; you die. You sacrifice yourself for a greater cause. It's all very tragic.

A decade later, it turns out fate isn't done with you. You've no idea how or why, but you wake in a coffin one day and have to claw yourself out of it. Cold, alone, and afraid, you make your way back to Wayne Manor. There you're greeted by your husband Bruce, but not really. This Bruce is greying. There are fine lines on his face you've never seen before and a ring on his finger that does not match yours.

You're not mad, it's been 10 years, and he was supposed to move on! But it doesn't feel like 10 years to you, it feels like only yesterday everything was perfect. It's devastating.

Queue Dick finding out. He just so happened to be hanging with his best pal Wally at the time, they both drop everything to rush over in a flash.

Your first night back on earth is messy. It's emotional, and stressful, a hell of a roller coaster. Ultimately, you spend most of it with Dick and Jay who surprise is also back from the dead. Dick is really your emotional soundboard, while Jay offers more practical advice about navigating a world that has gone on without you. He recommends you just take some time off, heal your wounds, catch-up with friends and family. You should learn from his mistakes.

Wally helps too. Primarily in a comedian relief way but also just as a sunny friendly face. His freckles and kind green eyes go a long way in making you feel at ease amongst a sea of familiar strangers.

He's adamant you've met before but you insist you'd never forget eyes that green and it stops his heart. You mean nothing by it, but it means a lot to him.

After you’ve parted ways, Dick makes a point of telling Wally not to flirt with you if he ever meets you again.

“Flirting? I wasn't flirting.”

“I was there.”

“But, come on man she's hot!”

“She’s my mom.”

“But she's our age now.”

“Wally, she's my mom!”

Eventually, after a lot of teasing, Wally surrenders but he deliberately makes no promises. He can't, not when he's been replaying the same 5-second interaction you'd had at Dicks 18th Birthday party many moons ago in his head over and over. He’ll try for his best friend, but it seems to him like this was meant to be.

Bruce may not be in love with you anymore, but he still loves you. So he helps how he can, offers you food and shelter, medical attention, a job, whatever you need to get yourself back on your feet.

You decide to take Jasons advice. Bruce still has a lot of your things; your clothes and your car. You ‘borrow’ gas money from your widowed husband and hit the road to seek out lost friends and family. Sad, but eager to get away from the city that no longer feels like home. You leave your rings with Alfred, a sign to Bruce that you expect nothing from him, that you'll leave him and his new wife be even though it breaks your heart.

The first stop is Dick, obviously, since you have to travel through Blüd. After joining him for a routine patrol, you spend the night on his couch, eating Thai food and talking about his life since you… passed. Nightwing as just finding his footing back then, but now he's a force to rival Batman.

You're two states over when you get a call from a number you don't recognise. Most of the people you know have changed their numbers since you last spoke, so don't hesitate to answer. You're surprised however by whose on the other end.

“Wally West? How did you get this number?”

“From Dick.”

He's not lying, he's just omitting the fact that Dick doesn't know Wally got your number from his phone bill. If he didn't want that info getting out he should probably put his bills somewhere other than a lockbox in a safe and quit being only person in the entire world to still actively use a landline.

His not-a-lie works however, the implication of Dick's approval helps you to let down those mother-appropriate conversation walls.

“Heard you're travelling cross country, any chance you plan on stopping in Keystone?”

“Why? Whats in Keystone?”

“Um, the Patriots?”

“Baseball?”

“And hotdogs! Al who serves em does not skimp on all the toppings, you've gotta try em.”

“You want me to detour in Keystone for baseball and hotdogs?”

“Well, there is something else.”

“And whats that?”

“Guess.”

“Unmmm… You?”

“Ding ding ding. She's smart and beautiful, a woman after my own heart.”

He's cute. So cute. He's no Bruce, but Bruce never made you laugh like this.

“Wally, this is a bad ideas. I was married until like a week ago.”

“And? I'm not askin’ you to walk down the aisle again, just one game and like 20 hotdogs. For me. You don't have to eat that many unless you want too.”

[javierpena-inatacvest]

You're My Home

Summary: You and Javi have both had one of those weeks where no matter how hard you try, nothing seems to go right. It only takes so long before something stupid makes the both of you snap. When Javi confesses to you what's been putting him on edge, you find a way to make it up to each other.

Word Count: 4.9K

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), established relationship, unprotected p in v sex (wrap before u tap), vaginal fingering, creampie, angst, PTSD (poor Javi has a panic attack but you help him through it), hurt/comfort, makeup sex (!!!!), bad communication but apologizing/forgiving each other, mentions of food/eating, reader wears Javi's shirt and is carried by Javi, fluff fluff fluff bc you two are so in love with each other it hurts

This can be read as a stand alone or as a part of the It's Never Too Late Series!

A/N: I don't know what's been in the water that has me so compelled to make something angsty, but here we are!! Once I started writing this I quite literally could not stop, and it turned out to be one of the most intimate things I have ever written 😭🥺 I love these two sm

It had been a week. 

A long fucking week. 

One of those weeks where it felt like no matter how hard you tried, everything just felt… off. You had just started volunteering to run the Alma Pierce Elementary School drama club, which had you staying an extra hour and a half after school every Monday and Wednesday, on top of preparing for Parent-Teacher Conferences next week. You loved your group of students this year, but holy shit, were they chatty, and the past few days you felt like you might as well have put a cardboard cutout of yourself at the front of the room and left, because your class had absolutely zero interest in paying attention to you. To top it off, you could tell that Javi was having a bad week too. You hadn’t seen much of each other the past few days, with you working late and prepping for conferences, and Javi working on a new project the department had dropped in his lap without notice. Even though you lived in the same apartment, you had felt like strangers this week. Sure, you’d had off days before, but the two of you were always open and honest with each other, seeking comfort and safety in the other's presence, knowing that you were both there for one another, through good times, and bad. 

But this week was not like those “off” days. Something about it had felt tense, cold, even. You hated it. You hated every second of it. The two of you were never like this. Javi was your best friend, yet somehow, sitting in the same room, you still felt a million miles apart. Every interaction that you’d had left a worse taste in your mouth than the last- snapping at each other over stupid things like unclosed containers in the fridge or leaving towels on the bathroom floor. The worst was that Javi just could not seem to let things go, his presence feeling overbearing, almost bossy, with everything that you did. 

“You left the iron on while you were getting ready, you’re gonna burn down the fucking aparment.” 

“Double check the locks on the door, you forgot this morning.” 

“If you don’t fix the bath mat before you get in the shower, you’re gonna break your goddamn head open.” 

Even worse than that, when you tried to politely remind Javi about something, or do something helpful for him, he had been a complete asshole to you. 

“Yes, I can remember to clean it up after I’m done, I’m not fucking 8 years old.” 

“Jesus, I know we need more coffee creamer, you put it on the grocery list and reminded me twice.” 

“I can put away my own laundry, just let me do it.” 

It felt like he was breathing down your neck, the fly in your ear that just wouldn’t go away, and it made you want to scream. You had considered yourself to be a pretty patient person- working with kids, you had to be, but this week, Javier Peña seemed to be testing every ounce of patience you had left in your body, and you were about to run out.  

Your Friday night routine with Javi normally consisted of the 3 same things every week

Javi picking up pizza from place down the street on the way home from work

Eating the pizza and watching a movie 

Pausing said movie to have sex, finish watching the movie, and then fall asleep on the couch. 

On this particular Friday, you had a very strong suspicion that none of those 3 things would be happening tonight. When you came home, you practically collapsed from exhaustion the moment you got through the door. Dropping your bag and kicking off your shoes, you crawled your way to the couch, completely collapsing in its cushions, taking a few deep breaths to try and regain your composure from the hellish day it had been. You finally mustered up enough strength to get up and change out of your work clothes into something more comfortable before sulking around the apartment, making yourself finish chores that had seemed to go neglected all week. Javi was normally home a half hour after you, but as you looked up at the clock, he was 20 minutes later than usual. It wasn’t long before another hour had gone by, leaving you absolutely starving, unable to wait for the dinner Javi may or may not be bringing home. You scavenged through your fridge and pantry, pulling out sauce and spaghetti to make yourself pasta to at least tide you over. 

When Javi got home two hours past his normal arrival, you were shocked by the smell of pizza that filled your apartment as he walked through the door. You were even more shocked by the reaction he had to seeing the pot of noodles you had left out on the stove while you sat at the kitchen table to finish report cards to hand out at conferences. 

“Did you already fucking eat?” His tone was sharp and brash as he dropped the pizza box on the kitchen counter. 

“Well you’re home two hours later than normal, Javi. What was I supposed to do? Not eat? I’m more than capable of fending for myself if you’re not here with pizza.” You could feel pressure in your stomach rising, clenching your fists to try and hold in the last bit of patience you had. 

“That’s not the fucking point. You know I always get pizza for us on Friday, you know I’m bringing you dinner, I can’t help that things have been a shit show at work and I’m still trying to at least do something to take care of you.” 

Take care of you? Nuh, uh. That was the last straw. 

You stood up out of your chair, palms flat on the table as you glared at Javi. “Take care of me? Seriously, Javi? Like I’m some sort of helpless little puppy that can’t fend for themself? I am more than fucking capeable of taking care of myself, and this whole week you have been acting like I am literally incapable of doing anything in this house. Listen, I can tell things have been shitty for you at work, and this week has sucked for me too, but every time I try to go do something nice for you, something to actually help take care of you? You’re already halfway down my goddamn throat, telling me to stop or fix whatever it is I’m doing.” Your heart was racing, blood pumping through your veins so intensely, you could feel your hands begin to shake. 

“Because it’s my fucking job to take care of you!” He growled, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as you stood with your hands on your hips, laughing at him in the least humorous way possible. 

“Your job? Your fucking job? You don’t think I’m capable of taking care of myself? That’s fucking great. So you can take care of me, but I can’t take care of you? Yeah, that makes sense. Un-fucking-believeable. I don’t know what the fuck has been going on with you this past week, but I can’t do this right now. I’m going on a fucking run.” You stormed to the door, throwing on your shoes as you white knuckled your keys in your grasp. 

“You fucking hate running!” Javi yelled, clenching his jaw before burying his hands in his face. 

“I don’t fucking care!” You grunted back, deliberately slamming the door behind you as you sauntered down the stairs of your apartment to the parking lot. Javi was right, there was no physical activity you hated more than running. You weren’t really sure what your plan was, just that you couldn’t stand there fighting with Javi anymore. You could feel the adrenaline flowing through you, enough to make you pick up your feet and actually begin sprinting down the sidewalk. You just kept running. Running until you could feel your sides begin to hurt, until your eyes began to sting from the tears welling behind them, until your chest felt like it was collapsing in on you, making you stop in the middle of the cement pathway in a full on breakdown. You could barely catch your breath, sobbing, as your hands dropped to your knees, your body trembling with each pathetic whimper. 

What the fuck were you doing? Why was Javi being like this? Why were you being like this? Why won’t he just talk to you? Why can you just not make things right? Why was the one person you loved more than anything in the world the one who was making you feel like you’d been run over by a semi-truck? 

Wiping your tears and snot with your sleeve, you took a deep breath and turned around to head home, determined to get to the bottom of whatever was causing you to both suffer through the worst week ever.

“Javi?” You peeked into the apartment, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“What?” He answered, his voice still sharp, making you wince as you walked over to the couch where he sat. 

“Javi… Javi what’s going on? I can’t do this anymore. If I did something to make you mad, I’m sorry, I just-” 

“Fucking work has just been a shit show, okay?” He snapped, cutting off your sentence. “I’m going to bed, I’m fucking exhausted.” He sighed as he got up, storming his way down the hallway, leaving you there alone on the couch, your bottom lip quivering as the tears began to stream down your face again, leaving you in a silent, sobbing heap on the couch. 

You waited a while before getting into bed with Javi, entering your bedroom in its already dark state to avoid crossing paths while the two of you finished your nighttime routines. You crawled into your comforter, eyes still red and puffy as you lay back to back with Javi, without so much as even a good night, let alone, an “I love you.” 

You could feel yourself stirring, tossing and turning in your sleep as you rolled over, outstretching your arm to an unfamiliarly empty space. You turned over to face Javi, now finding yourself wide awake at the fact that he wasn’t there next to you. Immediately, you shot up, calling out his name as you got out of bed, wondering where the hell he was. As you made your way into the hallway, you whispered his name once more before hearing the sounds of heavy, labored breathing coming from the living room. You rushed in, finding Javi sitting on the floor, his hand grasping at his chest with a look of pure panic on his face. 

“I feel like… Fuck, I feel like I can’t breathe. My heart is beating so fast.” He whimpered between his shaky breathing and sobs. “I just- I just kept seeing it over and over again in my head and I woke up and it still wouldn’t go away. Every when I wake up, it’s like it’s fucking haunting me. I feel like something’s crushing my chest. Baby, what’s happening?” He gasped as he looked up at you, helpless and desperate.  

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. You knew exactly what was happening. 

Immediately, you climbed into his lap, wrapping yourself around him as tightly as possible, stretching your arms as widely as you could around the broadness of his body. You tried to slow your breathing down, taking long inhales and exhales as you held him. “Just breathe, baby. It’s okay. You’re safe, I promise. I’m here. Deep breaths, okay?” 

“Osita, I can’t- Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” His voice was trembling, each word low and labored as he grasped at the back of his shirt you had draped over your back. 

“I know, baby. I know. I know it’s scary. I promise that you’re safe. I’m here, okay? Just breathe. In and out. I’m not leaving. You’re safe with me, I promise it will be okay.” Even though your heart was shattering, you did everything you could to be the calm in his storm, whispering your reassurances in your soft, sweet voice. Slowly but surely, you could feel the intensity of his breaths lessen, the rising and falling of his chest easing as he grasped tighter at your shirt, pulling you closer to him. 

“It’s okay, Javi. It’s okay. Listen, I’m gonna ask you to do something, alright? It’s gonna sound stupid but it’s gonna help.” You could feel him nod against your chest, his sobs finally beginning to slow. “Can you open your eyes and tell me 5 things you see?” You felt him lift his head, looking up at you, his face wet and red as his deep brown eyes locked with yours.

“Fuck, um, the- the wall, the carpet, the uh, um, the couch, shit, the TV, you. I can see you.” 

“Okay, perfect. What about 4 things you can touch, like feel in your hands?” You smiled gently at him as his breathing was now at a near normal rate. He raised up his arm, wiping his damp face with his palm. 

“My fucking wet face.” The both of you smirked, bringing you relief that Javi was already half laughing. “The carpet, my shirt, that always looks better on you than it does on me. Fuck, I can feel your skin, it’s always so soft. I love feeling it.” He ran one of his hands along the bare skin of your thigh, his fingers grasping at your flesh. 

“You’re doing great, baby. How about 3 things you can hear?” 

“Um, the cars outside, the fan, I could feel your heartbeat when I was on your chest.” He pressed his head back against you, raking your fingers through the ends of his damp curls, sticking to his forehead from his panicked sweat. 

Okay, almost done. What about 2 things you can smell?” You asked, running your fingers along the nape of his neck. 

“Your shirt smells like laundry. No matter how hard I try it just always smells better when you do it. And your shampoo. It always smells so sweet and fruity, it’s my favorite.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hand gently tugging at the ends of your hair, twisting his fingers through it. 

“Okay, last one. Something you can taste.” He lifted his head, looking at you as he slid the hand in your hair to cradle your jaw, cupping your face. 

“You.” He rasped, his lips barely pressing against yours, feeling the hot breaths between your mouths as they met. He pulled back, pausing for a moment before he spoke. “Baby…I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. This week has been all my fault. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this and I was scared. I was so fucking scared.” 

“Javi, it’s okay. Please, I just want to be here for you. You know you can tell me anything, okay? I love you, Javi. I love you more than anything. I know it hurts to talk about the things that scare you the most, but it’s even scarier watching the person you love hurt so badly and not knowing what to do to help them. I don’t care what it is, baby. There’s nothing you can tell me that’s gonna scare me away.” The look on his face nearly broke you. You could tell he was so hurt. Hurt by whatever had been haunting him. Hurt by the fact he wasn’t okay. Hurt by the fact that he had hurt you. 

“The project I’ve been working on this week… It all started because of how bad things are getting across the border in Mexico. A mom was out with her kids and they were all shot in a hit and run accident between two people making a drug trade. It was only an hour from here. I watched so many people do so many fucked up things that I thought I would never have to worry about again once I got home. And even if I did, I was going to be the only person I needed to worry about. But I couldn’t stop imagining that mom with her kids was you. You and our future kids. Every night since that fucking case file got set on my desk, I wake up to the same fucking nightmare of me running down the street, trying to grab you, push you, do anything to get you out of the way, but every fucking night I’m never fast enough. All I can do is watch as that bullet goes through you and you fall to the ground. I can’t let it happen to you. What if something goes wrong and I can’t protect you? I couldn’t fucking live with myself. I just want to keep you safe Osita. I’m so sorry. I love you too much to lose you.” 

Fuck. 

It wasn’t long before you were crying with him, squeezing him tightly once again, pressed against the warmth of his bare chest. That’s what had been going on. That’s why he had been so overbearing. That’s why he hadn’t been the Javi that you’d known and loved this week. On the night he’d told you the worst of the things he had seen and done away in Colombia, you had seen how his eyes had filled with regret, remorse, even anger. But this was different. Never once in the time that you’d known him had you seen Javi so scared. The look in his eyes when you found him sitting on the floor was one of pure terror. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like, waking up night after night to the image of Javi slipping away, let alone coming to grips with the reality that you couldn’t even fathom, and he knew far too well. Javi knew you had no problem sticking up for yourself. You were strong, tough, and fiercely independent- those were all things he loved so much about you. But those things weren’t enough to protect you from the dangers that haunted his past, or the terrifying reality of the present. 

Through the silent cries of your sobs, you felt Javi’s hand under your chin, lifting your head to force your eyes to meet. “Osita, I’m so sorry. Pease, please forgive me. I’ve been so lost in my own world this week because I’ve been so scared about what could happen to you. I had my head so far up my own ass that I thought I was doing everything I could to try and keep you safe in any way that I could, and instead I’ve just been a fucking dick to the person I care about more than anything in the world. I don’t wanna fight anymore, I fucking hate it. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

You draped your arms around his neck, your fingers tracing small, gentle circles along his back as you stared back at him. “I didn’t know, Javi. I didn’t know you were so scared. I’m so sorry. I don’t wanna fight anymore either. This has been the shittiest week. I missed you. I missed my best friend.” He pressed his hand against the back of your head, cradling it in his palm as he hugged you tightly. “You just have to promise me something, okay?” 

“Anything. Anything, baby.” 

“You have to promise me that you can’t keep all of this in. You have to promise me you’ll talk to someone about it. Me, your dad, people at work, Steve, a therapist, someone. There are so many people who care so much about you who just wanna help. You’re the strongest person I know, Javi, but it’s okay to not be strong sometimes.” He let out a long, shaky breath, darting his eyes down at the ground, the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. “You promise me?” You asked again, grabbing his face in your hands, swiping your thumb along his wet cheeks. 

“I promise.” 

In that moment, it was like the two of you could feel something in the air change. The tension lifting, the frustrated fog fading, the both of you desperately needing the other to know how sorry you were for the way you had acted. You found yourself face to face, eyes closing as your mouths came together in the most gentle, tender kiss. But even as your parted lips barely pressed against one another, you could practically feel how desperate you both were. 

“I love you.” 

Even though you whispered it against the soft, unshaven stubble of Javi’s cheek, it feels like you’re screaming it, determined to make sure he hears those 3 words as they fall from your lips, that he knows how much you mean each one, every second of every hour of every day. You can feel the heat in your chest as his hands grasp around the small of your back, pulling you closer as your bodies melt together, the tension straining in your muscles dissipating with each second he pulls you closer. 

“I love you too.” 

It felt like suddenly, all was right with the world again. The Javi you knew and loved had come back, returning home to you. All of the fear and sadness was replaced by a rampant desperation to know how much you needed him, almost as much as he needed to show you how desperately he craved you, too. The tingle built at the base of your spine as his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, his hand creeping further up your belly, pressing against the curves of your sides. You raised your arms as his fists balled up the worn fabric, carefully lifting it over your head as his hot breath ran against your neck, leaving gentle, tender kisses along your newly exposed skin. Your hands pressed against his hips, tugging at the waistband of his cotton sleep shorts as he locked his arms under your legs, bringing you both to stand as you wrapped your legs around the small of his back, the skin of your bare chests brushing against each other as he carried you toward the bedroom. Each kiss of your parted lips was like a plea, begging that the other would forgive you, that despite the way you had treated each other there was no one in the world that you loved more, that you would rather be with right here, right now. 

Crossing the threshold to the bedroom, Javi leaned his body over the mattress, carefully placing you down in the warm, tangled sheets of your bed that had felt so cold and harsh only a few hours ago. You looked up at Javi standing at the end of the bed as he nudged his shorts off of his hips, leaving him exposed, the clothes now pooling around his ankles. Crawling over you, he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your underwear, the only thing left on your body after your shirt had been left behind in the living room. You lifted your hips, helping him shuffle the fabric down your legs as he ran his hands along the meat of your thighs. He leaned over you, the temples of your foreheads pressed against each other as his fingers danced along the skin of your bare legs, barely grazing against your entrance. You could already feel the slick of your arousal pooling under his touch, the calloused pads of his fingers ever so gently tracing up and down your folds, making you shutter. 

“Javi... Please.” Your voice trembled as Javi nodded, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You gasped as you felt the thickness of his fingers heedfully pushing themselves inside you, arching your back against the bed as his thumb delicately pressed on your clit. Each thrust of his hand in and out of your heat was dragging and deliberate, the rubbing of his fingertip along your sensitive bundle of nerves making your moans muffled against his chest. Every touch of his hand made you feel better than the last, but there was something primal about the way that you needed him inside you, how you ached to feel him buried deep in heat, to feel every inch of him. “I need you. Please, I need you.” You whimpered against his skin, making him lift his head to look at you as you watched the chocolate brown of his eyes grow darker with lust. He worked in silence, removing his fingers as he stroked himself, making your cunt throb in anticipation as you felt the tip of his cock stroke along your entrance, a moan escaping from your parted lips as he guided himself inside you. 

“Fuck…” He whispered, pushing himself in further, inch by inch, before bottoming out, his tip bumping against your cervix. You wrapped your legs around his back, doing anything you could to bring him closer to you, trying to melt your bodies into one and hold him so tightly you could never let him float away again. You dug your nails into his muscular back as he began to thrust in and out of you, taking his time with each stroke, as if he was savoring every sweet moment. “I love you, Osita. I love you so much, baby. Gonna make you feel good, okay? I promise.” It was like you could feel his words with each stroke, the promise that had fallen from his lips burying itself deep inside you with every rock of his hips against yours. Your bedroom was filled with the sounds of your mixed moans and skin hitting against each other. Even when no words escaped from your mouths, it was almost as if you could hear each other through the sounds between the two of you, coating your walls. 

I love you. 

I need you. 

I’m so sorry. 

His palm pressed along the sheen of your skin, snaking down your body to rub against your clit, intensifying the throbbing that you already felt growing between your legs. With each thrust of his hips, his cock pounded deeper into your heat, hitting the spot within you that had the arousal beginning to pool intensely within your belly, that creeping familiar feeling building at the base of your spine. You dug your nails deeper into Javi’s skin, grasping for the damp curls at the nape of his neck, your whimpers growing louder and more desperate with each stroke as you could feel yourself beginning to crumble beneath him. 

“Javi, pleaseee. Bab-ahhhhh, I’m so close.” You felt your cunt begin to clench around his length, making him moan as each push and pull of hips became more intense, punching against your g-spot and making your writhe under his touch.

“I know you are, Hermosa. Cum for me baby, cum all over me and show me how you’re mine.” 

His words make something inside you snap, making you shake and your body tense as your arms and legs tightened their grip around Javi, crying out his name as your orgasm rushed through you. His lips met yours, swallowing your moans as his pumps became frantic and sloppy, only taking a few more before he was chasing his own high. “Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking perfect. Te amo más que a nada. Soy tyuo para siempre. (I love you more than anything, I’m yours, forever.). Fuck, I’m gonna- shit- I’m- ahhhhhhh” With one last push, you could feel him throbbing inside you, spilling against your walls, pumping every last drop of himself inside you as he slumped into your body, your hearts racing, chests rising and falling as one. The two of you laid there for a moment, your bodies tangled in each other, letting each of your breaths sync as you came down from your blissed out highs. Javi hissed as he turned over to pull out of you, making you whine at the loss, before rolling over to lay your head on his chest. You could feel his arm wrap around you to pull you in closer, his fingers tracing along your shoulder blade as you draped your arm across his stomach. 

“I guess that’s one way to make up for this shitty week.” You giggled as Javi shook his head, joining you, the both of you glad to hear the sweet sounds of each other's laughter for the first time in much too long. “Can we never do this again? I never wanna fight like that ever again. These last few days have sucked without you.” 

“Never. This was the fucking worst. Never again. I promise.” He kissed the top of your head, burying his nose in your messy curls as he held you just a little bit tighter. 

“Okay.” You smiled against his warm, tanned skin before looking up at him. “You wanna know the worst part?” 

“What, baby?” 

“I didn’t even get to eat any of that pizza.” Javi chuckled as he shook you playfully in his grasp, making you squirm and snicker as he held you. 

“There’s still some left in the fridge. Let me go get it and you can tell me all about your week, okay?” He kissed your forehead as he pushed himself out of bed, making his way to the door. 

“Okay. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, I didn’t even get to tell you how I had to call Mark’s mom in the middle of math because he stuck a crayon up his nose yesterday.” The both of you snorted as Javi looked back at you. 

“I can’t wait to hear all about it.” 

Taglist: @cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed

[anomaly-hivemind]

Delulu is the Solulu ☆ Gyutaro x Reader | Kinktober Day 28

Summary: He loves me... he loves me not, oh who am I kidding of course he loves me~

Word Count: 2015

Tags: voyeurism, mutual masturbation, obsession, mentions of death, rough sex, stalking, possessive, yandere x yandere,

You were reading the love letters to your secret admirer, you had been getting a lot of them and it always brought a smile to your face. The one you were currently reading a poem they had made for you. 

I want to feel your skin,

The way lovers do.

Caress your hair as If it were mine

See the world in your eyes

Smell your love from miles away so I could never forget it.

I want to feel your skin,

More than just the surface.

Taste the flavor of your bones 

Dig deep into you blood

Infiltrate your nervous system so that I could feel you like no other.l

I want to feel your skin,

Like always you would.

Trail my hands as if they were yours

Take your last breath 

Wear your life as if it's my final decision just so I could make people smile the way you do.

I need to feel your skin,

Even if you're no more.

Drink your essence until I choke

Gagging up biles of your heart

Pouring out the metallic red on my eyes so I can see nothing but you.

I need to feel your skin,

Even if I have to take it.

Peel the layers back until you squeal

Sculpt you down because only I can paint you in this light.

I'll Write you down in my blood for that would make it useful.

I need to feel you skin,

I need You.

They must really be in love with you if this is the type of thing they send to you; you let out a content sigh. You as you fall down onto your bed. You reread the letter over and over again as you think up anything that could get you going, conjuring up fantasies of what you would do if you got your hands on your secret admirer. It's been a whole month since you started to get these written notes, and a few months before that, you found a bunch of your stuff going missing, like your bras and panties. It had crossed your mind that your admirer and your clothes thief were one and the same, but it never bothered you; in fact, it brought a heat between your legs and a flutter to your heart. You didn’t even catch yourself when you fell asleep, the letter still in your hand. 

Your admirer was watching you from one of your windows, their smile growing when they noticed that you fell asleep. You hand over the letter that he had placed in your home while you weren't there. He moved to your back window, which had a faulty lock, thanks to his handiwork, and crawled inside your home. Once he was inside, he wasted no time walking into your room.  He wished that he could have gotten to see you when you had first seen the letter but he was busy getting rid of some trash you had accumulated at your workplace. It was only some guy who was flirting with you; no one would miss him anyway.

He watches you shift in your sleep, a flutter in his chest when he looks at you, thinking it is finally time for him to claim you as his. He runs a cold hand and has your skin caressing you gently and waiting for you to stir. He crawls onto your bed. Lying beside you and staring at you while sleeping. You feel a warmth covering your body, assuming that you had subconsciously put your covers around YouTube, and then you feel the faint fanning of breathing on your face. It causes you to start to wake up to see what this is. When you open your eyes, you get started wondering why; there was a man, who you didn't know, in your bed watching you sleep. You both jump back and just stare at each other. 

“Who the fuck are you!” You throw a pillow at his face and watch him stumble back on the bed, almost falling off of it.

“Who do you think it is?” He makes no attempt to hide the fact that he was some random person in your house. But then it clicked that this wasn't just any stranger or creep, this was your stalker. 

You looked him up and down, taking in his black hair with green highlights, his grayish skin, and the blotches on his skin. He had tired eyes, and they were staring at you. He was also taking in your body and the casual clothes that you had been wearing before you got into bed. A smile creeps its way up your face before you speak. 

“What’s your name, stalker?” You crawled back into your bed and looked up at him, holding another pillow just in case he had any negative intentions, but you doubted that, knowing that your admirer had a thing for you. You looked down at the letter you had received when you got home, which was clearly a declaration of love, just like the other ones were. 

“You really want to know, you're not scared at all?” you keep staring at him, you couldn't help but think he was attractive in his own right and you couldn't be more excited to finally see your man in person for the first time. You give him a couple of eager nods and wait for him to give you his name. 

“Please tell me, I need to know my admirer's name, you've been occupying my fantasies for months now.“ you rub your thighs together, feeling the heat you did before you fell asleep. 

“Gyutaro,” his eyes drift down to you, rubbing your legs together, and he licks his lips. You test his name on your tongue. 

“Well, I hope you came here for a specific reason, Gyutaro” you asked him while still rubbing your legs together. 

“Oh, I definitely came here for a reason.” You watched his hand go down his pants, groping his cock through his pants. It was the only confirmation you needed from him, and you knew exactly what he wanted to see.

You lay back on the bed, shimming your way out of your pants, your eyes never leaving Gyutaro. Both of you are looking at each other. As you slowly move your hands down your body and between your legs. You let out a soft sigh as you bring your hand into your pants to start to touch your pussy. You watch as Gyutaro does the same with his pants and fishes his cock out of them in order to actually stroke himself. While also giving you a show, your eyes were glowering at his cock as it swayed with his hand movement. You find it hypnotic, and it is turning you even more, you can actually feel yourself getting wetter as you finger yourself. 

You try to match his pace, imaging that he was the one fucking you as you pump your fingers inside your walls. You let out moans that you didn't try to hide and looked into his eyes with love and desire as if you had been waiting for this very moment for years. Gyutaro has been inching closer to you every once in a while as he continued to jerk himself off, his facial expression seemingly torn between watching you and trying not to bust quickly that he was in front of you for real and not between a glass or closet door watching you instead. 

“Please move closer.” You let out a whine as you fully take off your underwear and sloppily work to get naked for him. He follows suit and strips out of his clothes and then crawls onto the bed and gets between your legs before resuming his movement of jacking on, now with a much better and more intimate view of you.  Pushing your fingers back down, you tease your clit while stretching out your walls so you can take him. That is exactly what you were planning in your head for him to do. 

“Move your hand” His hips were almost flushed against yours, and his cock was right over your working hand as you both pictured was next to come. 

You do as he tells you to and move your wet hand, and he takes it and brings it to his mouth, you can feel his sharp teeth brush against your fingertips. He licked your juices off your hand before letting you push his cock inside of you. A loud collision of sound escapes your lips as he bottoms out into your welcoming entrance. All of it feels better than you could have ever imagined, which you definitely have imagined. You sit up to pull him down a bit and to hold on to him but he moves quicker to hold you in place. 

“I want to see the look on your face when you cum.” he tells you, and you nod again, a bit of panting feels like the only sound you can make as he starts to move at a fast pace. It gives you no time to get used to him being in you, and you can’t complain because you are so overcome with joy. 

You let yourself be taken away into the pleasure gates as he fucked you like there was no tomorrow and that no one else could ever matter, and that’s all you could ever ask for. You were melting, your walls clenching and unclenching around his cock that was pistoning into you roughly. He was holding you down, biting your skin, huffing, puffing, and muttering claims over you. A tear ran down your eyes, and it was from how much you were enjoying every second of this intersection. You wondered what would happen after this moment you shared. Will you both start dating? He could move in with you, hope he’s thought about marriage; is he the reason people you don't like keep going missing? All those things would pop up in your head after he would thrust into you.  

"Give me everything," I moaned, my voice low and husky with desire. "Fill me with your seed, Gyutaro. I want to feel you deep inside me, claiming me as yours.” It was the first important thing you thought about asking him. 

“I plan on it.” he gives you the reassurance that you crave, and his hip movement becomes more erratic, his groans and moans more present. You know you are about to cum and that he was the only man that could possibly make you feel the way you do right now because he knows you so well. You know that he's perfect in every way, and nothing he does could make you love him any less, he's the one, and you'll both see to it that everyone who crosses your path knows it.

You wrap your legs around his hips and try to meet his thrust; he tightens his grip on your hips, his fingernails digging into your skin, causing you to let out a whimper, even if you don't want him to stop, in your face, you want what he can give you and then some. You grip his hair with a force that causes him to let out a moan, and you move in haste to eat up, bringing his lips against yours. Gyutaro was basically sucking your face, and you were doing the same back to him, you kissed messy and aggressively, and it was sure to leave your lips swollen. You bite his tongue, drawing a bit of blood, he lets out a hiss before pulling back, and being able to taste him that way causes a bright smile on your face as you savor the faint taste.

You both fall into the fiery depth of orgasms, and your bodies move flush together; Gyutaro makes sure to watch your face contort as he causes you pleasure and fills you with his essence. You were all his, and he would kill for you just to prove it.

[vidavalor]

The Kiss

There is a big something that I think might be missing in discussion of The Final 15 that could not only help to explain the finale but also help to answer the following common question:

How could Crowley & Aziraphale really be long-time lovers when the kiss is awkward and Aziraphale's response, in particular, could be taken as indicative of the opposite?

There is an answer. To see it involves asking these questions:

What, exactly, do Crowley and Aziraphale each thing is happening in The Final 15... and what are their plans to stop it that they are trying (and failing) to convey to one another?

Those plans-- Crowley's, in particular? They will show you how the show that is no stranger to the art of prestidigitation is showing basically the worst kiss imaginable between two beings who have been lovers for millennia and just how, exactly, that's possible with what their narrative magic trick led you to think you saw.

Grab a drink and c'mon in. We're going to reverse-engineer The Final 15 and, if you're anything like the people I've already shown this to, you might look at both the kiss and the ending of S2 in a whole new romantic light as a result...

The most common question and comment that I have received is always how it is that I can see Crowley and Aziraphale as very old lovers when the kiss in 2.06, to some people, tells a different story.

Very often this question comes not from people who don't want them to be old lovers but from people who do-- especially people who like my ideas about The Vavoom that Crowley spends half of S2 going on about being their first kiss or who agree with the idea that the ancient Rome scene and its highly euphemistic oysters is meant to suggest the first time Crowley and Aziraphale went to bed together. They agree with the zillions of little suggestions of Crowley and Aziraphale having been lovers in secret for millennia but they are thrown by the only kiss to date being that admittedly very painful to watch one with a reaction out of Aziraphale that is borderline devastated. If they've been a couple for ages, as a hundred different moments suggest, how can we square that with this kiss?

I've given this answer, in bits and pieces, to a few people and they all have been in agreement that it makes sense, answers those above questions, and actually also makes all of the end of S2 a bit more romantic, if still sad. Hopefully, if that's what you're looking for, it will do that for you, too. This is a very long post but if everyone's reading epic fic around the kiss, why not a meta, right? There are chocolate cookies. *passes the tray*

TWs: Satan's attacks on Crowley-- the possession-as-rape-analogy in Good Omens; PTSD; anxiety.

To understand both what's going on The Final 15 and why the kiss is... that kiss... we have to first understand just what it is that Crowley and Aziraphale think is happening in this scene.

There are a lot of distractions thrown in everywhere and, as I've looked around, I haven't seen anyone talk yet about what Crowley thinks is happening, in particular... because it's not just his worry about Aziraphale and the Supreme Archangel job. It's not really actually that at all-- and the show told us (and only us) that back near the start of 2.01.

In the beginning of the season, we are shown that Crowley is freaked out about The Book of Life. It doesn't actually matter in S2 if The Book of Life is real or not. All that matters is that Crowley becomes convinced that it is. This fear that Aziraphale could be written out of it and made to have never existed is then driving Crowley's behavior all season...

...but only we the audience know that. Why does that matter?

Because it explains a lot of the communication gaps happening between the main four characters that are actually what cause The Final 15 to unfold the way it does and what are, therefore, kind of responsible for that blasted kiss being the way it is.

So, we have to look at those miscommunications first, in order to understand how Crowley arrives at a plan he does to stop Aziraphale from being Book of Life'd and what that plan has to do with the kiss. It's not actually something in anyone's mouth-- it's something I haven't seen anyone bring up yet that actually also ties the whole season together. Right, so, the miscommunications and why Crowley hasn't told anyone by 2.06 about how he's freaked out about The Book of Life...

While Crowley is advocating that people talk to one another-- that feeding your fellow metaphorical ducks your metaphorical frozen peas, as he tells Shax in 2.01-- is the way forward, he's holding back on his own frozen peas where The Book of Life is concerned. Despite being open about his emotions with Aziraphale, he doesn't tell him about this all season. Crowley's heart is in the right place for doing so but he's made a *huge* error in judgement in withholding this information from Aziraphale. Why is Crowley making that big mistake when he normally wouldn't with Aziraphale?

It's because of how he learned of the threat of The Book of Life and how that relates to what Aziraphale is going through in S2.

Aziraphale is struggling to deal with the feeling that Heaven has abandoned him. Until Gabriel showed up at the shop, no one from Heaven has spoken to Aziraphale in the years between S1 and S2. He wants Heaven to fuck off but he's also embarrassed by how easily they seem to have been able to do so. Crowley knows what it feels like to feel like Heaven has thrown you over and he's trying to be a sensitive partner to Aziraphale. He can't stand how Heaven has made his angel feel and he's not keen on making it worse by telling Aziraphale more than is absolutely necessary regarding any interactions with Hell that Crowley is having.

In reality, Heaven hasn't actually abandoned Aziraphale-- not entirely. Gabriel and Beez are on Crowley and Aziraphale's side but they haven't told them that. Because of the events of the end of S1, Gabriel and Beez think that Crowley and Aziraphale wouldn't want to talk to them and they also think that all four of them could be in danger if they were caught interacting. They think the best way to protect Crowley and Aziraphale is to pretend as much as possible like they don't exist. This is easier for Gabriel to get away with in Heaven than it is for Beez to get away with in Hell.

The top angels don't care about the bookshop and see being assigned to Earth as beneath them. They're all jockeying for power and focused on Armageddon so none of them are bugging Gabriel about Aziraphale's ambassador job and the embassy bookshop that they presume is just going to be destroyed during Armageddon anyway. Gabriel can get away with protecting Aziraphale by just not doing anything about him or the bookshop whatsoever. Beez, though, is in a tighter position.

The higher-ranked demons all want to get the hell out of there and escape to Earth and Crowley had one of the most plum jobs in Hell. Beez is under a lot of pressure to fire and replace him. They manage to kick the can down the road as much as possible-- probably using the pandemic lockdowns and how there were fewer people out to tempt as an excuse-- until they get to a point where they have to replace Crowley or risk being seen as a traitor themselves, which would put all four of them in danger and would have been abandoning Gabriel, which Beez couldn't do.

So, Beez sends the one annoying them the most about the job-- Shax-- to take over Crowley's position, which also means kicking Crowley out of the Hell-owned flat he had in Mayfair. Beez doesn't actually want to do this. Note how when they talk to Crowley in Hell in S2, they say that they could put a price on his head anytime... but we know that they haven't and it's been four years. They don't really wish him any harm, they just felt they had to pretend like they do in Hell to stay alive. Beez and Gabriel have been doing the best they can to protect Crowley and Aziraphale and they think that, while it is obviously not great that they've had to take Crowley's flat, it's not a total disaster because Gabriel can make sure that the bookshop remains in Aziraphale's hands and doesn't Crowley basically live in the bookshop with Aziraphale anyway?

Gabriel and Beez aren't exactly wrong about Crowley basically living in the bookshop-- but they aren't exactly right about it, either. We are shown that Crowley, for all intents and purposes, does basically live in the bookshop. They both get "plenty of use" out of it, don't they? It's the reason why Aziraphale doesn't notice that Crowley has lost his flat-- Crowley is just there in the shop with him, in what is basically their home, every night until the pre-dawn hours, when he slips out of the side door because they're still trying not to be caught.

Ironically? It's not just Satan and The Metatron but Gabriel and Beez that Crowley and Aziraphale don't want to find out that they're a couple because they don't know that Gabriel and Beez actually have already known forever and are on their side. They don't know that Gabriel and Beez have been trying to protect them from Satan and The Metatron. Ahead of S2, Crowley and Aziraphale see Beez and Gabriel as threats when, in reality, the reason why they've been getting away with their relationship for so long is because Ineffable Bureaucracy already knows, ships it, and doesn't think it's any of their business.

Because no one's talking to each other here about this stuff, though, Aziraphale doesn't know he has Gabriel in his corner. He's understandably very sensitive about the fact that no one in Heaven seems to give a fuck about him. He doesn't want Heaven to be bugging them but he's also embarrassed by how easily Heaven has thrown him over-- a very hard pill to swallow after Aziraphale has spent so many years denying himself the full life he wants because of Heaven.

No angels have shown up in the bookshop in four years to formally fire Aziraphale and try to claim the bookshop, which is, technically, an angelic space. To Aziraphale, this means that he's so inconsequential that Heaven couldn't even be bothered to acknowledge his existence. In reality, no angels have because Gabriel is a fan of both Aziraphale and the bookshop and has been making sure that no one hurts either... but he hasn't told Aziraphale that and, because of what happens to Gabriel in S2, he actually is incapable of doing so because his memories are missing. So, all of this is exacerbating Aziraphale's already high anxiety and depression in S2.

Crowley sees and understands Aziraphale's feelings over Heaven and he doesn't want to make it worse. He can't stand seeing Aziraphale in pain so, while he's open about other emotions and goings on, he keeps from Aziraphale any interactions that he has with Hell.

He's doing so because he thinks it will embarrass Aziraphale even more if he finds out that even Hell cared about Crowley and his demonic job performance enough that they thought enough of him to actually fire and replace him. This is why Crowley keeps from Aziraphale the information that Shax has taken his job and flat-- and the far more important information that Beez reached out to him, asked for his help, and convinced him of the threat of The Book of Life.

All Aziraphale does know about Crowley's interactions with Hell during S2 is that he knows that Crowley is meeting Shax for information (Crowley's "you'll never guess who Shax asked me about" to Aziraphale in 2.01.). Crowley has told Aziraphale this because he has no other choice. The two of them need a source in Heaven or Hell to give them information on whether or not Heaven or Hell is planning on coming after them and when Armageddon: Round Two might be getting going. Telling Aziraphale this was bad enough, as far is Crowley is concerned, because it alone is causing Aziraphale embarrassment.

Aziraphale is mortified that Crowley needs to be the one of the two of them to provide the source. He sees it as a failure to protect Crowley because he thinks it would be safer for Crowley if they had a source in Heaven and he's embarrassed by the fact that no one in Heaven will talk to him. This theme of Aziraphale feeling like he's failing Crowley and isn't able to fully protect him carries into The Final 15 and is why Aziraphale is (quite literally) tempted by the (really non-existent) job offer.

What this means, though, is that Crowley's decision to not tell Aziraphale about his concerns about The Book of Life because it would mean telling him about his interaction with Beez means that Crowley's usual sounding board of Aziraphale is, in Crowley's mind, not an option for all of S2. The person who usually helps calm his anxiety is someone that Crowley has decided he can't talk to without triggering their anxiety when, in reality, it actually would have made Aziraphale feel a thousand times better if Crowley had gone to him with this.

Because Crowley trusts few people, if he doesn't have Aziraphale to talk to about his fears, he doesn't have a lot of other options. Humans and Shax are obviously out, as is Beez, whom Crowley thinks still believes it to be true. When Crowley brings it up to Gabriel, he doesn't actually say "The Book of Life" at any point. He growls that Aziraphale is "risking his existence" for Gabriel, which is really, from Gabriel's perspective, just another way of saying "risking his life."

While Jim didn't have his memories and so couldn't really offer Crowley any counsel about it, Gabriel probably knows whether or not The Book of Life is real or not... he just has no idea, based on how Crowley phrased it, that Crowley is concerned about it. He probably could have told Crowley that it isn't real in 2.06 if Crowley had actually talked to him about it but Crowley didn't let him in enough and that fucks The Final 15, too. When Gabriel gets his memories back in 2.06, he doesn't say anything to Crowley about The Book of Life because he doesn't even know it's an issue... only we do. We are shown it so that we know where Crowley's mind is at and can use that to help interpret what's happening in 2.06.

So, what do all these miscommunications have to do with Crowley's plan and The Kiss?

Honestly? Everything...

Believing in The Book of Life is Crowley's main concern throughout the whole season and, because Crowley got the information that led to his fear of The Book of Life from Beez, he has decided it's not something about which he can tell Aziraphale. This results in Aziraphale having absolutely no idea what Crowley believes the threat is during The Final 15. It is a big part of why they fail to understand what one another is saying... and it's a *very* big part of how that kiss ended up so awkward, despite Crowley and Aziraphale actually being long-time lovers, as you'll see as we talk below about just what Crowley was planning on doing about this threat of The Book of Life.

Crowley is convinced that the dude who shows up with coffee in 2.06 is The Metatron. Because he thinks it's The Metatron, Crowley now thinks that The Metatron is trying to lure Aziraphale to Heaven to write his name out of The Book of Life and make it so that the love of Crowley's life has never existed and Crowley. is. terrified. of this happening...

Is he just going to stand by and watch it happen, though?

Of course not. Crowley always has a plan. So, what's Crowley's plan?

If you were Crowley and you believed in the threat of non-existence via The Book of Life, based on what he (and we) have seen in the story so far, what would you think you could do to save Aziraphale?

Crowley knows that he can't actually prevent The Metatron from trying to erase Aziraphale. He knows they're basically trapped and that he might not be able to stop Aziraphale from going with The Metatron, willingly or unwillingly, because The Metatron seems to have boxed them into a corner a bit here. So, presuming that Aziraphale's name will get erased, how does Crowley put into motion prior to that happening a plan to save Aziraphale from no longer existing if The Metatron erases his name?

And how does he do all of that right under The Metatron's nose, with almost no time to spare?

If your first answer is that they need to get all of Aziraphale's Aziraphaleness out of the body named 'Aziraphale' before The Metatron erases that name from The Book of Life, that is a start... that is the first phase of a plan... but it's not all of it because that would just solve one part of the problem. It's why The Fly isn't really the full answer here and there's another thing happening.

Crowley is thinking that he needs to protect Aziraphale in a way similar to how Beez protected Gabriel, in that he needs to help Aziraphale see the risk and to separate his mind from his body, the way that Gabriel was able to do to elude The Metatron and escape from Heaven just a few days before... but there is one, big issue with this threat of The Book of Life that is different from Gabriel's situation:

Gabriel still had his body.

By using Beez's fly, Gabriel was able to separate his mind and his body enough to be able to use his body to take his mind to the bookshop and, ultimately, save both parts of himself. It's because he was able to pull that off that Crowley and Beez were able to help him reunite his mind with his body by opening The Fly, right?

This doesn't fully work if the threat is The Book of Life, as Crowley believes it is to Aziraphale. Why not? Because Aziraphale's body will have been made to have never existed.

They can get Aziraphale's mind out of his body before he's erased and save his essence but, unlike with Gabriel's situation, there won't be a body to put that essence back into once the threat has passed, right?

So, Crowley knows that his plan needs to account for that. There has to be a way to not just save Aziraphale's mind from The Book of Life but to ensure that his angel's body can be kept from non-existence, too.

So, how is Crowley not just going to save Aziraphale's mind but his body so that Crowley can... *sigh* wait for it...

...restore his friend, Aziraphale, to full angelic status...

...when the threat of The Book of Life has passed?

What is one thing that exists in Good Omens that we have seen-- and so has Crowley-- that could solve the problem of both Aziraphale's mind and body in the face of a threat of The Book of Life?

It's in figuring out how to save Aziraphale's body that Crowley sees how to save all of him. How to save Aziraphale's body?

Crowley knows a guy. So do we. His name is Adam.

Crowley's thinking that, if they can get Aziraphale's mind out of Aziraphale's body the way that Beez and Gabriel did for Gabriel, that, so long as they have a fly of sorts in which to store all of Aziraphale's Aziraphaleness for a bit until after The Metatron erases Aziraphale's name from The Book of Life, they can then, once the threat has passed, drive to Tadfield and get Adam to regenerate Aziraphale's body. From there, they just pop Aziraphale's mind back into said body and ta-da! Aziraphale has eluded The Book of Life.

So, there are just a few hiccups to Crowley's plan here... namely, the fact that Beez is gone so they don't have the option of one of their flies and, even if they did, there's no way that The Metatron is going to leave them alone long enough for Aziraphale to actually extract his memories safely into one.

They are going to have do something like The Fly but that isn't exactly The Fly... and they're going to have to do it right under The Metatron's nose. Right in front of him, without him knowing, and within the few moments after Aziraphale returns to the bookshop...

...or else, Crowley believes, Aziraphale is going to die.

There is only one option left and it is the stuff of Crowley's nightmares:

He will need to be Aziraphale's fly.

To save Aziraphale from The Book of Life, Crowley thinks that Aziraphale will have to possess him.

If Aziraphale possesses him, Aziraphale will become Crowley.

He will be safe in Crowley and they can send the Jimbriel-like shell of Aziraphale left in Aziraphale's body with The Metatron to be erased. They can then get in The Bentley and drive to Tadfield, get Adam to regenerate Aziraphale's body, and they can put Aziraphale back into Aziraphale's own body.

They have no time and no other option for a fly and this is the only way. It also happens to be the thing that terrifies Crowley the most because, while he knows that Aziraphale will never hurt him, Crowley has been attacked in this way by Satan before and this is not something he and Aziraphale do. Aziraphale has Crowley-- body, heart and soul-- but his mind is a red line that neither of them have any desire to cross. They don't see it as healthy because it's unnecessarily triggering for Crowley and Aziraphale has zero interest in doing anything that worsens Crowley's PTSD.

Even if Aziraphale had understood this plan when Crowley presented it-- and we'll look at how he does that in a moment-- it's unlikely that Aziraphale would have done it, even with the express consent that Crowley was giving him. The risk to his own life wouldn't have mattered to Aziraphale more than the possibility of causing Crowley harm. How do we know that?

Because, back in S1, when Aziraphale was discorporated in Heaven, the world was also about to end. He needed to get to Tadfield to help Crowley stop it. The only way to do that in that moment was to possess somebody. With eight billion people and every living thing on Earth at risk, Aziraphale's solution to this problem did not even really include asking for the option of possessing Crowley. He makes a joke about not having a body limiting his ability to "inhabit" Crowley's that is sexual innuendo, not a request to hitch a ride to Tadfield in his mind.

He then sets about telling Crowley that he is searching for "a receptive body," as Aziraphale put it-- meaning, for someone who would consent to being possessed, because non-consensual possession is the supernatural equivalent to rape, as the show has been using as an allegory since its first episode. Aziraphale was not willing to possess anybody who wasn't consenting to it because he's obviously not a rapist. What the scene also shows, though, is that Aziraphale considered the idea of possessing Crowley such a non-starter of a plan that he was looking for literally anybody else on Earth who was willing to be his ride to Tadfield rather than go anywhere near the idea of an action that they both knew would be unhealthy for Crowley.

If Aziraphale hadn't found Madame Tracy, he would have just kept looking, even if it ran out the clock. He was willing to let the world burn rather than possess Crowley-- even if Crowley consented-- back in S1. There is some foreshadowing of possession being part of the 2.06 plot earlier in S2 when Aziraphale discovers that he has basically accidentally quasi-possessed Crowley to an extent when he was driving The Bentley by not realizing that Crowley has essentially psychically linked himself to the car.

Aziraphale was joking around in making the car a sexual metaphor for Crowley and bemusing himself by having the car be increasingly more like how Crowley is privately than how he presents himself to the outside world. He changes the car to the color of Crowley's eyes-- having it take off its black and silver glasses. The car brings him little treats, plays the music he feels like listening to, responds positively to some tongue-in-cheek, playful, soft domming, etc... Aziraphale thought this was purely a metaphor until Crowley told him that he could feel everything that Aziraphale was doing to the car.

Crowley hadn't told Aziraphale prior to Aziraphale leaving that he was linked to his car in that way and, when Aziraphale realizes that his humorous, little mischief is actually the result of being tied a little to Crowley's mind, Aziraphale immediately backs off of what he was doing. We later see him ask The Bentley for music on the way back from Edinburgh and he doesn't make any changes to the car for the rest of the trip. He's aware that he freaked Crowley out by sort-of being in his mind a little, as it was never his intention to do so.

It's likely that, even if Aziraphale had been able to understand what Crowley was trying to say with his plan for Aziraphale to possess him in 2.06, that he simply would not have done it. That doesn't change the fact, though, that Crowley has arrived at possession as the only way to stop The Book of Life and that it's the core of his plan.

So, the other hiccups to Crowley's plan... how does Crowley convince The Metatron that he just is watching romance and nothing else? How does he tell Aziraphale this plan... and how do they pull it off with The Metatron watching them?

First is that Crowley needs The Metatron to think that he has nothing but romance on the brain. He doesn't trust that Muriel-- who is super-excited to be singled out for a possible role by The Metatron-- won't tell The Metatron everything he's said the moment that they leave the shop. Crowley says aloud in front of them something that is both true and a lie at once-- that he thinks that, when Aziraphale "comes back", that they need to go for "an extremely alcoholic breakfast at The Ritz." Crowley does really want to do this and it's arguable that when he says "comes back", knowing his plan as we are seeing it here, he really means "comes back" from all of this Book of Life stuff, but he phrases it in such a way that Muriel, if they repeat it to The Metatron, will make it sound like Crowley is literally thinking of nothing but a boozy brunch date.

Next, Crowley knows that he'll need to speak uninterrupted for a couple of moments about something that The Metatron can hear on the surface but that is really using their hidden language to convey this possession plan to Aziraphale under the surface.

Later in the scene, when Crowley says "no nightingales" to Aziraphale as everything else is falling apart, he's trying to say: you didn't hear the coded things I was saying... but, in the most romantic of *sob of frustration* things ever, that same word also happens to just mean their love for one another, which is what their whole secret language really is about in the first place... So, Aziraphale actually winds up hearing: you don't love me instead.

Back when Crowley was formulating this plan, though? He was sure that he could get Aziraphale to understand him by using their nightingales-y Ineffable Husbands Speak because not like that hasn't been working for them for the last few thousand years or anything! Rare is the day that they don't know what each other means in it so Crowley thinks it will work.

Crowley also knows how to solve the last challenge of this plan, which is that the effects of possession or any influence miracle can be visible to outsiders. We've seen that it can cause observable changes on someone's face. This means that Crowley and Aziraphale will need a way of keeping that contained from The Metatron's view.

Crowley has a plan... as foreshadowed (unfortunately lol) by this bit earlier in the season:

Crowley's plan is that they can cover Aziraphale possessing him if Aziraphale kisses him when he does it.

Before I go on... stop and think about that for a second.

If Crowley's plan to save Aziraphale's life is dependent upon Aziraphale kissing him, there is absolutely zero chance that this would be the first time that they've ever kissed. Crowley would never come up with a plan that was reliant upon Aziraphale kissing him if kissing him wasn't something Aziraphale didn't already regularly do and with which he had no issue.

Ok, so, what this means then is that Crowley needs to be saying something in Ineffable Husbands Speak that sounds, on the surface, like something that he could be reasonably saying so that The Metatron won't be suspicious, even if The Metatron finds it abhorrent. It needs to be something that Crowley thinks can lead directly towards Aziraphale kissing him, once Aziraphale hears the coded speech and understands the plan and that Crowley is consenting to it.

For the first time, they aren't using the hidden language as a smokescreen for their relationship but for a plan. The cant that is designed to hide their romantic relationship being the idea that they're enemies when they're speaking in public is now going to be used sort of backwards from its original purpose. They're speaking openly about their romance in front of The Metatron and using that romance that they usually try to keep hidden as a distraction from the plans to elude Heaven and Hell that they're really using the language to convey to one another. (We'll talk about Aziraphale's plan in just a moment.)

So, how do we know this? Let's start looking at a bit of the plan-conveying dialogue...

Crowley's plan is possession, right? If I asked you to name the single most overt bit of innuendo in Good Omens-- stuff that isn't really even coded-- you are probably going to tell me that it's Crowley and Aziraphale turning talk of possession into overt sexual innuendo with the "receptive body... harder than you think" and "I'm not going to go there" comments in S1, right?

The reasons why this is *so* direct in S1 are two-fold. The first reason is just to help emphasize the possession-as-sex allegory that is happening but the second reason is because the series needs us to see that possession-as-sex allegory exists not just thematically but between Crowley and Aziraphale. We need to see them speak about possession in this way so that, when we eventually get to S2's Final 15, we already know that Crowley and Aziraphale talk about possession in a highly-sexualized way and can then understand what they're saying more subtly in coded language as a result.

For example...

We've known each other a long time. We've been on THIS PLANET for a long time. I mean, you and me.

Known: contains own, which means possession; know, which is an old, Biblical, sexual euphemism for sex that Crowley uses in multiple scenes, and the word now.

THIS PLANET (practically shouted, for emphasis): this is the plan.

For a long time: redistributed, this is all onto me. For is also por in Spanish. Homophone: pour. Pour it all onto me.

I mean, you and me: The word mean comes from the same root as the word mind. "I mean" = "my mind." This is why Crowley says "I mean" several times during this scene when he normally doesn't say it much at all. "You and me" is said so quickly that it comes out sounding like "you in me", especially when his quick hand gesture is reinforcing it and looks like a drink, reinforcing the alcohol/coffee-as-sex vibe. "I mean, you and me" is also "I'm me, and you in me," referring to what he's trying to have happen.

The first lines of the proposal, when Crowley tries it, amount to: This is the plan: You need to weave us together, angel. Possess me.

Take my mind. Do it now.

This is really why he looks like he's going to pass out or throw up. He's not confessing love for Aziraphale. He's not even, truly, asking Aziraphale to marry him, even if that's what it sounds like. He's terrified that Aziraphale is going to die and he thinks the only way out of this is for Aziraphale to take over his mind, which, even though Crowley trusts Aziraphale, is the most frightening thing he can imagine, shy of losing Aziraphale. Crowley being wide-eyed and shallowly breathing here? That's not cute confession or proposal butterflies. That's terror and anxiety. He's trying to stave off an anxiety attack because, in his mind, if he doesn't, it could mean Aziraphale's life.

Every single line of Crowley's proposal is reinforcing this idea. It is just attempting to rephrase it in different ways... over and over. Every single line is basically a different way of saying this same thing. Look at the next ones...

I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We're a team, a group. Group of the two of us...

Rely, from the verb ligare, meaning to tie or knot together; also: to lay down or to lay. He's proposing that they, well, tie the knot as a cover for knotting the two of them together via the possession to save Aziraphale. A team, a group... These are singular words that describe multiple people. It's again saying: knot us together, possess me, make us one person. A group of the two of us. They'd be a group-- a singular thing-- made up of the two of them. Additionally? Team contains tea, group contains rou, homophone: roux, and a grouper is a kind of fish. Tea, sauce, and fish = three different sexually euphemistic things in Ineffable Husbands Speak, underscoring the fact that Crowley is basically just saying: SEX, ANGEL. DO THE THING THAT IS LIKE SEX RIGHT NOW OR YOU ARE GOING TO DIE.

It's the fanfic season. An unique take on 'fuck or die' was inevitable, no? 🤭

There are two moments in what Crowley says where he tries to reference The Book of Life to help Aziraphale understand what he's saying when it has become evident that Aziraphale does not. (We'll look at why and also at what Aziraphale is trying to tell Crowley that Crowley is not getting in a second.) I'm going to point them out because they help to reinforce this possession plan theory. The first is when Crowley says "our existence" and the second is what he says in intentionally mispronouncing Beez's name.

As mentioned, because of Crowley's own actions throughout the season, Aziraphale has no fucking idea that Crowley is so worked up about The Book of Life and, maybe more telling? Aziraphale himself is not really concerned about it, despite Michael threatening him with it a moment earlier. We'll see what Aziraphale thinks is going on below but he's not worried about The Book of Life, which helps to suggest that Crowley was correct back in 2.01 and this thing, the way that he and Beez think it exists? Doesn't really exist.

It suggests that, had Crowley actually talked to Aziraphale about The Book of Life at one point during the past week-- had he told him about what Beez said to him and how he wasn't sure if his memories were correct-- that Aziraphale's response would have been all oh, honey, don't worry-- you were right. That's not real.

Yeah, I'm saying that Crowley has built an entire plan around a threat that he once made up in his mind as a by-product of his own fears about Heaven because...

That's what anxiety is.

Even if it turns out to not be the case? The point would still stand that Crowley anxiety'd himself into this plan because he didn't talk to Aziraphale about what he was feeling and how that led to disaster.

But, back to the dialogue...

The real reason why Aziraphale isn't hearing "existence" when Crowley says it and thinking "The Book of Life" is because Crowley says "existence" for life all the damn time because our demon thinks he can't really have a life, just an existence, since he's damned. Here's Crowley using "existence" to describe his precious, peaceful, if fragile, life with Aziraphale back in 2.01:

So, Aziraphale's mind is not exactly going to jump to The Book of Life when he hears Crowley use "existence" in 2.06. The sentence that hurts Aziraphale-- "and we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't"-- actually is a little different in Ineffable Husbands Speak. Tending means to take care of, which is also how Crowley was also using it in 1941's "you tend to see sea things." We aren't = we are knot. To the outside world, they've pretended that they're not a couple but they haven't been pretending that with one another for their whole existence.

(If you go full Mr. Harmony and look at little closer at what Crowley is mouthing after his conversation with Nina in the street about his and Aziraphale's relationship, he actually appears to be mouthing that other word Nina just said-- "life"/"lives"-- and not "love"... speaking of scenes that are designed to mislead the audience... 😉 It's not an oh moment-- it's Crowley thinking of the topic of life that is plaguing him all week-- their own existence and The Book of Life. How could it be an oh moment? This demon had a contact phone image for Aziraphale back in S1 that was hearts being consumed by flames. I think he's caught onto the fact that he's in love with him by now...)

Anyway, as Crowley grows more desperate to convey the plan in 2.06, he employs Gabriel and Beez's names as part of the coded language. Gabriel's name means "messenger" so, to say it while wording, is to say "message." The most important part, though, is Crowley's intentional mispronunciation of Beez's name. He's genuinely crying, which is what both allows for the cover of him saying it incorrectly, but is then also what makes it so Aziraphale isn't sure what he's hearing because Crowley will slur his sibilant sounds when distressed, if not usually in this particular way.

Crowley says Beez's name like this: "Be ale je bub." Je in French is I while bub is short for bubbly, or champagne. (Dark mirror of S1 anyone? They should be toasting each other at The Ritz right now, dammit...) Bees = angels, per Crowley in the prior episode, and he uses be as bee in the cant to mean angel in different scenes. This is saying Aziraphale is ale/beer to Crowley's champagne and they're combined together into one word: Beezlebub. Yes, it's a cocktail, which is probably how Aziraphale heard it, if he caught it (which is a bit of a debatable point) but that's actually not the word Crowley is trying to say. The word Crowley is trying to say is the one that who he believes is The Metatron used to refer to The Book of Life a few minutes earlier: balderdash.

While, today, balderdash refers to words and means utter nonsense, the original definition of it was a drink that combined two different types of alcohol. Crowley is actually trying use Beez's name to reference balderdash to Aziraphale and we can see how his mind would do that, right? Beez is who told him of The Book of Life threat... we get that but Aziraphale doesn't know so he won't get it... and balderdash is what the being Crowley thinks is The Metatron just said about The Book of Life. Crowley doesn't trust The Metatron so he's trying to say that he doesn't believe The Book of Life is balderdash and that's what's upsetting him, that's why he's in tears, because Aziraphale could be erased into non-existence.

By taking what they're each saying just on the surface, the two of them get so turned around that they wind up thinking they're trying to break up with one another. This becomes a huge problem for both of them because if they call it quits, they have to stop talking and if they have stop talking, they are out of ways to convey a plan.

Crowley eventually gets to a point of desperation because they've shifted towards a break up and to prolong it indefinitely while repeating different versions of the same thing is going to look suspicious and The Metatron might figure out what he's trying to do. Crowley needs a way to refer back to what he's already said during the proposal and try to get Aziraphale to see it as coded language.

So, Crowley winds up taking a risk. He says the word for their secret language aloud in conversation, hoping that The Metatron will just take it as a private reference and not coded speech, and that Aziraphale will hear that there is hidden language that he is missing:

The problem here is that nightingales also means their love for each other and Aziraphale doesn't see the reference to coded language that Crowley is trying to convey. Crowley is asking if Aziraphale can hear and pointing overhead, in a nod to the first formations of what would eventually become their coded speech with those other birds-- the crows of the Job minisode. He's speaking of the language but that language exists as a way that they love one another and their name for it is synonymous with that love and Crowley is saying this in a moment when they have both got this all so backwards that they are all but breaking up with one another.

So, in that context? Aziraphale hears, instead: you don't love me.

This is then why Aziraphale turns away and starts to cry, instead of being like ohhhhh! you were speaking in our vocabulary! let me just have a quick think back on what you were saying-- ah, ok, I get it! let me run over and possession-kiss you now!... which is what Crowley was trying to have happen.

Crowley, though, thinks that there's no way that Aziraphale could have heard him say nightingales and not thought it referred to hidden speech. He gives Aziraphale a second, in which he's thinking that he's now got Aziraphale thinking back on the proposal and understanding the plan.

In order for this plan to work, what still needs to happen? The thing to cover the possession, right? They need another opportunity for that so Crowley makes one.

He walks back and, as we all well know, he kisses Aziraphale.

He kisses Aziraphale not just because of the existing emotions of the idea of Aziraphale going to Heaven but because this is the last shot of there being a moment to do so that could cover the possession that could, in Crowley's mind, save Aziraphale's life. He kisses Aziraphale to give Aziraphale the chance to possess him, which Aziraphale, as we've mentioned, likely wouldn't do even if he understood this plan.

This is also why the kiss is terrible. It's why they barely move. It's why Crowley can't deepen it and it just doesn't go anywhere. The whole point of the kiss is to give Aziraphale the chance to use the kiss as cover to possess him so, by default? Crowley can't really do much here but wait out as long as is feasible before this just starts to look weird to even The Metatron lol. It's why he's not really kissing Aziraphale much at all and why he hangs on for the seven eternities of this kiss to give Aziraphale as much time as possible and why he stays nearby for a moment afterwards, hoping that it would have still just then clicked for Aziraphale, who could then jump back into his arms and kiss him to possess him.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale just has no idea why he's being kissed right now and he's just been through an emotional gauntlet. Four minutes ago, he thought Crowley wanted to marry him. Now, they're getting ineffably divorced. He's getting unexpectedly kissed when Crowley was about to leave. This is all not even yet counting in what is actually happening with Aziraphale and his side of this and what Crowley isn't hearing him say this whole time, either. All of those things very much account for Aziraphale's reaction to this kiss, as you'll see.

And still, what happens?

Aziraphale kisses Crowley a bit. He holds him closer. Because he can't not do either of those things. He doesn't know fully what's happening here but he knows he loves Crowley and that Crowley is very upset and he can't not try to comfort him. He doesn't know how to not kiss Crowley, even just a little, even as this is a complete and utter disaster of a thing that Aziraphale can't really fully parse out because he lacks the context to understand even why this kiss is happening right now, let alone with the fact that Crowley doesn't know what Aziraphale thinks is going on and the plan that Aziraphale is trying to convey that Crowley hasn't been hearing.

So... speaking of that! Wait until you see just how frustratingly similar a plan Aziraphale has, even if he thinks something totally different is happening...

As mentioned in other posts, there is a scene in 2.06 that says that Aziraphale spoke to The Metatron the night before after blowing up his halo. It happens here:

So, Aziraphale actually did tell The Metatron where he could stick it the night before. This means that Aziraphale spent the prior night after where we left him during the bookshop attack anticipating that The Metatron was going to tell Satan that Aziraphale was fair game. This is one of the big hints that we're actually watching Aziraphale's fall in S2 and that Coffee Dude is really Satan, who has taken on the appearance of The Metatron in order to tempt Aziraphale.

Thwarting Heaven is basically Aziraphale's part-time job, though, and he doesn't want to fall. He's not just going to accept this fate. He's worked up a plan to try to stop it from happening.

Aziraphale doesn't see demons as lesser beings-- he's in love with one of them. He doesn't want to fall because being a demon means that your soul belongs to Satan for all of eternity and Satan is a) Crowley's assailant and b) The Devil... so, Aziraphale's a bit of a hard pass on falling. It's awfully dark, cramped and violent down there and Aziraphale, having spent thousands of years as Crowley's partner, knows better than most how being a demon comes with a great deal of pain. It doesn't matter to our Marvelous Mr. Fell that no angel before him has ever managed to successfully escape falling. He's going to try.

Aziraphale knows that he can't control the actions of The Metatron or Satan. He has to assume that Satan will show up at his door and he knows he can't outrun him forever. Aziraphale also has humility enough to know that he has a history of trusting the wrong people for the right reasons... and that Satan is the trickiest motherfucker there is. Aziraphale knows that his plan to avoid becoming a demon will have to include the assumption that he will fall for Satan's temptation.

As a result? Aziraphale needs a failsafe.

He needs something that will prevent him from becoming a demon should he fail to resist Satan's temptation. Hell is coming for him and, if it all goes wrong? He needs a way to protect himself. Aziraphale needs, as Crowley once needed with holy water, a failsafe against Hell. He needs insurance.

What is the one thing that could keep an angel from becoming a demon? Even if they fall for Satan's temptation, what's the one thing that could make it so that if Heaven then tries to make them a demon and cast them to Hell, it wouldn't work?

It's a bit of a mindfuck-- literally-- but there's really only one thing.

The only way that an angel being tossed to Hell by Heaven would avoid becoming a demon is if they were already, temporarily, a demon. You can't fall if you're already fallen, can you?

So, how would Aziraphale temporarily become a demon?

Yeah. They have almost exactly the same plan.

Just the key, romantic difference of Crowley trying to offer Aziraphale his mind even though it terrifies him because he'd do anything to save him and Aziraphale trying to offer Crowley his to protect them both from the being who had hurt them by hurting Crowley in the first place.

Both of them know that the way to save each other and to keep the looming threats to Aziraphale at bay is if they love and protect each other and stay together but they can't get one another to hear each other saying that and think, instead, that the other wants to leave when what they both really want is to be together.

Aziraphale's plan to prevent is fall is to have Crowley possess him. If Crowley were to possess Aziraphale, then Mr. Fell would temporarily be fallen because Crowley would become Aziraphale. They'd be together, in Aziraphale's body, with Crowley controlling the possession. Should Aziraphale fall for the temptation, he still won't fall to Hell and become a demon because it won't work when Heaven tries it since the already-fallen Crowley is possessing him.

Pretty good plan, right? In the morning, it becomes a matter of being able to tell Crowley what happened with The Metatron and what this plan Aziraphale has come up with for dealing with it is.

The villains learned from S1, though, and they make sure that not only do Crowley and Aziraphale not have a whole night together to plan the way they did in S1 but that they don't have a moment together alone to speak freely for the entire rest of the season. Crowley is gone all night, held back from Aziraphale by Heaven, and Aziraphale's relief when he returns is palpable. He had worried that Crowley had been harmed and he also was terrified that he wouldn't come back since, without him, Aziraphale stood no chance of avoiding falling.

For the first few minutes of Crowley's return, Aziraphale thinks they still have a chance and isn't really focused on Satan arriving. He thinks if they can just sort out the Gabriel stuff and get all of these people out of the bookshop that he and Crowley can then have some time alone to speak to one another openly. Aziraphale very much wants to check that Crowley is alright after having been missing all night and to tell him what happened with The Metatron and get him on board with the plan. There never is time for this, though, because Satan shows up with the coffee before they ever have a moment alone.

The only alternative to it not being Satan is it being exactly what it appears to be-- The Metatron, apologetic, saying all the things that Aziraphale has always wanted Heaven to say. Aziraphale is not an idiot and has the feeling that this is not really The Metatron. He does want it to be The Metatron because Aziraphale is still feeling like he cannot provide the forgiveness of Heaven and the protection from Satan that Crowley needs. Aziraphale loves Crowley and all he wants is be able to end the pain in Crowley that he thinks he's not enough to stop.

What Aziraphale's own anxieties and insecurities try to tell him is a lie is what Crowley tells him, which is that that all Crowley truly needs is Aziraphale. Aziraphale's own anger and pain over what's happened to Crowley gets in the way of him seeing that he really provides for Crowley all of the things he thinks he isn't providing. It is those things he thinks he cannot provide that Satan offers Aziraphale-- that's what makes it's a temptation.

Aziraphale is genuinely wanting to take a job offer if it is exists. He doesn't actually believe he can change Heaven or even want to try-- he turned down the job offer when it was just the job offer. He only is tempted to take it when he is told that the job offer comes with protection for Crowley. Heaven admitting they were wrong about Crowley and offering through the restoration of his status the forgiveness that Crowley pretends he doesn't crave and the restoration of that status providing Crowley with safety from Satan and Hell as a whole are the things that Aziraphale feels he cannot provide for Crowley. Remember what we said above about him being mortified that Crowley had to get Shax as their source? It's here in this bit of the story, too. He'll do anything-- give up their life on Earth, work the worst job imaginable for all of eternity-- to be able give Crowley the peace and protection that he feels he's been unable to for their entire, very long, existence.

Still, though? Aziraphale would love it if this was really The Metatron... but he's pretty damn sure that it's not.

Aziraphale knows how unlikely that would be. He does know that change is possible in some people-- he's been watching that all week with Gabriel-- but he also knows that he let Gabriel into the bookshop largely because he has seen in Gabriel the likelihood of there being a Jim lurking under the surface for a long time.

The Metatron is a very different story.

There are also a series of things that happen upon Coffee Dude's arrival that seem really off and further suggest to Aziraphale that this is really far more likely to actually be Satan. We looked at some of those in other metas but to quickly recap: the dark suit, the temptation coffee, the quoting of Mary Poppins, the fact that none of the angels can recognize him and he has to go to Crowley to be identified and, most significantly in my mind, that Aziraphale seems aware of what happens when Satan possesses Crowley to get Crowley to let Aziraphale go with Satan alone. Aziraphale knows that it's very out-of-character behavior for Crowley to allow Aziraphale to go anywhere unprotected with someone dangerous like that. He catches Satan looking at him-- and then heads for the door immediately, as if to get Satan away from Crowley. He's almost certain he knows what just happened and who this is but he is a bit desperate to be wrong.

Coffee Dude being Satan also explains other things about Crowley's own ideas about what is happening in The Final 15. The reason why Crowley can't entertain the idea of it being anybody but The Metatron is because Satan was in his head and made him believe that he was looking at The Metatron and no one else. Crowley doesn't even know that Satan was there. It's also why he just stays put and mutters "they'll be back soon" to himself, instead of following Aziraphale and "The Metatron" across the street. It is also likely why Crowley appears to have forgotten that he can freeze time, which would have allowed him and Aziraphale to speak freely, and, instead, makes an entire plan based around their hidden language. Since freezing time is how they were able to help Adam in S1, if I were Satan? I'd make sure Crowley forgot that useful trick in S2. (Even if he didn't, Crowley could have just literally anxiety'd himself into forgetting it.)

So, Aziraphale gets back from being tempted by Satan and he's pretty sure that is, in fact, what's going on... but he's also secretly hoping that maybe he's wrong and it's not. He's still thinking they need to go with his plan to protect himself from falling because this is very likely to be Satan but if he's wrong about what's going on? If it's really The Metatron? Then, Aziraphale would take this offer because he feels like, if he had this to offer, then he would maybe have something of enough value to offer the person he loves... a person who always says that he is enough as he is but Aziraphale has been watching Crowley suffer for literal eons and it's all gotten to be too much.

So, Aziraphale gets back and this is where the first miscommunication happens-- one of the big ones that makes it so that Aziraphale doesn't hear Crowley's coded speech for the entire rest of the scene.

As Aziraphale arrives back in the shop, Maggie and Nina are just leaving. It's the middle of Nina's morning rush at the coffee shop and neither woman tells Aziraphale why they were in the shop. Aziraphale, like many of us in the audience lol, cannot figure out why the fuck these two are back here. Their decision to come back to the shop during Nina's rush hour after they were just endangered in the bookshop moments earlier is puzzling to us audience members... and we are seeing a fuller picture! So, it's mind-boggling to Aziraphale who, without the knowledge that we have that shows it was Maggie and Nina's own, weird idea, arrives at the idea that the likeliest conclusion is that Crowley asked the ladies to come back. It honestly makes more sense than Nina leaving her work for no apparent reason, right?

So, why does Aziraphale think Crowley would do that?

Because Maggie is the closest thing they have to family and Crowley is old-fashioned in the right ways. He wouldn't ask for Maggie's permission but Aziraphale knows that he'd consider telling Maggie of intent to ask Aziraphale to marry him, especially after the week they've all just had. Given that, moments before, they all just saw that Gabriel and Beez are a thing, Aziraphale sees Maggie and Nina leave the shop with nothing but little looks and "we're just leaving" and "I'm sure you two have a lot to discuss" and he thinks Crowley told them that he's going to propose and, of course, what happens right after this to reinforce this idea?!?!

Crowley stands up, takes off his glasses, looks charmingly nervous, and says that he supposes that he's "got something to say."

If you were Aziraphale in this moment, with everything happening so fast and no time to breathe (by the villains' design), and you had just had your world tilted on its axis several times in the last hour, and you and Crowley had been waiting a thousand lifetimes to feel like it might be safe to try to be openly together, and Crowley stood up in the living room in which you've spent countless nights, moments after seeming to tell your daughters that he was going to propose, you absolutely would think that Crowley is trying to ask you to marry him.

The problem is that Aziraphale sees Crowley trying to propose and he thinks that Crowley doesn't think anything is wrong.

He thinks that Crowley doesn't see a threat at all... how could he think there's something wrong, if he's been focused this whole time on proposing marriage and not on the fact that everything is completely and utterly bonkers and Some Sir Derek Jacobi Character is skulking about with creepy coffee?

Aziraphale so loves Crowley and wants to marry him that he gives him a pass on proposing while the wolves are circling instead of doing what Aziraphale really needs him to do, which is help him Bildad up a plan... all the while not realizing, because of the speed of everything and the misinterpretation of clues and context, that the marriage proposal itself is Bildad's bloody plan.

Aziraphale thinks that he has to *tell* Crowley that there's a threat and what it is. As a result, he's not listening to what Crowley is saying at the start of this scene. Neither, really, is the audience, at first. I think even us people theorizing overlook the bit below; I actually noticed this last of everything related to this theory. What Aziraphale isn't fully listening to and what we think is just adorable, nervous babble contains a really, really, really interesting bit of information:

If I don't start talking now, I won't ever start talking, right? Yes, so--

While Crowley is actually trying to tell Aziraphale here of an intent to use coded speech, it's the last line he gets out before Aziraphale interrupts him that tells us quite a bit about their relationship. After having seen this scene in full through its mention of nightingales confirming coded speech, we know that Crowley's proposal is a coded plan. We don't hear it in full until later in the scene but Crowley was trying to start it back here at the beginning of the scene and, when he does, he is expressing regret for how it's going to be phrased. He doesn't want to propose to Aziraphale like this but he doesn't think they have a choice. Listen to how he phrases that though: If I don't start talking now, I won't ever start talking...

Crowley is apologizing for the proposal he's about to say that isn't the one he'd really like to give but is the only way he can deliver this plan and that, if he doesn't deliver this plan, he thinks Aziraphale is going to die, and that will mean that Crowley will never get the chance to actually propose the way that he'd really like to-- someday, when it's just them and they're in the better place for it, which is also why he hasn't in the last four years since S1. What's so interesting about this is that Crowley is saying to Aziraphale that he wants to ask him to marry him one day and he is doing so in such a way that he knows this is not new information to Aziraphale. It actually winds up suggesting that they both have already, to some extent, talked about the fact that, if they ever found a way, they would like to marry one another. It's said by Crowley so casually that it is suggestive of an understanding that already exists between he and Aziraphale and is further evidence of the fact that they are already a couple.

Right, so... Aziraphale isn't hearing this because Aziraphale thinks that Crowley doesn't see a problem. He tries the downward hands of "not right now" and glancing out the window towards Coffee Dude as signals to tell Crowley not to propose right now. He both needs Crowley to stop because there is a bigger threat happening in the moment and also because Aziraphale is at about 90-95% certainty that it's Satan outside. He and Crowley have spent thousands of years hiding the fact that they are lovers from Satan because Satan would kill Crowley for it. Aziraphale is also trying to get Crowley to stop proposing just also because their relationship is theirs and he knows that Crowley wouldn't want Satan as an audience to it. (Factor that into Aziraphale's response to the kiss as well...)

We get that shot of Aziraphale just melting as Crowley continues to speak because Crowley all sweetly nervous and proposing is adorable no matter what else is going on but then Aziraphale has interrupt him so he can tell him what he thinks is happening. This is where the conversation then gets fucked in a way that means that Crowley doesn't hear a shred of any of Aziraphale's coded language, either.

Aziraphale, stressed out from all of this, makes an error here which, as Muriel would say, will prove just how human he is. It is, in fact, this very simple, very human error that will help to completely fuck up this conversation and keep Crowley from understanding Aziraphale's side of it just as much as Aziraphale cannot understand his.

That error involves this:

What Aziraphale is trying to do here is to signal to Crowley that he has to stop proposing because there is danger and to start to convey to him what he thinks that threat is. Aziraphale needs a coded way to do this. It has to sound organic in front of Coffee Dude. This means Aziraphale has to reference something to Crowley from their shared past that is like what is happening in this moment in 2.06 without saying so directly in a way that would alert Coffee Dude to shenanigans being afoot but that is conveyed in a way that Aziraphale feels that Crowley is bound to understand.

There is one night from their history together that they both absolutely know by heart and that had a situation that parallels what is happening in The Final 15. It's the big one that we've been watching unfold across both seasons now and so is likely to factor into this big plot twist of Aziraphale's fall here: 1941.

Like Crowley will be later when he references nightingales, Aziraphale is certain that if he references any part of 1941 that Crowley will be sure to know what he is saying, even if other factors actually prevent that from being true.

What Aziraphale is trying to reference from 1941 is this:

He interrupts Crowley with a version of what we can recognize as "that lovely American expression-- played for suckers!" Why this moment?

Because Aziraphale is trying to use the similar situation of the paralleling Greta as a comparison to what's happening here in The Final 15. While Aziraphale was fooled by the Nazi Greta-- believing her to really be the Allied Rose-- he is the one who is correct in the 2023 of S2. It's Crowley, who correctly identified the Nazis correctly in 1941, who is mistaken about who is watching them in 2.06. Aziraphale, though, is almost sure he's correct this time but he needs Crowley's help either way and he definitely needs Crowley to see that there's even the possibility of a Greta-like plot happening with it seeming to be The Metatron but it's really Satan.

(Not to mention that we've seen both Coffee Dude and The Nazi Zombie Flesheaters watching Crowley and Aziraphale through the bookshop window in S2.)

So, Aziraphale thinks: ah ha! I shall reference the moment in the church when it turned out that Rose was really Greta and, because this romantic night of ours is forever etched in Crowley's memory, he'll understand what I mean and know that we need to speak using our hidden language!

The problem, as you might remember, is that this is actually the only part of 1941 that Crowley doesn't remember because, to quote Crowley talking to Gabriel about Aziraphale earlier in S2:

He wasn't there, you see...

Crowley hadn't actually entered the church at this moment in 1941. *We* can see what Aziraphale is going for but Crowley has no fucking clue that Aziraphale just said to him: I think the plot is Greta in the church and I'm going to be using our hidden language!

All Crowley hears is: please stop asking me to marry you because I need to tell you about the convo I just had with my abusive dad who hates you yay so excited please hold that thought of matrimony, sweetheart!

So... Crowley holds the damn thought. 😂

Aziraphale, meanwhile, thinks that this would all be so much easier if they could just speak openly and he would like Crowley to freeze time so they can do what they did with Adam and speak freely and make a plan. As others have noticed, he starts signaling to Crowley the "time-out" hand signal, covering it up from Satan with other gesticulations. He's also saying "The Metatron you know" aloud (flipped around: "You know The Metatron"), in an effort to convey to Crowley that he believes the being watching them is really Satan.

The problem is that Aziraphale has just asked Crowley to stop proposing. He's just asked him for a time out in discussing their relationship. Even if Crowley has just forgotten that he can freeze time-- organically or as a result of Satan-- it's almost besides the point here how or why he has forgotten it because he's just not thinking of it in this moment... because he thinks Aziraphale is saying that he needs a timeout on talking about their relationship. He just kind of half-nods and lets Aziraphale continue and it's at this moment that Aziraphale is just like...

Because, if Crowley doesn't freeze time, they now have to do all of this in a coded way with Satan watching and that means that Aziraphale is about to Ineffable Husbands Speak for his damn life here... and his task with it is actually a lot harder than what we said Crowley accomplished above.

Aziraphale believes that he told Crowley he was using coded speech when he referenced 1941 and that Crowley will be listening for it. So, he now thinks he has to convey the following things to Crowley as soon as possible, all using hidden language (all of which can be found in what he says to Crowley following this, as we'll look at)...

...that he's pretty sure that the being watching them is not The Metatron but Satan; that he thinks he might be falling but he's not totally sure; that he needs Crowley's help to protect him from falling; that Crowley can help him by possessing him; that it's okay to possess him and he has permission; that they can cover the possession with a hug; and that if, in fact, it turns out that he's wrong and that is The Metatron, well! Great news! Aziraphale has been offered a job that Crowley is going to hate but that Aziraphale is excited about because he thinks it can get Crowley what he needs that Aziraphale can't give him so yay!...

...and Aziraphale has to convey all of that using coded speech that is based on nothing but recapping to Crowley the offer just presented to him by Coffee Dude.

Whereas Crowley at least was given a few minutes while Aziraphale was with Satan to come up with something to say that dovetailed with the topic-- to come up with the proposal so he could use amorous language to talk about possession under the surface-- Aziraphale is forced into freestyling into coded speech a fuckton of information using a topic that does not actually lend itself to words with possession-related meaning in their vocabulary anywhere near as easily.

Yet... He does it. I know he does because I took apart everything he says in this scene when I figured out what Crowley was saying and that's actually how I arrived at this theory. Just like with Crowley, while we could go word-for-word here, I'll just give you a sampling of it, but it holds up throughout.

First things first, he says that he thinks he might have misjudged The Metatron. Misjudged = Miss Judge, who is God. He's trying to say to Crowley that he thinks God is judging him aka that he might be falling. Just like with Crowley later on the scene, he uses Gabriel's name to say "message" and then lists Gabriel's entire job title in the sentence because it's actually a great way to explain the plan: Supreme Archangel and Commander of The Heavenly Host. To archangel is to be above angel, which is what Crowley calls Aziraphale-- to top him, to possess him. Crowley would be The Commander of The Heavenly Host. The Heavenly Host is Aziraphale-- hosted the party last night, hosting a party in his body anytime now if Crowley'd just hurry up and possess him already lol. Commander actually breaks down to "man who is with" but it also means someone in charge so it's Aziraphale telling Crowley that he'd be in control of it and that Aziraphale is okay with that, as he trusts him.

What happens pretty quickly, though, is that we start to flash between Aziraphale recapping to Crowley in the bookshop what Satan said to him and then a scene at Marguerite's in which we are, apparently, hearing those words be said. In reality, because we keep going back and forth on Aziraphale's "and then I said"/"and then he said"s, what we're being shown in the Marguerite's scene is, word-for-word, really what Aziraphale is saying to Crowley back in the bookshop.

If Aziraphale wanted to just tell Crowley what was said with no coded speech, he could have actually done it in a single, paraphrasing sentence. Instead, he plays off like he's excited-- and, complicating matters, he is a little excited if it turns out that it is The Metatron, if only because of what he can offer Crowley-- and he uses that to be able to seem like he's babbling a recap of what happened when, in reality, he's very specifically choosing certain words to convey the problem that he's trying to make Crowley see and the plan he has to survive it.

What this means is that when we flash over to Marguerite's, the words coming out of the mouth of Sir Derek Jacobi are actually the words being spoken by Aziraphale to Crowley in the bookshop, along with what Aziraphale says that he said in this scene. The whole scene is in Ineffable Husbands Speak. The plan is repeated in here a few places-- among them, there is that the word exploits actually contains ploit, which means to fall and is Aziraphale trying to really specifically say to Crowley what he thinks the threat is, and many other words being used like this. The one I want to point out, though, is my favorite and also tells what Aziraphale's plan to cover the possession was:

There are huge plans afoot...

This is really Aziraphale trying to convey the plan to Crowley and he uses the word plan in here, right? What kind of plan?

Huge plans afoot... What is a hug plan related to a foot in Crowley and Aziraphale's history?

It's Bildad the Shuite ("need any shoes?") and the simple embrace...

So, the first part of what Aziraphale says is conveying that he wants Crowley to possess him because he thinks it's possible that it's Satan outside and that he's falling and he uses that other time the two of them, from across a room, snuck something by those watching them to save lives to describe how they can do that. Aziraphale's idea for how to cover up the possession is for them to hug-- it's the simple embrace that Crowley came up with having Job and Sitis do to cover up the magical reappearance of their kids. Aziraphale believes it is Satan outside so a hug is bad enough, as far as he's concerned. He wouldn't make the plan involve a kiss because that would be suggesting that Crowley kiss him in front of his abuser and their relationship is private and theirs and Aziraphale knows neither of them would want that.

So, yeah, both Crowley and Aziraphale are trying to reference the damn Job minisode to one another at different times in 2.06 and neither of them see the other one doing so...

So, how does this all fall apart for Aziraphale then?

How does he manage to brilliantly use a recapping of the temptation job offer to convey what he thinks is happening and summarize a plan to stop it in secret to a point that we can see what he was going for right there in the words he chooses to say... but then everything still falls apart?

Because Crowley isn't listening for it at all. Not only did the 1941 reference mistake mean that Crowley is not primed to listen for coded speech, Aziraphale's genuine enthusiasm for what he might be able to offer Crowley overshadows the fact that Aziraphale genuinely does not want to go to Heaven or take this job. Crowley, still thinking that Aziraphale doesn't see a threat to him because he thinks the only threat is The Book of Life and that Aziraphale doesn't see it, believes everything Aziraphale says as Aziraphale says it.

As a result, his response is: "And you told him just where he could stick it, right?"

It's at this that the score comes back into the scene, having fallen silent for Aziraphale's words. It also falls silent again when Crowley is wording during his proposal; it's so quiet that you can actually hear "this planet" echo in the room. The score here has a foreboding sense to it that matches Aziraphale's response, which is that tight "not at all" full of ohfuckohfuckohofuckohfuck...

The score is doom-y because Aziraphale is realizing that Crowley did not hear a single word of wordplay in Aziraphale's job offer explanation. They are still at square one when it comes to communication and Crowley still doesn't know that, ironically? YES, Aziraphale did tell The Metatron just where he could stick it-- that's what actually started all of this!

Only, Aziraphale can't outrightly say that because the conversation path there then only leads to discussion of what could be happening as a result of telling off The Metatron, which, in a bit of truly insane irony, would not help Aziraphale get across a plan for stopping what is happening as a result of him having told off The Metatron.

So, Crowley just starts to express his upset at this ("we're better than that") while Aziraphale tries to figure out how to regroup. They are now boxed into the topic of the job offer, really, and Aziraphale's one chance to speak long enough to convey the plan through using the job offer recap as the surface-level speech topic is now gone. There's also no easy way to change the subject to something else to try again without it looking really obvious so Aziraphale is forced to stick with this.

He's also boxed into a corner here because he can't sound like he's against Heaven because they're being watched. No matter who it is watching them, if Aziraphale sounds too much like he's caught on to what's going on, that'll be the end of their chance to make a plan happen together... and that just might result in Aziraphale falling.

Aziraphale is now forced to try to repeat aspects of the plan in fragments in replies to what Crowley is saying in hope that Crowley will hear it and catch on and it... backfires.

Backfires is probably an understatement, actually. It implodes, pretty dramatically.

What Aziraphale is trying to do is reassure Crowley that he's still on their side while also not sound like he's against Heaven and, if Crowley had been listening for coded speech, this would have easily worked. In Crowley's ranting response, he winds up blurting out that they (Beez) offered Crowley his job back in Hell and he said no-- something that Crowley should have mentioned back on Monday, when it happened-- but Aziraphale is mainly thinking of the plan he needs to get Crowley to understand and enact, as well as how he needs to use words that don't sound like he's against Heaven. He winds up saying, as we know:

"Of course you said no-- you're the bad guys." You're. The. Disguise...

Aziraphale is trying to say "you're the disguise", meaning that the fucking plan is for Crowley to possess Aziraphale and that's how they're going to disguise Aziraphale to keep him from falling. They're going to make Heaven think he's still an angel when he's really a demon because of Crowley possessing him. Aziraphale is absolutely grasping at things here because this barely makes sense without Crowley understanding what Aziraphale said in the offer recap earlier but Aziraphale is throwing phrases in here to try to hope that he will start to catch on because this is basically all he can do at this point.

The reason why Crowley doesn't hear it, though? Or hear anything remotely close to it? Not even just because he's not listening for coded speech here but because of Aziraphale's past of saying things he doesn't mean when he's upset. It's suddenly getting kind of like The Bandstand Argument up in here and Aziraphale is frustrated because he didn't actually mean for it to be. He's trying to tell Crowley something, even if he understands why Crowley might not hear it.

It's here where this takes a bit of a heartbreaking turn. Aziraphale isn't just frustrated that Crowley can't hear what he's saying-- he feels badly about it because Crowley taking all of this at face value means that Crowley is getting hurt by what is being said and Aziraphale doesn't want him to be hurt. He tries to fix it and, unintentionally, makes it a whole lot worse.

Aziraphale uses three words-- light, truth, and good-- to seemingly describe the side of Heaven. In Crowley and Aziraphale's speak, they have before used Heaven/Up for Aziraphale as shorthand to Crowley's Hell/Down. Aziraphale is trying to sound like he's all yay Heaven! because they're being watched but "the side of Heaven" here is actually Aziraphale and the side that he is on... and that side is Crowley's side-- their side together-- because the words that Aziraphale uses to describe that side of Heaven aka his side? The side of light, of truth, of good?

Yeah, those are all words he's used to describe Crowley before...

Aziraphale is using language here that is associated with Heaven but that he sees as being associated more with Crowley and, again, if Crowley were listening for wordplay, he would have understood this. He's not, though, so he takes it as Aziraphale just used positive, loving words he's used to describe Crowley to describe the place that has tortured them both for millennia... and he is, understandably, fucking horrified.

What Aziraphale was going for is to say in a way that could be overheard that Crowley is his side and he did so by using words of Heaven to describe Crowley and you know where he got that idea from? From this guy and what he said just moments earlier still being in Aziraphale's head:

Crowley is Aziraphale's Heaven. That's what he was trying to tell him. Unlike Gabriel and Beez, though, Aziraphale is being watched, so he had to phrase it in a coded way and hoped that Crowley would understand. He did not because this is the No Nightingales season lol.

Instead, Crowley's reaction-- "When Heaven ends all life on this Earth..."-- then causes Aziraphale to realize something that confuses him completely:

Crowley thinks there is something wrong.

Crowley's panic-stricken and all "tell me you said no!" and Aziraphale is like... *blinks*... honey, I came through the door four minutes ago and you reacted like I just got back from picking up my dry cleaning and started asking me to marry you and now you're acting like *something is wrong* wtf?!? If you thought something was wrong, why were you *proposing*?!

Of course, Aziraphale can't tell him he said no, and he's actually getting a bit angry, as well as confused. He's upset that Crowley thinks he'd just leave and that he's not appreciating that Aziraphale could maybe have an answer to their problems with going to Heaven (it's not really an answer but emotions aren't logical) and he's starting to get his back up a bit. We've reached the line that becomes the turning point:

If I'm in charge, I can make a difference.

For what it's worth, this line does wordplay out to something that goes along with what Aziraphale is trying to convey, but... it's wordplay, but it's also not. Aziraphale's lines that follow are also attempts to recap and convey the plan, like this one is, but there's just a great deal of surface level truth to this particular line.

Aziraphale still needs Crowley to possess him to keep him from falling but he's also thinking about the fact that maybe he'll have been wrong, maybe this'll have been The Metatron, maybe it's true-- if he's in charge, he could make a difference. It expresses the lack of power that he feels when it comes to the outside factors impacting their relationship. The fact that those feelings are very, very genuine-- and Crowley knows that better than anyone-- just winds up helping to make it seem not like there's also a wordplay level at all to Crowley.

It's here that Crowley basically starts to pray and we see how that response has visibly confused Aziraphale. It would because Aziraphale, again, has no fucking idea lol what Crowley thinks is happening. The moment that Aziraphale said that he could make a difference if he was in charge, Crowley realized that Aziraphale had every intention of going with The Metatron and he went into Defcon Whatever The Highest Number Is Panic Mode because if Aziraphale went with The Metatron without possessing him first? He was going to get Book of Life'd! He was going to die!

Aziraphale is left looking confused by Crowley being so distraught that he basically starts calling on God for help because, ya know, four minutes ago? To Aziraphale? Crowley was like oh hey, you're back, so where would you like to honeymoon? and now he's like Our Frances, Who Art Probably Elsewhere From Heaven...

Aziraphale is like what the fuck is going on?

Crowley then speeds through a sentence at 100 mph (because anxiety) where he says he didn't get to say what he was going to before and he thinks he better say it now... and then, like a record with a stuck needle, he starts to propose to Aziraphale again.

We know why-- he's got to tell him the plan!-- but, to Aziraphale? This is literally the most batshit insane thing he can imagine.

Aziraphale is pretty sure that's Satan outside and Satan who attacked Crowley in front of him, in their house, while Crowley was in Aziraphale's own desk chair, and Satan who is going to tempt him into falling and if it's not? It's The Metatron, and the offer being genuine would mean that they could find a way out of this mess, if only Crowley would listen to him, and what is Crowley doing when Aziraphale needs him most?

When he really needs Crowley to hear what he was trying to say and give him the help he needs?

When who he needs is 1941 Crowley-- the Crowley that Aziraphale gets all the time? The one who gently reassures him and helps him through all the ups and downs of being a professional conjurer? But who he's getting is Alpha Centauri! Crowley, who isn't listening to what it is that Aziraphale needs and whose inability to hear it hurts?

Aziraphale doesn't know what it is that Crowley is so afraid of but the longer the proposal that Aziraphale cannot parse any additional meaning out of goes on, the more clear it is that Crowley is falling apart. His voice starts to go; he's in tears. Aziraphale is upset that Crowley is upset and would give anything to just talk to him the way that they usually do. He can't understand how Crowley doesn't seem to see that they're being watched and that there's a threat and just keeps going on about their relationship when the threat of Coffee Dude is literally looming right outside.

Aziraphale eventually starts responding to Crowley's proposal lines-- all of which, as we've said, are a plan for Aziraphale to possess him, repeated in different ways, over and over-- with similar pleas of his own. They're literally gesturing at one another at times, alongside the words, the suggestion that each other take possession of the other.

Come with me. *hand gesture from Crowley back to himself* To Heaven...

Because of the highly sexualized way in which Crowley and Aziraphale talk about possession, there is an element of comedy to this incredibly depressing scene once you see the hidden language at play.

The only way for both of them to talk about possession in a hidden way is to use vocabulary related to sex. What ends up happening as a result is that their whole persuasive arguments back and forth to one another wind up becoming sexually euphemistic to a point that they are basically just finding different ways to refer to sex and suggest that the other take them...

...and neither of them realize this because they do it so fucking often when flirting that it's not unusual enough for them to flag it as off. 😂

Aziraphale is standing there, likely hearing every innuendo in Crowley's proposal, and simply thinking that Crowley is asking him to marry him with a bit of an Ineffable Husbands Speak twist to it because of course he would, right? They just speak like this to one another all the time now so, if the context isn't emphatically suggesting 'hey, I am using this cant vocabulary of ours to convey a hidden message', neither of them are actually listening for one.

Meanwhile, this is Crowley, getting so hysterical that, at one point, he almost starts to laugh when he's saying "an us" (anus) and has, therefore, officially, reached the point of just yelling "ASS" at Aziraphale in an effort to get himself possessed so that Aziraphale won't die because they are currently trapped in a total fucking nightmare so dark and depressing that it is also kind of funny.

This, I'd imagine, is also why he can't go any further here and is just like "you in me, what do you say?" like please get this, angel, or I'm going to jump off the roof...

Meanwhile, Aziraphale, earlier, was just as euphemistic:

It'll be just like the old times. Only even nicer.

Old comes from auld, which meant adult and nourishing. Only (one); even (emphasizing a balanced sense of power; a word of reassurance); nicer, which you can read about here.

They get so turned around that Crowley even shouts the word "toxic" at Aziraphale about Heaven and Hell in such a way that it comes out as "TALK-ic", in an effort to try to say I'm trying to talk to you and get him to hear other levels of meaning in what is being said.

He's not the only one. There's also this:

Crowley actually doesn't understand what Aziraphale is offering him. Not really. He thinks he does and so does the audience, if they don't see what Aziraphale is trying to say. Crowley does know what it's like to struggle with Heaven and he understands that aspect of what Aziraphale is going through but what he isn't seeing here is that Aziraphale is specifically referencing the offer because, like Crowley will do with mentioning nightingales a moment after this, Aziraphale is trying to call back to to things he said earlier so that Crowley will listen for hidden language. Crowley's quick dismissal of it shuts down another avenue for Aziraphale to try again to say the plan and Aziraphale is again hurt that Crowley only thinks the surface level of what is happening is the only thing happening-- that he thinks Aziraphale truly would want to go to Heaven.

If Crowley knew what was truly happening? If he understood that Aziraphale was trying to say that he thought he was falling and needed help? You know Crowley would have done anything. He'd have gone along with Aziraphale's plan and possessed him. They could have gone together in Aziraphale's body into the elevator. It wouldn't have mattered if it was Satan or The Metatron-- they would have been there to protect each other and faced it together.

While it doesn't matter for the plot of S2 whether or not The Book of Life is real because what really matters is that Crowley thinks it is, there is a lot of suggestion that, at least in the way that Crowley and Beez believe it to be real, it doesn't actually exist. It's anxiety. It's as real as Crowley made it to be. If he had talked about it with Aziraphale, he likely would have found out it's not true. Aziraphale isn't worried about it in The Final 15, despite being threatened by Michael with it, which suggests that it really is balderdash and complete piffle. Michael is never shown having gotten the authority to do it by The Metatron and Michael is pretty impressionable and could have been one of the angels Beez and Crowley once teased into believing in it. Beez's embarrassed reaction in 2.01 suggested that they believed that Crowley was correct about it when he said his reaction was that it wasn't real.

It likely means that Crowley's entire plan in The Final 15 is for a threat that doesn't actually exist.

It means that Crowley's own anxiety and not being open with Aziraphale and talking about it kept him from being a partner to Aziraphale when Aziraphale needed him more than ever and made him blind to hearing what Aziraphale was saying he truly needed.

That "I need you" moment hits a little differently now, doesn't it?

If Crowley walks out the door, so does Aziraphale's ability to not fall.

When you think about it... of course it does, right?

How do you not fall? You let in the love of those around you.

It's also how you get back up if you do fall. Everything goes down, as Gabriel observed, but the flies go up. So do the birds-- the nightingales. Just not in S2.

Their insecurities can be summed up by how Aziraphale has never fully understood how Crowley means bookshop. It's the one word between them that they each think the other fully understands but they don't. They get the sexually euphemistic way that Aziraphale uses it ("...but we both get plenty of use out of it, don't we?") but it really comes down to how they each see Aziraphale. To Aziraphale, the bookshop that is metaphorically him is a compromise. It's not good enough. To Crowley? The bookshop is everything because the bookshop is Aziraphale and the place Aziraphale made for them. The clever idea his clever partner had for them. The place where Crowley feels loved and safe. It's all he needs, just as it is, but Aziraphale thinks it's not enough and wants to be able to offer more.

Aziraphale thinks they're talking about the bookshop itself in 2.06 ("oh, Crowley, nothing lasts forever") because it's been on his mind all season. It's the bookshop from which Aziraphale would like to move, and if you think that Crowley's proposal was ill-timed, ooh boy lol, this is not the best time to start to tell that one, particular person you'd like to go to that cottage by the sea, Aziraphale... but Crowley?

He thinks, of course, that Aziraphale means their fucking relationship and on go the sunglasses...

...in reality, part of why Aziraphale feels stuck in the same daily round of the bookshop is because of Crowley's attachment to it. It's because of Crowley having been devastated by the fire. Aziraphale thinks it would be better for them if they could find a way to move, if he can find a way to get out of the mess that is the embassy bookshop situation, but he hasn't yet found a way to talk to Crowley about that and tell him he'd like to them to go live together and it's only coming up now... when he's otherwise basically said he's leaving for Heaven. As a result, Crowley thinks that the nothing that lasts forever in question is their relationship.

Their words are so fucked at this point that Crowley winds up thinking that Aziraphale just said that their millennia-long love affair was a fun lark but it's over now that he's going to take over Gabriel's job.

Aziraphale's anxiety that Crowley likes the safety he could provide with the bookshop-- if not ever enough of it-- more than he loves him as a person; Crowley's anxiety that Aziraphale would choose Heaven and not him. Both of them knowing that it's insecurity talking-- Crowley even believing that he must have the short end of the stick enough to stop leaving and stay when Aziraphale asks him to come back-- but they're both so confused from what they think has been said during this scene that they're extra-vulnerable.

When Crowley tries "no nightingales" and the kiss as a last-ditch effort to get Aziraphale to understand The Book of Life as a threat and possess him, it doesn't work. Just like how Aziraphale also fails to get Crowley to understand that it is, likely, Satan that is watching them and that Aziraphale is about to fall without Crowley possessing him. What makes the kiss so heartbreaking and romantic is, actually, the fact that it is such a fucking root canal of a thing. Why?

Because both of them were waiting for the other to understand and possess one another. There's 90 billion interminable seconds of neither of them actually really kissing one another because both of them have a plan that involves possession for which this kiss could provide cover, even if it's only Crowley whose plan actually involved a kiss.

The kiss is so awkward because it's a pretense for something else, more than it is a kiss they both just want to share for the sake of kissing, and they both know they're being watched. Aziraphale is more in shock over the kiss happening because he has emotional whiplash from a proposal to a break up to being told he didn't love Crowley to a kiss out of nowhere. Crowley is basically not moving because he's kissing Aziraphale in the hopes that Aziraphale has gotten the plan and will start kissing him back and possessing him any second now. This renders Crowley basically a passive participant in the kiss. He might have been the one that started it but, once he touches his lips to Aziraphale, he basically doesn't move because that would be against the point of why he's kissing Aziraphale.

The same things that cause people to think that this looks like a pair of eighth graders trying to kiss for the first time lol are also just that way because of the plot reasons why this kiss is happening more than the emotional ones. The circumstances involved mean that this kiss actually says exactly nothing about how they normally kiss.

Crowley never tries to deepen it-- or, even, honestly, really to kiss Aziraphale much at all-- which honestly... was probably confusing the living fuck out of Aziraphale. Imagine for a moment that they are long-time lovers who have been kissing for thousands of years. How incredibly fucking weird would it be for your partner who knows how to bring the vavoom to go from proposing you get married, to ranting about Heaven, to proposing again in a series of sexual euphemisms, to telling you that you never loved him and that he's leaving you, only to then turn around, walk back, and give you this bizarrely dry kiss, the likes of which the two of you have never shared in all your worst days?

Not to mention that, if you're Aziraphale? You need Crowley to possess you or you will fall to Hell. This kiss could have covered that, as insane as all this emotional up-and-down of the last few minutes has been. This kiss could have saved your life and it doesn't because you can't get Crowley to get past his own stuff enough to hear you-- no wonder you're pissed enough to say, angrily, that you forgive him for it. Falling to Hell is going to mean that they take your memories. It's a form of death first before you're a demon. The only way to avoid that would have been for him to possess you and he wouldn't. Is it because he doesn't know? Is it because he just won't-- that it's too much for him, after everything? If you're Aziraphale, you don't know.

All Aziraphale knows is that all of this hurts and, to make everything all even worse, that kiss was such a mess (and it's likely the last one) that it feels like they might have broken what was between them with it and that, alone, is reason enough for Aziraphale's reaction when they pull back from it. Is it any wonder, then, that Aziraphale after that kiss is just a fucking mess?

That he is this close to saying the I love you that he feels but he's also so fucking angry that his emotional devastation flips within a few seconds to frustration and the all-too-self-aware "I forgive you"... because that's what this is all about. That's what Crowley, feeling unforgivable, has always seemed like he needs to heal and the thing that Aziraphale doesn't have the power to give him. He's not enough to end Crowley's pain-- unforgivable, that's what Crowley is, according to Crowley.

He's just not enough for Crowley, period, is what Aziraphale thinks. Not good enough. It doesn't matter how much Aziraphale loves him, he doesn't think it'll ever be enough to overcome the pain of Heaven having cast Crowley out. That's all he wants to do-- end Crowley's pain. Make Heaven say they were wrong and give Crowley the peace he deserves and the safety that Aziraphale feels like he can't offer him on his own.

Crowley, in the end, goes out the door, rather than acknowledge that he knows why Aziraphale feels this way. Aziraphale is left gasping "no" and touching his lips over what he thinks will be their last kiss... because Crowley is gone and also because he's likely going to fall now. The option for that to not to happen went out the door with Crowley.

Satan comes back in right afterwards and we get the scenes that see Aziraphale slip towards that fall very quickly without Crowley there. The bookshop goes to Muriel and Aziraphale almost refuses the temptation and goes to Crowley but, like Beez, upon the realization that The Book of Life likely wasn't real, Aziraphale sees Satan twist the knife by flattering him and then intentionally letting him hear the "The Second Coming" comment that proves that it was all a ruse. In that moment, Aziraphale knows that they wouldn't put him in charge of Armageddon and that there is no job offer.

He's left standing there with a choice to make-- he can go to Crowley or he can get in the elevator and, if he gets into the elevator, he knows who it is for sure now who is holding open the door. He knows what awaits him, which makes it a bit of a suicide attempt, in that he knows he's in the last moments of his life, as his memories will be taken from him and he won't come back as a demon the same.

He could go to Crowley but, like Beez earlier in the season when they realized that The Book of Life wasn't real, Aziraphale is that thing we talked about at the start of this meta.

He's embarrassed.

He knows he could go to Crowley and Crowley would tell him that it was all okay and they could talk it through but Aziraphale knows now that there is no chance that he's ever going to be able to provide Crowley the kind of safety and peace that he thinks he can't provide for him and he knows that Armageddon is coming again and that they're going to have to stop it all over again and just keep living this circular nightmare forever and he can't take it anymore.

In that moment, he wants coffee but he's too worn out and, in his unpredictable predictableness, he chooses death. He doesn't truly want it but it's a relief from the same kind of suffering-- a false freedom-- and he falls for the temptation of that in the moment.

It will ultimately wind up okay. They seem to have made an accidental fly in The Bentley when Aziraphale drove it that could restore memories. There is an overthrowing of Heaven/Hell on the horizon that might even make it so that Aziraphale is the last angel who ever falls and the concept of a demon changes a bit in S3. There are ways forward but there is no plan already happening when Aziraphale gets into the elevator. He had one; so did Crowley. They tried to communicate across a space while being watched-- like in the Job minisode, like in 1941-- but, this time, they failed, and that, I think, is the point of the No Nightingales season.

Their communication gaps are really their own insecurities reflected back to them. Aziraphale, no matter what Crowley does or says, feels like he is not good and not good enough for Crowley, so he's always felt like Crowley can do better than him. He thinks he should have been able to figure out how to give them a life that's better than their bookshop compromise by now.

Aziraphale doesn't stop to think about how this really doesn't make sense... about how Crowley would never just ask him to marry him with The Metatron lurking in the street... about how he asks him to run away with him sometimes in a panic when trouble is looming, yeah, but this is different from that. This isn't run away with me to our stars, angel! but I would like to marry you.

He doesn't stop to consider that because all Aziraphale can hear is his own inner voice telling him that he should have been able to give Crowley this life a long time ago.

Meanwhile, Crowley doesn't stop to think that Aziraphale would never want to leave him and so, even if tempted by this restoration of status offer for Crowley, would not actually want to go to Heaven. He doesn't think about how they're being watched and so Aziraphale is trying to code his speech because Crowley's own biggest insecurity-- one of his worst nightmares-- is Aziraphale going full Heaven Pod Person on him.

Crowley loves a happy ending to a love story but he doesn't truly think he's ever getting one because it's always going to be too late for him-- he's damned, after all. The only happy ending to a love story for him that he'd ever want is to be with Aziraphale forever and that has seemed impossible from the start, given that he's a demon and Aziraphale is an angel. Crowley doesn't think they get a happy ending and he thinks it's his fault that they won't. He has just been trying all these years to make it so that Aziraphale doesn't get hurt in the process and now what's happening in 2.06? That he's not good, that he's unforgivable, that he's damned, is coming home to roost and he's got to watch what feels like Aziraphale on a path towards death, slipping through his fingers, with nothing Crowley can make happen to prevent it.

They both so desperately want the other to believe they are as good as they see each other as being and would do anything to convince each other of that and suffer when they feel like they're failing at it. What neither of them really fully realize, fundamentally, is that they don't need to accept labels and judgements of those who have harmed them. It's a hard thing for anyone to learn and, sometimes, they let each other in and listen to one another reiterate that they're great as they are and, other times, it gets harder and miscommunications happen as people get too stuck in their heads.

That's S2 but it won't be S3.

Aziraphale only wants Crowley's restoration of angelic status because he thinks it will make Crowley see that he's not unforgivable and because it will keep him safe from Satan if he's an angel again. Aziraphale doesn't need Crowley to be an angel to love him-- he's painted his entire damn house the color of Crowley's demonic eyes. He's absolutely mad for him, just as he is.

The same is true of how Crowley feels about Aziraphale. Aziraphale knows that Crowley loves him but he doesn't love himself-- not enough, anyway. He feels like he's a failure when he's really brilliant. He thinks he's not a good person when he's unfailingly kind. He thinks he doesn't have anything to offer Crowley when all Crowley wants is Aziraphale, exactly as he is...

The Nightingales finale in S1 is about them getting it so very right in the moment. What they say to one another is exactly what the other needs, which is what makes it so romantic. It shows how well they know one another and that, more often than not, they get it right. When a series of unfortunate events and their own anxieties pile up at the same time, though, we get the No Nightingales finale in S2 when, overwhelmed, they both let their own fears and anxieties get the better of them, and the inability to speak freely and to pause, as they usually do, and ask what each other's exactlys mean, exactly, eludes them.

And, even then, after it all falls apart? The most romantic thing is still happening because they are both still trying.

In the end, they're both still trying with the exact things the argument over Gabriel in 2.01 made it clear that they're both helping one another to work on:

Crowley stays by the car, because he's promised to stay and work through things without succumbing to fear and running away. He fucked up and walked out the door but he stays nearby, to show he loves him.

Aziraphale leaves their song to be played for Crowley, because he's promised to try not to succumb to fear and blurt out angry words he doesn't mean. He fucked up and said things he regrets but he has the car play "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square", to show he loves him.

Crowley says with his actions: I am always here and I won't leave you on your own. Aziraphale says with his: You are my whole world and anything I do, I am trying to do for you.

They honestly didn't really even break up so much as both just get enormously fucking confused.

And here's where I'll leave you by mentioning one, final thing...

It actually is about 2.06 but it's a bit of foreshadowing from the final shot of 1.06, in this moment here:

Much amazing discussion has been had about the piano in the last scene in The Ritz in S1-- about how their song is being played and about how the piano lid looks like a wing and makes this scene something of a parallel to others, like Eden and Before the Beginning, that end with Crowley and Aziraphale each sheltering one another with a wing. All of that is stellar and I agree with it but I think there's one, subtle thing that gets overlooked about this piano-- and that's the piece of it that is involved in it being played in the first place.

Just as unraveling nightingales is a key to Crowley and Aziraphale's hidden language, their nightingale-themed song is being played by a human on the piano-- on piano keys. In order to access those piano keys to play the song, though? The pianist had to first do one, specific thing...

She had to access the keys by first moving back the cover that hides them when not in use and let them see the light of day. Without doing this? No piano. No piano?

No nightingales.

What is action that the pianist did to play the song in 1.06 called then, in musical terms?

Lifting. Up...

...The Fallboard.

[sundrop-writes]

Sundrop's The Walking Dead Masterlist

Heaven's Gate - Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader. Strangers to Lovers/Lovers Reunited. Emotional Angst, Hurt and Comfort, Fluff. Set during Seasons 1-5. You and Daryl get separated when the Prison falls, and you both believe the other person to be dead. But you can’t let go of the things your relationship taught you. Eventually, when you’re reunited - it’s like you never missed a moment apart. (24,200 words.)

Need - Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. Set during early Season 4/The Prison Era. Daryl hears some vulgar comments about you while out on a run, and he can't help but to get jealous. He takes it out on you, and you find yourself almost thankful for the asshole who pissed him off in the first place. (3,000 words.)

(Please note, all of these link off to AO3 - my AO3 is archive locked, so you need an AO3 account to view these fics. But I hope to have these fics edited and reposted on Tumblr sometime soon.)

The World Is Ugly - Maggie Greene x Fem!Reader. Strangers to Lovers. Angst and Smut with a Fluffy Ending. Set during Season 2 and Season 4. When you arrive at Hershel's farm with the group, you are hiding two very important secrets: you are a lesbian (which is very controversial in the religious south) - and you self harm. Eventually, Maggie finds out both of these things, and despite your first impressions of her - doesn't judge you for either of them. In fact, she falls deeper in love with you. (21,400 words.)

(The next fic is the author's personal favourite - one of my favourite fics I have ever written in my 10+ years of writing. If you can handle the angst, I highly recommend reading it.)

Hold Me Tight Or Don't - Glenn Rhee x Fem!Reader x Maggie Greene. Established Poly Relationship. Smut and Heavy Angst. Set during Season 3, Episode 4. After being bitten while trying to help get Glenn and Maggie to safety, you are facing your last hours of life. And in those last hours, you only have one wish - to have sex with your partners one last time. Luckily for you, they would do anything for you, and they can't help but to oblige. (7,200 words.)

(The next two fics are much older - they were written long before their AO3 post date indicates. If they were to be edited in order to be posted, it would be a complete overhaul of the fic. So note, the versions of these fics that are on AO3 fic will likely not be the same as the version posted on Tumblr in the future.)

Day and Night - Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader. Strangers to 'Lovers'. Fluff and Hurt/Comfort. Set Pre-Season 4. When Daryl gets into some trouble on a hunt and gets shot, a random stranger comes to his rescue. He doesn't expect that stranger to be beautiful, kind, and to make him a candlelit dinner after treating his wounds. (Wait - is this a date?) (5,000 words.)

State of Emergency - Glenn Rhee x Fem!Reader. Strangers to Lovers. Smut. Set in an AU of Season 1. When Glenn encounters his first zombie, he knocks on your door for help. Because you've seen all the zombie apocalypse media, you're well prepared. The two of you decide to wait out the end of the world together - and you warm up to each other very quickly. (3,400 words.)

[brunnerasposts]

"wait in the truck"

S.H. x Female Reader

Summary: Steve gets lost on a rainy night and finds you bruised and bloody on the side of the road. You get in his truck, and he drives to find who hurt you and make them pay.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: OUTSIDE OF ST STORYLINE, mentions of physical, verbal, and mental abuse, swearing, slight fluff, references to violence, strangers to friends

Additional Note: I haven't written any fanfiction in a hot minute so please bare with my writing ;(

"Thank you for listening to 94.7!" The radio suddenly blared once the static had stopped. Steve immediately reached for the volume knob, turning it down. He could barely focus with how loud the rain was pouring and how fast his windshield wipers were having to move. There hadn't been any indications that it would be raining soon, let alone a whole storm. "Jesus," He muttered under his breath, throwing his high beams on. What was worse than being stuck in a storm? Being stuck in a storm and having no idea where the hell you are.

He couldn't remember when he had gotten off track from the directions being repeated consistently by the GPS. Maybe it was when he needed gas? Steve gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, agitated with himself for being so careless. His eyes squinted as he leaned forward, hoping that would help him see the road in front of him better. He was mainly concerned with hitting anything or anyone.

His eyes suddenly stopped squinting as he noticed a figure in the distance. It was a person. Maybe they could help him find out where he was. Relief washed over him as he drove closer. His relief soon turned to confusion as he began to realize this figure was walking away from him in the rain. It didn't look like they had a coat or anything.

He drove a bit faster to catch up with them before slowing down to a stop. He rolled his window down, realizing it was a woman. "Excuse me, Miss, I was wondering if you could help me out here." He asked, hoping to sound as nice as he possibly could. After all, it was the middle of the night and he was a man in a vehicle while she was alone and in the rain.

"I'm a little lost," He admitted, "I could drive you to wherever it is you're going in return. You could get sick being out there like that."

She stopped walking, keeping her head down so her hair blocked her face. "You're being awfully nice for a guy stuck out in a storm." Her voice was shaky, her accent thick. Steve couldn't help but smile, shaking his head. "Just trying to be nice."

The girl lifted her head to look at him, causing Steve's breath to hitch.

The first thing he noticed was that she was absolutely fucking beautiful. He had never seen such eyes. If it weren't raining and dark, he'd probably end up staring a lot longer than he had been. Her eyes were wide, tired, and had little life to them.

The longer he looked at her, the more his smile fell and turned into a scowl. Her lip was swollen with a bleeding cut going from the bottom to top lip. She had bruises all along the sides of her head and near one of her eyes. Her tank top did little to cover the cuts and bruises lining her arms. She held herself, shaking, eyes and nose red from the rain and from crying. She had been through hell. It didn't take long before Steve was reaching across and opening the door, having made up his mind. "Climb in,"

She complied.

He turned the car lights on, watching her as she buckled herself in. Her tank was torn up, dried blood splotches near her stomach area. "What happened?" He couldn't help but ask. She stared at him and was silent for a while. Her whole body trembled, so Steve reached for the heat and turned it on. He then reached into the back seat and grabbed a blanket, handing it to her.

"I..uh," She sniffled, "I was home and trying to fix this light. Couldn't reach it, so I grabbed this ol' ladder and ended up falling down the stairs." She told him, avoiding eye contact as she bundled herself up. "Thank you."

"Stairs, huh?" He asked, not really believing her story. She nodded a little, fiddling with something on her hand. He glanced at it before shifting into drive, turning the light back off in the car.

"This probably isn't any of my business, but couldn't your husband have fixed the light?" He asked, looking for any other roads besides the one they were on.

He slowed the car as he heard her begin to shift, pulling at her finger. She continued to pull until the ring came off, shakily placing the ring on the dashboard. Steve turned the light on again, looking at the blood covered ring. His attention shifted to her hands, seeing bruises of all sorts.

This wasn't just falling down a flight of stairs.

He inspected her face, noticing the watered-down blood that surrounded her mouth. Her watery eyes focused on the ring she had set down. "He's no husband of mine." She whispered.

Steve wasn't one to get involved in other people's business, but too many clues were adding up. He turned his GPS off, accelerating ever so slightly. He found a point in which he could make a u-turn, hand gripping the wheel. They didn't talk for a while. Not until they reached roads that branched off.

"Where is he?"

There was silence for a while, the woman hesitant to speak. "Home." She soon admitted, looking at her lap. "Drunk."

His suspicions had been correct then.

Some light came into view as they approached scattered "landmarks." A gas station, a diner, and a bar. Steve still was unsure of where he was, but he could tell it was a very small town.

"Make a right near that gas station." She spoke quietly, Steve putting his turning signal on. "Which house?" He asked, turning onto the road. "It's at the very end of the road." She told him. Steve nodded and continued driving.

His eyes moved everywhere as he drove. He looked at the road, his rear view mirror, his speedometer, the woman next to him, pretty much anything to keep his mind occupied. The idea of what this woman could have gone through was sending his blood pressure through the roof. He didn't care that she was a complete stranger to him, he just knew she needed help. And he was more than willing to put her mind at ease.

"Are you gonna hurt him?"

He could feel her eyes on him now, but he didn't look over. "It depends." He spoke, spotting the house in the distance. He turned his lights off, driving slowly. "Do you love him?" He asked as he parked, now turning to look at her. Even in the darkness of the car, he could see her uncertainty. He gently reached his hand out, palm facing up so she could put her hand in his.

The woman was hesitant, but she placed her hand in his. "I promise he isn't going to bother you again. Now, wait in the truck." He said before opening the car door. Steve shut the door behind himself and opened the door to the backseat.

"What if he hurts you?" She asked in a panic as he grabbed his pistol and his baseball bat.

"He won't."

Steve went to close the door, but she quickly exclaimed, "Wait," and Steve stopped. "What's your name?" She asked, gripping the blanket around herself now. He couldn't help but smile a little, glad she was finding comfort in his things. "Steve. Steve Harrington."

"Y/N Letcher." She introduced herself. "Mr. Harrington, why are you helping me?" She asked, Steve simply shaking his head in response. "Just wait in the truck." He told her, closing the car door. Rain continued to fall, making his once nicely kept hair into a mop on his head. For once, he couldn't care less. He walked up the gravel driveway, each crunch under his shoe, giving him the confidence to walk up and pound on the door.

If he was being completely honest, he couldn't even answer her question. He wasn't entirely sure why he was involving himself in another person's business other than the fact that she was in trouble and needed help. He didn't approve of this kind of behavior, and he needed to make sure this man never hurt anyone ever again.

The door cracked open, a man in a white wife beater and jeans standing with a cigarette in his mouth. "Mr. Letcher?" Steve asked.

"Who the fuck are you?" Mr. Letcher asked, scratching at his beer covered stomach. At least Steve thought it was beer. Steve grinned at the man through the screen door. "You got company?"

"Who's askin'?" The man spat, his accent thicker than his wife's. Steve twiddled with his baseball bat, opening the screen door which startled the man. He then held the baseball bat against his shoulder, grinning.

"Harrington. Steve Harrington."

---

"Harrington, you've got a visitor."

Steve rolled his shoulders before sitting in his designated chair, glaring at the officer behind him. He adjusted his wrists, looking to the phone on the wall. Taking it, Steve held it against his ear and looked through the glass.

"Your bruises seem to be almost healed."

"I hardly even notice them anymore." She smiled, more lively than he had last seen her. Steve took the time to really look at Y/N. Bruises almost gone, no blood, no cuts, just healing. Healing in so many ways.

"How are you?" He asked.

"Me? I'm doing perfectly fine, Mr. Harrington. I should be asking that."

Steve chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "It's alright in here. If I can survive one month, I can survive another eleven." He grinned a little until he noticed that her eyes cast down to the handcuffs on his wrists. "I'm proud to be here, Y/N. Please don't blame yourself." He said, watching as she slowly nodded.

"I won't. I just...I still don't understand why. Why help me? You could've just driven me somewhere and dropped me off and...that would be it." Y/N whispered into the phone. Steve's eyebrows furrowed with concern, leaning closer.

"I helped because I couldn't imagine what would've happened to you if I didn't." He frowned, gently placing his finger against the glass. She did the same. "He won't hurt you anymore. He can't," Steve promised, "And I promise the second I'm out of here, I'm gonna make sure you never have to worry about him again."

The woman laughed softly, gazing at Steve. "You've done more than enough for little ol' me, Mr. Harrington." She promised. "It's funny, when people ask me about what happened, I never know how to describe you. I keep wanting to call you an angel, but I don't know if an angel would've done what you did."

Steve chuckled. "I'm sure they wouldn't."

She stared at Steve for a little, glancing to the officer who gave her a minute warning. "Steve?"

Slightly surprised by the use of his first name, he sat up. "Yes?"

"Because of you, I can sleep peacefully, knowing I'll never be hit again. Thank you, darlin'. Thank you." Y/N smiled, eyes watery.

Steve nodded before they both returned their phones to their places. Steve didn't want to move. He just wanted to keep looking at her to know that she was okay now. But he knew.

As he watched her walk away, he knew that she was going to be just fine.

The End.

[jeonbunnie]

love is gone

pairing: reader x jeon jeongguk

anon suggested: “I had this idea for a fic it's angst with a lot of heartbreak with soft smut based on love is gone by Slander ft. Dylan Matthew, basically the oc and jungkook have been in a relationship for two years but recently she's felt him drifting away from her and things aren't the way it used to be so she plans a super cute date night in hopes of saving their relationship which he agrees too but he doesn't come home that evening....when he does come home the next day and mentions they have to talk she knows what he's going to say but she thinks if she can show him one more time he'll feel how much she loves him...but in the end his love is gone.”

summary: Jeongguk tries to let you down easy.

genre: angst; smut; 18+;

content/warnings: POV shifts; boyfriend!jeongguk; established relationship;break up!au; hurt/comfort; make up sex (kinda lol); fingering,unprotected sex

soundtrack: love is gone— by slander ft.Dylan Matthew (highly recommend listening to the acoustic ver)

a/n: writing this made me… 😮‍💨 mark me down as sad and horny byeeeeeeeee. Also reader has brown eyes bc of reasons. Brown eyed girl supremacy, mwah!

word count: 1.4K

♪ It tears me up when you turn me down. I'm begging please, just stick around♪

"Baby, let's talk."

Something about the way he said it made your heart crack. The tone of his voice, the softness of Jeongguk's words, there's a finality to it all that made you anxious for what came next.

"Can you come with me for a minute?"

You didn't want to have this conversation. You already knew where it would lead.

Everything in you wants to say no. But it's the first time you've seen Jeongguk in 24 hours and the first time he's held your hand in weeks, so you let him lead you outside, helpless against his touch.

You couldn't face him when you sat down on the park bench, and you're sure the words you've been avoiding will be written all over his expression, so instead, you look out at the horizon.

It was hurting you. Sitting at the bench with Jeongguk so close but so far away, the distance between you verging on strangers.

You had half a mind to lash out and accuse him of breaking up with you in public so you could accept it quietly and not cause a scene. But you know him.

You know your boyfriend was kind and gentle-hearted. He probably brought you out here because you loved sunsets, and he wanted to give you a nice memory even as he said goodbye.

In the distance, the sunset was a red-orangey glow, casting everything the light touched in golden warmth—but you can't feel it. All you feel is ice-cold dread for what's about to happen.

So you beat him to the punch. "You're breaking up with me, aren't you?"

All the air rushed out of Jeongguk in a sigh. "Am I that obvious?"

You would have laughed at his question if it hadn't hurt you so much. "You've been avoiding me all week. Last night, you asked me for space, and now you want to 'talk.' We haven't talked in days. I might be blindly in love with you, but I'm not an idiot," you said, trying hard to keep the words from coming out bitter.

Jeongguk ran a hand through his hair, nerves on edge. Masked behind your anger, he could hear the hurt in your voice, and he hated being the cause of it. This wasn't easy for him, letting you go. But he couldn't keep you either.

"I think," he started. "I think we should start seeing other people."

At his confirmation, a hot tear slid down your cheek. Before you could wipe the tear yourself, Jeongguk reached out, closing the distance between you, and brushed the tear away with his thumb. He never could stand seeing you cry.

"Did I do something wrong?" You asked, barely keeping yourself together.

"No. Of course not. It's not you—"

"—It's me?" You finished, offering him a wobbly smile. "You don't have to say that just to be nice."

The look on your face made Jeongguk's chest ache so much he could barely breathe. "I don't wanna hurt you. . ."

"But you don't want to stay either?"

He doesn't answer that question; somehow, the silence between you only makes you feel worse.

"I see. . . "you said, nodding your head. "So that's why you didn't come home last night."

You fell asleep on the couch, waiting for him to find his way back to you so the picnic basket you packed remained untouched on the counter. You thought you could remind him of how great things used to be by recreating your first date at the park.

It involved fairy lights, wine, and homemade sweets filled with the love you hoped to remind him of. The love you hoped was still there.

Now you realize Jeongguk was never going to come back home to you. Not last night or any night after.

In a way, you're grateful. Considering the surprise you had planned, it would have been embarrassing if he had come home the night before.

Of course, you still made it to the park, but the situation was dramatically different now. But instead of making up, you were breaking apart.

"I'm sure you noticed how different things are between us now," said Jeonggguk. "Last night, I needed time alone to think. I tried to imagine myself without you. And the thing is, I could….and it all felt so."

You bit your lip, holding back more tears. "Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay?"

Jeongguk was quiet for a moment, and hope built in your chest, but it died just as quickly when you saw him shake his head no.

Jeongguk forced his face to stay neutral. "I will always love you, but just not in the way I wish I still could."

"So this is it then? We're over? Just like that?"

You want to cry, scream, and beg, but Jeongguk is still and calm beside you. So calm you know he's already decided to end things, and you know him well enough to know how stubborn he is that he won't change his mind now that he's made it up.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I understand if you don't want to be around me, I've already made plans to stay at Joons tonight if you prefer me gone."

That was the last thing you wanted. "No," You said, pushing down the sobs that threatened to come from your mouth. "Can you stay, please?"

Jeongguk hesitated, looking away from the face of the setting sun. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea…" He didn't want to give you the wrong impression that there was any way to salvage your relationship. And more than that, he didn't want to lose his resolve because a night with you would make it that much harder to walk away.

"Just for tonight? I don't wanna be alone." It felt stupid to want him there now when he was the cause of your pain, but Jeongguk was one of the few people in your life who knew how to comfort you. You wanted him close, even at the most inopportune moment.

The word 'no' was at the tip of his tongue, but he turned to look at you, and the hurt he found there in your big brown eyes had him saying 'yes.'

And he knows he shouldn't, but Jeongguk can't help but comfort you like he always has. Even though you broke up, it didn't change the fact that he still cared for you, still had love for you. He told himself it was just a reflex that had him reaching for your hand on the walk back home.

It's reflex that has him curling up next to you in bed and wrapping his arms around your waist to be the big spoon, as always.

Reflex that has him kissing away your tears, neck, and shoulder.

Reflex that has his hands sliding underneath your clothes to rub you through your underwear, desperate to make you feel good.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

And before he knows it, he's sinking into you with a groan, getting lost in the familiar warmth of your body.

You're so wet it was easy to slip inside, and even though he's already inside you, so close, naked body flush against yours—it's not enough.

Jeongguk still wanted more.

He couldn't help but grip your thigh, lifting your leg to push in deeper, to feel more of you as his cock slid in and out of your heat.

It has to be a reflex because it can't be love that has his hips driving into you, over and over and over again.

It can't be love that has him moaning into your mouth, kissing you until you are both out of breath, till you clench around him and he spills inside you, filling you up so perfectly.

Because if it is love and not the memory of loving you that makes it so hard to pull away hours later when your tears have dried, and your heart beats steady as you sleep dreamless on the side of the bed that used to be his—then Jeongguk is making a mistake. It was possibly the biggest mistake of his life.

Jeongguk isn't sure he can live with being the one to break both of your hearts. But he'd rather end it all before your relationship's indifference could turn to something cruel. He'd finish it now before you could hurt each other further.

If he had thought about it more, Jeongguk might have seen the love hidden in his actions. That there was something here worth saving, worth fighting for.

But that wasn't what he wanted. Jeonguk didn't want to think of everything he was giving up walking away from you.

It was much easier to pretend his love for you was gone.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

It was only supposed to be a one-night stand (Part 1)

TW: suicide attempt, mentions of self harm, smut (kinda), yandere shenanigans

okay i mayyy have made this after like seeing a bunch of hot construction workers around my campus doing tinkering and shit and my saviour complex is also kinda flaring up too

and also this is my first ever cringefail yandere, he's not rich and he barely has connections and mans was suicidal

enjouy

Part 2

Everyone doesn't know why you didn't just block him, call the cops on him, or just... anything! You don't either.

This man has been following you around for months now. Leaving you flowers on your office desk, dropping parcels of gifts in front of your door, and visiting your workplace to give you boxes of freshly made takeout.

He's not much of a talker. Maybe it's because he can't exactly speak English well. But that was the only language he had ever spoken or written in before, as far as you know.

He's definitely intimidating everyone around you. Standing at an imposing height of what you think is 6'5, his back alone is usually enough to block the sun from your eyes. With his shaggy, brown hair covering his eyes, unkempt stubble covering his face and scruffy clothes; he usually wears an olive green shirt under his very worn chore jacket and a pair of shabby khaki pants. The man wears a pair of mildly tattered combat boots. He isn't ugly, perse, but he definitely isn't the standard of beauty in society. Your stalker has this rugged and disheveled vibe to him that some may like and most look down upon.

You think he's homeless, living in his beaten car and going to public gyms to shower. You've never seen him eating something he cooked himself, it's either he's eating something out of a styrofoam box, or a package good from convenience stores.

But he isn't unemployed. You know he is a construction worker, you caught him many times staring at you longingly as you hasten your pace, fleeing the soon-to-be shopping complex near your office. He was carrying a heavy set of wooden planks on his shoulder effortlessly, the stranger wiped his sweat using the back of his hand before adjusting his hard hat.

You didn't know that he worked in this field when you first met him. You always had a good heart... or at least a heart that simply cannot handle bystander guilt.

You were walking towards the subway one day, and it was late because you agreed to work overtime. The sky was pitch black, and the only thing that illuminated the path ahead was the lamps swarmed by millions of moths.

Entering the tunnel, there were only a few people around; either waiting for the train, for someone, or for a miracle. Regardless of what they're there for, they're all occupied in their own little world.

You were about to be immersed in the world of social media too, but your blasted phone died. So you're forced to stand in silence and become aware of your surroundings, nothing to numb yourself from the daily mundaneness.

And it was this awareness that led you to notice the man in the first place. You were guarded, taking a few steps away from him as he seemed extremely intoxicated. He was swaying and stumbling, in his calloused hand, held a brown glass bottle with liquid sloshing in it. The man was mumbling something, but it was too soft and incoherent for you to hear. He kept wiping his face using the back of his knuckles.

He, just like everyone else except you, is in his own personal hell too. He spared no attention for you or anything else except his own drunken stupor, so you deem it relatively safe to watch him from where you're standing. The stranger is your only source of entertainment at the moment anyway, the train is coming soon, so why not watch him for a bit more and laugh at him internally for being at his lowest? Certainly, it would never happen to you.

You were snapped out of your own thoughts when you saw him going dangerously close to the ledge, crossing over the yellow line. At the same time, the sounds of wind rushing and rumbling reached your ears, if he falls onto the rails, he will definitely be done for. You looked behind your shoulder and saw bright lights coming from one end of the tunnel, calculating that you only have a couple seconds to make your decision.

You shouted for his attention, catching it and a few others around you. He stared at you with bloodshot, glassy eyes. However, he lost his footing and was about to fall to his ultimate demise.

The adrenaline rush amplified by the roar of the train wheels made you propel your feet toward him. You stretched your arm, grabbed him by the back of his jacket, and yanked him out of the danger zone with all your might. It definitely wasn't easy to move this hunky mass at all, but you did. And you saved him just at the nick of time, as the train rushed by, blasting a gust of wind against the two of you.

You must have underestimated your strength because he was flung back at high speeds. He grabbed your arm by instinct, trying to re-balance himself, and brought you down to the grimy subway floor with him.

You groan as you rush to sit up, cradling the arm that made contact with the ground. Scowling at the stranger for pulling such a stupid stunt in his inebriated state, upset that now you had a few pairs of judging eyes on you. You froze when you saw his eyes though, a unique glimmer made its way to his dark irises. His mouth is slightly ajar, he is staring at you with such intense reverence and adoration which you mistake as a mere alcoholic's intoxicated stare.

You screeched when he suddenly emptied the contents of his stomach on your work blouse. Shouting angry curses at him as his head was slumped to the ground and his eyelids shut.

You got up and tried to swipe as much puke away from you as you ran to the train. The last you saw him that night was in an extremely pathetic state, unconscious in his own puddle of vomit, a bottle of booze rolling away from him. People either crossed over him or walked over his body, sparing a few glances of pity or contempt before boarding the train themselves.

You thought that you were never going to see him again, with that much alcohol in his system, you would be surprised that he could even remember his own name. And you couldn't be more wrong.

A few days after that, you were in the same station, taking the same train because your boss needed you to finish the report by that day. This time, you're exhausted. Not sleeping, eating or enjoying your hobbies puts a toll on your energy levels, what a surprise.

You were nodding off in the train, struggling to keep yourself awake.

Maybe if you let yourself doze off, you'll wake up just in time for your stop. And so, you did, you let yourself drift into slumberland.

It was a mistake.

You were harshly woken up with a torch shining in your eyes and a booming voice telling you that the both of you have to leave, as this is the last stop. Lifting your head from a headrest, which actually was someone's broad shoulder. But you didn't realize that.

You were still half asleep, groggily and hastily gathering your things, not registering that the employee was also referring to another person in your proximity.

You muttered a small good night to the staff before exiting the train, yawning and stretching. Smacking your lips as you realized that your briefcase wasn't with you, must've left it back on your seat. So you turned around and walked forwards, only to ram yourself onto what you thought was an oddly shaped pillar. Cussing under your breath as you stumbled backwards, rubbing your head.

You let out a shocked yelp when you realized that it's the man instead. You were about to say something to him but your eyes landed on his side; he was holding the suitcase for you.

You stammered a quick thank you as you snatched it away from him, picking up the pace as you walked away. Howeever, you heard footfalls behind you.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw him following closely behind.

Perhaps he is also looking for an exit, so you silently lead the way to the nearest opening. But as you walk, you start to wonder; did he purposely stayed on the train with you? If he had to go somewhere he would have gotten off by then, if this was his stop, he would have left before the lights went out.

Finally, having to breath in fresh air once you exit the dusty station, you turned to look at him. Trying to discern which way is he heading.

He isn't moving. The man stood next to your side, staring straight ahead. As if he's waiting for you to take another step. After a few more seconds of idling, he turned his gaze to you.

Understandably being creeped out by this, you told him not to follow you. He blinked a couple times before continuing to stare.

Sighing, you asked him if he is lost. And you got no response.

You asked him if he is stupid. And you got no response.

Not giving a shit anymore, you picked a direction and walked. It's a long walk home and there will not be any trains left until the sun rises. As expected, he followed you all the way.

He is useful in warding off midnight catcallers and other seedy individuals that hang around alleys and empty streets. Who wouldn't be wary of him? He looks like he could easily pick them up by the scruff and fling them to the rooftops. But that means he could do that to you too, and that isn't comforting to know at all.

You reached home after an hour and a half of walking. The man is still on your trail, crowding you around the door as you unlocked it. You opened the door and immediately slipped in, he tried entering as well but you slammed it against his face. He watches you lock and latch your door through the window, he placed his hand on the glass and clawed at it a bit. You simply drew the curtains shut, praying hard that he isn't going to be there by sunrise.

Your prayers wasn't answered because you decided to check up on him an hour later. You saw him laying on the porch with his eyes closed and that tugged at your heartstrings a bit.

Maybe it's the sleep deprivation that is lowering your inhibitions, or you're just lonely and he doesn't look half bad. It could also be the cold one you cracked open that's screwing up with your soberness. Either way, you would have given yourself shit for opening the door and letting him in your house while the world is still asleep. If you get murdered, at least you won't need to go to work next week.

It was a blur, you remembered bits and pieces of his hands roaming your bare back, his cock impaling into you as he sloppily kissed you from the jaw to your neck. How his rough fingers fondled your genitals and how you were gripping your bedsheets as if your life depended on it.

Bouncing on him while you shoved your tongue down his throat was fun, especially when he wrapped his hand around the back of your head, preventing you from escaping him. Feeling the pleasant pressure on you as he pinned you to the firm bed. It was kind of him to shield your head with his hand from hitting the bedframe while he plows you from behind, iron gripping your hips with the other.

You remember starting it, demanding that he gives you something in exchange for staying a night here, you remembered pulling him into a deep, passionate, drunken kiss before he has a foot into the living room. You didn't give a shit about knowing his name or if he had any STDs, you just need to release a lot of frustrations.

You woke up hungover, with you being the small spoon while he held you tightly in his strong arms. They were littered in old scars, some clearly self inflicted.

You turned your head to see that he's still asleep, soft snores escaping his lips. Annoying to some.

Squinting as you let the sharp rays of light stab your eyes, you saw that your clothes and his were strewn all over the bedroom, the door wide open with a stray shoe resting next to it's hinges.

You looked at the clock and realized that you're going to be late. Being the workaholic you are, you shook the stranger in your bed awake. He was groaning and quietly whining about not wanting to get up, but shuts up as soon as you hurled his clothes at his face.

He shot up and cowered behind his arms as you continued throwing his articles of clothing at him, telling him that he has to leave because you need to go to work.

While he's composing himself, you rush to the bathroom to take a quick shower, pretending the cold stream of water is washing away all your sins from the night before. You lather up some soap before scrubbing your skin, internally beating yourself up for your irresponsible choices.

A familiar pair of arms snaked around your torso as you're pulled back into a strong chest, a pair of lips decided to flutter smooches on your temple and ear. His hands explored your naked body, utilizing the suds and the water to give you that electrically tingling sensation.

Of course, this intrusion wasn't taken lightly. You screamed and kicked him out of the shower, telling him to leave your house. You caught a glimpse of his confused and crestfallen look in his eyes, paired with his dripping wet hair and sopping wet body.

You finished your business, threw on a set of fresh clothes and rushed out of the door. And definitely dragging him out of there with you too, not giving a crap that he was in the middle of wearing his shirt.

You ran as fast as you could, wanting to catch the next train. And so did he, he chased after you and squeezed himself into the carriage.

Everyone was also rushing to work, there were no seats left nor were there any standing spots. Shoulders were bumping shoulders and the shorter passengers were at an all time disadvantage. You couldn't reach the handles; but he could.

As the door closes, the man held you close to him and rested his free hand on the small of your back. To outsiders, you and him looked like a run of the mill couple having each other. They couldn't be more wrong, you don't even know a single thing about him.

You just endured it, having no choice but to stick next to him. He yawned and frowned, looking quite displeased that he was not in your bed. Well, that's his fault, no one forced him to follow you back home, and no one forced him to stick himself inside of you.

Among the busy chatter in the train, you and him stayed silent. Gradually feeling comfortable in each other's embrace.

You mumbled curses under your breath, he knows where you live and he is going to know where you work. Couldn't this year get any worse?

As soon as the doors open, you make a mad dash out of the station. Running as fast as you could, not caring who you had to shove to clear your way.

You never looked back, but you made sure to take as many detours as possible to mess with his direction if he somehow managed to catch up to you. But your lungs and your out-of-shape-office-worker legs can only take you so far, you reach a nearby tree in a park next to your building.

You panted as you scanned your surroundings, only seeing the elderly, children, athletic adults, and their pets. No sign of that man you slept with last night.

You took a couple more minutes to catch your breath, knowing fully that your boss would chew you up for being close to an hour late. Whatever, you're here now. Let's earn your salary.

So you walked, it's just a couple minutes away. Nothing else should go wrong today-

You had an incredulous look on your face when you saw him loitering at the entrance. Your colleagues glance him up and down, some admiring the way his muscles slightly stick out of his shirt, some wondering what an unkempt hunk like him is doing in front of such a corporate, sanitized venue.

There was no way to sneak past him, you just had to face him. It was... cute that his eyes lit up as soon as he saw you. So you sighed as you marched up to him, requesting him to leave you alone as politely as you could. There was an edge to your tone, he must either be oblivious to it or he's simply choosing to ignore the fact that you're unhappy with him here.

During mid-sentence, he presented you with a paper plate that had a hotdog on it. You were speechless, it had everything on it: ketchup, mustard, relish, pickles, mayonnaise, cheese, Jalapeño slices, onions, beef chili, and other heaps of things that you couldn't identify. With the number of toppings, you couldn't tell that it was a hotdog in the first place, it was just a mountain of random savory foodstuffs. Your eyes darted to his other hand, it also had a hotdog wrapped in a napkin, except his one only had relish.

"I didn't know what you liked..." He mumbled, voice so deep that you could feel the vibrations in your own chest. The man looked at you with hope, wanting you to accept the plate of everything as breakfast.

You shook your head and said you were late to work. Pushing him away from the door before entering the building, some of the topping amalgamations spilled onto his shirt. Probably staining it forever with its oil content.

He stood there with a frown, he craned his head downwards to stare at the spill.

Then, he looked back up to see that you were out of sight. His shoulders sagged as he placed his own hotdog on top of your plate of horrors.

The man walked away as he pulled out a plastic spoon that he tucked in his pocket, it was given to him by the vendor because it is impossible to eat your order with hands.

He began digging in, throwing one last glance at the main door behind him.

[munsonxmayhem]

I just read your post asking about writing for kaz brekker and YES YES YES

How about a kaz brekker x fem!reader who is a crow and is really sunshine AND badass (like awesome thief but also super friendly, funny and kind with everyone). They can be in a relationship or just pining, and Kaz is like trying to share more with her and trying to get over his touch aversion with her but it's not easy, so she's very patient and supporting with him, because he is only thinking about how weak he is that he "can't even hold hands with his loved one" and that stuff.

Maybe fluff/ flangst? (whatever works for you! I just want some kazzle dazzle content✨)

Thank you a looot you're awesome<3

Good and Bad.

Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Warnings; Heavy angst, a bit of fluff at the end. Mention of injury.

Brief message for requester: I love the way you think, and please forgive me for any mistakes in the writing, and let me know what you think (its been ages since i have written anything)

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As I walk into the room, seeing Inej and Jesper sat around a table, I cheerily smile at them. “And how is everyone this wonderful evening?” My cheery demeanor usually putting everyone in a better mood. My smile drops as they glance, almost sadly, at each other and then back at me. I raise an inquisitive brow at them, before noticing the lack of a certain presence. “Where’s Kaz?”

Jesper lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head as he looks at the stairs that lead to Kaz’s room. He leans in, his voice low, “Locked away in his room, hasn’t been a good day for him, I’m afraid.” A tinge of sadness runs through my heart.

I’d been working with Kaz for a good while, not just with him on jobs but on his touch aversion. I’m patient with him, letting him move at his own pace to never push him farther than he’s willing. He has his good days and his bad days. Inej informed me that as they were walking down the street, somebody had fallen into him; triggering his PTSD. This was a bad day.

I nod understandingly before making my way to the stairs, Jesper turns briskly. “Don’t, (Y/N).. It’s really not a good time.” I shake my head at his words, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Then I start my way up the stairs, knocking softly on the wooden door. “Kaz?” My voice is barely above a whisper, gentle and soothing. I hear no movement. “Kaz? C’mon, it’s me.. Open the door.” I repeat a little louder, keeping my soft tone. I hear some rustling behind the door, then multiple locks being undone. I take a deep sigh as I wait for the door to open.

The door opens just a crack, his eye peering through the crack. “What do you want?” His voice is stern, but not rude. I give him a soft, reassuring smile; “Bad day, hm?” He nods in response, staying silent. “You going to let me in?” I ask softly, fiddling with my hands.

He says nothing, just opens the door slowly, backing away and letting me inside. He takes a few steps away from me, distancing himself considerable. It must have been really bad today. I give him a sympathetic smile, making sure to keep my distance. I take a seat in the chair across the room. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He shrugs, taking a seat on the bed across from me glancing down almost shamefully at his ungloved hands. I take mental note of this, bringing my gaze to his as he starts to speak.

“I thought it was working..” He mumbles quietly, and my heart aches for him. “Kaz.. This isn’t an easy thing to overcome, you are doing better, but there are going to be good and bad days.. What matters is that you persevere, you have people here that support you. Good and bad.”

He nods slowly, “I know.. But it is hard, so hard. It’s as though I’m putting in all this effort, for even a little bit of hope just to have it all swept away by some.. accidental run in at the wrong time.” He shakes his head, almost angrily. “One brush of an arm from a stranger on the street and I’m back.. there.” He refers to his past, the anger suddenly building in his body as he throws his cane forcefully into the shelves on the side wall. I gasp, flinching a bit. He rarely lashes out in anger like this, but it never gets easier when he does. He stands abruptly, and begins pacing, causing me to stand as well. “K-Kaz..” I stammer, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. Suddenly I hear a knock at the door, causing Kaz to snap his gaze towards it. I hold my hand up to Kaz as I make my way to the door, opening it slightly, hiding the mess Kaz had made.

Jesper is standing there, a very worried look on his face; “Is everything okay?”

I nod, before mouthing the words. “Just a bad day, remember?” He gives a sympathetic look before descending down the stairs again. I shut and lock the door behind me as I return my attention to Kaz. He looks down at the mess and then back up at me, his eyes sad as if his heart just shattered into a million pieces. “I’m sorry..” He whispers, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing his head in his hands. I shake my head, “It’s okay, Kaz..” He shakes his head, “It isn’t.” I glance down at the shattered glass on the floor before kneeling beside it and beginning to pick up the pieces. “No.. Stop, you don’t have to clean that-“ Before he even gets to finish the sentence I hiss In pain, a sharp piece of glass cutting my finger. He stands suddenly, lunging worriedly to my aid, but before his hands can grab yours, he freezes. His eyes dart to mine in panic and a tear rolls down his cheek, “I-I can’t, I’m sorry..” His voice is a broken whisper, and I can feel the pain radiating from him. I nod understandingly, giving him a reassuring smile as I stand and grab a towel. I wrap my finger as I glance over at him, he’s still on the floor beside where I was, completely defeated.

“Why are you fighting so hard for this, Kaz?” I ask him, not rudely, just to get him to remember why we started working on it in the first place. He lets out a shaky breath, standing to his feet.

“I want to be better..” He whispers, still looking at the floor. “You are the sweetest, most kind woman I know.. You’re hurt and I can’t even hold your hand. You deserve to be held, (Y/N)..” He sounds so sad as the words leave his mouth.

I step towards him, this time he doesn’t back away, only a brief moment of panic. “You want to hold me?” I whisper softly, realizing wasn’t fighting for him, he was fighting for me. He finally brings his gaze to mine, my sweet, caring features immediately calming him again. “Yes..” Is all he can manage as he steps closer to me. “One step at a time, Kaz.. Don’t push yourself, okay?” He nods in response, a soft smile on his face as he brings a hand up to my cheek, I stay completely still and let him move as he wishes, the backs of his knuckles brushing lightly across the soft skin. Baby steps.

“Just.. be patient with me, okay?” He whispers.

“Always...” I return, a look of adoration on my face as his hand gently lays against my cheek.

“You’re why I’m still fighting, (Y/N)..”

[xzinbdg]

YO WHAT?

- i can see right through

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏ/ɴ ᴍᴏᴠᴇꜱ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴀᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴡᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴜᴘ ʙʏ ʟᴏᴜᴅ ᴀꜱꜱ ɢᴜɪᴛᴀʀ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴅᴏᴏʀ.

written part: 547 words

warning: reader jokes about "killing herself", reader has a panic attack.

checking your self one last time in a mirror you walk out your door and you see him. wonbin in plain black shirt, plain black pants but for some reason he's the most attractive person you have ever seen. "hi, did you sleep well?" he says "h-hi" you want to kill yourself on the spot for stuttering "i slept fine...how about you?" he gives you a slight smile "i was to excited to sleep" "excited? about what?" you give him an confused look. "about our date" he sends you a wink and starts walking to the elevator. you however stand there for a minute processing what the hell just left his mouth. you walk to him and the two of you go into the elevator. "you're a bit red, are you okay?" he asks with a smirk "ahh..hhaha I'm fine" you say turning your face towards the wall. it was a bit awkward in the elevator but as soon as you sit in the passenger seat of his car, he plays some chill music it's all good. the two of you talk the whole way to the cafe, just asking some questions to get to know each other better, wonbin telling you some stupid jokes that he learned from eunseok, it was a very fun ride. after about an hour the two of you arrived at the cafe, it looked very cozy from the outside and inside. the both of you placed your orders and meanwhile you wait the talking resumed. you got your orders and both were amazed at the quality of drinks and cakes. you had a good time, that was until you saw a familiar face enter the cafe. it was taesan with the girl that he cheated on you that's now his girlfriend, sullyoon. your face changed instantly from a happy one to a terrified one, you started having trouble breathing and got really hot in seconds. "is everything alright?" asked concerned wonbin, he noticed that you couldn't really speak so instead he tried to make you calm down. he gently took your hands massaging them with his thumbs "breathe with me yn, please" he started the "inhale, exhale, inhale...." and after a while you calmed down a bit. "thank you...i saw someone that...i really didn't want to see.." you said quietly just enough for him to hear "was it the guy you told me about?" ah that's right you did tell him about that, you nodded and that's when she saw you, sullyoon saw you and started waving to you with a smile. you waved back. it's not like the two of you are or were friends but you weren't strangers either and she never knew that you were with taesan. you saw her saying something to taesan and that's when your eyes met his. they were still the same, so nonchalant like he didn't have a care in the world. you broke the eye contact quickly and looked at wonbin. wonbin's eyes are beautiful. they're the same color and shade as taesan's but they hold so much life in them, you can tell when he's worried, when he's happy, when he's sad or angry and right now all you can see in them is just how much he cares about you.

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a/n: things are about to get a bit more serious but don't worry not for long! also HERE is a reference to what wonbin was playing (check the lyrics 👀) also why did I lose like half the words.....anton is saying "you have a hot single wonbin in your area" and yn is saying "all i saw was love"

genre: smau, crack, strangers to enemies to lovers, boy next door!wonbin, neighbors au, band au

pairing: guitarist!wonbin x reader

taglist: @p-d1ddy @icyona @pxnklover @pinklemonade34 @cherrytaesan @soheendo @jiaisfox @i03jae @yoonyunsoob @wonychu @nujeskz