#why do i have to change my settings and put my art through filters and watermark it and etc etc

[thinkingabout-girls]

i’m so fucking tired dude

[p5x-theories]

Bit of a longer one, but something has always felt off to me about the palaces in P5X and I think I figured out why…

These aren’t palaces and while they share the terminology, they function differently.

The method of access is changed to be based on travel in Mementos rather than keywords.

Kiuchi’s palace is based on his past lust and glory days as a baseball player rather than his vengeance quest against Motoha, when that’s arguably his greatest desire as of now.

Miyazawa’s palace is a film set disguised as a temple, with his shadow as the lead actor rather than an actual position of power like either a director or a Shinkansen. Bonus points that neither of his palaces themes refer to food at all, despite that being an integral part of Miyazawa’s day job.

Finally calling cards are excised from the heart changing process, and although we only see Kiuchi’s treasure, to my knowledge it doesn’t tie in at all to his desires outside of being a baseball (I don’t think it’s said if it’s the ball Arai struck him out with)

So what am I getting at?

The palaces of phantom x, while made of desires like the ones in 5, they are made of desires for “greatness” that is filtered through their distortions and corruptions.

Perhaps the “X Yaldabaoth” is a well intentioned (albeit seriously misguided) being seeking to grant humanity’s greatest desires on an individual level, more like Maruki in a way, and whomever is orchestrating these “phantom attacks” is seeking to prevent these palaces from forming.

(This game is so fun to speculate about, I can’t wait for demo 3!)

Ooo, that IS a fun theory! That's such a good catch, that these Palaces seem to be less of a distortion based on their desire, and more of a desire for something (greatness, as you put it).

I was going to point out that Palaces even in P5 do tend to have a bit of that- arguably Kamoshida, Madarame, and Shido's Palaces are also kind of a monument to their own perception of their greatness- but thinking about it, even then, the real focus of the Palaces isn't that in and of itself. Kamoshida's is what he does with that power (the volleyball team members being tortured, the cognitive Ann, Shiho, and Mishima, how he "rules over" it all) as he chases a past glory (his Olympic medal), Madarame's is about how he keeps his power going (his students as paintings, the whole museum showcasing "his" work) and the first time he stole art to such a direct extent (the Sayuri), and Shido's is... well, it's a lot of things, haha. It's how he reinforces his power, it's his end goal, it's how he protects himself, and it's all based on his political career (his legislator's pin).

That is to say, you're absolutely right- at least so far, even though Miyazawa does have some power over others in the real world, even his Palace seems like it might be more about where he wants to be than where he is. I will say, I'm pretty sure his Palace is a film set modeled to look like a Japanese castle, not a temple? But either way, I think the theory stands. I like your idea for how the "X Yaldabaoth" and phantoms might fit into this, too!

Now that you've got me thinking about it, maybe that's why the phantom thieves of P5X don't need calling cards? It's not something the Palace ruler has that's being stolen, it's something they want. Certainly still a theft of desires, but thinking about it, definitely not the same kind of "desire" as in P5, which probably fits with P5X's general lack of desires.

This is a really good catch, thanks for sending it in!

[waiitiridge]

✨️Don't mind me, just peptalking myself and spewing it into the void ✨️

Its really strange having a following on social media. I've made so many friends and gotten opportunities I wouldn't have without it. Overall I think I've found a little slice of heaven online. Its 90% kindness in my corner and the other 10% is inevitable. I think the hardest part has been seeing the numbers. It's ingrained in us to view these numbers as a currency. More = better, less = worse. They aren't really numbers though, they are (mostly🤖) people.

I would never expect the attention of hundreds of thousands of individuals. I wouldn't even expect a room full of a dozen to all pay attention to me so why does it feel like rejection when the numbers drop? I know it's just people's tastes changing, people growing, or expeting something different. Why does it feel like someone is saying "I don't like you"? Why does it feel like something in my life is actively leaving me when I don't even know the username, let alone the person, leaving? I hate that I have to see the stupid numbers when I go to my profile to find a video in my saved folder. I don't want to know "how many people left me" last night. There is always this voice in my head that it means I've done something wrong, that I've harmed someone to make them leave but I will meticulously crawl through my videos to see what could have been misinterpreted or left without explanation and I can't find anything that stands out. I start to wonder if maybe I'm just too stupid to see it. Too ignorant. Too cold hearted. If maybe I'm not meeting the expectations of kindness I set for myself. Maybe I'm not funny, just strange. Maybe it makes people feel uncomfortable. I should dial it back. I should think about dialing back personality to make sure I'm more palatable... but if people don't see the real me, who would they be following?

So I do it. I put myself out there. I make the silly videos with my authentic dopey self on display. I put together a little video, a slice of my day, like a diary. I love capturing all the bits. The lighting, the flowers, the bees and trees. The way my ducks waddle after me or the food I made. Marbles sleeping and her paws twitching. I love film and photography as an art form. Finding the angles and lighting to capture the feelings the moment is giving me in a way I can share with others. Part of it is so my daughter will have a way of knowing me and how I saw the world when I'm gone. I would give almost anything to have something like that from my own mother. To see how she saw the world and maybe have some clues for the unanswered questions she left me with. Outside of art and memories, film is just fun. I love finding music that's inspiring and seeing how each sound can change the entire energy of a clip. Like lining up words for laughs or tears. I would do it all again and again even if no one was watching. It's like a game where I'm trying to find the story in my day and pull out just 1 second from each moment to tell it in a way people who weren't there might enjoy watching with no context. Sometimes i win and people love it! Sometimes I think I've got something really great but no one sees it so I don't get to know whether it was watch worthy or just average. Sometimes people do see them and just dont like them, which I personally find better than not knowing.

Social media is a fickle beast. You have algorithms crawling captions for trending words - Heartfelt messages that use descriptive language beyond buzzwords wont do. You have filters looking at the videos themselves for clips that match what it's looking to push - Was every shot photo perfect? Was the lighting good enough for the filters to pick out my face or cute animals? The sound suits the video perfectly - but is it trending? What's the like to view ratio, what about comments and is that enough or are they weighing saves or shares more? Did I leave a comment somewhere or interact with a post that was too political? Am i off the fyp because of it?

I love data and being able to look for trends but statistics tells you not to play lotto, not how to win. As with gambling, it's about learning your limits and sticking with them. Knowing what you're willing to lose and never going beyond that point. If I win a bit, great! If I lose, I lost what I expected to lose and hopefully had some fun in the process ($10 on lord of the rings slot machines when in vegas was a $10 experience I was willing to pay for, plus they gave me a drink!). While I feel that sense of rejection when seeing the numbers, I know I have lost nothing. Making and sharing the art with the friends I've found is worth the sense of insecurity. Absolutely, everytime, YES. When I think about it objectively, outside of my profile page with my social currency on display, I don't care at all about the numbers. It's about the people. I love seeing what my friends have to say about the ducks this morning. I love chatting about what to grow next season or seeing all the ideas for crafts I'm thinking of. I love hearing other people's stories of their own similar experiences. I love the recipie ideas. I love finding people who want to sew and helping them find the right patterns or machine or troubleshoot. I love talking about tinyhomes and what works and what doesn't. The friendships I've made are invaluable. I get so much warmth, love and support. They don't wax and wane with the faceless numbers. This is why I continue. This is the part that matters. This is what the social mediabexperience is all about, actually socialising.

[birlwrites]

(Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw anon) Well, now I am definitely intrigued about Hufflepuff. If you would be willing to do a spoiler post, I'd be interested.

wow look at me tackling my askbox

i got this question from a few people so here y'all go!! (and here's the original ask)

as always, if you DO NOT want spoilers about atfhv and have not yet filtered the #atfhv spoilers tag, do that now!!

much of my thinking about hufflepuff in this universe is that, like...... hufflepuff is SO underutilized. jkr's personal beliefs about valuable traits really bleed through in how she a) defines and b) treats the different houses, and i find canon hufflepuff to be such a bland treatment of what it means to actually take a bunch of people whose main character trait, as defined by jkr, is not being unafraid of a hell of a lot of hard work, and putting them in a room together and saying 'okay, your house was founded on the principle that nobody should be denied an education based on an outsider's opinion of their merit. the other three houses at this school take pride in their Qualities and think of you as kind of the catch-all house for people who don't fit anywhere else. now what are you going to do about it'

i also think of hufflepuff as being a house that does value tradition - they're the counterbalance to ravenclaw, and eminently practical, in a 'this works, so i'm going to buckle down and get it done while you're busy fantasizing about a better way to do it' way. they've never cared much for sweeping changes being imposed on them by others, especially when those changes don't seem particularly useful, or when they seem like fruitless (or actively impedimental) lip service to an agenda

and, perhaps most importantly, they are realistic. they firmly believe that you have to accept what reality is (in the sense of not being in denial about The Real State Of Things, not in the sense of *approving* of it), and then you can actually get things done. if you're in denial, pretending things aren't the way they are, you're going to waste time and effort on not getting anywhere at all.

like, here's an example: if you're taking ALL the students who aren't deemed 'worthy' of the other houses, you're going to have to teach them. anything else is a violation of your house's founding principle. and you can't teach every student exactly the same way and expect them all to succeed. you have to accept that different students learn differently and struggle with different things, and some of them will need more help than others, and some of them are going to struggle a lot in a traditional academic setting, and it would be really, really difficult to change the way hogwarts teaches when you'd be likely to get resistance from the (very conservative-minded) board of trustees, the ministry, people who are worried about standardized test scores, etc.

you have to accept that reality before you can go 'okay, so, how do we make sure these students succeed anyway?' otherwise, you're just wasting your time on something futile and not getting any results.

what does all of that mean?

it means hufflepuff has a thriving tradition of studying dark arts, and bringing new people into their group, that has lasted as long as slytherin's has. like, why would they throw that out the window just because the ministry told them to? this shit is powerful magic. it's useful, too. they're not just going to stop because it scares the muggles - they're always going to scare the muggles, it's part of having magic. might as well just accept reality and get on with your life

'but wait!' you say. 'why doesn't regulus know about this, if this tradition has really been going on for so long?'

to which i say: because hufflepuffs are great at accepting reality. the slytherin dark arts study group is an open secret. they don't face consequences because people either dismiss it as superstition or know that there's no way they'd be able to make anything stick, what with slytherin's very deep ties to the wizengamot (and the government in general). hufflepuff does not have the advantage of a dark, creepy aesthetic and an immediate connotation of shitloads of money and political power. plenty of people think that lots of hufflepuffs probably aren't very bright since they got put into the Everyone Else house. even their slytherin counterparts might be skeptical about hufflepuff's ability to keep this a secret - after all, they weren't put in the cunning house, were they?

so hufflepuff uses the slytherin group as cover - or rather, the rumors about the slytherin group. who on earth would look at *hufflepuff* for evidence of dark arts, especially when slytherin is right next to them being all cunning and ambitious?

and, unfortunately, this means that they have to keep the existence of their study group VERY much on the DL. the stakes of people suspecting them are a lot higher, since they don't have the same smokescreen that slytherin does. they can use slytherin as a shield, but there's a limit to how useful that shield will be

the hufflepuff study group tends to be smaller than the slytherin study group. they are also more likely to bring in people who weren't raised in the dark network, because continuity is important to them and they want to keep this group going, even though hufflepuff tends to get fewer dark scions than slytherin does. that being said, the love of tradition and pressing need for secrecy is a double-edged sword - there are blood purists in hufflepuff, they're just polite about it. and a lot of those purists can be found in the dark arts study group, politely Not discussing politics with each other since arnold macmillan is like, right there, and he's a *macmillan*, and all of that

blood purity in hufflepuff is less about magical capability and more about safety from muggles, which is why it flies under the radar in comparison to slytherin

but they're often not big voldemort fans. bc like, wtf is he doing.

and, similar to ravenclaw, there's a range of opinions re: dumbledore, generally highly correlated with their ties to the dark network or lack thereof

and this will all become important very, VERY soon.

[potionio]

hello love. if you don’t mind me asking, how do you edit your cas photos? especially having two of your simmies in one photo? i’m dumb and wanna learn how to edit.

Hi there!

I use a mixture of photoshop, clip studio paint and just reshade! More info under the cut! (also you're def not dumb, it's a learning process w anything creative!!)

Now to begin with, I use SRWE with a resolution w 3000x3000 when I take my screenshots, and I've recently started using relight with my shader to ensure additional light sources.

I take about 15 pose variation photos for each cas post! After this I open both of them in photoshop! Once opened in whatever editing software you're using choose the select tool and select around the sim.

ctrl+v it into your other screenshot, and position them next to each other. Then just remove any excess background that is taking up too much space. I tend to change the opacity of my layer to make sure they're lined up (this is why I like the mirror CAS background, I can just make sure the reflections are on the same length lmao)

Cut your two little simmies out together once you've merged their layers and put them in a new image!

After this I do my general editing process which is a fuck ton of actions

(these handy dandy things!)

To change exposure, lighting etc. After this i do

Filter - > Oil Paint (my settings on this differ) And then followed by Sharpen -> Smart Sharpen.

NOW, at this point I export it as a png and open it up in clip studio paint. I edit things that stand out to me, adding eyelashes, strands of hair etc, making eyes glow.

This can be pretty time consuming tbh bcs sometimes I fix clipping so I have to recreate whole hands and shit, but either way, this process is different for everyone and would take me way longer to explain and I'm already doing real badly at explaining THIS process lmao.

Once you've finished your touch ups, save the file and go back into photoshop and do whatever edits you have to do to get the end results you want if you're not happy with it!

I typically tend to throw noise filters over it, fuck around w exposure etc. Below you can see the same face through different steps of the process!

If you have any questions literally just ask me, I am quite bad at explaining things bcs I'm a visual teacher and I have only taught two lessons in my life, one on history and the other on an art program lmao.

[hobbitsetal]

I saw your post on the entertainment debate floating around, and read the tags, so I was wondering if you did end up writing a post on storytelling and God?

Not a separate post as such, but I had a few under my "art faith and media" tag that probably qualify!

But for you, dear anon, let me go off just a bit because I'm procrastinating editing and this is a worthy writing project.

What has storytelling to do with God, first and foremost? I would argue He is the original Storyteller, that the Bible is the story of humanity's quest to understand and follow this Great Being Who reveals Himself to us in many ways and through various means.

Jesus taught through parables, in the tradition of various Jewish rabbis, as a Jewish rabbi Himself. God affirmed and continued the human yen for storytelling while He walked this earth with us. I find that eminently lovely.

The first followers of Christ were charged to go and spread the news of what God had done--charged to become storytellers and forth-tellers. Storytelling itself was changed by the presence of God. I've seen a post on Tumblr talking about the old story form of a man who loses his lover to death. The Greek myths end with him losing her forever. The stories post-Jesus end with him recovering her. Take that one with a grain of salt--I am no scholar and I can't find the post again--but it's a beautiful thought.

So, do we now go on to tell you to write stories with good Christian morals?

Absolutely not. If you set out to write a moral, you'll probably bore everybody. Write a good story and your own values will filter into it. Art is terrifyingly revelatory. I've laughed with my husband before over how various life changes and events and struggles seep into my characters and storytelling, whether I want them to or not.

And that brings me to what one might consider the heart of storytelling: knowledge and understanding. Those who read more widely are, apparently, more empathetic. Reading puts us in the shoes of others, in other situations and other worlds. Reading humanizes other people to us, and that is a valuable weapon against selfishness.

Storytelling gives us a safe way to work through questions and struggles. Some scholars apparently believe that the books of Job and Jonah don't describe historical events, but are records of the ancients Jews grappling with the problem of pain and with the idea of a God Who is willing to embrace even our worst enemies.

Storytelling gives us a medium to examine our world in a way that removes it from us just a bit, just enough to study issues with a little more breathing room. What makes a god? What is worth fighting for or dying for? How does one determine right and wrong when everything seems uncertain and you don't know who's lying?

What does hope look like in the face of great darkness? Read The Lord of the Rings. What might God's love look like in another world, in another place? Read C.S. Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia, or his Space Trilogy. Is morality contingent on gods? What is the responsibility of those in power to defend against oppression, racism, abuse of power? Read Terry Pratchett's Discworld.

You don't need to agree with everything you read. I adore Pratchett, but he was an atheist and it shows in his writings, and I am very much a theist to my core. Nonetheless, he makes important observations about human nature and right and wrong.

If you read through a Christian lens--that is, through the mindset that there is a God, that He cares about us, and that objective right and wrong exist--everything you read has the potential to teach you important things.

Why am I talking so much about reading? Because I'm a writer, and reading is what I think of first. Movies, tv shows, podcasts, oral stories--all qualify equally as storytelling. I think art--paintings or web comics or whatever else you would like to name--can be storytelling. They all have the potential to move someone emotionally, to point them to insights about humanity, to provoke the imagination.

Storytelling, then, is a way to understand ourselves and the world around us better, both as it is and as it relates to God. Storytelling is a reflection of the Great Creator, the original Storyteller, the One Who knows us most intimately and perfectly...the One Who created us for joy.

Embrace imagination, my friend. It is created by God.

[star-anise]

Ok, I'll bite. What *is* the difference between Bridgerton and Jane Austen in relationship to their skirts?

Oh! Not in their costuming, just in their general *waves hands* everything. It's a comment I see a lot about Bridgerton: "Well, it's not much like Austen, is it?"

That's because there are 200 years of literary history between the two, and they have not been empty!

This ended up being 1.5k words, but when I put stuff under a readmore, people don't actually read it and then just yell at me because of a misread of the 1/10th of the post they did read. Press j to skip or get ready to do a lot of scrolling (It takes four generous flicks to get past on my iPhone).

First I'll say my perspective on this is hugely shaped by Sherwood Smith, who has done a lot of research on silver fork novels and the way the Regency has been remembered in the romance genre.

The Regency and Napoleonic eras stretch from basically the 1790s to 1820, and after that, it was hard to ignore the amount of social change happening in Britain and Europe. The real watershed moment is the 1819 Peterloo Massacre, where 60,000 working-class people protesting for political change were attacked by a militia. The issues of poverty, class, industrialization, and social change are inescapable, and we end up with things like the 1832 Reform Act and 1834 Poor Law.

This is why later novelists, like Charles Dickens and Elizabeth Gaskell, are so concerned with the experiences of the urban poor. Gaskell's North and South has been accurately described as "Pride and Prejudice for socialists."

So almost as soon as it ended, people started to look back and mythologize the Regency as a halcyon era, back when rich people could just live their rich lives and fret about "only" having three hundred pounds a year to live on. Back when London society was the domain of hereditary landowners, when you weren't constantly meeting with jumped-up industrialists and colonials.

Jane Austen is kind of perfect for this because she comes at the very end of the long eighteenth century, and her novels show hints of the tremors that are about to completely reshape England, but still comfortably sit in the old world. ("The Musgroves, like their houses, were in a state of alteration, perhaps of improvement. The father and mother were in the old English style, and the young people in the new. Mr and Mrs Musgrove were a very good sort of people; friendly and hospitable, not much educated, and not at all elegant. Their children had more modern minds and manners.")

Sherwood Smith covers the writers who birthed the Silver Fork genre in detail, but there's one name that stands out in its history more than any other: Georgette Heyer.

Georgette Heyer basically single-handedly established the Regency Romance as we know it today. Between 1935 and 1972, she published 26 novels set in a meticulously researched version of London of the late 18th and early 19th century. She took Silver Fork settings and characters and turned them into a highly recognizable set of tropes, conventions, and types. (As Sherwood points out, her fictional Regency England isn't actually very similar to the period as it really happened; it's like Arthurian Camelot, a mythical confection with a dash of truth for zest.)

Regency Romance is an escapist genre in which a happy, prosperous married life is an attainable prize that will solve everything for you. Georgette Heyer's novels are bright, sparkling, delightful romps through a beautiful and exotic world. Her female characters have spirit and vivacity, and are allowed to have flaws and make mistakes without being puritanically punished for them. Her romances have real unique sparks to them. She's able to write a formula over and over without it becoming dull.

And.... well. The essay that introduced me to Heyer still, in my opinion, says it best:

Here's the thing about Georgette Heyer: she hates you. Or, okay, she doesn't hate you, exactly. It's just that unless you are white, English, and upper class (and hale, and hearty, and straight, and and and), she thinks you are a lesser being. [...W]ith Heyer, I knew where I stood: somewhere way below the bottom rung of humanity. Along with everyone else in the world except Prince William and four of his friends from Eton, which really took away the sting. But my point is: if you are not that white British upper-class person of good stock and hearty bluffness and a large country estate, the only question for you is which book will contain a grimly bigoted caricature of you featuring every single stereotyped trait ever associated with your particular group. (You have to decide for yourself if really wonderful female characters and great writing are worth the rest of it.)

So Heyer created the genre, but she exacerbated the flaw that was always at the heart of fiction about the Regency, was that its appeal was not having to deal with the inherent rot of the British aristocracy. I think part of why it's such a popular genre in North America specifically is that we often don't know much British history, so we can focus more on the perfume and less on the dank odor it's hiding.

And like, escapism is not a bad thing. Romance writers as a community have sat down and said: We are an escapist genre. The Romance Writers of America, one of the biggest author associations out there, back when they were good, have foundationally said: "Two basic elements comprise every romance novel: a central love story and an emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending." A strong part of the community argue that publishing in the genre is a "contract" between author and reader: If it's marketed as a romance book, there's a Happily Ever After. If there's no Happily Ever After, it's not romance.

It's important for people to be able to take a break from the stresses of their lives and do things that are enjoyable. But the big question the romance genre in particular has to deal with is, who should be allowed to escape? Is it really "escapist" if only white, straight, upper class, able-bodied thin cis people get to escape into it? In historical romance, this is especially an issue for POC and LGBTQ+ people. It's taken a lot of work, in a genre dominated by the Georgette Heyers of the world, to try to hew out the space for optimistic romances for people of colour or LGBTQ+ people. These are minority groups that deal with a literally damaging amount of stress in real lives; they are in especial need of sources of comfort, refuge, community, and encouragement. For brief introductions to the issue, I can give you Talia Hibbert on race, and KJ Charles on LGBTQ+ issues.

Up until the 1990s, the romance genre evolved slowly. It did evolve; Sarah Wendell and Candy Tan's Beyond Heaving Bosoms charts the demise of the "bodice-ripper" genre as it became more acceptable for women to have and enjoy sex. The historical romance genre became more accommodating to non-aristocratic heroines, or ones that weren't thin or conventionally pretty. The first Bridgerton book, The Duke and I, was published in 2000, and has that kind of vibe: Its characters are all white but not all of them are aristocrats, its heroines are frequently not conventionally beautiful and occasionally plump, and its cultivation to modern sensibility is reflected in its titles, which reference popular media of today.

This is just my impression, but I think that while traditional mainstream publishing was beginning to diversify in the 1990s, the Internet was what really made diverse romance take off. Readers, reviewers, and authors could talk more freely on the internet, which allowed books to become unlikely successes even if their publishers didn't promote them very much. Then e-publishing meant that authors could market directly to their readers without the filter of a publishing house, and things exploded. Indie ebooks proved that there was a huge untapped market.

One of my favourite books, Zen Cho's Sorcerer to the Crown, is an example of what historical romance is like today; it's a direct callback and reclamation of Georgette Heyer, with a dash of "Fuck you and all your prejudices" on top of it. It fearlessly weaves magic into a classic Heyer plot, maintaining the essential structure while putting power into the hands of people of colour and non-Western cultures, enjoying the delights of London society while pointing out and dodging around the rot. It doesn't erase the ugliness, but imagines a Britain that is made better because its poor, its immigrants, its people of colour, and the foreign countries it interacts with have more power to make their voices heard and to enforce their wills. Another book I've loved that does the same thing is Courtney Milan's The Duke Who Didn't.

So then... Bridgerton the TV show is trying to take a book series with a very middle-of-the-road approach to diversity, differing from Heyer but not really critiquing her, and giving it a facelift to bring it up to date.

So to be honest, although it's set in the same time period as Austen, it's not in the least her literary successor. It's infinitely more "about" the past 30 years of conversation and art in the romance genre than it is about books written 200 years ago.

[mimi-cee-hq]

A Genuine Mess - Atsumu x f!reader

Pairing: Atsumu x f!reader

Summary: Atsumu insults you, the quietest girl in his class. But as he gets to know you, your few words often leave him blushing.

Genre, etc.: Tooth rotting fluff, Atsumu is a dork in love but still consistent with his canon character, reader is quiet but not timid

Warnings: none

Author's Notes: I wanted to try a different personality for the reader as well as taking one of Atsumu's negative character traits and flipping it on its head :) This was fun to write. Hehehe.

Words: 1.9k

*****

"What? She's here for me?" said Atsumu. He pressed his lips together to hide the smile forming on his lips. As he attempted to walk to the gym doors as normally as possible, Aran tilted his head while Osamu wore an amusing smirk.

Atsumu leaned on the frame of the gym doors. "What'd ya want?" he asked you, trying to be as smooth as possible. His voice didn't reveal his usual arrogance and was unexpectedly gentle.

"Could I see your hand?" you asked him with a quiet but direct tone.

When he held his hand out in front of you, you delicately turned it over, palm faced down, and positioned his fingers one by one. You didn't notice him gripping the side of his jersey in his other hand, trying to keep it together every time your fingers grazed his skin. You let go of his hand to pull out your phone and angled it to get a good shot of his hand.

Click.

"Thank you Atsumu-san," you told him, putting your phone away and leaving the gym.

Atsumu returned to the court, not even able to hide the childish grin from his teammates anymore. Some widened their eyes and others dropped their jaws as they witnessed the entire scene.

"So when did you start liking her?" Suna asked him.

"I don't like her," Atsumu adamantly responded.

A laugh escaped Osamu's lips and Atsumu told him to shut up. He hated that his twin knew exactly why he was acting like this.

*****

"Well that looks ugly."

Seated at your desk, you looked up from your sketch to see Atsumu's scrunched up nose. It didn't take long for it to disappear. Osamu whacked him on the head for insulting the quietest girl in class two and quite possibly their whole year.

"Sorry about this jerk," Osamu told you. "He doesn't have a filter."

But when he started to drag Atsumu away from you, they heard the rare sound of your voice.

"Miya-san," you said.

They both turned around but after looking at each other, they assumed you were referring to your classmate Atsumu.

"Why does it look ugly?"

"Ha?" Atsumu gawked at you. He scratched the back of his head. "I dunno. The shoulders just looked gross"–he got whacked on the head again–"Hey!" He glared at Osamu.

After they bickered for a bit, they turned their attention back to you, but you were already facing your desk, immersed in your sketch. Osamu raised an eyebrow at Atsumu, expecting him to know what that was all about, but he only shrugged his shoulders, not having a clue either.

The next time Atsumu heard your voice was when you came to see him at his desk.

"Ha? What's this?" he asked.

In front of him, you had placed another sketch. You didn't say a word but looked at him as if you were expecting some sort of comment.

Atsumu raised an eyebrow but looked at the sketch anyway.

"What's wrong with this dude's hand?" he asked as he squinted at the drawing, holding your sketchbook up to his eyes. "It looks like it's dislocated or something."

The classmate beside him shot his eyes open. He then looked up at you to see your reaction.

"Thank you," you told Atsumu with a little nod before returning to your desk. Those were the only words you had for Atsumu and they had left him and his classmate speechless.

Atsumu's eyes lit up the third time you came to his desk.

"Which one looks the worst?" you asked him, showing him three different sketches.

"This one," he said, pointing to the one in the middle. "There's no way a person could have hair like that."

You ignored his comment and asked him again which one looked worse. He still chose the middle one, saying the expression reminded him too much of his brother.

You gave him a nod as thanks and as he watched you return to your desk, there was a small uptick at the corner of his mouth, gazing at you gathering your pencils together and continuing your progress.

Over the next couple of weeks, he watched you from afar as you drew doodles during class when you should've been paying attention. He wondered if he should actually write notes from the lesson in case you needed them. Maybe he'd pass them to you the next time you showed him your artwork.

But you hadn't made a trip to his desk during the next two weeks. Why did you stop coming? So when you left the classroom, he quickly opened the sketchbook that was left on your desk and went through it page by page, curious to see what you'd been drawing this whole time. As he flipped through the pages, he saw how your drawings had gradually improved. He couldn't help but smile at your growth as an artist.

"Miya-san."

He jumped at your voice and snapped the book shut. He fumbled over his words. "I wasn't looking! It just fell and I picked it up from the ground!" he told you. "When I put it back on yer desk it just happened t' be like that!"

He then saw an expression he had never seen on your face. Your brows were furrowed and your lips turned into a frown. You let out a deep breath. "Miya-san, you're free to look through my sketchbook, but please don't lie to me."

His eyes widened before he lowered them to stare at the classroom floor. Shoulders sagging, he told you in a hushed voice, "I'm sorry." He sighed and dragged his feet back towards his desk. But just when he was about to pull out his chair, he heard your soft voice.

"Miya-san," you said, looking directly at him when he turned to you. "Like I said, you can come and look at it whenever you want."

Atsumu pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a stupid grin on his face. But his eyes betrayed his attempt as they crinkled and turned into crescents, elated at your offer.

*****

Over the next several weeks, Atsumu used any excuse he could to chat with you at your desk before he finally settled on talking to you about anything and everything. He tried to get to know you, asking you questions, but your answers were short and simple, not knowing how else to respond.

However, Atsumu shamelessly continued to talk about himself, his brother, the team, and whatever else was on his mind that day. You always nodded and listened with a smile.

"I think she's just being nice to you," commented Osamu.

"She's never stopped me," Atsumu replied with a huff, crossing his arms, which only resulted in Osamu shaking his head.

Without looking up from your sketch, you told him, "I like hearing him talk."

Osamu's eyes grew at your response but when he glanced over at his twin, Atsumu's ears and cheeks had turned red.

"Oh?" the silver haired twin said with a sly grin. "You're blushing 'Tsumu."

"No I'm not!" Atsumu said after clearing his throat and turning his head away. Osamu was about to tease him when instead, you said something that deepened his blush.

"It's cute."

Osamu's jaw dropped. Atsumu froze at your comment before deciding to put his face down on your desk, burying it into his arms.

As you and Atsumu got to know each other, he learned that you were still close with your friends from middle school. They were there for you, always supporting you and your passion for art. But when you asked them what they thought about your drawings, they had always said they looked good. You were grateful for them but you couldn't tell if they were just being nice.

"So is that why you asked me about yer drawings?" Atsumu noted. You confirmed it with a nod and he looked at you with longing eyes and a soft smile.

You caught him off-guard when you took a photo of him. "Your expression was interesting just now," you told him. "I want to use it as reference."

Atsumu blushed and covered the lower half of his face. He muttered something through his hands that you didn't quite catch.

"Hm?" you asked.

"Y-you can use me as reference any time."

You took him up on his offer. You'd often snap pictures of him, casually pulling out your phone when you'd find an interesting expression on his face. You even came to see him at practice when you wanted to practice drawing some hands. He often wondered what you noticed about him when you used him as reference, what expressions you saw in him.

One day after classes had ended and volleyball practice was cancelled, he sat at the other side of your desk as you switched to a different drawing pencil from your set. What did you see when you looked at him? His eyes? His nose? His lips?

His hand rose next to your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. When you looked up at him from your drawing, he pulled his hand back, suddenly realizing what he was doing.

He bit his lip, scolding himself for doing that to you. You called his name and his attention was back on you.

"Why did you stop?" you asked.

Butterflies were fluttering in his stomach, not at all expecting those words. Looking at you through his eyelashes, he saw you directly looking back at him. Were you serious?

Somehow getting the courage to make a move, he drew his hand toward you and gently cupped your cheek. He bent over your desk and brought his lips near yours, stopping midway as if waiting for permission to follow through. You leaned in a little closer and he closed the gap, feeling your soft lips against his.

Pulling back, his eyes studied your face for some sort of reaction. He bit his lip, doubting if that was what you wanted. Perhaps he didn't do a good job or you had changed your mind after the kiss.

What if you were just doing this for reference?

He searched your eyes for an answer, not knowing that you saw the insecurity in his.

"I liked it, Atsumu."

His eyes grew. He was both delighted and flustered, not believing that he got to kiss you, that you'd accept a kiss from someone like him. He hugged you and placed a kiss on your forehead, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close.

*****

"Guys! I have a girlfriend!" Atsumu declared, storming into the gym the next day. They all raised their brows when they saw who was holding his hand.

"Are you serious?" asked Aran.

"It's probably fake," Suna commented.

"He must have bribed her or something," Osamu added.

"All of ya just shut up!" Atsumu yelled at them as they all gave him a skeptical look. He sighed and dropped his shoulders as he held your hand.

They snickered and teased him, but when there was a silent pause in the air, they heard your voice for the first time.

"I like him," you told his team. Your voice was quiet but they heard every word. They freaked out, gawking at the two of you, an unlikely pair.

Atsumu turned his face away because his cheeks went red again. Your words, more often than not, caused him to be up in a fluster.

*****

I hope you enjoyed it.

I couldn't help but have Suna say it was fake for all my "A Glimpse of Yellow" readers. lolll.

If you liked this one, you might like one of these:

1) my Tendou one-shot (timid!reader)

2) my Sakusa one-shot (where he gets a crush on exchange student!reader)

3) my Kyoutani one-shot (another unexpected pairing)

And I want to shamelessly throw in my Suna chaptered fic (fake dating) just because it's my current series. lol.

I also have a Google form for my taglist if any of you are interested in it.

[wheelsup]

the taming of the shrew | two

if i be waspish, best beware my sting

after some setbacks, penelope is willing to do anything to get you back on board. but has spencer already ruined things?

A/N: hello! im so sorry that this posting schedule is super inconsistent. the more i thought about this chapter, the less i liked the more technical aspects of it. but! i hope you enjoy to plot aspect of it nonetheless <3 thanks for reading!

category: fluff, slow burn series, spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 4.4k

<- prev | next ->

Since that phone call with Penelope, she’d been over nearly every night for a week with plates of treats and onslaughts of apologies. Each time she came knocking, you told her there was no amount of persuasion that could change your mind. And yet the following night, she’d be there, a new type of pastry in hand and a new set of reasons why Spencer was worth the trouble.

First, she brought blueberry muffins and reasoned that deep below that prickly exterior, he really was everything she promised –– sweet and caring. But that must be deep, deep down. Like, The Lost City of Atlantis, deep down, because you didn’t expect it to surface any time soon. 

Then, she brought fudge brownies and explained that his behavior wasn’t personal –– he was getting snippy with everyone lately. And while you maintained that anybody would have a hard time getting along with Spencer, you were absolutely positive that it was now impossible for you. 

Quite frankly, it wasn’t just Spencer who was unwilling to play nice. You hated him. More than you’ve ever hated a stranger. 

You wished him a lifetime riddled with minor inconveniences that would drive him to the edge of insanity. You wanted him to miss all his trains by just a quarter of a minute; close enough so that he could see it leave the platform, knowing he almost made it on. You wanted him to constantly feel like he was about to sneeze. You wanted his socks to be perpetually wet, and if he should happen to put on a dry pair? You hoped he stepped in a puddle.

That was all you could think about as you laid out on your couch, munching on one of Penelope’s lemon bars while she paced around your apartment. She kept going on and on advertising Spencer to you. As annoying as it was, she was also saving you a ton on groceries that week. 

For the most part, you filtered her out. Not a single word that came out of her mouth was believable anymore, especially not when she was talking about Spencer. Despite what Penelope thought of him, you saw in him what she refused to accept. 

As her speech came to a close, she looked at you like she expected a response to dignify her prattling. 

“Give it a rest, Penelope. He’s a lost cause,” you laughed dryly. “He doesn’t need –– nor does he want –– anyone in his life.” At the very least, he definitely didn’t want you. 

“Yes, that’s the problem!” If you’d been listening to her, you would’ve heard her saying the same thing. “He doesn’t want to date!” 

Your head just about exploded when she said that. 

There had been countless, fruitless conversations about this, and all along she saw the gaping hole in her supposedly airtight plan?

“If he doesn’t want to DATE, then WHAT was the point of this?!” Your fingers pressed the bridge of your nose; you suddenly felt a headache coming on. Funny how it always happened around the time of day that Penelope came to visit.

Penelope stopped pacing. She stalked over to your couch, picked your legs up by your ankle, and moved them to make space for herself. You begrudgingly sat upright as she took her place beside you. 

“Because he’s not himself anymore. He’s not open like he used to be. Not to the people who care about him the most, and certainly not to the world.”  

Penelope toyed with the hem of her dress, distracting herself from her quivering lip before pressing on, “Spencer Reid has always wanted love. And it’s not right that he no longer believes he can have it.” 

You hadn’t seen Penelope look so desperate until now. It was concerning. Because what could make her look so hopeless? What could make Spencer so hopeless? 

“Penelope, I don’t know what’s wrong with your little friend, but… there’s a lot more bubbling inside him than you’re letting on.” 

She chewed up the insides of her cheeks, wincing to herself at your incredibly accurate claim. 

“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” You narrowed your eyes on her. You were no detective, or whatever exactly her team did, but she was just awful at concealing her thoughts.

“It’s not my story to tell,” she murmured. 

She could already feel herself about to give it away and doubled down her mental defenses against it. Focusing extra hard on keeping Spencer’s privacy intact. If only you knew her track record with secrets, you’d be proud of her for staying quiet this long.

“What isn’t your story?” 

“That his girlfriend died last year.” 

She spilled it before she even realized what she was saying. You’d just asked so nonchalantly that she forgot she was talking aloud. Penelope turned purple, terrified now that the whole truth was out there. 

You couldn’t even take satisfaction in the fact that your trick worked. You were just as mortified as Penelope, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you knew you’d need to. You assumed there was something deeper going on with him, you didn’t think it was a dead girlfriend. That was some Nicholas Sparks shit. 

“He pretends like he’s fine but I know he’s not. And if he found a way to move on, maybe he’d start feeling as okay as he claims to be,” she sniffled before snot could run from her nose, tears lining the rims of her eyes. “I know I should’ve given you the full picture, but I didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew…” 

You were too floored to process it all right away. This added a whole new layer of complicated to an already uneasy arrangement.

“Well, I know you’re right about one thing. I would’ve said no.” 

She gave you a set of pleading eyes, praying you’d see where she was coming from. 

“I know,” she whispered defeatedly. “But maybe... now that you know, you can understand why he acts out the way he does.”

“Penelope, I can’t just… make someone move on, or –– or get them to believe in love! Especially when it’s fake.”

How on Earth did she expect you to pull that off? Did that guy from A Walk to Remember move on when Mandy Moore died? You hadn’t seen the ending of the movie, but you assumed not. 

“I’m sorry, this is just… a lot bigger than the favor I thought it was ––”

“What if I could return it?” she cut in. The gears in her head started to turn, figuring ways to patch up the holes she made. 

“There’s nothing I need from you.” 

That couldn’t be true. Penelope looked around the room and it didn’t take her long to think of it.

“I can help you sell your art,” she tempted, gesturing to the scattered canvases. “You make all your income from this, right?” 

You didn’t want to give any fuel to her fire, but you nodded. “What if… what if you didn’t have to settle for local buyers? What if I told you that you could make way more money selling them to the whole world?”

You chortled at her idea. 

You were a local artist, through and through. Your art got put in local galleries and sold to local buyers. Nothing more, and that was fine with you. You realized it a long time ago that it was just a pipe dream to think you’d be more. 

“I’m serious! You could get a separate painting studio, and stop living in one? Huh?” She wrapped her hand around your shoulder, waving the other in the air, urging you to picture it with her. “Imagine this: a kitchen that’s separate from your living room. A bed, inside it’s own four walls, and more than twelve feet from where you cook your meals.”

Pushing aside her so blatantly insulting your apartment, if that were a possibility, you’d want nothing more. But it already sounded foolish and you hadn’t even heard how she planned to pull it off. 

“Penelope, I’m fine where I am. I make the money I need, and that’s... it’s fine.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You know, I can hack all search engine results to make sure you are what comes up first anytime someone enters the word ‘painting’, right?

An airy chuckle left your lips. Of course she could. You patted her thigh twice and stood up, prompting her to follow you to your door –– hopefully, so she can show herself to the other side of it. “Still no, Pen.” 

“Just take some time to think about it!” Her voice carried through the wood as you shut it on her.

*

There was this one bench in Kenilworth Park – the one that overlooks the crystal clear pond – that you’d always been able to rely on to fix any problem.

There was hidden magic in the bushes that sprawled out from the edges of the water, surrounded by spiky green blades of overgrown grass. A simplicity you loved in baby ducklings paddling into the tiny body of water, swimming close together so they don’t get lost in, what seems to them, a whole ocean. And clarity provided by the freshest air in the world, under the shade of the big oak trees on a late summer afternoon.

But at the present, none of that came close to being enough.

The artist’s block started off as a minor inconvenience, but without your permission, had stretched into weeks of steadily declining motivation. Each new idea felt even worse than the last, and you were acutely aware that there would come a point where you’d officially hit maximum capacity for how awful they could get.

Still, that didn’t seem to light a fire under you. You happily coexisted with the blank pages of your sketchbook. Staring down at them, laying open on your lap in their stark-white glory, you felt like you were playing a waiting game. If you stared long and hard enough, maybe they’d flinch. 

Unfortunately, you never got to find out who won, because your phone rang inside your pocket. As if the caller had interrupted an incredible genius at work (which couldn’t be farther from the truth), you hastily raised the phone to your ear, slamming your sketchbook shut.

“Hello?” Your voice wasn’t as kind as it could be for someone with nothing better to be doing. Two seconds later, you learned who was calling and came to regret it.

“Hi, This is Rebecca from District Arts, calling with a message from Andre ––”

“Oh, hi!” you tried to walk back your previous tone, straightening up in your seat and pitching your voice higher, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear from him!” 

While Rebecca intimidated you, Andre happened to be your closest friend at the gallery. He worked closely with the artists to curate their collection and help them make sales. 

“Does he want to sort out what to set the opening bid prices at for my new pieces?” A handful of days ago, you sent him pictures of your new work and were waiting to hear his thoughts. You’d always been able to trust his opinion, and a vote of confidence from him might be just the thing to inspire you.

“Uhm…” There was a criminally long pause on the other side of the line, ended by Rebecca’s weary inhale. “Unfortunately, we’re calling to inform you that your pieces will not be included in the next rotation.”

For a minute, you weren’t sure what to make of what she said. You’d never heard those words before.

“What – what do you mean?” you laughed nervously. She probably misspoke. Perks of friendship aside, Andre always included you in sets. 

“Ugh, let me just get him…” her voice faded away as she put the phone down. 

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring statement you were looking for. In the time it took for the call to switch hands, your confusion finally melted in. And then quickly boiled into anger.

The District Arts gallery changed their entire collection every two months. The pieces shown accepted rolling bids throughout the full eight weeks, finally selling at the end of term to their highest offer. After that, the pieces got taken down, sent to happy new owners, and the entire gallery reset with entirely new works. 

So if you missed one rotation, that meant waiting two months to get back in.

“Andre, how am I just cut from the gallery!” you barked before he could get a word in. If he didn’t like your work, he could’ve just said so. 

“No one said that ––”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, something you found yourself doing quite frequently lately, and took a deep breath in and out. It was seemingly just for show because it did absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Why wouldn’t you put me in the next set? I’m in all of them!”

“I know you are!” He sounded just as upset. “It’s just that… we give you the biggest space we have, because you always manage to fill it up. But this time… I’m not so sure you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “What makes you say that?” You asked that, but you knew.

“You’ve only finished three pieces… I’m worried how you’ll deliver seven more before we set up.”

“But… it’s four weeks away, I could do ––”

“And it took you four weeks to make what you have... I’m sorry. We couldn’t take that gamble.” 

He took your silence as an opportunity to turn off the work talk and speak, just friend to friend. 

“You know that I trust you and I’d hold that spot if I could. But, I also know what you’re going through right now, and… I don’t know, maybe letting yourself rest would be a good thing?” 

Your heart paused. By, “knowing what you’re going through”, you assumed he didn’t mean the little artist’s block.

“If you’re implying that I can’t do my job because of what happened with Cyrus –”

“I’m not, I’m not....” he backtracked as quickly as he could. “But take another look at the paintings you showed me and tell me if they feel like you.”

Even if he was right, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You wanted to beg that you didn’t need that big space; you were willing to downsize and just turn in the three that you had. Even if they got shoved into the corner where hardly anybody bothered to look. You just couldn’t afford to go two months without the income. 

But even with tears beading up, you realized that the gallery couldn’t afford it either. They needed to bring in money and you couldn’t do that for them this time. So they were right to go to someone who can.

“Right,” you sniffled, recollecting yourself so he can’t hear the shakiness in your voice. “I understand. It’s a big risk, like you said… It’s for the better.”

Andre tried to thank you for being understanding and spewed some sort of encouragement. The words flew over your head. You managed to toss in a few ‘mhmm’s and ‘sure’s at the right places to coast you along until the call finally ended. 

As soon as it went dead, you dropped your phone to the side and brought your hands to your face, rubbing them furiously over your cheeks. Your fingertips pressed hard into your eyelids, trying to forcibly reabsorb the tears threatening to spill. 

It almost worked, until you tried to breathe. 

A full sob escaped in that one gulp of air and you succumbed to it. But the loud crunching noise of some pedestrian walking over the falling leaves destroyed your sense of privacy, and you quickly wiped away all signs of your breakdown. The crunching stopped just short of your bench and on instinct you flicked your eyes up to see who the intruder was.

You did a double take. It was him. That fucking asshole.

He was standing there, looking dumber than you could even remember, with his hands in his coat pockets and a curious look on his face as he watched you cry. Tucking your sketchbook under your arm in haste, you made it a point to stand up with as much aggression as possible, rolling your eyes at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you barked. “No need to yell at me this time.”

You bristled past him, barely refraining yourself from checking his shoulder as payback. You wanted to believe you were better than him, but it did sound incredibly tempting. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and following you.

“Wait,” he groaned.

You didn’t listen, neither stopping nor slowing down.

“I said wait,” he huffed as he caught up to you, popping up at your side and jogging along as you kept going.

“Yeah, because I need to listen to a guy who yells at strangers in bookstores.” 

Now that you’d brought up the elephant in the room, your feet started moving even faster, working double time to get you away from him.

Damn the fact that he had those long legs. He didn’t even break a sweat trying to keep up. He was inescapable.

“Well, if you waited like I asked, you would’ve gotten an apology for the ––”

“Gee, thanks!” you yelled, stopping for only a second to turn to him and give him a mocking bow of your head, hands clasped together like you were praising at his altar. “I was waiting with bated breath for that! Thank you, kind sir, for now my life can go on.”

“Look, I’m actually sorry,” he snapped. Then in realizing the irony, softened his voice, “I’m sorry for being rude. I was having a bad day… not that that’s an excuse.”

You stared at him blankly, just watching his mouth moving quickly and waiting until it finally stopped. 

“Did you need something?” 

“Did you… did you not hear what I just said?!” 

“No, sorry,” you smiled, voice sweet like sugar. “My ears filter bullshit. Wanna try again?”

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn’t believe you before stepping even closer. “What’s your problem?”

“Me!? The fuck –– what the fuck is your problem?” You turned and stormed off again, seething at his audacity. Spencer just couldn’t relent his annoying tendencies and followed yet again.

“My problem is that I’m trying to be nice, and you’re not letting me!”

You got a good, hard laugh out of that. “Okay, first of all, having to apologize for yelling at me and pushing me isn’t exactly the best starting point for the journey of becoming a nice person.”

“Like I said, I was having a bad day.” 

Under your breath, you muttered, “Well, I hope this one’s even worse.”

“Why are you such a ––” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Even in his worst mood, he wouldn’t cross that line. 

But he didn’t need to finish it, you knew exactly where he wanted to take it. The soles of your shoes scraped against the loose gravel as you came to a grinding halt, ears ringing.

“A what?” You turned to face him, a sarcastic smile on your face growing wider as he started to shrink more and more. You got up close in his face, daring him to say what he really wanted to. So he could reinforce your belief in exactly the type of person he was. “A what?” 

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to say it no matter how much you challenged him. If he wasn’t going to have the balls to say it, you decided to take it upon yourself.

“Tell you what, you keep thinking about it and get back to me the next time you’re in a cunty mood.” 

The word he was thinking of was probably not as bad, but you had a habit of escalating things. Even if you took this one too far, you didn’t care. 

Before you tried to take off again, Spencer’s hand flew to your elbow. He tugged you back, forcing you to turn around and face him. He didn’t know his own strength; without any resistance, you came stumbling into his chest, at risk of falling over if it weren’t for his tight grip on your arm.

It took you a beat to push him away with both your hands on his chest, vocalizing your disgust for being so close to him. 

“Can you stop trying to disagree with me for a second? I’m trying to tell you that you’re right, I was being a… well, you know…” He avoided the word. Apparently ‘cunt’ was where he drew the line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.” 

Your nostrils were still flared and blood hot as ever, but he made you pause. He looked sincere, if not a little tinged with guilt as well. You were suspicious of it.

“You saw me crying and felt bad, didn’t you?”

He laughed darkly. “Well, I saw you, yes. Did I feel bad? No.” 

“Oh, my God,” you growled, berating yourself for getting close to believing he might be capable of decency. 

“I’m joking! I’m joking.” He squeezed your elbow twice in earnest. “I did feel bad, but that’s not why I wanted to say it.”

“Okay.” You weren’t ready to give him a real smile, so you flattened your lips into a thin line and nodded once slowly, and left it at that. 

You still weren’t a fan, but the apology did dampen some of the resentment. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person alive. You’d settle for saying top ten most annoying, instead.

Minutes later, you came to the startling realization that he was still on the path, just two paces behind you. You flinched when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, not expecting him to still be here. 

“Uhm. Where are you… why are you still following me?” 

“I’m not. My car’s that way,” he gestured to the parking lot at the end of the long walkway. “I forgot my loaf for the ducks.” He didn’t mean to offer that information up, it just slipped out. He could practically see your smug expression coming before it even got there.

“You’re not supposed to feed bread to the ducks. It’s bad for them.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t care to explain this to you, but he couldn’t have you thinking he was any less competent than he really was. “It’s a special bread made from water and seeds that were ground into flour. It’s duck-safe.” 

“They make duck-safe bread?” Now that was something you’d never heard before. 

“No… I make duck-safe bread,” he said softly under his breath. 

You didn’t know how else you were supposed to react to that besides laughing wildly. 

“You make it?” He nodded like you were the crazy one here. As if he wasn’t the one spending his spare time grinding up seeds and baking loaves of bread for ducks, donning a frilly pink apron and oven mitts as he did so. At least that’s how you imagined it. “Why not just feed them the seeds?”

“Because, loose seeds will sink in the water and can potentially clog waterbeds and cause foreign bacteria growth in the pond.” 

“So you… hand-make the seeds into a little loaf of bread so it doesn't do that?”

He confirmed. You pondered silently for a moment, then absolutely had to ask, “You ever eaten the duck bread before?”

Spencer was caught off guard by that question. His cheeks deepened to a rosy color.

“Yeah, well, it was the house so…” he laughed nervously and stared at his sneakers. “It’s actually not too bad.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by that. You remembered what his grocery basket looked like, and given those same options, you probably would’ve tried the duck bread too. Still, you cracked the smallest of grins at knowing he makes bread for ducks. The one, sole redeeming fact you’ve learned about Spencer. 

You reached your car first, and Spencer stopped in front of it with you. 

“I’m actually sorry, you know,” he whispered once more, hand resting at the top of your car door as you opened it. He wasn’t talking about the incident at the bookstore.

“Yeah…” For a while you were so busy being angry at Spencer that you forgot about your own problems. 

He noticed your nose was still red around the edges, eyes still a little bleary. “Are you okay, by the way?” His voice was too soft, too genuine.

You shook your head no.

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head again. And then you had an awful thought.

You knew he was just offering to help just to say it, because that’s how people react when you say you’re not okay even if they don’t care. But there actually was something he could do for you… Something that Penelope could do.

“Uh, no but…” you fixed your hair and tucked it behind your ear, seamlessly switching to a flirtier voice. “If you still feel bad about the other day, you’re welcome to make it up to me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, unsure of how he could do that. 

“Hang out with me sometime.”

“H-hang out?” You could tell that it flustered him, even if he tried to play it off. He swallowed thickly, nose twitching and brows scrunched together.

“Relax, I really do just mean hang out.” You were lying through your teeth. He didn’t need to know that. 

As if he didn’t want to think about it for a second longer and just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, he agreed without thinking it through. He didn’t even ask why an almost complete stranger would want to hang out with him. 

You stuck your hand out, expecting him to hand over his cell so you could put your contact into it. He rocked on the balls of his feet, watching as you input your contact and sent yourself a text on his phone.

“Hi, this is…” you read out your message as you typed, pausing at just the right place. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Oh-uh, I’m Spencer.” 

A devilish grin took over your face, hidden from his view while you were looking down at the screen. He was going to be easy to fool.

-

-

agh! im still not in love with how this chapter is turning out, but it came to a point where i just had to stop fiddling with it and just post it. any feedback or comments about this story is very much appreciated 💕

thank you so much for being on my taglist 💕 

if you’d like to join, the link is at the top of my masterlist

@ellesgreenaway @suburban–gothic @mercy-burning @reidspurple @mediocre-writer @honeyboysteezy @andreasworlsboring101 @calm-and-doctor @drayshadow @reidgifs @you-sunshine @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @altsvu @reidtheprettyboy @goose-eats-god @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @muffin-cup @amoeebaa @reidingmelodies @reidyoulikeabook @anaagraceeberr @spencerreid9 @luvofyourlifeliv @averyhotchner @spencerreidat3am @paw71211 @princesssmooshie @gubeskneescrew @gourdboy @reid-me-a-story @reidabookforonce @willowrose99 @singularityjc @spencerreid9 @miahelen @alltooreid @meganskane @multixfandomwriter @coldlilheart @lunajoyce3 @boldlyvoid @destiny-tsukino @ahhahahhh @spencers-dria @cocomoo1 @spenxerslut @thehuntresswolf @ssa-natalya-reid @the-chaotic-cow @kuolonsyoja @queenofthepouges @gublersss @username2002 @msspencerreid @itwouldburnupintheatmosphere @oeuryale @big-galaxy-chaos @reidsacademia @idonotexiste @rem-ariiana @spencerreidscumwhore @spaceapplehead @newgirlinhell @noellestrash @jswessie187 @reidaissance @violetclifford @fruitoftheweek @mystical-and-modern-marauder @ilovespencerreidmarryme @mlqcool @opheli-yeah @lytrc @youabitchhhh @spencerscumrag @dinonuggets1967 @flowerchildprotectiveservices @annalayton19 @mrsobrien888 @toast-on-t0ast @xoxospencerreid @motionlessgirl12 @bloodyxheaven @my-thoughts-are-weird @rexorangecouny @nani-2305 @measure-in-pain @donald4spiderman @mrs-dr-reid @manuosorioh @sapphic-prentiss @reid-me-a-story @reblogsoffanfics @winifrede @peoniarose @takeyourleap-of-faith @morks-watermelon @silverhetdanes @luwheezey @cc13723things @starrylang @b00b133 @kidd3ath @seastarapiaries  @sergiosbae  @mrsobrien888 @jesuisbenny  @cocomoo1 @youabitchhhh @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @silverhetdanes @onlyhereforthefanfics @shesalatesh @amoeebaa @happymangospot @spencersrose @mugi-chwan @reidsadriana @death-becomes-her @nyx2021 @subbyspencereid @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @nomajdetective @cherriesrae @bisexual-virgin @jasminearondottir @gublur @greenrevolutionary @honeyedheartss @gspenc @sweetandsunny @the-chaotic-cow​ @morganwilliams  @futuremrsreid @spencerreidsmommy @meanergreener​

series only taglist: @madsgraygubler @manuosorioh @fanfictionfangirl04@donkeykongsmassiveballs @rexorangecouny​ @iwannabemorethanme@mlqcool @lightning-butterfly

new tags not working: @strawberrycherrykisses @marrymespencerreid @iilwsr @chelsea-the-enchanted @craybae1116

(and just so you don’t think i removed you from the taglist/sign up again without knowing, these tags are. also not working): @pissbit @redevil590 @kaz-2y567 @datsimplol @reid-to-me @rem-ariiana @thegirlinthedresscriedalltheway @jaddi-e @spencerswildestdreams1 @sskylarpaige26 @zbgubler @nyasiablack1899 @faithsamantha @chrisdylan17 @just_arandomwriter @peterisbetterthanpietro @thegirlinthedresscriedalltheway @jaddi-e @chloehanson

[t0wnspersonb]

Hot Springs (Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader)

Word Count: 2,570

Rated: Explicit

Warnings: SMUT, bad language, public, my shit writing, Ushijima being a beautiful man

Summary: You couldn’t remember the last time you and Ushijima got to spend proper time together, so when he suggests going to the hot springs for a date how could you refuse? Although, you two are doing a bit more than just enjoying the hot water. 

~~~~

GUYS! I know it’s been a fucking minute😫 I’m still trying to get my shit together for school lmao. BUT I’ve been working on this fic for a while tbh, I was just never motivated to finish it until recently. I apologize in advance if it’s trash😂 BUT, I do have a couple of things to go over. First of all, thank you guys so much for being patient with me the past couple of weeks, I’ve definitely missed putting content out to you guys, I’ve just been super busy with life and school. Second of all, I know I have requests sitting in my inbox, I will do them. Eventually. The only reason why I’m even posting something new is because this story was already in the works, so since it’s done I decided to post it (it’s probably garbage idk lol). Third of all, I love you guys so much  😘😘😘😘 it’s been such a joy writing for you all, and I hope I continue to put out content you guys enjoy! As always, this story is dedicated to @sunshinewitchz​ because she’s the biggest Wakatoshi simp I know, and I love her so much and her endless support. 

I hope you guys enjoy the story! Please let me know what you think of it😊😊

~~~~

“- Would you like to go?” Ushijima’s deep voice filtered through your ears; although you only heard the last part, you had no idea what he had said beforehand.

 “Hmm?” you finally looked up at him, the paint brush in your hand stilled.

 A soft frown coated his lips, sometimes you were far too engrossed in your art projects. Usually he didn’t mind, today was different though. It had been two weeks since the last time he had seen you, both of you far too busy to make time to spend together.

 Of course, he would want your undivided attention, he missed you. 

 “I’m sorry Toshi, what were you saying?” you smiled sheepishly at him, carefully setting down the paintbrush, your eyes focused on him completely now.

 “The hot springs. Do you want to go?” He asked again, his eyes flickering over your face.

 Your lips pursed, your brain wracking through the dates to make sure you didn’t already have a prior commitment. “When?”

 He let out another sigh, Ushijima loved you deeply, but when painting was involved… well, you were in a completely different world to the point that it was hard to hold a conversation with you.

 But he also loved your passion for it, he loved how talented you were, how confident you were in your skills. It was proven time and time again whenever you produced your master pieces.

 Although, all your artwork in his eyes were masterpieces.

 You were the best masterpiece of all. Ushijima could stare at you for hours, he could watch you paint for hours, but right now, he wanted to be your sole focus.

 “Do you want to go to the hot springs with me tomorrow?” he asked once more.

 “Okay.” You smiled brightly at him, you didn’t have anything to do tomorrow, except to drop off a painting. Any chance you got to spend with Ushijima you would take. 

 “Okay.” he repeated, a soft smile coating his lips. “Finish up, we’ll go get food once you’re done.”

 You definitely loved Ushijima.

 ***

 “Ushijima-senpai! Y/n-senpai!” Goshiki exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here!?”

 “Your grandma asked for a commission piece! I’m just dropping it off now.” You smiled widely. “I didn’t know you would be here today!”

 “I-I’m just visiting.” he stuttered out, his eyes awkwardly flickering over to Ushijima who paid him no mind, his eyes scanning the outer exterior of the house.

 “I need to collect the money; do you know where she is?” You asked sweetly.

 “She’s out in the garden, please come in.” He said awkwardly, stepping aside. 

 “I won’t be long Toshi!” You said cheerfully, pardoning yourself before you entered the home, leaving Goshiki and Ushijima standing at the entrance.

 “This is nice wood, is it oak?” Ushijima asked suddenly, his eyes tracing over the large door.

 “I don’t know Senpai…”

 Silence once again surrounded them, but like you had said, the exchange didn’t take too long as you came walking up to the volleyball players cheerfully.

 “All set Toshi! Let’s head out yeah?” you smiled up at him.

 He nodded before taking your hand into his and waving goodbye at the male.

 “Bye Goshiki! See you around!” you called out behind your shoulder.

 Sometimes it was a wonder how you and Ushijima ended up together. The concept of “opposites attract” seemed to be in play for this. 

 Your bright and bubbly personality contrasted greatly with his. Ushijima’s blunt and rough exterior was the complete opposite of your gentle and easygoing one. 

 However, you guys shared one trait, and that was the undeniable confidence you guys had in your skills. Ushijima with volleyball, and you with art.

 But despite the contrasting personalities, your relationship worked, the love and respect you guys had for one another was always present.

 “That was really nice of that lady to give us our own spring. I didn’t even know that a place like this could have private ones!” You said happily as you guys walked towards the changing rooms.

 “Yeah.” Ushijima nodded briefly, “see you in a bit.”

 You grinned at him widely before skipping off into your own changing room. 

 You bummed softly to yourself as you began undressing. The showers felt incredible against your skin and you couldn’t help but sigh in content, a trip to the hot springs was something that you definitely needed after working so hard on your commissions.

 You carefully wrapped yourself in the towel and started heading towards the spring. The change in temperature caused a shiver to run through your body, shuddering gently as the steam curled around your damp shoulders. You breathed in the soft scent of earth, sighing softly as your body relaxed in the hot springs air. 

 Your eyes scanned over the area, before pausing on a figure that left your heart racing and your stomach flipping.

 Ushijima paid no attention to his surroundings; his stare was focused on the scenery before him. But that gave you plenty of time to drink in the tall male before you.

 He was truly the most beautiful person you’ve ever met before. His broad shoulders and rippling back muscles were completely exposed to your greedy eyes. 

 How you ended up with such a beautiful man was beyond your comprehension. 

 “What are you waiting for?” His deep voice filtered through the air, your gaze met his olive eyes and you felt your face flush immediately.

 “Just appreciating the view.” You said cheekily before dropping your towel and settling yourself down into the water.

 A long sigh escaped your lips as you submerged yourself completely. This was heaven; you couldn’t remember the last time you had been to the hot springs, and the fact that you got to spend it with the man you loved the most, it was definitely pure heaven.

 “The scenery is very nice here.” he agreed, eyes scanning over the area once more.

 You laughed softly at his statement, your hand gently pressing into the bulging muscle of his bicep. “I wasn’t talking about the scenery. I was talking about you Toshi.” 

 Ushijima felt his expression soften considerably as he looked down at you. You were resting your head against his arm, your eyes closed in absolute bliss.

 This time Ushijima decided  to scan over you, and fuck… you were the best thing he’s ever seen.

 His eyes drank in every inch of your beautiful face, his gaze trailing over the strands of wet hair clinging to your face, wrapping around your collarbone and then your shoulders and…

 Oh.

 He shamelessly stared at your exposed breasts. He could feel his heart rate beginning to pick up as he started to register in his mind that you… no both of you were extremely bare to one another.

 Ushijima couldn’t understand this sudden shyness that began to bubble up in his gut. He had seen you bare so many times before, he’s touched you so many times before, he’s had you in every way that he could think of; and yet… What was this sudden rush of arousal spiking through his blood right now?

 Your eyes fluttered open and met intense olive colored ones staring right back. You felt your mouth go dry, your stomach twisting in a way that was all too familiar.

 The only times Ushijima has ever looked at you like that was when…

 “What is it, Wakatoshi?” You teased slightly, the flush in your face was something that you could blame on the hot water, not the fact that your hunk of a boyfriend was blatantly staring at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

 “You’re beautiful.” he said simply, reaching out to tug on a strand of your wet hair. His strong, thick fingers gently began trailing against the skin of your throat, skimming across your collarbone. Despite the hot water, you couldn’t help but shiver at his gentle touch. 

 “I meant… is there something that you want Wakatoshi?” You asked, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you stared at him through your lashes.

 “You. Always you.” he answered simply; his large hand curving gently around your jaw, cupping your face carefully.

 Your stomach twisted pleasantly, an all too familiar burn bubbling deep within your gut, but also... your heart. Once again you were in awe of the man before you, the amount of love you held for him was far too much for your heart to contain, bubbling up and spilling over the longer you looked at him.

 “You have me.” you said quietly, carefully pressing yourself closer to him, your hands rested gently against the bare skin of his chest, strong and oh so broad.

 “Then kiss me.” he demanded, olive eyes burning into yours. Love and passion could clearly be seen in them.

 So, you did. Your hands grabbing at his strong jaw, forcing him to stoop down to your level so you could properly kiss him.

 Kissing Ushijima was possibly the best thing on the planet, his lips were full and strong as they moved against yours, unhurried, but incredibly needy and forceful. 

 His tongue licked against your mouth, hot and wet and deliciously perfect. You eagerly pressed yourself against his large body, melting against him completely. You were too hot, your body overheating immediately.

 It was from the hot springs, right? Not from the hunk of a man that was currently grabbing at your bare waist and yanking you tighter against him, right? 

 Your head spun dizzily, pleasure rippling through your body, a soft whimper tearing through your throat as you felt his growing member press tight against your thigh.

 Ushijima heard you, his grip on your body tightened slightly as he continued to devour your mouth. He began moving you, carefully backing you up further away from the deep end of the hot spring, and then your body was being lifted up until you were no longer in the hot water, rather, you were now sitting on the ledge of the hot springs.

 Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your nipples hardening into pebbles under Ushijima’s watchful eyes.

 From your perched position on the rocks you could easily kiss Ushijima and he could easily…

 “W-What are you doing?” you whimpered out, the back of your hand coming up to cover your mouth, your heart was racing, faced flush, as you stared at the tall male.

 His large hands were gripping your thighs, carefully moving them apart, his eyes gazing hungrily at your weeping cunt.

 “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked slowly, and then he was stooping down until his face was between your legs… a hot, fat, tongue sliding up your slit.

 You gasped loudly, eyes fluttering shut, as you leaned back on one of your elbows, your hand covering your mouth shot out and tangled into his damp hair.

 Ushijima hummed slightly, tongue gently flickering against your throbbing clit. 

 He wanted to do this here? Now?

 A thick finger slid easily into your wet entrance, causing your thighs to tremble at the sudden intrusion.

 Apparently yes. Yes, he did.

 When you finally opened up your eyes, the scene before you was absolutely sinful. Your swollen lips parted in awe as you made eye contact with Ushijima.

 His pupils were dilated, the soft olive color completely gone. His wet hair clung to his face, you could see his tongue flickering in and out of his mouth as he continued to eat you out.

 How was he so fucking perfect?

 “Toshi… please.” you begged, pressure beginning to build up, you were so close, but you wanted him. You wanted his thick cock to stretch you out completely right now.

 “Is there something you want?” he asked, voice deep and thick with arousal. His plush lips were wet, coated in your slick.

 Oh fuck.

 How did he look so fucking good between your legs?

 “You. Please. No more foreplay, I want you inside me already, please.” you trembled, watching as he stood to full height.

 Your eyes greedily ran down his naked body. He was just so… so fucking big, in so many ways.

 The strong muscles of his arms, his chest, his stomach, stood proudly on display for you. But as your eyes traveled lower; you could almost drool over the sight of his erect cock, standing proud and ready to be engulfed in your tight heat.

 His fist enclosed over his hard member, pumping up and down his shaft a couple of times before he finally stepped between your trembling legs. Carefully rubbing the head of his cock against your soaked folds, your eyes fluttered at the touch.

 But then with a quick snap of his hips he entered you, bottoming out immediately. 

 His lips slammed down against yours, muffling the loud moan that was about to escape your lips.

 Fuck, you were so full. No matter how many times Ushijima had you, you could never quite get used to his large size. 

 It was almost too much. But he knew that, which was why he waited for a moment, allowing you the time to get used to thick intrusion.

 One of his large hands grabbed at your hip, the other was resting near your head against the ground.

 After a few moments, your legs wrapped around his thick waist, a silent invitation that he could start moving.

 Ushijima didn’t even hesitate, his hips snapping forward, his cock pressing into the deepest part of your tight heat.

 The pace of his thrusts was unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to fuck you, despite the fact that you guys were at a hot spring.

 “Do you hear that?” he murmured; soft squelching could be heard from your lower region. You were absolutely soaked, drenching his thick cock as he slid in and out of you perfectly. 

 You gripped at his broad shoulders helplessly, soft whimpers escaping your lips as you trembled under his large body.

 It was too much… the hot springs, his body, his kisses, the grunts that were coming from his lips, the fact that your boyfriend was fucking you in a public place…

 “I’m close.” you squeaked out, nails digging into his skin. The familiar burn, the ache for release; was coming up quickly.

 His deep thrusts began to speed up, his hips hammering into you.

 “Then cum.” he demanded, his hand reaching down to rub harshly at your swollen clit. 

 So, you did, gushing around him easily, your slick coating his hard member. He grunted loudly, immediately pulling himself out of you, his fist once again enclosing around his member as he hurriedly pumped himself, searching for release.

 Thick ropes of his warmth shot onto your lower belly, hot and heavy against your skin. 

 You watched tiredly as he brushed the wet hair away from his forehead, his eyes trailing over your bare body, a soft expression easily covering his face now. Carefully he pulled you back into the water, situating you on his lap easily as you rested your head against his strong chest.

 You sighed in content as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

 “I love you Wakatoshi.” you said quietly, you peered up at him, a sweet smile coating your lips.

 “I love you too.” he said eyes flickering down at you, a small smile appearing on his face.

 A trip to the hot springs was definitely a good idea. 

[workofheart]

hi!! first of all i love ur writing sm!! for the drabble thing i was wondering if you could do levi+24+friends to lovers, preferably canonverse:) thank you lovely<33

this was so adorable :’) thank you for requesting, i had so much fun writing it! it got kind of long but i just couldn’t help myself lol... also this is barely edited i’ll come back soon for that😭

the art of dance and wordless confessions | levi + friends to lovers + “i thought you said you can’t dance?”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

it’s late in the evening when you finally pluck up the courage to see levi. the sun has long set and the halls of the barracks have gone quiet, the only sounds being the hushed whispers of cadets who have yet to fall asleep.

with the military ball approaching, it went somewhat unsaid that levi would be taking you, because who else would it be? after knowing him all these years and growing so close, it would almost be weird if you didn’t go together. that being said, you desperately hoped he wouldn’t laugh at you.

as one of your long time comrades - and truthfully, best friends - it should be easy to reach out to him for help. maybe it’s because you’re embarrassed, or because you might have caught feelings, but such right now is simply not the case.

your knuckles are held up hesitantly to the door of his office. luckily for you, levi senses your presence before you even have to knock. in a way, he almost expected you to be here at this hour.

“come in,” he calls, voice muffled through the wood. you take a second to prepare yourself before pushing in the door.

inside, you find levi sitting at his desk, hunched over piles of paperwork. his lips are turned down in a slight pout and the shadows beneath his eyes are unfortunately dire. he looks like he hasn’t slept in days, instead reading over the same print sentences again and again, which you know is most likely the case anyway.

“hi,” you say, padding over to sit in the chair across from him.

“hi.” he releases the pen he’s been clutching so tightly to for the past few hours onto the desk and rubs his eyes with his fists, trying to clear them from his working haze. he’s glad to see you.

levi doesn’t like beating around the bush. his patience is visibly thin, so after a deep breath, you force yourself to speak up.

“so we’re going to the ball together, right?” you start, fiddling with your fingers in your lap.

he takes a sip from his tea cup, glancing at you over the back of his hand. you look cute when you’re nervous, he thinks.

 “obviously.” 

“well, i kind of have this problem-”

maybe it’s the late of the night, the exhaustion clouding his train of thought, but he interrupts you without even thinking. 

“do you want to go with someone else?” he asks, and immediately berates himself internally for it. god, he’s so stupid. 

his voice is nonchalant, but his heart sinks at the thought. why would you want to go with him in the first place? there’s so many other scouts that would be dying to take you, so he should have at least expected this.

“no, no!’ you assure him. he quirks an eyebrow. “it’s not that, it’s just…”

“spit it out,” he says. the words are harsh, but it comes out encouraging in a way only you would know. 

you whine in embarrassment, pinching the bridge of your nose before committing to the confession. “i...can’t dance.”

you can practically see his thought process through his expressions. at first he’s relieved you’re not trying to reject him, and then he’s confused as to how that’s possible, and finally he’s delighted that you’ve come to him for help. the thought makes his heart inexplicably warm, despite the fact he would never show it on the outside.

“alright,” he sighs, pushing his chair back. “i’ll teach you.” he cracks his knuckles and stretches his back, thankful to just be out of his seat.

“really?” you ask, eyes bright and swimming with excitement. levi’s stomach flips.

“yeah, ‘need a break anyway.”

he walks around his desk to meet you, extending an open palm to help you up. when you stand, he leads you to the center of the room, using his free hand to put yours on his shoulder before settling it on your waist.

“just follow my lead, you’ll pick it up.”

he ignores the way you swallow, chalking it up to nerves.

stepping forward and to the side, levi guides you with firm hands. he’s assured and confident, leading you even when you stumble, even disregarding how silly he feels when he murmurs small counts to help you. 

with levi, it’s easy to fall into step. when your feet trip up, he’s quick to correct you, and his hold makes your skip a beat. once you have the basic box down, he changes the angle and shows you around the room, slowly turning in small circles.

you don’t even notice how intensely you’re staring at your shoes until he mentions it.

“stop looking down,” he says, “look at me.” 

apologizing sheepishly, your cheeks flush with heat. when you finally meet his eyes, he thinks that he could look at you all day without getting tired, but he can tell you feel awkward from the way your gaze flits around the room.

he speaks to distract you. “i thought you said you can’t dance,” he mumbles, a hint of a smile on his lips.

you breathe out an air of laughter that has his chest tightening. “can’t mentally doesn’t necessarily mean can’t physically.”

his eyebrows furrow at your strange logic. “what does dance have to do with mentality?”

with a shy roll of your eyes, you admit, “i dont want to look stupid.”

and yet again, his heart gets the best of him. something about your presence takes the filter right off his mouth, breaks down the dam that always holds him back from saying what he really thinks.

“i don’t think you look stupid,” he says quietly. “i don’t think you ever look stupid.”

it catches you off guard. for a second, you almost convince yourself that you imagined it. but then his eyes dart away from yours, letting it hang in the air for a second too long, and suddenly it’s simply too late for him to mean it in a way that’s just platonic.

“thanks, levi,” you whisper. you don’t know where you find the courage, but then you’re leaning in and pressing a small kiss to the cheek he has turned to you. 

the feel shocks him from his self-pitying daze. he turns his head back to face you, gaze flicking to your mouth, sees how you’ve pinched your bottom lip with your teeth in hesitation. he doesn’t bother trying to speak - he knows his words will fail him.

his movements fall still along with yours, the dance long forgotten in the span of just a few seconds. your hand drifts closer to his chest from his shoulder and his head seems to cloud with a haze of only you. he leans in slow, tentative, but you don’t hesitate to meet him halfway, effectively closing the gap.

lashes brushing lightly against your nose, levi’s eyes flutter shut. his lips are pillowy and soft as they move against yours, still dark and malty from his earlier choice of tea.

it only takes a moment for his previous caution to blossom into a fond conviction. it’s a gentle, tender sort of warmth that fills your chest when levi kisses you. the spread starts where you connect and flows through you entirely, even reaching right to the ends of your fingertips pressed against him, and the feeling cycles back to where it begins.

your other hand breaks from his hold and moves to his neck, sliding up through his undercut and entangling with his silken locks. a small noise escapes levi, and he has to pull away.

it’s hard to deny the smile that tugs on your cheeks. he has to look away to save himself from the obvious heat radiating off his face - you’re so close, he’s sure you can feel it.

in response, your head hangs, dropping until your forehead rests against his chest. a shy laugh leaves you, one that levi can’t help but follow with.

levi clears his throat and you bring your face back up to his. he’s torn between wanting to look at you and shielding his face from showing how flustered he is. this side of levi is soft and timid, and he’d only ever consider letting you in to see it. 

“i think you’re probably set,” he says, looking down to where his hands lie on your waist. he plays with the cotton cloth of your shirt, smoothing his thumbs over the seam.

“yeah,” you agree, brushing the hair back from his face. it makes him gulp. “thanks for all the help.”

that night, you leave his office assured with more than just your ability to dance a waltz.

[felikatze]

give me the a brainworms i am deeply invested in this man

(0) (2) (3) (4)

okay first of all you asked for this. second of all if i am a little off track from the game that is explained by me just building thoughts like building blocks without looking back. third i was supposed to be studying for an exam but this counts as practice right? it's character analysis anyway lmao.

buckle the fuck up, my dearest anon, because I have sub headings.

1. A as the Player Character

Let me begin with why I am obsessed with this horrid little guy in the first place: he's a silent protagonist. I am always obsessed with protagonists. It's a law of nature. I love taking hollow characters and dissecting them for scraps. It's a long standing practice of mine.

Being a silent protagonist, A, as X, does not have a set personality. However, there are patterns. Firstly, as any semi-silent protagonist, A is a reactive character. He does not start incidents, he only responds to situations, presented by the Sephirah, as they arise. He does not actively seek out new information, merely going about the routine of expanding departments, but expresses curiosity when information is presented to him.

I'm aware fandom likes to characterize X and A differently, likely because they are initially presented as different characters. I, on the other hand, would like to pose the theory that they are more similar than expected.

I believe that A is also a reactive character, rather than active. Despite the fandom wiki describing him as stubborn, the goal A pursues with such fervor, the completion of the Seed of Light, is not actually a goal he set for himself. Carmen is the one who set this goal for him by leaving him her legacy.

Throughout the backstory we get relating to the Cogito Project, A is Carmen's assistant, whereas Carmen is the driving researcher. This is how many of the City's inhabitants seem to be; going with the flow of goals set for them by superiors. Yes I will get into his attachment to Carmen later.

The above is not to say A isn't stubborn. Once he has accepted a goal as his own, he will pursue it at all costs, as is obvious from any and all flashbacks leading to horrible deaths. But the point isn't his pursuit of the goal, but where that goal comes from. Even Lobcorp itself supports this, despite what Hokma may say; A as X follows the "simple" task of managing the Corp's day to day activities, and executes any mission given to him by the Sephirah. He outranks them, and doesn't actually need to do their missions, but does so anyway. Players are driven by the reward offered by those missions, of course, and A might be the same in that regard. Nonetheless, at no point in gameplay do you do anything somebody else hasn't told you to.

The overarching narrative of the Script would be the most obvious example. Every single person in the game follows the script, whether they know it or not.

Lastly on this note, a phrase we hear attributed to A, "Machines must behave as machines." Now, Angela may be attached to this phrase because it bears significance to herself as a machine, and informs most of A's unjust treatmeant of her. However, what if it doesn't just apply to machines? The phrase reads as such, "Everyone must act according to their own role."

2. A, Carmen, and the disease of the mind

So, A will at any cost pursue goals Carmen set for him. Question is, why? The obvious answer would be saying he's in love with her, which like, true. But also, how did Carmen come to be so precious to him?

Let us return to the comparison, "This is how many of the City's inhabitants seem to be." We don't really know why exactly most characters joined Carmen, excluding mainly Daniel and Benjamin. But this does not mean we can't have theories.

Carmen's ideal was curing the "disease of the mind." What is the disease? Complete hopelessness. The inability to form aspirations and dreams, to think of a better future. A is a very reactive character who does not set goals for himself. Therefore, I personally conclude, that initially, Carmen's ideology resonated with him because he could identify with the disease.

This is the point where I start rewatching Lobcorp story clips. Dear god.

So, by briefly binging day 27 onward, I've come up with lines that very much support this lil theory of mine:

First, from Carmen, a description of the disease, "People lock away their own potential."

Second, a line from Angela, after the memory synchronization, "You've locked yourself in this prison without bars."

Carmen describes A as humble, and Benjamin thinks he is warm. If I suppose A was one of the diseased initially, Carmen would be the catalyst for this change. Carmen was someone with big aspirations, with plans to heal what is wrong with the City, and it gave him hope. He was one of the diseased, but through time with Carmen, with that relentless optimistic spirit, he may have been cured, for a time. It's not a stretch to say that she was his light.

But lor shows us what happens when the seed of light sprouts wrong, doesn't it? It distorts. A grasped hope for the first time and then it is ruthlessly crushed. Carmen was everything. Yes, A is described as a jack-of-all-trades, as a genius in all pursuits he puts his mind to, but what does that matter in the face of someone who can unite people? Who can give them hope of a better world? Who can inspire them to actually use the talents they have?

And what kind of pressure is it to put the legacy of a messiah in the hands of the diseased?

3. A and the Perception Filter: A is weak to White damage

No, I am serious about that. He's extremely weak mentally. Obviously death of a loved one is a changing experience for absolutely anybody, but Carmen's death destroyed him.

Not only did he refuse to confide this grief to anyone and bottled it up, now everybody looked to him to lead the project, but he just isn't Carmen. He isn't an ambitious person, he doesn't have the same optimism, he can't bring people together, but people expected him to, and he failed. Hard.

While he was without a doubt talented in science, he was also just an average guy.

After her death, A grew to hate humans. He lost trust in them. He refused to confide in anyone, and be confided in by anyone. Thus, the team fell apart.

In both lobcorp and lor, we get interesting tidbits about precations taken to protect the manager.

Firstly, Lobcorp's perception filter. The cartoony art-style of the game is a result of the game being in first person. Through the eyes of the manager, everything is cartoony!

This is a measure undertaken to specifically protect the manager's psyche. Angela tells us that, before it was deployed, the manager would frequently go insane, one notable incident including the manager trying to hang himself. When we first hear this, the previous managers and X are still separate in our minds. However, they're all A! A went insane multiple times without it.

This is understandable, considering that employees also frequently go insane and try to kill both themselves and others. But they're there in action, confronting the Abnormalities directly. Just watching them made the manager go mad. They could not handle the responsibility for the employees' deaths.

In lor, Angela explains why she picked the Rabbit Team from R Corp as their main contractor instead of any other team. One team was simply too big for L Corp's narrow hallways, and the other team... dealt in psychic damage. It was simply too big of a risk for the manager. But the manager is always secure behind the cameras. Would that teams methods just be that brutal visually, or would their attacks have reached the manager?

Combined with his immense grief at all of his friends and coworkers dying in part because of him, A cannot bear to look at death.

4. A's greatest flaw: Avoidance

A common thread during Core Meltdown flashbacks: A refuses to look at suffering. He just can't. Whether it be looking away from Elijah writhing on the floor or hanging up on Daniel's panicked report of death.

This is actually the thing Angela takes the biggest issue with, and what hurt her most. A would never look at her, acknowledge her, and she did not understand why. But I think A did not refuse to look at her out of maliciousness. Rather, it was out of grief over Carmen. He could not look at her without being reminded of what he lost.

Angela's creation came about because A wanted someone to guide him, someone like Carmen. He threw himself into the project to the point it made Benjamin happy that A was passionate about anything again. But as soon as the project he distracted himself with is complete, he is filled with regret. Carmen cannot be replicated, and he breaks again.

Furthermore, tying this back to my first point about A being a reactive person, we see Angela take charge over A. She's the one recruiting employees and leading the business. It was likely a relief for him to be able to step down from the leading position.

But avoiding it made everything worse. He did not act when he saw Elijah's unchecked ambition, he did not act beyond a simple check at Gabriel's decay, he gave Giovanni the same hope he clung to to no avail, et cetera et cetera.

Avoiding his problems is making them worse and sending everything down the drain (including his psyche), so he deals with it the only way he knows how, avoiding them more!

Biggest example of A's big avoidance problem as his psyche crumbles: the memory wipe. A, in perhaps his one singular moment of acknowledging his emotions, recognizes that he is incapable of fulfilling the Script in his current state. His grief is just too much.

By erasing his own memory, he could start fresh without his grief, because he might've really killed himself otherwise. His suffering became bigger and bigger, and he coped by avoiding it.

The memory wipe allowed him to distangle his problems. Through his interactions with the Sephirah (which I will not individually detail for the sake of my sanity and because I dumped all this on a friend on discord already), he can deal with and actually process his issues one at a time.

As the motto describes, only by facing the fear can he build the future. Only by finally facing his grief and acknowleding it, seeing that the past cannot be changed and he has no choice to move forward, can he actually do so.

5. The Sephirah as ghosts

Lobotomy Corporation feels like a ghost story. I've touched upon this in my previous A post.

As you reach the Corp's lower levels, there are less Sephirah. First there are four. They act like normal employees, and do not breach into the story's underbelly until you reach their core supressions and the facade breaks. Second, counting Tiphereth as one, there are three. They still go about their duties, but they know what they are. Third, there are two, and the facade is gone. They know what they are, and they will tell you about the sins of the past.

And finally, you reach Keter, and there is only one.

This gradual decay of the facade is what really gets to me. I said that by interacting with the Sephirah, A deals with his issues one by one, but that's what the Sephirah are, in this case. Representations.

The people the Sephirah used to be are dead, and the Sephirah are their ghosts. The core supression involve putting these ghosts to rest. Doesn't it match the progression of a typical ghost story? Find the ghost, find what they used to be, and help them move on.

So, if everyone is a ghost, then A is alone.

But, behind the scenes, the Sephirah are still there. They are still people, and they have changed for the better, too. As always, A simply does not look.

(Does he even see the good others see in him? Does he look away from praise, too? Did he even realize Benjamin's admiration for him? Will we ever know?)

6. A's end.

A's progression of moving on would be fine and dandy if it did not end as thus: A does kill himself.

A sees himself beyond the point of no return. Everyone is dead. He is alone. Carmen is never coming back. He can't call it quits now, or else everything has been in vain. (Even if the last days show us a part of him wants to just quit, so badly.)

So, there's only one thing left to do: follow the Script to its ending. Fulfill Carmen's legacy at all costs. Death as the ultimate release.

This is the point where I admit I do not like the death as release trope. But the game does a good enough job as presenting it as the only option A had, or the only option he saw himself as having.

However, I've mentioned it before, I'll mention it again: A was not alone. Death was his release, but he left wreckage. In order to end his own suffering, he inflicted the same pain he went through on others.

Throughout the game, he moves on and pushes through. The ending shows that in reality... he didn't.

At least in lor the characters stick together and help each other heal.

This has been most of my thoughts on A, amounting to my longest analysis post ever, having taken me approximately two and a half hours to complete, and clocking in at 2337 words including up to this paragraph.

Thank you anon for giving me the incentive to verbalize all of this, so I can finally be at ease having inflicted my thoughts on everybody else.

[21burritoseavey]

wonder (j.a.)

a/n: uhh, yeah so I would like to formally apologise for what you are about to read. I don’t know if I’ll make a pt.2 but if you want one let me know. thanks to the wonderful person who requested this and thank you for your patience. I changed a few things and it’s a little unedited but I really hope you like it!  

Summary: Jack tells Y/n he likes her on her birthday.

Song: Wonder by Shawn Mendes

I wonder if I'm being real Do I speak my truth or do I filter how I feel?

“We’re already late! Hurry up!” Corbyn yelled out from the entrance hall of the Seavey residence, ending his third reminder with an irritated slam of the front door. 

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Jack shot back quieter. His gaze lingered on Daniel’s wardrobe mirror, clean and reflective of his handsomely dressed figure. Jack sighed as he glanced down at himself, ruffling a hand through his hair. 

The day dawned crisp and clear, warm with the light of the sun glaring through fewer clouds than usual. Corbyn strolled across the driveway to meet the rest of the boys - ready and waiting - in the car. No other boy was seen following behind them, indicating another few minutes of waiting to be had. 

“It’s a birthday party, we’re not meeting the Queen.” Daniel rolled his eyes. 

“It’s not just a birthday party,” Jack declared a moment after, tugging at the narrow collar of his blazer in his hurry to make it to the car. He finally decided this outfit would be the one - all white clothes on, black dress shoes and dark brunette curls left unbound to tumble messily along the breeze as he jogged to Jonah’s open window. 

I wonder, wouldn't it be nice To live inside a world that isn't black and white?

“It’s Y/n’s 21st birthday.” He breathed, leaning his elbows on the edge of the window. 

“You’re wearing the first outfit you put on,” Zach drawled, slumping back into the passenger’s seat. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Jack shrugged, walking across the road to the empty seats in the back. Corbyn and Jack slipped into the back beside Daniel. The air was sticky and humid, only to perish when the air conditioning blasted from the front before they made it out of Daniel’s neighbourhood, wafting cool air with the low hum of constant blowing accompanying it. 

I wonder what it's like to be my friends Hope that they don't think I'll forget about them I wonder

While the rest of the boys filled the air with conversation about gifts and birthday festivities, Jack was silent, making his quiet presence known with simple nods and agreements. His mind reeled with thoughts and thoughts of Y/n, unable to still to a peacefulness for the whole car ride. Y/n was always one to make everyone feel comfortable, especially at a party she’d planned herself. But there was something about Y/n’s special day that made Jack’s cheeks flush and heart flutter with even more intensity every moment he thought about it. Maybe this would be the perfect day to tell her?

Y/n never enjoyed all the parties she’d been dragged to by friends at university. The chaos of college students finally letting loose was overwhelming, to say the least. The strobe lights dancing onto the floor and pounding baselines reverberating through intoxicated bodies and infused scents of perfume and cologne laced in the foggy dark air only made Y/n’s loathing for them grow stronger every time she went to one. And when it was time for her own party, Y/n made sure it was everything she envisioned it to be. 

Right before I close my eyes The only thing that's on my mind

Including the guys, an invite had been sent to some friends from her classes, one of whom was named James, a friend from her visual arts class. Nothing more. Or at least that’s how Jack liked to think of it. He had no right to be angry, but every time that name rolled off his tongue, it sent a sickening chill down his spine. It all started when Y/n went over to Jack’s place. With her backpack across her back, she let herself into his room casually. Her smile caught Jack’s gaze as he sat behind his keyboard...along with another smile, from a guy he’d never seen before. Y/n had invited him over herself in order for the two boys to ‘get to know each other’. Jack could barely stomach the thought of wiping the grin off her face with any sort of disagreement, so he let them both stay. That night was packed with great conversation and giddy dimpled laughter between them, but not Jack. His mind was so deep in wonder and confusion that he could hardly hear what they were even saying. 

“Jack, could you pass that box over there?” Corbyn asked, gesturing towards the wrapped rectangular gift. Jack raised his gaze to Corbyn. Just a friend Jack thought at last, dismissing the rest of his thoughts as he leaned over to grab the present. 

Been dreamin' that you feel it too I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

“You got her something?” He gaped, “I thought we all agreed to not get her anything?” His eyes shot back towards the rest of the guys as they stepped out of the car. He noticed their gifts as his eyes roamed down towards the neatly...and some quite messily wrapped gifts in their hands. “So, it’s just me then?” He asked with an annoyed glare. “Great.” He sighed, “no that’s just wonderful.” He corrected, hopping out of the car to show the sarcasm etched in his expression. “I just won’t have anything to give Y/n. This was my one chance to tell her-” 

“That’s okay,” Y/n spoke gently behind him. Her sudden words had Jack twirling around slowly to greet her, as if doing so would ease the embarrassment that washed over him. Though, a quick hug from Y/n had him easing back into himself in seconds. Y/n pulled away and glanced at him, “What’d you need to tell me?” 

“Uh...um,” Jack’s eyes flickered to the boys, “Happy birthday!” He assured her, leaning back in for a hug, ignoring the boys’ teasing laughter that found its way along the breeze and into his ears. 

“Thank you,” Y/n said sweetly. 

“And Sydnie wanted me to tell you that she’s sorry she couldn’t make it and happy birthday.” 

“Oh,” Y/n grinned, “Well tell her that I’m sad she’s missing out, but she’s still my favourite Avery.” Y/n bit back a smile and watched Jack’s expression morph into an opened mouthed glare. 

She broke out into a fit of laughter, cheerful giggles falling between them as Jack stuttered out a “Wow, how could you?” He shook his head disapprovingly. 

I wonder why I'm so afraid Of saying something wrong, I never said I was a saint

Y/n’s party was at the park - nothing unexpected for Jack since he knew she loved it so much - and with the help of some friends, the set up was the perfect mix of classy and casual. A long table cut through the grassy field, standing under a silky white sheet, and it was almost like a canopy of flowers were draped across it. The bandmates noticed a few of Y/n’s friends at their spots on the cushions, helping themselves to the platters of fruit and snacks. And even a small tepee stood a small distance away, upholstered with light blue canvas that sheltered Y/n’s sleepy puppy inside. The sun kissed shades of champagne pink and soft beige with its bright rays and the gentle wind allowed the tableware to stay in place without worry of anything toppling over.

The boys wished Y/n a happy birthday while they took their seats, but Jack lingered in front of the narrow table. The way in which he was standing was almost perfect for a photo and Y/n took their fleeting moment of stillness to snap a quick one beside them. Her beaming smile greeted Jack’s gaze from the side. “I can’t believe you did this,” He chuckled breathily. 

“Are you doubting my hard work, Jack Avery?” She teased, pocketing her phone. 

“No, no, It’s great.” He rushed out. 

“Yeah, this is amazing Y/n.” Jonah started, crouched down to pat the lazy puppy. “It's so aesthetic.” He said honestly, sending a wave of light laughter to flourish over the group. 

“Well, come on, then. Sit down.” She ushered Jack to sit on one of carefully placed cushions. A familiar boy came breezing towards the low table from behind the low-lying bushes. Y/n looked up at him with a smile, and she gazed back at the boys to introduce him formally. “Oh, and, um” She wobbled onto her feet and stood beside him. “This is James,” she said gently, looking towards the boys with hesitance in her eyes, a smile still on her face. 

I wonder, when I cry into my hands I'm conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man

Jack’s neutral expression faltered into a frown, and he bowed his head towards his dress shoes, blaming it on the fake notification he’d gotten on his phone when Y/n asked him if he was okay.  “You two already know each other.” She smiled, settling back into her seat beside James. “Why don’t you tell him about the band?” she proposed. Her jolly gaze towards the other boy practically gave Jack no other choice but to start the conversation. 

“Yeah, sure.” He answered calmly. 

--------

And I wonder if someday you'll be by my side And tell me that the world will end up alright I wonder

Jack had counted sixteen people at the park in his head while he talked to James. It was more of a one-sided thing actually - the other boy held forth almost all hour about his own musical experiences - and Jack finally decided to end the conversation with a random excuse, no longer able to hide his hurt with a smile. “Hey, you know what, I actually have to get Y/n’s gift from the car. So, we’ll talk later?” He spoke gently, standing up to make his escape quick and easy. 

“Oh, sure. Nice talking to you.” James nodded, letting Jack leave with a smile on his lips. In all honesty, the conversation wasn’t bad enough for him to leave abruptly, but there was just something about the way Y/n lingered close to him as they chatted...the way her eyes roamed over James’ lips as he spoke... the slight twinkle in her eyes kindled with an almost childish nervousness at their close proximity. To the other boys, Jack was always reading too much into things, but this time was quite the opposite, and he swore there were a bunch of signs that something was going on between them. 

Right before I close my eyes The only thing that's on my mind

“Six instruments,” Jack started plainly, trudging over to Daniel and Corbyn. Y/n’s 4-month-old golden retriever had made himself comfortable on Daniel’s lap as the pair sat on the grass with a plate of snacks next to them. The mutual laughter falling between them broke with Jack’s voice again, “He plays six instruments.” He sat tiredly on the grass, palms propped up behind him and legs stretched out. “How can I compete with that?” He threw his hands up in exasperation and dropped them to plop a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth. 

“Damn, almost as many as me.” Daniel let out an impressed chuckle, glancing over at the tall brunette boy standing next to Y/n. “Maybe he could be our sixth member.” He joked.

Corbyn caught on and continued their teasing, “yeah, his hair is goals.” He laughed. 

“So, what, you guys think he’s great too?” Jack looked furiously towards them as he plucked out stands of grass. 

Been dreamin' that you feel it too I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

“You don’t?” Corbyn asked between a bite of his watermelon. Daniel eyed him with an envious stare silently. Jack stayed quiet; fingers focused on ripping out small roots from the ground. “Why are we just hearing of this now?”

“I didn’t think it would get to this!” Jack admitted breathily. “I mean, studying together, that’s okay, but coming to her birthday party?”

“...More of a... get-together...” Daniel trailed off quietly. 

Jack continued on as if the others were invisible. “I’ve had my heart set on telling her today for weeks now.” He slumped back against the tepee, sharing a swift look with the small blonde puppy that wobbled back into his bed. “I can’t tell her now. Not when he’s here.” 

“We come to birthday parties and we’re friends...I don’t get what the problem is. He’s probably just a friend like Y/n said.”

I wonder what it's like I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

“No, look at the way they’re standing. He linked his arm with hers.” Jack didn’t bother acting sly and just pointed towards the almost coupley pair of university students sitting at the picnic table again. Y/n’s arm was indeed linked with James’ as they shared a plate of snacks. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Jack repeated, keeping his gaze on the one individual he thought liked him back. But Jack could see how it mattered to Y/n, she wasn’t pulling away after all. He tried to shake it off and focus back on his group that had now increased with Zach hearing Jack’s gloomy thoughts from a few paces away. 

“Why don’t you just go talk to her?” Zach said. 

“I can’t,” Jack pouted. “Or else I’d be interrupting whatever that is…” Jack’s quiet last word couldn’t be heard over Jonah’s heavy footsteps pounding across the levelled grass. His panicked expression immediately set Jack into high alert, and he looked towards his friend with the same concerned stricken face. 

Right before I close my eyes The only thing that's on my mind

“Okay-I-...” Jonah hunched over with his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath, “I don’t- I-” He stopped trying to speak and let a silence fall over the small group. He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t usually be this panicked about something like this but, they are like going to. Kiss.” Jonah’s words came out as faint breaths, but Jack understood every word and he shifted his gaze over towards Y/n again. The gap between the two was basically non-existent in Jack’s eyes. James’ hand was on her thigh as they faced each other before it reached up to tuck a strand of Y/n’s sun kissed hair that cascaded down her back. And with Y/n leaning in closer with a smile, their lips were mere seconds away from meeting and stomach’s almost swarming with premature first kiss butterflies. That sight of them together, that moment suspended in time ignited this spark in Jack. It was more than the spark of fondness and adoration for Y/n, it was this weird, stinging mix of hurt and panic that just led him towards the picnic table. The loud stomps coming from the corner had Y/n and James flinching back in fear. 

“Hey, okay look Y/n. I know I’m not like this James guy,” Jack rushed out, barely paying a glance towards the other boy as he stepped closer to the frazzled girl sitting cross-legged on the floor. “And I can’t play six instruments and do homework as good as him and I don’t have cool hair,” His voice was fragile as if it could break any second with the chance of his confession being a total disaster, but he went for it. “But I like you… so much Y/n. I always have.” 

Been dreamin' that you feel it too I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

 a/n: AHHH SORRY gjreigihtrh

taglist: @chilling-seavey @marthagryffindor @randomlimelightxxx @hiya-its-amber @the-girl-who-cried-wolf @hackerXavery @jonahlovescoffee​ @onlyangelavery​​ @sadbitchfangirl

 join my taglist!

[geminihalos]

Astro Analysis pt.2

Back at it again with a different family member’s chart, but this time it was upon request. I promise that I will start posting about famous ppls charts and why they are like the way they are. If yall want a specific famous person’s chart analysis then please take your time to comment on this post by putting a name in there.

Alright so the family member that i’m putting on the spot today is my own father.I ask for my family’s permission before posting anything relating to such matters.

I’m going to be quoting him a lot lmao bc its too iconic to leave out.

☀️Sun in Leo + Sun in the 10th house: Is in general very Confident and loud. Sometimes has no filter and is a huge lover of art, especially cooking. He expresses himself fully through his career which is also MC in Leo, meaning he is meant to be a leader. There is a sense of enjoyment in being generous and having a reliable reputation. Has a big heart, but won’t hesitate to cut away the unnecessary. Tiny bit of spoiled brat energy, but won’t admit it.

☀️ Ya’ll ever notice that Leo placements also love video games, and are very good at it. Ex: my own father, my cap brother with the leo rising, my aries archnemesis with a leo moon. All of ‘em love playing video games and spend hours grinding on getting the xp and the dubs.

☀️ Scorpio moon + moon in the 12th house: this placement is what makes him the easiest to talk to in my opinion because he understands the emotions and wisely handles them because this placement if highly developed. Scorp moons claim they don’t cry often, and he himself believes that crying is useless and he’d rather think about what to do next instead of moping around. Vague descriptions of how he feels, and enjoys deep convos.

☀️The 12th house is linked to the past life, the secrets, and subconscious, which means that he hides his emotions fairly well, and they’re well controlled with scorpio in there. Is aware of what’s going on inside his emotional nature. Reflective when developed and he has an innate desire to reach enlightenment. makes sense bc 12th house is linked to spirituality. Fuels the generosity and calms the ego.

☀️Mercury in Leo + Mercury in the 9th: once again very loud, but loves jokes and is very comedic. Satire humor because of scorpio influence. Naturally charismatic voice, knows how to command people in a socially acceptable way, and always has a tendency to talk over people to get his point across first. Strong in his beliefs and points especially bc mercury is in the 9th.

☀️ Mercury in the 9th makes him direct his logic to the way of life and helps him find ways to set his morals geared towards finding emotional freedom. See how this connects with scorpio moon in the 12th? Often talks about the philosophy of life and is bent on finding as much knowledge as possible, a natural scholar of life. Fun, loud, and confident. (his life path is 7: the investigator and knowledge seeker path)

☀️ Venus in virgo + venus in the11th: makes for a witty person and it's true that people with this placement prefer modest, savvy, clean, and sophisticated people. That’s why he married my mother (a capricorn in the VIRGO decan). Is conversational and loves to share knowledge (”useful and life-changing knowledge” as he puts it) when he’s bring social. 

☀️Venus in the 11th makes him loved by society, and once again can attract people’s attention. People find him generous, thoughtful, and quirky, which are the classic Virgo traits being expressed through Venus. Although his angsty Scorpio moon makes him preach introversion, he can talk to people just fluidly, and they like him.

☀️ Mars in Cancer + Mars in the 8th: Is passive aggressive and hard to anger for real, but once someone does trigger him, he gets explosive with his words and saying hurtful things in the moment. Once again like my cap brother but more heated. Actually good at tennis; ppl with mars in cancer are good at tennis like Roger Federer, Novak Djokovic, and Refael Nadal. 

☀️Likes to make people rage quit for the fun of it when playing competitively. “we have to make sure he doesn’t know we’re pros” he said, “why” I said, “because I want to destroy him and make him think he has another chance of beating me... just for me to destroy him bahahahah” (applies to video games and tennis)

☀️ The 8th house rules the secrets, the hidden, and also financial deals/transformations. What this means is that he directs his energy towards taking calculated risks when it comes to material wealth instead of managing/keeping it which is 2nd house specialty. Does stock market investing and claims that investing came natural to him (”it was in my blood” lmao). Lowkey Scary because his financial strategies are risky, but it takes strong guts to execute. 

☀️ASC in Scorpio with Uranus in the 1st: Lots of confidence here guys. Uranus rules Aquarius whose sign is opposite to leo. Therefore, he appears like he has a god complex since aquariuses can be louder and more narcissistic than even Leo. But then again, he has leo placements... oof. He comes across as someone quiet, strategic, and intimidating, but he has a distant and aloof look as well.  

☀️MC in Leo: Born to lead and forge his own path. He was given so much leeway and freedom to innovate and find his own way, that he matured very quickly without the help of his parent (aquarius in the 4th). The leader who shines, but with the scorp energy, he prefers to be more secretive and work behind the scenes.

☀️Fixed Dominant: “i’m so adAPtaBle what are you tAlKinG about” *proceeds to argue with my brother about why going this road is faster than the other even though he’s clearly wrong*

☀️He looks up to feminine sun signs a lot bc of his virgo venus and scorp moon: ex- Warren buffet (virgo), Bill gates (scorpio), John D Rockefeller (cancer). 

[elleonmybeloved]

Inspired by the beautiful art I saw recently of a kiss-dazed Diluc saying that he supposed you could continue, and from my own Diluc randomly coming home for absolute free on a random pull, I present you:

Kissing Booth!

Diluc x Female Adventurer Reader

Rated T: Lots of kissing in the dark with the big D himself.

~~~

With slow, drawn out movements, you did your best to set up the booth in the square. Around you, the other adventure teams set up normal ones, like cupcakes, charm bracelets, and assortments of artifacts. You cast a wistful gaze at them, wishing your group had also had some artifacts to sell.

In order to make the funding competition more fair and prevent repeats, each group had to draw a concept from a hat and make their booth sell that particular thing. Unfortunately, somebody had the great and hilarious idea to put some joke prompts in there, and your group had the great misfortune to pull the one and only paper marked “kissing booth” from it.

Admittedly, you had been kind of expecting Bennett’s group to draw that one, so the situation completely blindsided you. You weren’t the only girl on your adventure team, but Felicia had a boyfriend, so the burden was left to you.

“Hey, need a hand?” Jack, a fellow adventurer asks, having approached you with a friendly wave. “I noticed you don’t have your booth set up yet and Katheryn says we’re starting in five minutes.” 

“Thanks Jack, but I’m good.” You give him an awkward smile. “Other than the curtain, the box, these chairs…” You sigh. “Aaaand this lipstick, there isn’t really anything else to set up.”

“Oh, okay.” He deflates, probably thinking you are denying him because he doesn’t seem useful.

As much as you’d like to hide behind the thick red velvet of the curtain, your group needs funding, and you’re not about to be the reason nobody can get their blades and armor fixed up at the blacksmith for the next several months.

“I guess, if you don’t mind, you can help me put this on top.” You acquiesce, throwing him a bone. Holding up a sign that says “Kissing Booth: One kiss for 1,000 Mora”, you gesture at the top of the wooden booth, where there’s a couple nails hammered in to hang the sign on.

“Leave it to me!” He says, and takes the sign from your hands to place it, dreadfully, in plain sight, right where it’s supposed to be.

“Thanks.” You say, trying hard to sound genuine lest he misunderstand.

“No problem! See ya, and good luck fundraising!”

He’s off with a whistle, and you wonder if he even read the sign he just hung up for you. Oh well, whatever.

 A few minutes later, the chime of a handheld bell rings through the courtyard, and you hear Katheryn’s voice announcing, “Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild’s Biannual Fundraising Fair.”

Resigned to your fate, you draw back the velvet curtain and sit in your chair, gripping the tube of red lipstick harder than you would the handle of your sword if you came across an entire nest of giant slimes.

People filter into the square, most making a beeline for the sweets, and several crowding around the artifact booths to get first pickings of the feathers, goblets, and timepieces alike. With no flashy goods at your table, it’s a while before anybody even notices you. When a few people, you are relieved to see them laugh, and say “Look, they made a joke booth this year too, haha!” You let out a nervous laugh and give them a good natured smile.

You notice immediately when your luck runs out, a gaggle of young men and women just out of the cupcake booth heading your way. The exaggerated “No way, seriously?” accompanied by obnoxious giggles from one of the girls lets you know that they aren’t paired off, and the “Well if it isn’t my lucky day” from a lanky guy with a fashionable undercut and a flashy ear piercing tolls the bell of your doom.

“Hi, welcome.” You manage to greet the group with a stiff smile. 

“You’re selling kisses?” One of the guys, a shorter one with black hair asks.

“... Yes.” You reply. “One thousand mora each.”

“Real kisses?” The flashy guy is the one to ask this time, leaning forward with a piercing look. “Like on the lips?”

“Or somewhere else on the face.” You suggest hopefully. “But yes.”

“Well then. Allow me to be your first customer. I’ll start off with three kisses, all on the lips. If you don’t mind.”

You do mind. But what can you do. At least he’s not ugly, but the amused stares of his group at your situation are humiliating, and your cheeks get hot with shame as you stare down at the table and he counts out three thousand mora, placing them on the table in front of you.

Applying a fresh coat of red lipstick buys you only a few seconds, and then he is leaning in expectantly. You close your eyes and resolve to make it as quick as possible.

“Stop!”

The voice is so sharp you startle in your chair as your eyes fly open. Crossing his arms and scowling, Diluc Ragnvindr stalks over and stands between you and flashy guy.

“Huh? Why? What’s the deal, man? I properly paid, count it if you don’t believe me?” Flashy Guy looks confused.

“That’s not the issue, just take your money and go.” Diluc swipes the coins off the counter and insistently presses the fist of them against flashy guy’s chest until the other man bewilderedly accepts it.

“Um, okay. I’m just gonna… go?” He and his group of friends leave, the girls already breaking into gossipy whispers before they’re even out of earshot.

“Uh, hi Diluc. Why’d you do that?”

Diluc turns to face you at your question, an annoyed expression on his face. “You’re really asking me why, Y/n? … Seriously, why would you even go through with such an idea in the first place?”

You frown at the implication in his tone. “I didn’t have a choice. And my group needs the money.”

“You should’ve made them give you a different booth concept.”

“I tried. Groups aren’t allowed to change concepts, since it would be unfair.” You explain with a sigh. As relieved as you are to have gotten out of kissing anyone so far, the weight of the empty mora box you are supposed to fill weighs heavily on the back of your mind. 

“... You just need to sell all your stock, right? How much were you going to sell?”

You look up, and take a moment to think about it. “I guess I was hoping to get away with just fifty. Fifty thousand mora could possibly last us a few months… if we’re lucky and nobody’s sword gets shattered to pieces from a superconduct reaction again.”

“Make it a hundred, and I’ll just pay for it.”

“Huh?” You blink. “Oh, wow, thank you! That’s very generous of you. I wonder how I will explain all this to anybody who asks though…” Unable to help a cringe at the thought of your friends and guild mates teasing you for being the kiss-whore of the town, Diluc takes in your troubled expression with a raised brow.

“That’s none of anyone’s business.”

“Yeah but… if someone does find out you uh, sponsored us a hundred thousand mora, and didn’t even receive anything in return…” You play nervously with your hands, already imagining the protests of unfairness. “...But I guess I’ll just deal with it since the only way I can see managing to avoid that is if I actually give you a hundred kisses, ahaha.”

“...”

Dammit, this is awkward, why did you have to joke like that? Diluc is looking at you with an intense unreadable expression. You can’t help but squirm.

“What?”

“That’s a good solution. Let’s do it.”

“Oh. Really?” You stammer, feeling heat rise to your face. You’ve had a crush on Diluc for the longest time, but never in your wildest dreams would you think he felt the same. “With me? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. But I would appreciate a little privacy. Move over.”

You’re still reeling as he makes his way around and comes in the booth, leaning back instinctively to get out of his way as he reaches over and unbinds the thick velvet curtain, leaving the two of you in the dim red light that barely filters through the fabric.

Diluc pulls the second chair up next to yours, and sits facing you. He takes a pouch out of his pocket and places it on the counter of the booth next to you with a faint clink. You don’t even have to count to know there’s a hundred thousand mora in there, it’s a fat enough pouch.

Taking a deep breath, you begin, uncapping the lipstick to apply a fresh coat.

“Is that part necessary?” Diluc asks.

You falter, lips already cherry red. You don’t know what to say. Does he think it looks bad on you? You can’t help flushing in shame. “Oh, sorry.”

“No- it’s ugh, it’s fine. Continue. Please.” Diluc backtracks, placatively patting the air with his hand.

A long moment of charged tension passes, as you try and fail to work up the nerve to close the distance. His lips look so soft and the way his jaw works as he swallows sends a thrill through you.

“......”

“......”

With a small noise of impatience, Diluc shifts in his seat— and then kisses you, pressing his lips firmly against your own until you relax and melt back into him. He begins to rub his lips back and forth against yours, and strokes the shell of your ear with a gloved hand. The sensation makes you shiver. His breath is loud in your ears.

Heat builds up within you, threatening to burst. Your brain struggles to comprehend- Diluc, whom you’ve loved for the longest time, is kissing you. 

Your breath catches in your throat at a particularly assertive press of his lips, and at the startled sound, Diluc breaks away.

“You okay? Still enjoying this, or…?” He asks, voice a rich murmur for your ears only.

“I’m fine, m-more than fine ahah,” You giggle breathlessly. “But I’m the one who’s supposed to be kissing you.”

“Hurry up then. You were taking too long.”

The implication of his feelings in the way he says it fills you with sudden confidence, and you smile and give him a look before leaning in and pressing a quick, sweet kiss to his lips. It leaves you exhilarated and buzzing, and a squeezing saccharine urge bubbles up within you. Resisting the sudden desire to clench your teeth, you swoop in and attack his face with kisses, pressing your lips into the smooth skin of his cheek several times before moving to the other one. Diluc gives a breathless laugh and you feel like your heart will just burst. The soft, tsck tsck tsck sound of repeated kisses fills your ears. 

After his cheeks have received enough attention, you move down to his jaw, the slight indication of ginger stubble prickling against your lips as you give it a few smooches in adoration before moving to the sensitive skin of his neck. It’s warm and so soft against your lips, you can’t resist going further than you should and opening your lips after kissing to suck on it. The surprised, needy sound Diluc makes sends a distinctive squeeze somewhere lower than your stomach full of butterflies. 

You hesitate, and then do it again. He gives a low grunt this time, and your head spins at how quickly the two of you are losing control. Somehow reminded of all the girls in Mondstadt who swoon over and try to woo Diluc, you place a restraining hand on his shoulder before diving in and sucking hard right below his jaw. 

“Hey-!” Diluc hisses and pushes you off. 

You startle out of your love-addled haze and are squeaking out the beginning of a frantic apology when Diluc roughly grasps both of your thighs and lifts you out of your chair and deposits you onto his lap. 

Thrown off balance, you scramble to steady yourself, squishing your body against his chest and gripping both his shoulders to right yourself. 

“What’s the big idea?” You ask, giving him a look as you recover your composure. “I almost fell!”

“I would’ve caught you. And if you want to kiss me like that, you’re gonna have to fully commit to it.” Diluc says, raising an eyebrow and giving you a cool glance right back. “I’m not going to get a hickey from someone sitting across from me in another chair like some nervous Church of Barbatos deacon in training.”

“Fine, fine, I get it.” You huff. He has a point. “You could be a bit less rough with me, though.”

Diluc blinks and averts his eyes for a moment. “... Right. Sorry, Y/n. Wasn’t intentional.”

“Yeah, I know.” You roll your eyes at him, thinking of how he throws his claymore around like a weightless treebranch.

Adjusting once more to get yourself comfortable atop his thighs, you apply another coat of lipstick. Leaning in, you're about to press another adoring kiss to his cheek when he turns his head, catching your lips instead. Your gasp of surprise melts into a whimper as he gets aggressive with it, pushing your mouths hard together with a gloved hand at the base of your head. You can’t escape his onslaught. Kiss after kiss, he doesn’t stop until you are gasping for air and then just dives right back in. Your mind goes blank of all thoughts, puddling into an empty haze.

When you come to your senses… a long time later, your lips are swollen, head dizzy from lack of oxygen, and … — Diluc’s gloves are on the floor, his face blissed out and slack, the sight sending a spear of heat straight through your stomach to your core. You swallow dry, clenching your thighs on either side of his and slide your hand down his stomach, and OHhhhgod abort, somebody is pushing the red curtain aside, flooding the small space with bright light.

“Oh, what the-! What in Barbatos’ name are you two doing in here?” Cyrus asks, rearing back with a shocked expression. “Archons, Y/n, I thought you’d left the booth behind.”

“Master Cyrus?!?” You’re just. Frozen stiff in Diluc’s lap, mortified. But instead of letting you scramble out of his lap, Diluc tightens his arms around you, trapping you in his embrace.

“Despite being given a ridiculous product, Y/n managed to sell all her stock to me. I hope there isn’t a problem with that.”

Cyrus stammers in the face of the thinly veiled accusation, monocle nearly slipping off his face. “Yes well. I’m not in charge of the prompts, miss Katheryn is… ahem, anyways, the fundraising event is over now. We’re taking down the booths and moving them to the Adventure Wagon.”

“Oh, okay.” You say, tucking your hair behind your ear, still flustered. “I’ll be right there.”

“You gonna need help taking the booth down and carrying it over, kid?” The blond older man asks, an unsure look on his face as he eyes your companion.

“I’ll take care of it.” Diluc says before you can answer, and you nod belatedly.

“Alright. See ya.”

When Cyrus is gone, the two of you are once again shrouded in red-tinted darkness, but the noisy sounds of people walking and loading things onto the wagon is unmistakable.

“...So, um… anyways…” You begin awkwardly.

“—That wasn’t a hundred.” Diluc cuts you off.

“...Huh?”

“That wasn’t a hundred. So you can deliver the rest of them later this evening. I’ll tell Adelinde to keep an ear out for you, so just knock if the Winery is closed by the time you arrive. I have some work to do with the guild but I should be done with all my most important business by five.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure.” You smile shyly. “Far be it from me to not deliver in a timely manner.”

“That’s my girl.” He says with a wry smile. “Blessedly quick on the uptake.”

“We should take the booth up before Master Cyrus comes back.” You admit reluctantly, climbing off his lap as he releases his grip on you.

“Let me do the heavy lifting.” Diluc insists, and the two of you come out the back and get to work on taking it down.

You try to help carry one of the smaller supports over to the wagon, but Diluc just says “I’m the one with the gloves, so I’m the one handing the wood. You’ll get splinters.” and shoves the Kissing Booth sign into your hands instead.

Diluc is… covered in lipstick kissmarks, and though several of your guild mates see and remark on it, there isn’t a trace of the pink on Diluc’s cheeks that you had seen in the booth as he gives cool responses. Remembering the sight of him, flushed and dazed and panting, has you nearly dropping the stupid sign though, and you hastily distract yourself from the thoughts of his lips that had tasted faintly sweet like grape juice… with the fate of Bennett’s booth. 

You’re not sure what happened, but somehow it got burnt down to a crisp. Vaguely you recall he had drawn candles as a selling prompt. Ah. You can more or less guess what happened. Poor Benny. 

“See you tonight.” You give Diluc a little wave goodbye when you’re finished, and he’s about to leave.

Catching your hand, he gives you a kiss this time, getting the top of your hand smudged with the faint remnants of your lipstick. “Don’t keep me waiting too long. I’m a busy man.”

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 07

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: A philosophical slant, (heavy) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom being absolute hubby material, Werewolf!Jaebeom being awkward and (a bit of a) pervert, domestic fluff, talk of medication, apparently werewolves don’t like to wear clothes (what is my canon...), talk of life and death, mention of blood, mild swearing

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Jaebeom’s POV.

Well, here it is, earlier and much longer than originally planned. It’s also a lot more tragic and philosophical than I intended it to be, but then again, what else can you expect from a tragedian fascinated by the human condition even as it is translated into the realm of the magical?

I think I just thought of the modern literary movement I might belong to: magic realism.

It’s a crying shame the Decadent Movement isn’t active anymore, though, because that one truly feels like a good fit for me both as an author and an individual. Ah well, c’est la vie.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

There is nothing better for a wolf than being with its mate. 

Well, there is one thing.

Having them completely at your mercy as you’re inside them.

I still don’t understand what the plastic wrapping is good for, but Jinyoung was very insistent on using it while we drove to the airport. And Y/N seemed glad I had whatever it is, her scent even betraying a hint of relief. However, one day, I hope she’ll tell me not to use it.

No, that’s not right. There’s a word for the… whatever it is.

A condom.

That’s the word.

I hope she’ll tell me not to use a condom. It doesn’t matter whether I’m in season or not, although the chances she’ll pup are higher if I am. I want pups with her, a little pack of our own. I want it to be our toddler running around the park, chasing its sibling. Then again, will I remain human long enough to see them grow up?

Will I even remember their birth on the day they’re born?

Will I still be here?

Or remain without a family, a proud bloodline?

I slowly open my eyes, blinking a few times to get used to the sunlight bathing the room in a warm golden hue, swallow hard and force myself to calm down. There is no use in contemplating this now, not this early in the day nor in our time together. What counts is that I’m here now with Y/N in my arms and we’re in her apartment somewhere.

A faint whiff of brine seeps in through the air cleaner filter above the window overlooking the city. A gull flies by and lands on the roof of the building opposite ours.

Sea. Rusted metal. Right, the old harbour.

A high-pitched noise, a disquiet hum followed by a sigh, makes my ears perk up. I look down at the lady sleeping on my chest, curled up and fingers balled into small fists similar to a bunny’s paws. More importantly, however, she’s perfectly alright and was only unconsciously trying to get more comfortable.

A breathless chuckle rises in my throat at the display. Y/N’s adorable even when she’s fast asleep, her lips parted yet not enough to allow drooling.

I, on the other hand, am another story. I don’t do it often, but I must have been so tired last night I triggered the habit. The finger I swipe over the corners of my mouth comes away wet both times.

Oh no, I didn’t drool on her, did I? Would she mind, though, if I explained it’s a sign I’m comfortable with her?

It isn’t hard to guess the answer to the question. She would beat me over the head, likely with a shoe, and say I’m not allowed to bite her at all anymore. Not even in the future.

In a hurry to discover whether I made the fatal mistake, I check her messy hair but keeping my movements controlled to not wake her up. Fortunately, there are no locks sticking together nor a trail running down over the side of her face.

With a deep sigh, I slump further down into the bed again and kiss her crown. However, I don’t go back to sleep despite the comfort of the sheets. Instead, I lift the lady’s head and gently put her down on the pillow as I get up, carefully calculating every movement like I do when hunting to make sure she won’t wake up or notice my absence in her unconscious state.

The faint smell of burned iron comes from somewhere when I rearrange the sheets to bundle Y/N up. My mouth dries up, throat blocked by something I can’t swallow as a familiar stench disturbs the morning happiness. Former intentions abandoned, I claw through the sheets to try and discover where the rank odour comes from.

Did I hurt her? Is she bleeding? Why is she bleeding? Where is it? Where’s the blood?

As suspected, the frantic search wakes the pretty lady. Propped up on an elbow, eyes half-closed and brows furrowed, she turns to me. “Jae, what-’’ she yawns, “What’re you doing?”

Barely has she asked the question or I find what I’ve been looking for.

On her side of the bed, between her thighs, is a puddle of dried blood.

Where did it come from? Did I… Did I do this?

I grab her by the shoulders and pull her close to check her condition, turning her this way and that as each thought grows more troubled. “Are you okay?” There’s nothing to see on the bare skin of her upper body. “Are you hurt?”

Maybe the wound is somewhere lower, on her hip or leg. I didn’t bite her last night. Right? I didn’t hurt her. At least, I don’t think I did. No. Surely the wolf- I wouldn’t harm her. I had enough control to prevent that from happening. Yes, that’s the case.

But then, with a fading mind, how much can I trust myself?

“Jaebeom, I’m fine. What are you- ah.” Y/N notices the spot of dark crimson when I pull the sheets completely off the bed and toss them aside. She lets out an incomprehensibly careless chuckle, evidently oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

“What are you giggling about? Y/N, you’re bleeding!” I bark, lost.

A small paw cups my cheek, her thumb caressing the skin in an attempt to calm me down. “You took my virginity. It’s natural to bleed a little when that happens.”

“Are you still in pain?” Even though it’s natural, surely it’s not without repercussions. Otherwise, the stain wouldn’t be there.

“No, I’m not, silly. I’m okay.” She kisses the tip of my nose when I let out a whine, unhappy with the response. Withal, a curious tone in her voice overtakes my own displeasure. “Are you?”

Why do you say it like that?

She sounds weird, hinting at something I’m supposed to find as obvious as she. Yet, I have no clue about what it can be. So, I tilt my head and stare blankly at her, waiting for an explanation. “I’m fine.” 

My choice of words makes her visibly flinch despite the effort to hide it. The sleepiness which glazed her eyes evaporated, leaving them devoid of the amusement at my failure as a human. The recognizable sour note of anxiety creeps back into her scent, setting off alarm bells in my mind. “I’m alright. No pain. Happy to be here. Happy to wake up next to you.”

I rub her arms in a poor attempt to make her calm down, have her scent return to its spring-like fruitiness. She is supposed to smell like fresh fruit still hanging from the trees, yet to ripen. Not like fallen fruit beginning to decay in the summer sun.

“Okay,” is all she says in response before she pulls away, the absence of the warmth of her palm sending a cold shiver throughout my body.

The world always seems a little colder without her.

“Want breakfast?” A low grumble pierces the silence following the question, giving me enough of a response. And a reason to get my head, no, that’s not the idiom. To get my thoughts ordered. Organized. To get my thoughts in order? To think about… stuff. Last night. This. Everything. “Never mind. I’m making you breakfast. You have to eat.”

I stand up and head for the bathroom to first get rid of the weird plastic wrapping she put on me last night. Having thrown it in the bin there after a bit of an awkward struggle removing it, I move to the kitchen. Nevertheless, I don’t start preparing food right away. Instead, I pick up the grey hoodie I gave her from the bag between the sofa and chair facing the kitchen. I remember how she held it up to her nose, breathed in and basked in the scent.

My scent.

A fragment of last night’s memory.

I remember we had sex and that she told me I’m her first, but afterwards things are blurry.

Smell. I said something about how nicely she smells. Not really an original compliment since I’ve said it a lot already, but I can’t help but focus on it.

And then…

Then…

Then instinct took over because I let it, thinking I’d remain in control even though I let go a little. After all, I’ve learned enough to know how to deal with the wolf inside thanks to the rehabilitation procedure Jinyoung put me through and supervised. Since then, there’s been a healthy balance between human and beast in my mind.

Or, rather, there was one.

I think.

Another boundary to watch out for. I have to keep myself in check. No more experimenting.

Because to do so is to forget.

And I want to remember.

 I stop absent-mindedly thumbing the piece of clothing, drape it over the armrest of the sofa and head into the kitchen to make breakfast. Unfortunately, the fridge quickly brings my plan to a halt, empty except for a pack of soy milk and a tray of eggs. The groceries Jinyoung and I got were only enough for dinner last night and there are no leftovers.

To be fair, she did just come back from a trip abroad. But still, is there really nothing to work with?

I sigh in defeat and grab the plant-based milk to pour it over the apple and cinnamon granola I find in the cupboard above the sink. At least it’s food and drink in one meal.

From the drawer next to the oven, I grab two spoons which I put into the bowls, grab the hoodie from the couch and return to the bedroom.

Y/N sits with her back turned to me, but flips around a little too fast for my liking once she hears my paws approaching. “Jaebeom?”

The terrible mixture of barely suppressed horror and genuine concern in her gaze has translated into her voice, which is cold and calculating. The sour note of anxiety hasn’t faded from her scent, creating a stone to sink to the bottom of my stomach because there’s only one thing that can be a distressing factor this early in the day.

Me.

Withal, the reason why she’s scared puzzles me since I haven’t done anything out of the ordinary. I’ve simply been me since I woke up.

Human.

Although, that’s me now.

Last night, I don’t know who or what I was though it isn’t hard to guess.

The pretty lady traces the deep indentation in the headboard of the bed with her fingers bent to resemble a claw. “Did you do this?”

Did- Did I? No. I- I don’t know. I was less strict with myself last night and don’t remember much, but surely I wasn’t gone enough to do this.

I hope.

I think.

I’m not sure.

But the reality provides the necessary evidence to repute any kind of denial I can offer.

I set the bowls down on the nightstand and crawl back on the bed to sit next to her. Gently, I nudge her hand aside to mimic her action, my own fingers perfectly fitting into the large gash. “I don’t know.”

A surge of violence shoots throughout my body, triggering the nagging feeling of a forgotten memory strong enough to knock the air out the lungs and split my skull with flashes of a memory. Nevertheless, the fragments pass by too fast to make sense of them and the mere attempt to do so worsens the headache. I flinch and scramble backwards with a paw- a hand pressed to my head as if I can thus suppress the pain. Yet, I remain unable to look at anything but the damage.

“I don’t know,” I repeat, my voice hardly louder than a scared whisper.

“I felt your skin move beneath my fingers last night,” Y/N starts, catching my attention with the timid response suggestive of requiring more explanation.

Exactly what I don’t have since I can’t even explain it myself.

This shouldn’t be happening.

“I think I did, at least,” she adds doubtfully on a shivery breath. The sourness sweetens to doubt instead of anxiety. Nonetheless, it’s still worrying she’s ill… uncomfortable.

“Did I-“ I swallow hard, forcing out the words describing my worst nightmare. “Did I transform?”

“Transform?’’ She briefly turns her gaze from me to the indentation, lips parted in an attempt to articulate a thought that’s dismissed with a headshake the second thereafter. Her attention returns to me, her expression slackened. ‘’What are you- What… No, you didn’t, but you looked far away. Retreated further into your own world, more so than you normally are.”

“That’s good,” I mumble, nodding as I, too, briefly return my attention to the claw mark. “Was human. Good.”

Still, need to talk to the weird-smelling intruder. Doctor. Friend. Name, his name. Jinyoung. Jesus, man, get yourself together. Your name is Im Jaebeom. You’re a twenty-eight old werewolf that- no, who runs a bookshop called Paper Souls. Jinyoung is your friend, doctor and supervisor appointed to you by... by... some organization.

“Jaebeom,” the pretty lady puts her hand on my shoulder, features softened instead of frozen and marred by fear, “have you taken your medication yet?”

The natural fruity undertone seems forced to be stronger.

You should be scared. I might have- I made that claw mark. Why treat me like a human? I’m a wolf.

“Me- Med-“ The strange word barely registers until a spark of humanity recalls its definition. “Medication. Pills. No, I- I haven’t.”

“Let me grab a glass of water and get them.”

She ruffles my hair, jumps off the bed and rushes out of the room. I listen to her bare feet lightly treading the floor as she moves on the other side of the wall, hurried steps going from the hallway, where she rummages in my coat for the rattling bottle of pills, to the kitchen. There, she opens a cupboard to grab a glass. The loud clinking of glass alongside the sour undertone in her scent indicates she almost accidentally caused several to fall out and break on the tiles. Fortunately, judging by the deep sigh of relief, Y/N could prevent it from happening.

She turns on the tab, fills the glass with water, turns the tab off and walks back into the room.

“There you go,” she says, handing me the small brown bottle and water. 

The mattress dips a bit when she sits down next to me with one of the bowls filled with cereal in her hands. After stirring the spoon around like she is trying to evade something, Y/N finally takes a first careful bite. Nevertheless, she starts eating properly after I kiss her temple, which is an apparently effective form of encouragement. I have to remember that. 

Quietly seated in the golden sunlight, we have our first breakfast together. I don’t mind her watching me as I’m taking my medication, measuring out the amount Jinyoung told me to take. Or, rather, as much as the label notes I should. Immediately my gag reflex is triggered when I put them in my mouth, the taste of bitter metal extremer than before so it’s like licking one of the rusted over buoys drifting in the harbour.

He’s increased the nightshade and silver. Damn, I think even the worst coffee tastes better than this.

“That bad?”

“Yep.” I open and close my mouth, nauseous due to the sickening taste lingering on my tongue. To prevent the bile rising in my throat from escaping, I gulp down the water. Unfortunately, it only washes down part of the bitterness.

She holds up a spoon with milk-soaked granola to feed to me, but I turn it down and shake my head. I might actually throw up if I eat anything right now. 

Disappointment flashes across her face, though it’s gone in an instant as she puts her bowl down and stands up. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

“But... food,” I meekly offer and point at the half-empty bowl on the nightstand. She should put herself before me. 

Because I’ll be fine.

“We’re missing something important. Coffee,” the bunny-like lady playfully responds before she bounces off again to the kitchen.

The pleasant and slightly sweet scent of instant cappuccino warms the apartment, replacing the sharp scent of frozen water alluding to hail later on in the day. It’s a little early in the year, but soon the first snows will fall.

Hopefully, she’ll move before then so we can spend Christmas in her cottage. Although, it doesn’t even have to be the holidays. I’d light a fire, drape a blanket over our shoulders and keep Y/N close to warm her with mine as we read and look at the snowfall.

Like a snowflake falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling before our eyes, so we pass through life. At this rate, I think the next snowfall might be the last I’ll see.

Consciously.

Meaningfully.

Like a human.

The snowflake will faintly fall on the man I am, descend on the husk I’m becoming, while she will continue living.

Without me.

The living and the dead.

I smile wistfully until the same shot of pain treks through me as when I tried to fill in the gaps of the fragmented memory. Folded in on myself, cold sweat on my skin and short of breath, I press my palms against my snout to push the agony away.

The pained groaning must have alarmed the pretty lady because she rushes to my side and pushes one of the mugs in her little paws… hands in mine. “Here, take a sip. The caffeine will help.”

As told, I nip at the hot beverage. Indeed, the cappuccino lessens the headache and cold shivers that ran down my spine and threatened to spread. Though I dislike instant coffee, it actually tastes good when she prepares it. I sigh in relief, blow on the coffee to cool it down, and slowly drink it while Y/N caresses my jaw and ear just the way I like it. At the same time, she comforts me with her soothing voice, murmuring words of solace and assurance as she sits down next to me again. 

I could listen to you all day. Maybe I should ask you to read to me sometime. Although, not maybe. I’ll ask it later. Note to self, write a note on your phone to ask her to read to you. Also, make note of kissing her temple.

My reverie is broken up by a comment which rubs me the wrong way. “I have to go to the office later today-’’

“Already? You just got home.”

“They’re counting on me, Jae. Besides, I’m not that jet-lagged.”

“It’s not healthy. You should stay home. Rest,” I bark. Her eyes widen, taken aback by my bluntness.

She opens and closes her mouth, planning to say something yet deciding against it. Instead, she tugs my ear. “I’ll be fine. And you have your shop to look after, so let’s both work hard today.”

“Still,” I take another sip, “I don’t think you should go.”

“As long as I have caffeine, I should be able to manage. How about this? I’ll come to your shop as soon as I’m done with work and cook for us. We’ll have a cosy night in like we had last night.”

“Last night was ‘cosy’ indeed,” I murmur, hoping she catches on to what I’m alluding to.

“It was. I really liked it.” Her lashes flutter with the memories of last night, cheeks tinged pink. Unfortunately, the heartstopping girlish giggle is short-lived and becomes serious too soon. “But while I did, I think we shouldn’t do it again so soon.”

“Agreed,” I respond, mind occupied by the ripples of transformation and the splashes of pain wanting to remember something significant only communicated in incomprehensible flashes.

Distorted.

Like the memories of the forest.

I need to call Jinyoung. He needs to know.

 “What shall we eat tonight?”

The change in subject is welcome, but also a confusing bridge to cross. How can humans go from severe to casual without a care? The aspect of communication has me furrow my brows as I try to work out the mech… work… nuts and bolts behind it. Nevertheless, I answer the question. “I thought you had a plan already.”

The corners of her mouth curl up into a cat-like grin. “I have no idea, so that’s why I’m asking you. You’re a better chef than I am.”

“I’m not that good,” I murmur, my ears lowered like a shy pup. “But I’d like something we can make together.”

“Pancakes?”

“Yes!’’ I bark, leaning in and grabbing the sheets to contain the excitement at cooking together. ‘’Yes, I’d like that!”

A flicker of doubt passes over her face, hesitant in the way she tends to be when it concerns food. However, a second later, she taps me on the nose with a content hum. “Pancakes it is.”

While Y/N showers, I clean the dishes and pull the sheets off of the bed so she can bring them to the laundry. Although, maybe I could do it myself. I’d have to text Jinyoung for instructions since he always does mine, but even then it shouldn’t be too difficult. Humans do laundry all the time. It’s part of their routine and if they can do it, so can I.

I hope.

As I’m making the bed and contemplating the process to get at least the blood stain out of the fabric, my mate walks back into the room. Her wet hair is bundled up in a towel that’s smaller than the one wrapped around her body. The addition of the scents of cherry blossoms and matcha to the blend of summer fruits drives me dizzy as she moves to the wardrobe.

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help looking as the towel falls to the floor to reveal her naked body. An appreciative growl unconsciously rises from my throat, a surge of heat culminating between my legs.

Just one more time. I’ll keep myself in check. Behave. I’ll behave.

“Jaebeom,” cheeks flushed, Y/N glances over her shoulder, “don’t even think about it.”

“Sorry,” I mumble as I shuffle to her side to help her put on her bra by closing the clasps. When they click in place, I place a kiss between her shoulder blades, feeling her shiver against my lips. “I know what we agreed on.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and let my head rest on her shoulder. Eyes closed, I try to keep a clear mind as she scratches me behind the ear.

“It’s not necessarily... that.” Her voice is light, wanting to move past the concerns of last night with humour. “It’s rather the thought I wouldn’t get to leave for the office at all if we go back to bed.”

“You’re right.” I decide to play along, if only to give us both some peace of mind. So, I bury my nose in the side of her neck, nuzzling her and earning myself a bird-like giggle that spreads a nice fuzzy feeling inside. “I wouldn’t let you go. We’d read the day away with coffee.”

“Tea, in your case. Doctor’s orders. I don’t want you bouncing around the place. You’re my calm, well, sort of calm bookish wolf. Not a supercharged husky.”

It’s a lame joke, but nevertheless makes me laugh.

“What will you wear today?” I ask, glancing at the clothes on the hangers.

Here and there, there’s a colourful item in the collection. Withal, the majority of the items are mono… one-toned... black and white items to be switched up with a dark-shaded checkered blouse.

My attention drifts to the long white dress with lemons. The fabric is on the thin side, which makes it suitable for summer or a warm spring.

I’d love to see you in that dress, if only just once.

She pouts her lips. “I was thinking about grey high-waisted jeans with a black button-up shirt and ankle boots.”

“Wear my hoodie,” I whine, upset my… my girlfriend. That sounds nice. My girlfriend. It makes me upset that my girlfriend doesn’t plan on wearing one of the things I gave her. “You like the grey one, right?”

“I do, but-’’

“Then wear it.”

She sighs, shakes her head and turns around to look up at me. “There’s something like a dress code at the office.”

“Don’t care.” I nudge her nose with mine, bark lowered to a woof to persuade her to go with my choice. “You’ll look better. More pretty.”

“If you put a pair of boxers on, I’ll wear the hoodie. Deal?”

“But they’re uncomfortable. I only wore them because Jinyoung told me to.”

“Then I won’t wear the hoodie.” Little devilish will-o’-the-wisps light up her eyes as the corners of her mouth curl up into a taunting grin. “Shame. Now my colleagues won’t get to see I have a boyfriend.”

The tables have flipped since I’m apparently not the only one who’s good at using their charms.

Nevertheless, reluctant to start a fight over this, I let out a compromising chuff. “Okay, fine.”

Humans and their clothes. I like yours, but you’d look even better in mine. Still, I’m only doing this because I want every male at your office and in the city to know you’re mine.

No matter what size they are, clothing is a thing I absolutely haven’t missed. Notwithstanding, to please my mate, I wriggle myself back into the tight short trousers and the loose pants to wear over them. Y/N gives me a warning look when she sees me fumbling with my shirt, hopefully missing out on the obvious clue I secretly hope she’ll let me off easy.

Of course she doesn’t.

“Yes, Jae, also the shirt,” she chastises me like a mother disciplines a rebellious pup. “And the shoes. You don’t want other people to call the cops after seeing a naked man in the streets.” Unaware of the fact I can hear her perfectly even as she mutters under her breath, she adds. ‘’Or me to pick you up at the police station because of it.’’ 

Amused by the funny image the fantastical scenario creates in my mind, I relent. “Yes, ma’am.”

Once we’re both dressed, Y/N makes way for the bathroom to do her makeup. Ignoring my protests it’s unnecessary since there’s nothing to hide or improve to make me love her more, she closes the door behind her and locks it.

There goes the plan of dragging her out of there by the collar to have her scratch my jaw and ear again instead. A much better way to pass the time, if you ask me.

In the meanwhile, I return to the bedroom to take a picture of the damage with my phone and send it to Jinyoung.

Jaebeom: We need to talk.

Immediately, I get a response.

Jinyoung: Yes, we absolutely do. Everything OK?

Jaebeom: Yes, Y/N is fine. Alive. A little shaken, but so am I. Well, we’re more than a little shaken. Fuck, Jinyoung, I don’t know what happened.

Jinyoung: I’ll drop by later today. I have to give a lecture in a bit and have to see a new patient afterwards. He’s going through the reintegration program right now and needs a little extra help.

Jaebeom: Help with what? What is he?

Jinyoung: A wolf. Not a standard case.

Jaebeom: Anything I can help with?

Jinyoung: I think you need to focus on yourself right now. I’ll be at the shop around two.

Footsteps disturb the silence, going from the bathroom to the hallway.

That was quick. Are females always this fast with applying their face?

It’s a funny phrase, ‘applying my face’. Also, it’s the argument the pretty lady used as the final word on the matter. But she already has a face so there’s no need to apply a second like some Greek god.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Ears perked, I glance around the corner into the living room and in Y/N’s direction.

“Work?” she answers sheepishly, looking back at me with her head slightly tilted to the side. In her hands is the black trench coat she was about to put on.

Fortunately, she’s kept her makeup natural with a golden brown eyeshadow, a bit of a black line to accentuate her eyes and something to enhance her lashes. It’s a natural look which some of the female customers could learn from with their fake lips or chest that makes them reek of silicone and plastic. Their makeup, often overemphasizing their fake features, doesn’t add to their supposed charm. In fact, it makes me turn my snout away even faster if their attitude already hasn’t.

I’d never offer them coffee or want them around more than once.

But not her.

Not Y/N.

I can’t remember if she wore the same makeup when we met, but I vaguely recall a sense of calm and need for protection alongside a strange recognition. A connection that would make all the puzzle pieces of my life fit together.

The missing last piece.

“Not so fast.” I swiftly move to her side to kiss her forehead. No way I’m letting her go without giving her at least one more.

“There,” I pet her head, griggling and sweeping my tail triumphantly, “now you’re free to go.”

“I wouldn’t have gone without telling you, you know?” She stands on the tip of her toes to peck me on the lips, slightly swaying side to side to keep her balance.

So I lean forward to make it easier for her and chuckle against her lips. “Have a good day at work, Y/N.”

“You too, Jae.”

And with that, she puts on her coat, grabs her bag and opens the front door. She lingers in the doorway, waving half-heartedly as a final word of goodbye.

I wave back, faking a smile to see her off without worry.

Being human again isn’t so bad.

However, the deadline is another story.

The shop is as tranquil as it is on any other day. The quietness of unread words hangs between the shelves, the only noise to disrupt the silence being the rustle of a page being turned. Seated by the window as per usual, listening to the hail in the dim light, I read the time away, but whereas it’s normally a form of amusement and pleasure, it now functions in part to forget this morning’s discovery.

I didn’t mean to pry, but I inspected Y/N’s bookshelves before I left her apartment. There was the usual assortment of classics, but also a lot of Asian fiction, a genre I haven’t delved into too much yet. So, of course with the intention of returning it, I took Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami with me.

She must have read it recently because her fruity scent still lingers on the paper. The summer blend distracts me to the point that the movement of the hands of the clock pass unnoticed in the background.

Regardless of the appointed time, it’s half past two instead of two o’clock that Jinyoung comes in. In his one hand he holds a carrier with two paper cups, the sleeves on them decorated with the silhouette of a black wolf and the name of the café printed in vintage letters beneath the design, the letters spelling out Wolf’s. Judging by the scent, it’s tea the doctor has brought with him. Apple cinnamon for me, since that’s the only one I like, and rooibos for himself.

In his other hand, he holds his bag. One of the claps has either not been fastened before he left or came undone along the way. Whatever the reason, it’s clear he came here in a hurry.

“Sorry I’m late. Christian and I had a lot more to discuss than we thought.” Jinyoung stumbles inside, puts the tea and his bag on the counter, and turns around to lock the door and flip the sign so we can talk in private.

A hint of leather mixed with coffee and wood is mixed in with his own.

Male.

Threat.

Teeth gritted and jaw clenched, I make a mental note to myself to keep this scent away from Y/N. To keep this Christian away from her.

“Jaebeom,” the other male sighs. His tone holds a silent warning of being close to breaking some kind of boundary.

“What?” The answer rolls off the tongue as a growl rather than an actual question. Not that it matters since he must have had a lot worse to endure from me. Besides, it’s not him I’m pissed at so he’s safe.

Although, the wild undertone in his already peculiar personal blend alludes to the opposite.

Has he always smelled like this or is this new? He is human, but then why does my instinct tell me to watch out for him, that there’s more than to him? Strange. 

“He’s no competition. I think he might have imprinted with my colleague, although neither he nor she might be aware of it.” He rolls his eyes. “The gods know whether Gráinne will do anything with it. I wonder if... no, I don’t think either of them told her anything.”

A grim wistfulness stains his voice, which ignites a curiosity about his colleague’s circumstances. Notwithstanding, that story will have to wait until another day and his willingness to tell me.

Still, I quickly fish my phone out of my pocket, open the notes app, and jot down a short reminder to ask about it at a later date.

“Anyway,” Jinyoung steps away from the door, hands me the cup with apple cinnamon tea, and gestures at the worn couch by the window overlooking the west side of the neighbourhood, “we’re here to talk about you. About the picture you sent.”

We move away from the counter to the sofa. A burst of hail spatters against the glass as we sit down.

I’m glad to have something to hold to conceal the shivers running through my body at the image of the claw mark mixed with the memory of what Y/N told me she felt. Or, rather, thought she felt although I’m certain she actually did feel the first ripples of transformation.

For a moment, we sit in silence as I mentally prepare myself for the conversation. Nipping on the tea with my shoulders curled over my chest, I try to reconstruct last night as best I can.

As much as my memory lets me.

To break the... something. There’s an idiom, no, a phrase? A saying.

I don’t know.

Not anymore.

To make it easier, likely noticing the struggle to say anything, Jinyoung speaks up. “There’s more than the photo. You’re leaving things out, things I need to know to help. What aren’t you telling me, Jaebeom?”

“Y/N-” I begin, my breath unsteady as I restart the sentence, “Y/N said she felt my skin move and if I try to remember last night, I can only recall fragments that give me a headache when I try to string them together. Which I can’t.”

He pales, frozen in place as the weird briny scent sours. “That shouldn’t-’’

“Shouldn’t happen,” I finish the remark. 

A horrifying idea arises that sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end and has me nervously tapping my thumbs together as I try not to squeeze the cup in my paws. Nonetheless, voice a low woof bordering on a melancholic whine, I tell the doctor what’s on my mind. “I think the pills stopped working. Completely. I- I don’t think-’’

The world stops, shrinks, and strings my chest as tight as a string as I shrink within myself. Each thought evaporates as fast as the flashes in the wolf’s memory, incoherent if meant to be sensible at all.

The snow hasn’t even come.

I can’t leave her alone.

I don’t want to leave this life.

I don’t want to go just when being human again starts to get good.

I don’t want to be the old me again.

  “I think so too,” Jinyoung agrees grimly. “If I increase the silver and nightshade or the doses it will kill you.”

He tilts his head to the side, eyes sharp with focus as he poses the question I’ve been wondering about myself. “Does she know what you are?”

I shake my head. I might be her weirdo wolf guy, but she’d never believe me if I told her what I really am. Besides, werewolves are the stuff of fiction these days.

We’re no longer seen as a real threat nor have the power and status we used to have in the days of yore. We are devoid of an identity acknowledged by humans.

But, if I don’t possess an identity, am I really here?

Alive?

Or dead like the wolf inside?

Paradise is calling, the song of the forest playing like a red thread through my broken memory.

Beckoning me home.

The woods are calling.

And I must not go.

Jinyoung’s new question pulls me out of my reverie, just in time before the train of thought would crash and burn. “Are you going to tell her?”

“No.” I take a sip of the sweet tea, to have a second of bliss and enjoy a new human pleasure.

Another happiness I discovered a little too late.

“Will you at least tell her about your meds?” Even though she’s seen me take them, Y/N doesn’t know what they’re for. But, then again, did she look at the label?

Regardless of whether she did or not, she’s perhaps not truly ignorant to the reason I have to take them. After all, she thinks they combat my amnesia, which is partially true. It’s a half-truth.

But the real reason is a secret I intend to keep.

“No,” I repeat, determined in my answer regardless of the world spinning out of control. “I won’t tell her.”

“She deserves that much, doesn’t she? She’s your girlfriend, Jay.’’ Although his features have softened, the doctor’s voice rises to a fierce bark as he reinforces his point. ‘’Your mate.”

“I can’t tell her,’’ I retort, my bark closer to a growl than a civilized answer. Tears brim on the edge of my lashes, obscuring my vision in spite of my attempts to blink them away. The vision of Y/N by herself in the snow, on her knees in the middle of the orchard, blocks my throat and makes breathing harder than it already was. 

The vision changes to the image of a spring day close to summer, warm enough for her to wear the dress with the lemons. She’s seated in the same position between the trees which are now white and pink with blossom. However, whereas her belly was flat before, it’s now swollen, pregnant with pups.

My pups?

No, I have to stay here.

I have to survive the winter.

I have to be here if I ever change my mind and want to start a pack with her.

I must be here.

But the question is whether I actually can.

At this rate, I’m not sure.

I don’t know.

But I know enough to explain why I’m reluctant to tell my pretty lady anything. ‘’I can’t tell her, because the news will hurt her and I don’t want that. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Plus, what am I supposed to say? I’m a wolf that turned into a man and is slowly dying, going back to his old form in which it... he. Am human. In which he’ll be stuck until it- He! Am human! Until he dies?

“Y/N has to know about this, Jaebeom.’’ A hand on my shoulder makes me look up from the floor to the man next to me. ‘’How about I talk to her, tell her what you told me and discuss what our options are as well as a plan for the future?”

“You’re right.” I let out a mirthless griggle. “Fuck, I hate it when you are. But… But how will you… explain, uhm, explain… this- me! How will you explain me? What I am? For all she cares, werewolves are my- myth- fic-’’ I throw my head back, frustrated I can’t find the right word or properly speak.

Jinyoung gives me an encouraging squeeze, kindheartedly chuckling at my failure. “I know what you mean. Nobody comes into our world willingly or at least without a good reason. I think your... situation is enough of the latter for her to get involved too. She doesn’t have to join the branch, I’ll leave that up to her. But, if Y/N decides to believe me, or us for that matter, she’ll at least have a community to rely on when you, you know, you’re...”

“When I’m gone.’’ The hesitance to state the facts makes me grimace and my tone sharper than intended. ‘’We both know where this is heading so just say it.”

“Fine,’’ the doctor puts his hands up as if he’s at the risk of being shot ‘’when you’re gone.”

“What’ll happen to the shop?” I gesture around the paper paradise, changing the topic slightly. Books have been another treasure of humanity I will forever be grateful for, especially since I hopefully have created a legacy with them that’s worth keeping.

The doctor glances around, a somber expression on his face. “Either the university will keep it and maintain it as a potential workplace in the reintegration program or sell it off. I don’t know, real estate doesn’t fall within my jurisdiction.”

“Ah, I see.” I lower my head, gaze averted to the half-empty cup in my paws.

Funny how I once thought of making this a family business or to have at least my pup’s name on the spine of one of these books. If I ever had them, would they like to be a writer? Would Y/N tell them their absent father, I... I love... loved to read?

I force myself to forget the thought, swallow despite having a dry mouth, and shake my head. “Thank you. For wanting to tell her. She’ll come over tonight, so-’’

He holds up his hand to stop me. “I’ll text her so we can meet at a later date. She just returned from a business trip and had quite the evening with you. You two deserve a bit of rest.”

“But what if...”

It’s unlikely, but what if it happens again? What if I spin out of control tonight?

“Keep your temper in check and try to suppress your instinct,” Jinyoung answers matter-of-factly.

So, no sex.

Although the unspoken implication doesn’t come as a surprise, I can’t help but feel disappointed even though Y/N and I agreed on not doing it again so soon. Notwithstanding, it would be a lie to say I didn’t want to do it again this morning. But then there was the pool of blood and the amnesia that ruined our morning bliss.

All the same, flashes of what I do remember from last night replay in my mind.

They say once you’ve had a wolf, you never go back. Maybe because I won’t let you.

She looked beautiful, tears glistening in her eyes, equally as beautiful as her meek whimpers. She’s so small and fragile, easy to overpower.

To conquer.

“Your mind’s…. gutter again, isn’t it?” A groan sounds from somewhere on the side, distant like a faint echo

I was inside her.

In spite of the weird plastic, she felt nice.

Warm.

Wet.

I replay the image of her whimpering on the sheets as I looked down at her over and over. My hand on her cheek and Y/N keeping it in place. I should have used that second to dive down and worship her soft breasts more.

I could have bitten her there. Just a small bite on the side.

The snapping of a pair of fingers before my eyes interrupts the pleasant reverie. A bit offended, I snap around to growl at whoever took the pleasure of a cherished memory away.

 Only to face Jinyoung, who sighs and looks down at the bulge in my pants before pursing his lips with an exasperated knowing expression as he looks up. 

Scrambling to regain my composure and hardly remembering what he said, I answer as best I can. “No!”

“Then why are you drooling?”