#necktie knot

[and-his-hands-were-24-crows]

Throwback to the 2021 office party that I went to like it was a competition.

(Someday I'll have a vest that fits how I want.)

#clean lines and the most aggressively pretentious necktie knot I could learn #LED facemask not pictured #the window between vaccines and omicron was a liminal space #nonbinary #nonbinary fashion #masc fashion #24 crows fashion #it's just me #still just Ken

[janja-5]

#big collar blouse #necktie #hot asian babe #knotting blouse

[rafeandonlyrafe]

diy

words: 1k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, video recording sex, male and female receiving oral, a bit of cum play, p in v sex, unprotected p in v sex, overstimulation, light bondage (request)

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl

“look up at the camera for me pretty girl.” rafe calls, making your eyes flicker up to his cellphone pointed down at you, keeping eye contact as you sink your mouth down his cock, moaning as you come back up.

you pull off with a smile, wrapping your hand around his length instead and stroking as you flick your tongue out to lap over the tip. rafe moans above you, showing his appreciation at your movements, especially when you dip back down and start to bob your head.

you’ve already been sucking rafe off for a while, and he told you he wanted to capture his climax on video for when you are on vacation with your family next week, sadly leaving him alone with his left hand.

“cum on my face.” you tell rafe when you need to pull off for some air. his cock simply takes up too much space in your mouth and throat for you to keep him in for too long without getting dizzy due to lack of oxygen.

“fuck, yeah baby.” rafe reaches down to reach his hand around his length, beginning to stroke himself as you pull your tits out of your shirt so rafe gets it on video as well. 

you stick your tongue out when the first droplet hits your face, followed by ropes of rafes cum as he releases all over. you moan as some lands on your tongue, greedily dragging your finger through the cum and licking it off as rafe rides out his high.

“god, i’m gonna have fun jerking off to that while you’re gone.” rafe says with a laugh.

--

“can i get my phone and video?” rafe asks, making you whine. he’s already been teasing you for the past two hours, starting with touching your thigh under the table and dinner and then moving riskily close to your cunt before taking you back to his room and kissing all over your body except where you really want it.

“i don’t care, just want you in me.” you say, and rafe laughs at your desperation, always so easy to break down into a whiny whore when you are deprived of an orgasm.

you hear rafe walk away to get his camera, but keep your face pressed against the mattress, staying in the position at the end of the bed on your hands and knees, or at least it was your hands when rafe originally put you in that position, your weary body has since slumped.

“gonna get a close up of your pretty cunt first.” rafe says, holding the camera up to your pussy and rubbing his fingers through your folds before spreading them, showing the most intimate parts of you, but you trust rafe to have them.

he stands, angling the camera downward now as he lines his cock up with your entrance before sinking in with a satisfied moan.

--

“record me eating you out.” rafe says, tossing the phone up next to you on the bed.

“i-i can’t.” you whine, flexing your hands that are still tied to the headboard with his necktie.

“fuck, i forgot.” rafe groans, like it’s an inconvenience to him, like he’s not the one that tied you up in the first place.

“i can’t believe you’re going away again.” rafe complains as he slides up the bed to undo the knot. “you just came back a month ago and now another vacation? what am i supposed to do when i crave your sweet pussy?”

“i’ll only be gone for like three days- oh!” you gasp when rafe doesn’t waste any time, burying his face in your cunt. you barely have the head space to grab the phone, but manage to begin recording, pointing the camera down at rafe as his mouth devours you.

you’ll have to remember to ask rafe to send this video too you later, because as much as you like to tease him for needing to make homemade porn for him to get off to, you need your needs met too when you are apart.

--

“how many times have you cum tonight?” rafe asks, his cock pistoning in and out of you. 

“five.” you say breathlessly, hips undulating, unable to tell if you are trying to get away from the pounding of his cock or move closer to it.

“and i’ve recorded every single one of them.” rafe smirks, knowing this one in particular will be a favorite of his to look back on with the moans and screams he managed to drag out of you.

you glance to the camera, set up on a tripod that he got specifically for this purpose as rafes hands grip your hips so tight it hurts, but you can’t focus on that pain, or the burning in your spread thighs, just on his cock spreading you wide open.

rafe moves his thumb to rub over your clit, and this time you do try to get away as you squirm up the bed, unsure if you can handle another orgasm. 

“come on baby, one more.” rafe says.

“that’s what you said after that last one!” you complain, but you can tell by the pulsing off his cock inside of you that rafe isn’t far from his own orgasm. 

“don’t be a brat, come on, cum for me now and for all the times i watch this while you’re gone.” rafe says, flicking over your clit in rapid motion.

your body arches off the bed, unable to hold back as you follow his command, somehow wringing a sixth orgasm out of your body. upon feeling you constrict around him, rafe finally lets the flood go, filling you up as he pounds into you until he can’t move anymore, collapsing to the side of you.

you both lay in bed, breathing heavily. cum drips out of you onto the comforter but that's a problem for the morning as rafe rolls onto his back, pulling you into him.

“the camera is still recording.” you say, laying your head against rafes chest.

“i just pounded your pussy red, i don’t think i would call that soft.”

“maybe i should record you sleeping so i can fall asleep with you while you’re gone.” rafe says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

you tsk with a soft laugh. “imagine if people knew that big bad rafe cameron was such a softie.”

#rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe one shot #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron one shot

[ykharido]

Looking for the best men's ascot tie for every occasion, you are on the right place. Ykar!do offering best quality ascot ties for your next formal, wedding, or gala event, try this fashionable, elegant, and individually hand-crafted necktie made in India, ORDER NOW!!

#ascot necktie #formal ascot tie #ascot knot scarf #wedding ascot tie #men in ascots #designer ascots

[suiteddaily]

When it comes to men's fashion, there's something undeniably charming and sophisticated about a blue suit. And when you pair it with a vibrant purple necktie, you take your look to the next level. The contrast between the two colors is both bold and stylish, creating a powerful impact.

But pulling off a blue suit and purple necktie combo takes more than just the right clothes. It's all about the attitude you bring to the outfit. Wear it with confidence, walk with purpose, and own your look. And don't forget about the little details, like a well-polished pair of dress shoes or a sleek silver watch.

So next time you're getting dressed up for a special occasion, consider the blue suit and purple necktie combo. It's a statement look that's sure to turn heads and leave a lasting impression.

#suit and tie #suit up #Suits #suit #suited daddy #Suited Men #suited man #suited up #suited #Necktie #neckties #necktie knot #menatplay #sheer socks #sheershocks #white shirt

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Mr Gaiman! My partner and I are reading American Gods together (taking turns reading aloud) and we came across a sentence we cannot make the meaning of. If you don't mind, what did you mean by "But the conditions of transportation were such that, for some, it was easier to take the leap from the leafless and dance on nothing until the dancing was done."?

I've read American Gods before but never caught the phrase! Thanks so much!

From Farmer and Henley's Slang and its Analogues:

To mount a ladder (to bed or to rest), verb. phr. (common).—To be hanged.

1560. Nice Wanton [Dodsley, Old Plays (1874), ii. 172]. Thou boy, by the mass, ye will climb the ladder.

1573. Harman, Caveat [E. E. T. S., 1869, p. 31]. Repentance is never thought upon till they clyme three trees with a ladder.

1859. Matsell, Vocabulum, s.v. He mounted the ladder, he was hung.

English synonyms. To cut a caper upon nothing, or one's last fling; to catch, or nab, or be copped with, the stifles; to climb the stalk; to climb, or leap from the leafless, or the triple tree; to be cramped, crapped, or cropped; to cry cockles; to dance upon nothing, the Paddington frisk, in a hempen cravat, or a Newgate hornpipe without music; to fetch a Tyburn stretch; to die in one's boots or shoes, or with cotton in one's ears; to die of hempen fever or squinsy; to have a hearty choke with caper sauce for breakfast; to take a vegetable breakfast; to marry the widow; to morris (Old Cant); to trine; to tuck up; to swing; to trust; to be nubbed; to kick the wind; to kick the wind with one's heels; to kick the wind before the Hotel door; to kick away the prop; to preach at Tyburn cross; to make (or have) a Tyburn show; to wag hemp in the wind; to wear hemp, an anodyne necklace, a hempen collar, a caudle, circle, cravat, croak, garter, necktie or habeas; to wear neckweed, or St. Andrew's lace; to tie Sir Tristram's Knot; to wear a horse's nightcap or a Tyburn tippet; to come to scratch in a hanging or stretching match or bee; to ride the horse foaled of an acorn, or the three-legged mare; to be stretched, topped, scragged, or down for one's scrag.

#to have a hearty choke with caper sauce for breakfast

[nouearth]

a lover's quarrel.

pairing ; dick grayson x m!reader. fandom: ; dc, nightwing. word count ; 589. genre; fluff. rating ; pg. warnings ; blue is dick's color, playful quarreling, stressed!dick.

“okay, just gotta get my keys and-“ dick’s voice caught onto the draft when he entered the bathroom, lips parted as he was dumbstruck when your outfit met his eye. 

the fifth try at your necktie kept you alert, attentive to every loop and knot the mirror reflected back at you. the night has been stressful and you admitted to yourself that it was a conscious effort to drown out dick’s voice, especially when he’s been stressed and cranky ever since bruce called to have dinner with the two of you. though you couldn’t blame him. it’ll be your first time meeting bruce and from what dick has told—maybe even convinced—you of him, he seemed intimidating.

with one last tug, you broke out into a wide smile when the blue tartan necktie lied neatly on your chest, completing the rest of your outfit. you’ve never been too keen on dressing this formally, but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t think you looked good—handsome even.

“huh! what do you think?“ the tie swung with you when you turned towards your boyfriend, your hands gestured downwards the length of your figure where your gaze would follow and his does too. “don’t i look dashing? haven’t dressed like this since my friend’s funeral-“

“change your tie.” dick bluntly stated, an uncompromising tone that you’re set to deter.

 “what- no! why!” you turned back towards the mirror in disbelief, brows furrowed in frustration as you began adjusting your tie again, ignoring the approaching man occupying the space to your side.

“come on, we can’t meet bruce with matching ties!” 

“what are you talking about?” the roll of your eyes met the back of your eyelids as you had already convinced yourself dick was being dramatic again, but you were tongue-tied when your gaze landed on a familiar pattern. blue tartan. “oh- okay, well i started dressing up first! you saw me grab the tie!”

 “yet you finished last!” he grumbled, marching back into the bedroom. you heard his drawer opening, which prompted you to follow him—only after double-checking your dress-shirt is wrinkle free and your hair is up to satisfaction. “and i saw you with A TIE, not with THE TIE.”

“what’s the point in even gifting me this tie if i can’t wear it? and why did you buy me the same one you already have?!” you watched dick shuffle through his assortment of neckties as you leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. the sound of fabric swept over another filled the silence while dick began narrowing down different options, pondering.

“…because it’s cute to have matching ties.” amusing yet annoying, that was all you could say about this argument—if you could even call it that.

“then what’s the problem-“

“just not tonight, y/n.” turning back, dick squinted as he held several different neckties out towards you as if you were a ken doll, framing the accessory just beneath your chin so it would align with your actual tie.

“oh my god, then why don’t you change your tie?”

“blue looks great on me.”

“okay, well so do i?”

“washes you out a bit.” you scoffed. usually you’d fire back with a banter, but you’re much too annoyed to keep this going. instead, you neared closer to him only to fall back onto the bed with a composed sigh, arms sprawled out to open the space between your chest, expecting dick to change your tie for you.

“how about red?”

“dick, i swear to god-“

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works.

#✰ : nou.fics #✰ : nou.dc #✰ : nou.dickgrayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x male reader #dick grayson x m!reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #nightwing x reader #nightwing x y/n #nightwing x you #nightwing x male reader #nightwing x m!reader #x male reader #x m!reader #m!reader #male reader #dc comics #dc comics fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc imagine #dc x male reader #dc x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson fic #dick grayson fanfic #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson fluff #nightwing #nightwing fic

[ninjaturtlemaniac]

Part 4 Trolls Headcanons/ Theories/ Thoughts/ Ideas

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part5 Part6 Part7 Part8 Part9 Part10

Bruce - theorizes that his daughter LaBreezy will be the one to take over the restaurant.

Bruce - tries developing and inventing his own recipes, Brandy has to remind him that not everyone can handle as much sugar as a Troll can. He reels it back a bit.

Bruce - makes specific food for different reasons. E.g. makes bread when he's angry so he can take it out on the dough, makes lasagnas so he can use the leftovers as an excuse to visit someone, makes spicy dishes when he wants revenge.

John Dory - has been arrested before, he changes the reason everytime someone asks.

John Dory - occasionally uses 'chewing tobacco' (which honestly in the Trolls-verse would be some kinda chewing gum 😂)

John Dory - serial flirt (very bad at it, he thinks he's great at it)

John Dory - does weird stuff because of his isolation e.g. will eat what's left over on the plates when Bruce's customers leave, will ask when the baby's due but they're just overweight, will go into detail about gutting a fish in front of Trollings.

John Dory - can open a wine/champagne bottle with his machete and light a match with his teeth

Clay - occasionally tutors math to Trollings.

Clay - has a decent sized nest egg

Clay - graduated highschool early

Clay - has business cards stored in his hair

Clay - knows how to tie different knots for neckties.

Clay - can spin a pen around his fingers

Clay - is thinking of getting his own critter transportation

Floyd - was 100% sure he was going to die in the bottle. He now has a new outlook on life after being given a second chance.

Floyd - wants a long term relationship but is afraid of getting attached and being used.

Floyd - practices advanced yoga

Floyd - has developed claustrophobia

Floyd - released one solo album, one limited run, it was mentioned he is a former member Brozone on the cover to boost sales. It was a flop. This crushed Floyd.

Branch - toying with the idea of building plans for a Pop Village Castle. (Secretly a fortress)

Viva - biggest Broppy shipper. Already has their wedding planned in her head.

Viva - adrenaline junkie

Viva - no sense of personal space

Tiny Diamond - checks on Branch and Poppy's egg daily asking if his new BFFL is here yet.

Pop Trolls - King Peppy invented all these bizarre holidays when they were trapped in the Troll tree to keep hope alive and to boost morale.

Putt-Putt Trolls - all delayed having Trollings worrying for their future safety. The very few eggs that hatched are hidden and protected by the whole tribe. (Putt-Putt baby names: Birdie, Par, Ace, Caddie, Fore, Eagle, Divot, Links, Scramble) Clay and Viva were present for every one of them hatching.

Rhonda - locks JD outside when she's annoyed with him. "Who needs you, I wanted to sleep on this rock anyway!"

#dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls band together #trolls floyd #trolls clay #trolls john dory #trolls bruce #trolls viva #trolls branch #trolls poppy #broppy

[starryriize]

kiss me kiss me | eunseok

— ✧ • ˳೫˚ part of my valentine event!

೫ pairing: corporate worker bf! eunseok and gf! reader

೫ summary: you surprise your boyfriend while he's stuck at work with flowers and of course, kisses! however, you didn't expect him to look so attractive.

೫ genre/word count: kinda fluffy but more suggestive! 668 words!

೫ author's note: ngl i wrote this really quickly because i didn't like the first draft of this so...here we are :)) good lord i was giggling and kicking as i wrote this fr <3 this could definitely be better though...

Eunseok rarely let the effects of lack of sleep get to him. Most days, he could easily get by with a shot of espresso and some coffee, but today was one of those days. It was one of those days when everything was thrown at him and there wasn’t enough time in the day to get it all done. His once pristine desk was now piled with papers and proposals that were meant to be finished. Reaching up to his collar, he laced his fingers under his necktie, roughly pulling it to undo the knot. 

His suit jacket was strewn across his office chair along with his discarded company badge. There was a new client that his boss had wanted to get signed before the end of the day. His phone buzzes, the dim light shining facedown on his desk. Picking up his phone, he glances at the text from you, finding it cute that you wanted to visit him with a pick-me-up.

10 minutes later, he heard the ever-familiar ding from the elevator. The soft click of your heels can be heard as you walk down the halls along with the soft whirr of the elevator going back down. You approach Eunseok's office, seeing him sitting at his desk, head resting in his hands. You open the door slowly, peeking your head in, exclaiming, "Honey! I brought some midnight snacks for us!" He perks up, eyes instantly sparkling upon seeing you in his office.

Getting up, he walks over to you, pulling you into a tight hug. For him, you were the cure to every single one of his problems. His hands found their way to your cheeks, wordlessly pressing his lips against yours. It was rushed, full of want and need. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush of kissing in his office, even though there was no one else in the office building. Maybe it was the stress of work, but your boyfriend looked far too good in his white shirt and loosened tie. You pull away, not wanting to give in too quickly or ignore the food that is getting cold. His eyes were glazed over as he leaned back against the front of his desk, teasing, "What? Do you want more?" You contemplate it, smirking in response, dragging your eyes up and down his figure. If he was a tease, you were the devil. Your eyes land on his loosened tie and you let your intrusive thoughts take over.

Stepping closer, you lightly trace your fingers down his white shirt, noticing how he slightly shivered at your touch. Looping a finger around the bottom of his tie, you tug it, pulling him towards you. "Hey-" he exclaims, wondering what you were doing. "Shhhh." You add, before pulling him in for a passionate kiss with his tie. The kiss was far from innocent, the only sounds that could be heard were both of your breathless moans into each other lips. Eunseok's mind was melting as you kissed him more impatiently, your tongues molding against each other. He kissed you as though you were the most decadent chocolate, savoring every taste, swallowing your pretty sighs. He dragged his hands away from your waist, dropping lower to grab your ass, giving it a little smack. “Eun-ah!” You yelp, but he chases your lips, wanting you to be the only air he breathes. He pulls you closer and the way his lips perfectly moved against yours drove you insane. By now, the food was not the snack that your boyfriend wanted, rather he wanted to have you. This moment, in his office, was simply the prelude to what would be a long night.

You both pull away, chests heaving from the lack of air, and smiling hazily at each other. "Let's continue…this at home,” he says between pants. He smiles, lopsided and dazed, as though he got drunk on the taste of your lips. You nod, catching your breath before asking him, “So, what’s for dessert tonight?”

“You.”

#laur’s thoughts 🧚🏼‍♀️ #laur’s valentine 💌 #riize imagines #riize x reader #riize scenarios #riize eunseok x reader #eunseok imagines #riize smut

[skzdarlings]

part ii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: eventual smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending.

-

It did not occur to you to set a morning alarm as you are always woken by a knock on the door and a shout to get ready for school.   Today you are woken by a hand on your shoulder and the unexpected touch startles you out of slumber. 

Your hand swipes in a frenzied arc that Felix catches, smooth and swift.  

And that’s how yesterday comes rushing back all at once.  You stare into the eyes of your so-called bodyguard and bed-mate, recalling his brief outburst of emotion but finding Felix to be unresponsive and bland once more.  His mouth is in that stupid flat line and he cocks his head, glancing at your hand in his fist. 

“Good morning,” he says in that deep voice. 

You wrench your hand back.  He lets it go. 

“The car’s outside,” he says.  “You should get dressed for school.”

“What?”  Your head whips to your bedside clock.  You are usually woken half an hour before the car arrives, not when it is already at the door.  “Why didn’t anyone wake me!” 

You frantically swing out of bed, limbs in a windmill.  Felix takes a few steps back.    

“Sorry,” he says.  “I thought you’d get up on your own.”   

He is already dressed in his school uniform, white collared shirt, grey dress pants, grey blazer.  He has the dark necktie in his hands and his red beanie on his head.  Your eye twitches with annoyance at it, but maybe that annoyance is just for his general existence. 

“You can’t wear hats, stupid,” you say, reaching to snatch the beanie off his head.  He dodges your hand.  “They’ll take it away.” 

He looks at you uncertainly but swipes the beanie off his head. 

“Go get dressed,” is all he says. 

With an eye roll, you stomp over to your massive walk-in closet.  It is very annoying that it does not have a door you can slam, but you slide it shut as forcefully as you can.  

The uniform makes it a little easier to get ready quick, but you are still annoyed at the rush.  You scurry out of the closet still shoving your arms through the blazer sleeves, your kilt longer than you like, with one sock pulled up to your knee and the other stuck around your ankle.

Felix is perched on the edge of the bed, all his attention on his tie.  He clearly has no idea how to wear it properly, looping the fabric like an army knot. 

You watch him.  He looks at you then rips the tie off completely, crumpling it in his fist.  Your own is already tied and he looks at it.  You cross your arms.  He stares at you. 

You want him to ask for help just so you can say no, but he looks so pathetic sitting there in your girly bedroom in his schoolboy uniform, his hair still ruffled from removing his precious beanie.  He looks even more ridiculous when he dons an unaffected air as if trying to appear more adult.  It makes him look even more his age.

“Ugh.”  You stomp over to him.  “Give it to me.” 

He obeys without protest, passing you the tie. 

“I should strangle you with it,” you say, hooking it around his neck and jerking him closer.  He bumps into your stomach.  “Then all my problems would be solved.”

“Would they, though?” he asks, looking up at you with his glassy dark eyes, innocent despite the sass in his tone. 

“Shut up,” you reply. 

Even his laugh is deep.  You hate him. 

“There.”  You push the knot up to his throat, tighter than necessary.  He adjusts it wordlessly.  “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” he says, pretending to miss the sarcasm. 

He ducks down and grabs your sock, tugging it up to your knee.  The unexpectedness makes you jump.  You feel an unbidden rush of embarrassed heat flow to your face, worsening when he looks up at you.  You have a moment of proximity awareness, that a boy your own age is in your room and he is alone with you, and he has pretty dark eyes and freckles and a cute smile. 

But then he says, “I’ll call your dad and tell him we slept in but should be on time for school.” 

Then you remember what he is, and you hate him again.   

“You’re gross,” is your lacklustre retaliation. 

“Hmm, maybe, I haven’t showered yet today,” he says, then reaches into his backpack.  “Also, if they’d take away my hat, do you think they’d take away this?” 

The little freak pulls a gun out of his backpack and blinks up at you with complete innocence.  When you just gawp at him, a smile tugs at his mouth and he scrunches up his face. 

“Nahh, you’re right,” he says.  “Bad idea for the first day of school.”  Then he puts it in his drawer with his beanie and slams it shut.  He smiles at you.  “Shall we?”  He gestures to the door. 

You do not dignify his nonsense with a response.  You grab your own backpack and storm out of the room.            

-

The driver stops in his usual spot.  It feels very routine until you and Felix get out of the car and it simply drives off.  The driver usually waits until you are in sight of a guard posted at the main entrance to the high school. 

Today, you and Felix walk side-by-side, looking like two regular students as you approach the school.  You are still expecting to see one of the usual guards lurking around but you find no one when you search. 

A part of you feels lighter, the weight of their scrutinizing stares lifted, but then you remember how Felix spent the car-ride on the phone with your father, and that weight settles heavy as stone in your gut.  Felix is even worse than them, you tell yourself, because he is truly right beside you.  The schoolboy routine might fool other people but you can’t let it fool you.  Felix might look normal but he is not.  You are still trapped.  You cannot get complacent.   

You huff and look at Felix.  He has his head tipped all the way back, looking in awe at the high ceilings of the entryway.  With his true purpose in your mind, his presence grows more infuriating by the second. 

“Between this and the uniform, you’d think they don’t have schools in Australia,” you say dryly. 

He looks at you.  He is wearing a pristine new backpack and clutching the straps, standing ramrod straight, very contrary to the lazy sling of your worn leather bag and equally lazy slouch. 

“They do,” he answers simply.

“Then why are you acting like you’ve never attended school before?” you snap. 

He just blinks.  “I haven’t,” he says. 

The answer surprises you to silence.  Before you can find a reply, you are interrupted by the familiar voice of your best friend.

“Yo, yo, yo, what’s up, it’s my favourite girl and I’m not just saying that because she’s the only girl who will talk to me.”

You can’t help but snort, forever amused with Jisung’s antics.  He very literally bounces up to you, miming dribbling a basketball, then looking like he’s dancing, or maybe casting a spell.  He swirls his hands around and around, then holds his arms open for a hug. 

You accept it, looking at Felix even though there is nothing for him to report.  The previous guards already reported your friendship with Han Jisung but your father has never said anything about it.  You figure he sees Jisung as a non-entity, too poor to cross his radar, unthreatening with his anxiety and goofy disposition, and ultimately worthless thanks to his shit grades.  Your father doesn’t pay attention to human things, like how Jisung is funny when you get to know him, how he loves music more than anything, or how he is masterful with a pen, just not academically. 

Felix also fails to notice these things.  His attention narrows to a pinprick, gaze focused on Jisung’s backwards cap.

“Nice hat,” Felix says, undoubtedly thinking about his beanie back home. 

Hats are genuinely not allowed; Jisung just makes his own rules and lives by them, even when it gets him walloped him up the head by the math teacher.

Jisung notices Felix for the first time, his mouth curving into a perfectly round ‘O’ of surprise.  It is not everyday you are towing another student in your shadow.  You are cordial enough with your classmates but it’s hard to keep friends when you can never see them.  Jisung is the only one who never pushes it, content with your company when he has it. 

“Whaaat,” he says, looking at Felix then at you.  “Another new kid?” 

“Huh?” you say.  “There’s another new kid?” 

“Bro, things are weeeird today,” Jisung says, making an exploding gesture beside his head.  “Got back from the weekend: no more security guards!  And that janitor with the lazy eye who used to stare at me?  Gone.  Just poof.”  That janitor was one of your guards and he was watching you, not Jisung, but you always nodded along whenever Jisung went on a tirade about government watchdogs.  “Then someone says it’s all because of this rich new kid, that his dad didn’t like it or something so all he did was snap his fingers and boom, now the school is his.  Which is obviously stupid.  Money doesn’t let you get away with changing a whole school.” 

Money lets you get away with a lot of things.  There is a tingling pain where your cheek is still swollen from your father smacking you.  Your force yourself to smile at your naïve friend. 

“I don’t think that’s this kid,” you say.

“Aw, no, I knew that,” Jisung says. “I saw the other guy already.  He’s like… whoa.  Like whoa.  Like I hate him.  He better not talk to me, because it’s on fucking sight.” 

You burst out laughing because Jisung couldn’t win a fight against a battered puppy.  He laughs along, aware of his own ridiculousness. 

Felix just stands there, smiling politely but not laughing.  Eventually he asks, “Why don’t you like him?” 

“Bro, this dude was so beautiful it’s like he was wearing a filter in real life,” Jisung says this like a curse, dramatically scowling.  “Don’t worry, though, you’re cool with me.  Not that you’re ugly or anything.  My bad.  Anyway, I’m Jisung, what’s up?”

“Hi, I’m Felix.” 

Jisung holds out his fist and Felix looks at it.  You wonder if Felix even knows what a fist bump is.  Maybe they don’t have them in whatever backcountry crevice your father dug him out of, seeing as he has balked at several other mundane things, but then Felix smiles and completes the fist bump. 

He really does look like normal school kid.  You have to swallow down your aggravation. 

“Fee-licks…?” Jisung says.  “Weird name.  Cool boots.  Sexy voice.  I’m super jealous, maybe I do hate you.  Are the freckles real?”

“Uh.”  Felix furrows his brow.  “Yeah?”  He says it like it should be obvious and you hate that you almost laugh. 

“Cool, cool,” Jisung says.  “And the accent is…?”

“Australian.”

“Naaaur, that’s sick,” Jisung says, then clearly regrets it.  He turns his cap around to cover his eyes.  “Sorry.  It’s a Monday.  But this is fun, we’re a menage-a-trois now.”

“Um,” Felix says, coughing.  “Do you know what that means?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, frowning at Felix.  “Because no we’re not.  Felix isn’t my friend.  I just said I’d show him to his classes but I’m still sitting with you and he’s gonna deal with it.” 

You and Felix stare at each other and Jisung looks between you, eyes ping-ponging.  Eventually, he smiles and puts a hand on your shoulder. 

“All right,” Jisung says.  “You’re in a friendly mood, as usual.  We love to see it.  Felix, don’t let her scare you, she’s nice, you just need to give her a treat first.  That’s why I carry around a bag of her favourite spicy peanuts even though I am super allergic.”  His backpack is already unzipped, a messy binder sticking out of it, so he easily reaches back and plucks out a bag of peanuts. 

You take them from him, rolling your eyes affectionately. 

“Come on,” you say.  “Let’s go before your new arch nemesis walks by and I have to save your sorry ass.” 

You loop arms with Jisung and move swiftly ahead.  Felix trails behind you, hands on his backpack straps, glancing around the corridor.  You don’t know if his careful regard is curiosity or just him being a bodyguard, eyeing the rambunctious students and their open lockers with a wary eye.   

Jisung prattles on about some new cartoon.  He looks back to ask Felix if he has ever heard of it and Felix shakes his head.  While they are engaged with each other, your own attention strays.

It’s then you see him.  

You couldn’t care less about a beautiful new kid, not when Lee Minho is just a few feet away.

Oh god.  He really is perfect.  He looks like he walked off the screen of a drama, slouching against the wall with his hands in his pockets, his tie loose and blazer unbuttoned.  His brown hair falls neatly around his handsome face, his mouth quirked up in a smirky little half-grin.  He raises an eyebrow in reply to his friend, then he laughs, his whole face brightening with his delight. 

Minho is two years older than you, not yet a senior but the school’s It Boy regardless.  He attended the senior prom in his freshman year, escorting one of the senior girls, and it’s no surprise.  He’s handsome, he’s hilarious, he’s smart, he’s talented.  He’s everything.  Charmingly brusque and occasionally snarky, but a famously good friend underneath his teasing.  He has never been single for more than a day, but his ego has never blown up and none of his ex-girlfriends have anything bad to say about him. 

Your crush is like a fuzzy hug.  The edge of your vision blurs in a dreamy frame around his face.  He lifts a hand and tucks some hair behind his ear at the same moment he glances aside.  For a brief but substantial moment, your eyes meet.  Your heart stops. 

Then you step down funny and roll your ankle.   

Despite holding your arm, Jisung is too slow to catch you.  A small but strong hand grabs the back of your jacket and yanks, keeping you upright.  It doesn’t stop you from stumbling around like a newborn foal, but at least you don’t hit the ground. 

Your face is burning hot, your gut sinking with a flush of embarrassment.  You chance a look at Minho, his face in a somewhat concerned cringe before he goes back to laughing with his friends. 

Oh my god, you think.  This is the worst week of my life.  And that’s fucking saying something.

“Are you all right?”  Felix’s dumb deep voice is suddenly in your ear.  He is standing a lot closer, his hand in the middle of your back.

You shove him off, glaring.  Jisung puts a hand on your shoulder and says, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”  It makes you feel like a poorly behaved horse.  Minho isn’t paying attention anymore but it all feels so wretchedly embarrassing. 

Why is your existence so pathetic?  All you do is get jerked around, physically and emotionally.  You are a walking, talking font of humiliation.  Your face stings and your ankle hurts and both boys are looking at you with concern, except one of them is your friend who doesn’t know anything about your life and one of them is on a payroll and knows too much. 

“I’m fine!” you snap.  You tug down your blazer and adjust your collar.  “I’m fine.”

“Okay, baby,” Jisung says, trying to laugh, his big eyes still full of pity.  He glances back at Minho, then looks at Felix.  Barely audible, he whispers, “She likes him.” 

“Jisung!”  You whack him in the arm and he cries out like you chopped a limb. 

Felix just looks over at Minho, cocks an eyebrow, then looks back at you.  You have no idea why but it makes everything ten times worse.  It is silly to feel that way because all the girls have a crush on Minho so it is not a well-kept secret.  For some reason, Felix knowing you like someone makes it more embarrassing.  Not even because of your father, though you are certain Felix will tell him soon enough. 

You can’t even stomp to class because your ankle hurts.  You settle for stalking with a broody countenance. 

Your first classroom is arranged in tables that seat two, so you sit with Jisung in your usual spot.  Felix takes the spot directly behind you.  As a new face, he gets curious glances from other students. He pays them no mind.  He unpacks his bag in silence then he folds his hands neatly on the desk and stares at you.

You are glaring ferociously at a straight-faced Felix when Jisung elbows you sharply in the side.  You whack him but this time he whacks you back, making his big brown eyes even bigger than usual.  You look at him funny.  It takes a second to realize he is trying to point with his eyes.   

You look up just in time for an insanely gorgeous stranger to pass the desk.  You are certain your expression betrays you.  At least with Minho, you are mostly practiced at schooling your reactions, but this one catches you off guard. 

This must be the other new kid.  He’s really tall and slender, lacking Minho’s slightly thicker athleticism but more than compensating with a natural grace.  His black hair falls in a very neat shape around his perfect face, his cheekbones high, his brows thick, his lips full.  He is wearing a cross-strap satchel that he gracefully swings off. 

The only available seat is the one beside Felix.  The two boys glance at each other only briefly, neither knowing the other is also new.   All eyes are on them.  Felix must be aware but ignores it, his gaze resolutely focussed on yours.   The other new guy is clearly used to attention, smiling softly as he looks around. 

His eyes meet yours, your heart puttering because he holds your gaze. 

His soft smile spreads. 

Jisung coughs loudly.  You look at him and he mouths the word, “Traitor.” 

There is no time for conversation because the bell rings and the teacher starts class.  She takes a minute to introduce the two new kids: the foreigner, Lee Felix, and the transfer, Hwang Hyunjin.  Hyunjin apparently attended school on the other end of town but switched when his family moved into this district. 

It sounded like bullshit.  He crossed the city, not the country.  Surely no one transferred schools for something so petty as a twenty minute commute.  Maybe if Hyunjin was not so stunning, people would have bought the excuse, but the whole school was very interested in knowing everything about him. 

By lunch, several stories have spread, everything from expulsion for fighting to sleeping with a teacher, but you doubt the truth of the tales.  Almost all the stories tie into the removal of the security presence and you know that has nothing to do with Hyunjin. 

By far the most ridiculous is that he murdered another student and his rich father got rid of the security team so they would never find evidence if he killed again. 

Jisung told you that one.  You are not entirely convinced he didn’t start the rumour himself. 

“Felix,” Jisung says.  He points across the cafeteria table with a carrot stick.  “Tell the truth, have you ever killed anyone?” 

Felix chokes on his soup.   “What?” he asks, smiling with forced civility. 

You doubt Jisung notices his discomfort.  He is off in his own world, drawing shapes in the air with the carrot. 

“I just think,” Jisung drawls, “that it would be funny if everyone thought Mister Supermodel Oh Look At Me Look At Me was a serial killer, which he totally is by the way, but actually it was the super chill Australian dude with the skater hair.” 

Felix brushes at his dyed blonde bangs.  He glances at you but you have no rescue to offer, especially because Jisung’s question rattled you.

No, not the question.  The answer.  It clearly unnerved Felix.  Why would it startle him if the answer was not a resounding yes?  Has Felix killed someone?  He’s fourteen years old.  How could a kid have that kind of history? 

How could a kid get hired for a job like this? you remind yourself.  How could a kid be trusted to do the work of a whole team of men?  How could a kid devote every second of the day to watching someone else? 

How could a kid be willing to drive a knife through his hand just because an awful old man asked him? 

Felix clears his throat.  He grabs a napkin and dabs at his mouth.  By the time Jisung looks at him, Felix is smiling brightly.  He laughs a carefree laugh, completely blithe, like he has never had a problem bigger than flunking a math test. 

“You’re funny,” Felix says.  “I’ve like killed a few bugs if that counts.  Augh, you don’t even want to know the things I’ve squashed.” 

“Ohh, gross, yeah, Australian bugs are like the size of my head, right?”  Jisung cups his whole face in demonstration. 

“Bigger,” Felix says, scrunching his nose cutely. 

You feel sick. 

You shove your tray away and stand up, drawing their eyes to you.  Jisung asks where you’re going but Felix is already on his feet, ready to follow.  You don’t bother protesting.  It won’t do any good. 

You are thinking. 

Everyone has been so preoccupied with Hyunjin that no one has remarked on Felix at all.  You and Jisung tend to blend into the background so his seeming friendship with the outsiders probably didn’t help matters, but a new kid tends to garner attention no matter what. 

You wonder if Hyunjin is a plant, another of your father’s men, someone to take the heat off Felix until he’s settled.  Another pair of eyes.  Watching you.  Studying you. Following you.  In the light, in the dark, staring, recording, remembering –

Felix touches your arm and you whip around.  It catches him by surprise and clearly triggers something, because two seconds later you are squished against his chest with no way out. 

He releases you quickly, realizing what he did, and you stumble. 

“Closet,” you say before he can speak. 

He follows your line of sight to the nearby janitorial closet, opening his mouth to protest when you push him.  He gives you a beleaguered look but goes.  He walks with a casual saunter like nothing is amiss, like a closet is a normal place to go.    

You close the door, leaving you and Felix in the pitch black darkness.  There is probably a light somewhere but you are too frazzled to bother searching.  You get right to the point. 

“Is Hyunjin one of ours?” you demand. 

“Huh?”  You can’t see his face but you can picture that crinkle in his brow.  “What do you mean, one of ours?”

“Does he work for my father?”

“Obviously not,” Felix says.  “He’s clearly a civilian?”  He says this with incredulity, like it should be obvious.    

“How do you know that for sure?”

“Because I’m not a civilian,” he says, sounding impatient.  You wish you could see his face after all, wondering if he is showing proper emotion again.  Maybe he’s rolling his eyes.  It would reassure you, in a way, make your fears feel silly. “Look, I know the timing is like funny and stuff, but it’s really just a coincidence.  Your father would tell me if he was planning something so I could play along.  It would be stupid to plant something and not tell me.”

“So maybe you knew,” you say.  You are now thankful for the dark because tears spring to your eyes.  “Maybe you knew all along.  Maybe Hyunjin isn’t the only one.  Maybe there’s a dozen of you except now I don’t know what you look like.  Maybe you’re all watching me.  Maybe you’re all laughing at me, watching my dad do what he wants, watching him laugh at me too—”  

“Are you crying?” 

He sounds genuinely surprised.  A moment later, his clumsy hands are bumping your face.  You try to push him away but he mistakes it in the dark, thinking you are pulling him closer.  You can feel him step forward, his hand on your cheek. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, with so much depth that it makes you shiver.  His accent makes the word sound fuller, the heart deeper.  It sounds honest.  “I have one job,” Felix says.  His thumb catches a tear.  “Just one.  My job is to keep you safe.  Not to keep secrets from you, and not to lie for your father.  Maybe that’s someone’s job, probably, but it’s not me.  I’m not lying to you.  I’m just here to keep you safe.  That’s it.  I promise.” 

You grab his wrist and hold it for a shuddering second.  A part of you wants to cling to it like a foolish little girl.  You’re both too young to be in here. 

You fling his hand off your face. 

“I don’t feel safe,” you say.  You wipe your own face quickly.   “I hate you.  I hate my life.  Get away from me.”

He has the decency to hang back a few feet, but Felix has no real choice in the matter.  You wonder if he ever did, but you don’t dwell on that thought for too long.  You can’t bring yourself to mourn for his life as well as your own.  You need someone to hate and your father is never around, so you spend the rest of the day glaring at Felix.  You don’t talk again, not on the car-ride home, not at the house, not in your room. 

The cook prepared dinner and left it on the stove.  You refuse to eat until late evening, holed up in your room under the pretense of doing schoolwork.  You text Jisung but not about anything substantial.  You are pretty sure your father installed spyware on your phone.  Better to keep it simple and veer away from heavy subjects when Jisung hits you with the watery-eyed emojis. 

Felix checks on you occasionally but otherwise leaves you be.  You hear him on the phone with your father, his professional voice so uncanny for a kid, deep voice or not. 

Eventually you make your way to the kitchen where Felix is sitting at the counter.  He is wearing his stupid beanie again, the same ripped jeans as yesterday, the same t-shirt and flannel. There is a stack of papers beside an open schoolbook.  You can’t help but notice the printed book report sitting at the top of the pile, one not due until Friday. 

“How’d you finish that so fast?” you ask, forgetting you weren’t going to speak to him.

Felix looks up from reading the textbook.  Surprise creases his brow.  He probably didn’t expect you to start a conversation, and certainly not about something so mundane as schoolwork. 

He glances at the report then up at you.  “Uhh,” he says, then his face cracks into a grin, “I’m not actually here for an education.  I mean, the readings are… kinda fun… I never did homework before so… anyway.  Someone does the homework for me, you know, to keep up appearances and stuff.” 

“That’s not fair,” you say.  “Why can’t they do my homework too?  Wait, do you wanna do my homework while they do yours?”

“No, because you are there for an education,” Felix says lightly, almost teasing.  This is your nicest conversation so far.  It unsettles you more than an argument, so you say nothing more and head to the stove for your dinner.  You are spooning it into a bowl when Felix clears his throat.  You hear papers shuffle.  “That’s not all,” he says.  “I, uhhh, I don’t know if you… if you even want this.  I just…  thought it might make you feel more, I dunno, at ease, or something, if you saw for yourself.” 

You cannot help your curiosity.  You accept the paper he offers.    

“It’s, uh, Hyunjin,” he says.  “I asked for some research and information just to show you he’s, like, real.  It’s just his school record and stuff…” 

You give the papers a cursory glance.  They could be faked but you do actually believe that Hyunjin’s timely arrival is nothing more than coincidence.  No one can get his story straight but that’s because high school gossip is stupid and unreliable.  Hyunjin is gorgeous and graceful when he is trying, but he’s also somehow clumsy as a newborn foal, stumbling all over the field during gym class and whining when a tennis racket grazed his elbow.  Nothing about him really screams super spy.  Plus, you doubt a spy would have got detention on his first day for skipping class and making out with one of the senior girls. 

“It was fighting, if you’re curious,” Felix says. 

You look up at him, eyebrow lifted. 

“The reason he left his old school,” Felix clarifies.  “He got expelled for getting in a fight with another student.  Over a girl.” 

He rolls his eyes and the unexpectedly sassy judgement makes you laugh.  You don’t miss the flicker of delight that crosses his face, though you do ignore it.  You poke at your rice bowl. 

“I guess you’re not a romantic,” you say dryly.

“Uh, beating the shit out of someone is not romantic,” he says, still in a somewhat sassy tone, his eyebrows high.  He closes the book and shakes his head.  “Violence is never romantic.  Violence is just violence.”

That does make you look at him longer.  You are talking about romance, not family love, but it is still the closest anyone has come to telling you there is no love in violence.   

“What about me?” you eventually say.  “Aren’t you supposed to beat the shit out of someone for looking a little too long in my direction?”

“That’s different,” he says, frowning.  “It’s my job.  Why, who’s looking at you?”

You feel like he is goading you so you roll your eyes and walk away with the rice bowl.  

“Is it Lee Minho?” he asks.

You turn and look at him with a scowl.  “Minho hasn’t down anything,” you say.  “He doesn’t even know I exist.  What, are you gonna tell my dad every time someone takes a breath in the same room as me because they are stealing my potential oxygen?”

“Okay, first of all, don’t say hilarious things like that when you’re starting an argument, it’s really annoying.”  Felix gets up and crosses the room.  “Second of all, I didn’t tell your father anything.  I didn’t tell him about Minho, and I didn’t tell about Jisung.  Even though I’m pretty sure Jisung is the reason you snuck out for that party.”

Well, Minho was the reason, but it was Jisung who texted to tell you that he was at the same house party.  The security team had confiscated your phone for the evening, adhering to your father’s phone privileges timetable, and you only got it back before bed.  By the time you got dressed and snuck out, Minho had left the party, so you spent the night sitting with Jisung on the roof, complaining about stupid shit, completely unaware how much your life was about to change. 

Did it change for the worse?  You still don’t know.  Felix has not confiscated your phone.  It lends some credence to his honesty, but maybe it’s all a ploy…

“I can see you thinking,” Felix says, tipping his head as he scrutinizes you.  “It’s like your face turns into a book.” 

“I’m not thinking anything,” you lie.  “And if I was, thinking isn’t a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not,” he says.  “Except when you overthink so much that it makes you cry for no reason.”

“For no reason?” you shriek, a hot ripple of anger moving through you.   

“Or that,” he says calmly.  “You feel everything a lot and you let it take over—”

You look at him, mouth open, utterly incredulous.  “I think I have every reason to behave the way I do,” you snap.  “But aren’t you my daddy’s good little watchdog, repeating his words back to me?”

“I’m not repeating anything,” Felix says, looking marginally more worked up because of the accusation.  He takes a breath and calms himself again.  “I’m just saying, your anger isn’t helping the way you think it is.” 

“It makes me feel better.”

“No, I’m sure it doesn’t,” he says.  “Because it has no where to go.  I see you and you just keep turning it onto yourself.  And I get it.  I know what that is, and I know what it feels like, and I also know if you let yourself feel all that… all that everything, so much, all the time, then it’s just going to burn you out.  Then no one will have to lift a finger against you.  You’ll do it to yourself.  You’ll get tired.  And he’ll win all the same.” 

You just stare at him.  You are certain your face is a book again, emotion written plainly.

Felix touches the back of his head and looks away.  He looks at the ground.  Finally, he looks at you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I really am just trying to do my job.”

“Right,” you say.  “Your job.” 

Keeping you safe from other people is just one part of the gig.  The biggest part is keeping you safe from yourself. 

You take your phone out of your back pocket and practically throw it at him.   The bowl shakes in your trembling hand.  You hate, more than anything, that he is so right, because your tears are on the surface again and it does not feel good. 

“There,” you say. 

His reflexes are fast.  He doesn’t even fumble.  He looks at the phone with confusion. 

“You can take away the power chord for my computer too, if you want,” you say.  “And you can lock me in my room – sorry, our room – when it’s curfew.  And you can—”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Felix says, exasperated.  He holds the phone out.  “I’m not going to do any of that stuff.   I’m not your enemy, I’m your bodyguard.” 

“What if he makes you?” you ask.  The he needs no clarification. “What if he puts my hand on the desk and tells you put a knife through it?”

“That won’t happen,” Felix says seriously. “Not if we work together.  But if we keep going the way we’re going, then something bad is going to happen and we won’t be able to stop it.” 

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” you say, venomous. 

“Trust me,” he says.  “I don’t.  I’m just the same as you.”

“And what am I?”

“Scared.”

Silence settles between you.  His arm is outstretched, the phone an offering.  When all you do is stare at it, he tentatively approaches.  He leaves room for refusal but steps closer and simply puts it in your pocket himself.  He nods sharply at you. 

A single gesture of goodwill cannot undo a lifetime of conditioning to assume the worst in your captors.  Felix occupies a strange liminal territory in that he seems to simultaneously be a captor and captive.  You spend the next couple weeks watching your bodyguard carefully, watching him as he establishes a routine, watching him as he blends into the background of your life as if he was always there. 

You don’t hear from your father.  You excel on your book report.  You don’t hear from your father.  You fail a math test.  You don’t hear from your father.  You fall in the backyard and scrape your leg so badly that Felix has to give you stitches.  You don’t hear from your father. 

You get in a fight with some asshole at school.  The oafish senior smashes into Felix’s shoulder as he walks past.  Felix can take a hit, of that you have no doubt, but he plays the part of skittish fourteen year old well.  He ducks out of the way. 

The senior thinks this is funny and grabs Felix by the hair, yanking him back.  You watch, shocked, as the guy slams Felix up against the lockers so hard they rattle.  There are a few shrieks and gasps from scattered onlookers.  Someone runs off for a teacher but mostly people give a wide berth. 

Felix’s jaw clenches then he smiles.  Everyone is looking at the sweet, sunny face.  You are certain only you see his balled fist. 

“Aren’t you gonna apologize for walking into me?” the senior asks.    

“Sorry,” Felix says, playing his part well.  “I didn’t see you.”  He tries to step away and the guy shoves him back.  Felix sucks in a breath, steadying himself. 

“Why not?” the guy further taunts. 

Felix cannot fight for himself without revealing too much.  You, on the other hand, can walk right up and smack the guy with your math book.   You hit the back of his head and he stumbles then whips around with a furious glare. 

“What the fuck, bitch?” he says. 

You see red quickly.  You spit at him. 

“Don’t call me a bitch, bitch,” you snap. 

He wipes the spit off his face and takes a menacing step towards you.  Felix is quick, his feet planted, his assessing gaze no doubt analyzing weak spots.   

The scene ends abruptly because someone else grabs the guy and shoves him back.  You jump, startled, your heart rate tripling when Minho turns around to look at you. 

“You okay?” Minho asks. 

Your mouth opens but no sound comes out.  Your anger evaporates, a mushy warmth replacing it. 

Minho’s brow furrows and he looks at the senior.  He gives him a little shove. 

“What’s your problem?” Minho asks.  “You like picking on kids?”

A viciously mean laugh rings out beside you.  You turn your head to Hyunjin, his hand covering his mouth as he tries and fails to hold his giggles. 

“That’s pathetic, man,” Hyunjin says, then he winks and puts up his fists.  “Wanna try me next?” 

You remember that Hyunjin got expelled for fighting.  He must be putting on a show right now because his silly, limp fists wouldn’t do any harm. 

It gets everyone laughing but that doesn’t take much given how much people swoon over Hyunjin.  An unspoken rivalry has risen between him and Minho, though you never see them interacting.  In true popular boy fashion, they are above active engagement.   Still, it is significant that they have openly taken the same side in this altercation.  It means the senior stands absolutely no chance. 

He shoves Minho’s hand off his shoulder and glares at Felix. 

“You’re not worth it,” he says and stomps off.  You watch him go, hoping you don’t look so pathetically wounded when stomping around.

Jisung arrives late, but just in time to ‘comfort’ Felix. 

“Don’t stress it, man, don’t stress it,” he says.  “I mean, stress it a little, the hot guys got hotter and you’re gonna be bitchless forever, but other than that, don’t stress it.” 

You are staring silently out the window on the car-ride home.  Felix pokes your shoulder and you look at him.

“You know I’m supposed to be the bodyguard, right?” he says, dryly, but the faintest smile tugging at his lips. 

You don’t return the smile, but you are less venomous than usual when you say, “You’re welcome, you big baby.” 

He looks out the window and smiles.

You still don’t hear from your father. 

One night, you are laying in bed beside Felix, a gulf of space between you as usual.  You can hear him snoring.  You think about him up against that row of lockers.  You start overthinking.  You know, logically, your father would not hire a second-rate bodyguard.  You know better.  You do. 

“Felix,” you whisper, but he keeps snoring.  You slip out of bed and he rolls onto his back, but then he goes back to snoring. 

You slip into your walk-in closet.  You text Jisung.  It’s a Friday night so there’s a party somewhere.  You change into party clothes and sneak back into your room.  Felix is laying on his back, fast asleep, his breathing light. 

The doors are all alarmed so that’s a bad way out.  You make it all the way to the bedroom window when a very sturdy pair of arms wrap around you.  You don’t even have time to scream.  Felix bodily pulls you back through the window.  When you fight him, he easily outmanoeuvres you.  He always tries to be gentle with you, though, and it gives you an advantage.  You manage to topple over, taking him with you.  You land in a tangled heap on the huge bed, squirming under him. 

“Stop it!” he says, sounding righteously pissed off.  “Seriously?! What the fuck!  I thought we were past this shit?  What do you think you’re doing!” 

“What are you doing?”  You try shoving him to no avail.  “Can’t you be normal for once—”

“Do you know what kind of danger you’re putting yourself in by going out alone at night, on a weekend, for fuck’s sake—”

This time when you shove him, he actually moves.  He sits up with an aggravated huff, shoving his sleep-messed hair out of his face.   You keep eye contact, an intense stare that fractures on his end, his gaze dropping when you suddenly pull your shirt off. 

“Look at me,” you say.  “You think the danger’s out there?  What about the danger in here?”

He looks.  He looks at the scar on your collarbone and the one on your stomach.  You can’t tell if his morose expression is a reaction or just his frustration simmering. 

“I don’t understand,” he finally says.  “You have choices.  It doesn’t have to be like this.  Why do you intentionally—why do you keep—”

“What choices?” you ask.  “Submission or else?  How is that a choice?”

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” he asks.  “Kicking at the bars just to see if they’re still there when you already know the answer?”

“See,” you say, smiling a bitter smile as you lay back, “you do understand me.”   

He scrubs a hand down his face.  He wears a big t-shirt and baggy shorts to sleep, the shape making him look even smaller than usual.  Felix is skinny, despite his hidden strength, pretty and unassuming and too competent for his own good. 

Your smile fades.  You watch him rack his brain, his face a plainly written book to you just as much as you are to him. 

“Where did you come from?” you ask.  “Who were you?  What happened to make you like this?” 

His glance grazes your scars.  He steps back, off the bed.  He holds your gaze in his. 

“I’ll tell you,” he says.  “I’ll tell you.  I told you I will always be honest with you.  So if you ask, I’ll tell you.  I’ll tell you everything and I won’t spare any details.” 

Something in the tone of his voice makes you feel sick.  You reach for your shirt and twist the fabric between your fingers. 

“So?” you say, voice unsteady.

“So,” Felix says, “I would really appreciate it if you didn’t ask me.  Because if you do, I will be honest with you.  I will always be honest with you.  So ask me, if that’s what you want.  Is that what you want?” 

“I don’t know what I want,” you say.  “I don’t think I know how to want something.” 

“That’s probably for the best,” he says.  He gives you no time to dwell on this, sharply adding, “Go get dressed for bed.  It’s late.  I won’t tell your father what happened.  Just get back in bed.  Good night.” 

He pivots as swiftly as his tone, straight to the bathroom where he closes the door to give you privacy.  It is also an implicit statement of trust, or maybe a statement of ability, that you could make for the window again but you wouldn’t get far. 

You don’t think anywhere is far enough.  You think you could scour the world and not find another person who understood you even half so well as Felix.    

You are under the covers when he returns.  He doesn’t say anything, just slips into bed and lays on his back. You feel small under the thick blanket in the huge bed, so much space between you that it feels like a tangible block, cold and cruel and solid.  His eyes are open, not even pretending to sleep, but he stares up at the ceiling.  He is shivering.  He must feel the cold too.    

You reach out slowly, your hand gliding across the blanket.  It gives him ample time to notice, even with his mind so far away.  His dark eyes flick down to that hand, suspended in the big open space between you.  He stares at it for a long time, so long that sleep starts to creep into the corners of your vision.  You float in a quiet, cool, half-waking world.

Then he takes your hand.  You wake up.  He looks at you across that chasm, your arms stretched between you, your hands clasped together.  You squeeze his hand and he squeezes yours back.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #bodyguard au #skz imagines #stray kids imagines

[veintrry]

HAUNTING SOUNDS

an: I have four other Halloween fics and this is the one i rolled with. can u tell I got tired at the end. (ifyk the ac feel free to comment!)

tagz: 3k. casual at the beginning, smut, minor degradation, fingering, brief mentions of groping, creampie, scaramouche was forced to volunteer

A trip to a haunted mansion leaves you abandoned within the eerie isolated rooms of the vacant home till a familiar face decides to make the chilling night grow in warmth.

Wooden boards creak beneath your feet and each step you take towards the darkened path before you is a risk of being taken by surprise. You and a couple of your friends had chosen to visit a haunted house. It was your first time, and you'd never been to one before, so why not?

However, you were left abandoned after everyone split up due to a panic. You decided it wasn't worth calling their names when you could meet them outside...when you get out of here that is.

You had stumbled onto a narrow hallway, one with many doors all of which are vandalised or partially ajar. There was no reason to peek, you'd be met with webs and a void. Continuing to progress, you held your phone for light. The sounds outside of people had long vanished and you were left with the sound of your own breaths, the house, and whatever else was there with you.

A creak cuts through the tense air. You still. Tempted to look behind you, around you, yet your body is frozen. You swallow your nerves, hoping that maybe you had misheard or maybe it was just one of your friends who is nearby, but the noises don't stop as you had wished, they seem to be actively doing the opposite.

A whisper here, a squeak there. It felt like your mind was being toyed with and your breaths were growing heavier- A deafening crash came from behind you, something like shattering glass, a vase? You peer over your shoulder, squinting your eyes in an attempt to see if there was a figure in the spotted dark.

A row of footsteps resound, thunderous and agile… Yet, it wasn't coming from behind you. The sooner the realisation sunk in and you turned your head forward you were met with piercing stormy violet irises, lit up with thrill and conniving mischief as hands grab at you.

Not a sound leaves me and yet the prior anticipation has piled atop you, and you frantically push him away with a gasp as you stumble back, feeling your heart beating out of your chest. Your legs feel weakened and the space between the two of you grows. Blinking, he only gets closer, till… Wait. "Scaramouche?"

"You're really easy to scare, aren't you?" A smirk was plastered on his dark wine lips, some 'blood' leaking from the corners. You can practically see how glad he is to have humiliated you like that, even if he was the only one to see it.

"Shut up, I didn't know you'd do that." You retort weakly, although evidently more relaxed compared to prior now that there was someone you knew here.

In turn, he raises a brow at you, hand on his hip as he looks at you as though you're the biggest moron he knows. And in his opinion you might be. "It's a haunted house. What do you expect?" You can only remain silent. Though, you use this to take in his appearance. With a ragged cloth draped around his neck, filled with holes and tattered at the bottom.

He still somehow maintains his ability to stylise his clothing with black button up, decorated with a brooch that reads 'Haunted House Staff'. Unexpected…. A violet necktie is knotted tightly and securely, though he seemed to disregard his flimsy collars. Rustles dressed the wrists and torso of his attire, and it's hard to not tell what's happening here.

Your eyes linger down… This guy still wore shorts even in October… At least he had sole knee stockings on, though, I'm not sure how historically correct that is for vampyres.

"Are you going to keep staring?" His tone was harsh and seemingly annoyed. Well, he likely thought being put in a somewhat prissy outfit is agitating. Actually, "How'd they get you to do this?"

You are met with a stone cold face and apparent distaste. "Don't ask." And maybe that's for the better sake of both your conscience. "So, what, are you gonna stand there all night?"

"Why did you even come here alone, are you stupid or something?" That man could not hold his tongue if he had a gun to his head. He seemed like he already wanted you gone, hell, if you asked maybe he'd show you the path out himself. Then again, that's just how he sounds most times: Uninterested and aloof. The vampire sthick makes sense now.

Approaching him to a more comfortable distance, you angle your phone so the light is revealing to you both. "I didn't come here alone, moron. I'm not that lonely." You swear you hear him mutter under his breath, 'could've fooled me', but you decide to ignore it, for the spirit of Halloween.

"Either way, I lost the others so I was roaming around on my own." This seems to capture his attention and his head perks up with an all too familiar grin. He wasn't one to be so blatant but it was like even he was elated by whatever scheme came into mind. "So you're alone,"

He inches closer, leaning into you with darkened indigo irises and you swear his pupils expand at the idea. "All alone?" A hum leaves his throat and he pulls back. His smile cools and his arms cross over his torso.

"Stay with me."

Opening your mouth to ask why he'd even offer, especially because he is part of the staff, you don't think it'd make sense to have someone of the crew help a participant. And to add onto that, it was strange for him to put it on the table in the first place. "I'm only keeping you company." He interrupts, "You'd get too scared by yourself. That much is clear." You wanted to argue otherwise, but you held your tongue and swallowed your retort. It was better to have company than nothing.

Turning on his heel, he walks off crossed arms and takes casual strides in his raven black platforms, expecting you to follow behind him, so you do. "How long ago did you lose each other?" Scaramouche asks, gaze straight ahead unlike your wandering ones, inspecting the scene you travel through. "A while ago. I thought I'd just get out and meet them that way."

"Why not call?" He suggested, peering over his shoulder back to you. "Didn't think it would be this hard to get out." A chuckle leaves his throat but the small lifted corners of his lips quickly disappear as he halts. "They must be far." He begins, tone laced with a certain ominous vine and you wonder what misconduct he was plotting. "Yeah… What of it?"

His body faces your direction and you can see him bite on the inside of his bottom lip, almost appeased at the perfection of this outcome. "I haven't gotten a break in well over three hours." The dark-haired man mentions, stepping towards you. "I'm hungry." Raising a hand to his face, he swipes off the paint along his chin, smudging it along his porcelain skin.

Those unforgettable amethyst eyes glaze over the crimson that tints his fingertips before meeting your irises in an almost enrapturing look, as though he intended to take your soul.

"I prefer the real thing…"

With sudden movements you watch him come closer to you, yet before you can process it you feel how one of his palms rests against your waist, another on your upper back as the gentle yet prominent sensation of his teeth meeting with the skin of your neck makes itself known, not only in feeling but with a mark.

This takes you by surprise. You cling an arm to his tricep, as if to ensure that he wasn't just losing it. Maybe he got so bored he went crazy. Though, the shove he acts on proves otherwise as he holds you against the wall, the ceiling above decorated in webs and fake bats.

His tongue licks at your skin, as if to seal the mark he left, but he doesn't end there, trailing kisses up to your jawline. "Scaramouche-" You interrupt, voice filled with an amount of confusion and something else.

"Don't think too deeply about it. I just need something to cure my boredom." He muttered, answering your unspoken question. Nibbling along the skin of your jaw, he takes in your scent whilst his fingers stroke your skin through the fabric of your clothes.

"We have all the time. I have so much I want to do to you…"

It becomes crystal clear that he has not been joking nor underselling what he meant when he voiced those thoughts. His almond-shaped nails can be felt digging into your skin, his hold ok you growing stronger. "I'm going to ruin you." Delight permeates his tone, his lips moving closer to your ear and his tongue pokes out, swiping at your lobe before chewing on it, his face plastered with the smile of a predator toying with their next meal.

"Won't someone come?" You make no attempts to push him away, only looking at the blackened hallway. A mocking laugh leaves him like you had asked something naive. "No one's gonna pass by, unless you want me to fuck you in a room you can't even see in?"

The risk was high but you'd rather not enter one of those rooms only filled with decor and piles of ruined furniture and books. He takes your silence as your answer, "That's what I thought."

"Just relax, I got you."

A firm hold was on your body, his warmth growing more and more apparent against you. Placing a hand on the side of your face, he revolves your head away from him, granting more skin for him to feast on. Shivers run up your back as you feel his hot breaths meeting the skin of your neck, his sharp canines grazing you before he digs in with a relieved moan.

The hand on your back doesn't remain still for long, his nails scratching down the centre of your back till they reach your thighs. Squeezing the mould of flesh possessively till crescent marks taint your beautiful skin. He continues to kiss your body as if he was praising someone superior to himself, a being above his reach.

His palm massages the skin of your legs, moving inwards as he hums. You swallow thickly, feeling the raspy vibrations against you.

Letting your hands find home at his nape, you bring him closer to you, his bites growing rougher and more painful, feral like an unstoppable force of hunger and yet, it only serves to fuels the growing heat inside of you that makes you roll your hips against him, pleading for him to proceed faster. "Stop wasting time…" You complain, but he only snickers in return. His digits reach your underwear, tracing the patterns of the design before giving you what you've been waiting for and rubbing your clit slowly through the fabric, tormenting you for his own amusement. "Be patient," He reprimands hoarsely, "I'll fill you up when I want to."

A whimper leaves you and you push your body to meet his fingers repeatedly. Still, you need more than that, you need to feel all of him. Your hands trail down all of you till a finger hooks onto the side of your panties, yanking them off in one swoop, eagerness prominent in your moves. There's no hiding the amusement in his eyes, it's as if he's pleased with your actions.

You don't need to tell him again what you want for him to start touching you again, this time his pace growing faster, more than you even wanted.

Leaning into you, he captures your lips with his, biting on your bottom lip before taking you in as though he wants to taste every inner part of you, memorising it like the back of his hand. Sliding your tongue along his swollen bottom lip, he guides you into his burning mouth, pressing himself against you and forcing your back to the wall as he lets you feel the strength of his body.

He was starting to grow impatient himself and his actions revealed that as his free hand slipped under your clothing with ease, groping at your chest, touching the supple softness of your breasts and pinching your nipples in between his fingers. God, how he wanted to shove his dick in-between them and cum on your pretty face.

The growing hardness was making itself more evident and you can feel his skin meeting your abdomen. Metal resounds as you unzip his shorts, sliding them off partially, just enough to slip your hand inside and palm him through his pre-cum stained thin boxers.

A whine leaves his throat and if divinity existed you were certain you had just heard what it must be like.

Taking out his cock from the confines of his boxers, you feel up and down his length rapidly as though memorising each vein beneath his skin. Your thumb traced the slit of his tip again and again, causing his kisses to grow sloppier into wet tongue kisses as he merely desires to feel you.

Forehead-to-forehead, his crimson stained lips separate from yours, remaining parted as he groans with every move that you make, practically paralysing him under your touch. You could feel him inching closer to your entrance and when his finger enters you, you nearly melt in glee. He pumps up into you with growing speeds, adding another digit as he stretches you out for his cock.

"I'm going to make sure you never forget me."

Scaramouche promises, hand wrapping firmly around his dick as it throbs in anticipation to be embraced by you. Lining himself up with your entrance, it was the furthest thing from gentle. Snapping his hips up into you sharply, making you gasp at both the force and the rapid size you had yet to come accustomed to.

Still, he wasn't completely inconsiderate, even if you did feel him throb at the sight of your surprised face. Coming off slowly, he goes in and out of you so kindly you'd think it was an apology for being so rough prior. Though, the sweetness doesn't last as he begins to thrust with intent similar to that of a madman. He didn't know if he was fucking you to the beat of his heart or the other way around. Something was certain though, Scaramouche wanted to ensure you were going to leave stained with his cum, your body holding his essence inside of you. He was going to make sure you needed his help to carry you out of here.

The noise of flesh meeting flesh echoes along the empty halls, the grunts and pleas that leave your throat only echo back to you, like some form of humiliation. You feel your mind slowly lose thought as your body aches in a numbing pleasure. Your moans are choked as breaths get stuck in your throat and you meet his merciless shoves, but the deeper he goes the weaker you grow. Strangely, you wanted it. You wanted to be rendered useless by him. "Deeper- Ah…Go deeper." You murmur, your temple rested against his shoulder, kissing at his collarbone and leaving marks and lipstick traces in its wake.

When he discovered the spot that would make you break, he did not hide or cover up his abuse as his tip kisses your insides frantically in perfect recreation again and again. His palms wrap around your thighs, hoisting you upwards against the dark weakened wooden wall, assaulting your skin like he needed to know how each part of you feels. "You're mine… You hear that? mmn.. You belong to me." The way he pumped through you was like he only had one goal and that's to use you as his toy, getting himself off with your body. "Yours… I'm yours to fill."

He could feel his body beginning to reach its limits and the whimpers he tried to suppress only grew till he couldn't hold them back. The mewls he let out were so soft and vulnerable you'd think it impossible to be coming from someone as cold and ruthless as him.

Only focused on shoving in and out of you, he relishes in his love for how tightly you wrap around him like he is your saviour, what you desire to not leave you. It feels so good he might cum just from the idea that you crave him so. "Haah… You're such a whore. You like when I fuck you like this?" He spits out with venom, though there's no hiding how much he likes being balls deep inside of you, with both your clothes clinging to your sweat-ridden skin.

Scaramouche can feel the knots inside of him threatening to come undone, pushing him to the edge. Not once do his tantalising amethyst eyes part from yours, and for once they looked to hold something comforting within them, appearing warmer.

Maintaining his speed, his muscles tense, hardening when a string of cum shoots out of him with a loud moan that morphs into an almost weakened joyful whimper. His seed fills you to the brim and you bite into his shoulder, attempting to stifle the sound of your moan as your eyes roll back. Scaramouche continues to fuck you as you reach your high, clamping tighter around him and milking him of anything left he has whilst your cum surrounds him in this encompassing sensation of unmatchable heat he would not find elsewhere.

The both of you breathe heavily, exchanging oxygen with your bodies still pressed together like they're glued to one another, and to some part you were with how he seemed to be avoiding pulling out. Your cum mixes together, leaking out of you and down the length of his cock.

Reluctantly, Scaramouche pulls out of you and resists nearly shoving himself back in the moment he loses your warmth. His fingers swipe up the leaking juices, bringing them to your sweet lips. "Open." He orders firmly and when your pretty lips do as such, he shoves his fingers into your mouth and makes you suck on them, your tongue swirling around and in-between his fingers as you taste the saltiness of your mixture.

There's a smirk stuck onto his lips and he doesn't mind the idea of spending another Halloween like this.

#i wrote this on halloween night #its now november 1st #its 1am help #can he suck my blood lol #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #genshin scara #scaramouche smut #wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer smut #wanderer genshin #kunikuzushi #genshin kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi smut #genshin impact

[sighed-the-snake]

Gun LOADED!

Many people are looking to the bullet catch scene to theorize that Aziraphale is going to fake Crowley's death in the next season, but I think there's another compelling scene from S1 that we should be looking at.

The one with the paintball guns, from S1.

Norm, from management, has a YELLOW cloth tied around his arm, as does the rest of his platoon. Yellow is known to be associated with Aziraphale, and by extension, angels. But I don't think this manager is representing Aziraphale. I think he is meant to represent Crowley.

"I wanted to be a graphics designer," he says. "Design LPs for the Rolling Stones."

Crowley was a graphics designer, of a sort. He made beautiful nebulas. I also think Crowley worked for management and held a high position.

"But the careers teacher said he hadn't heard of them. So I spent 36 years double-checking form BF-18."

The careers teacher is probably God. I get the feeling people in Heaven did not understand or appreciate Crowley's cleverness, didn't understand his work. Crowley was more of an artist than a bureaucracy guy. I wonder if becoming friends with 'Lucifer and the Guys' afforded him some professional freedom, a way to get away from form BF-18, as it were. Maybe Lucifer was his boss and allowed him to do whatever his little heart desired because having a clever subordinate who pulled off such complex work made him look good.

"They couldn't just say, 'Oh, Norman, we're giving you early retirement. Have a watch, bugger off and tend to your marigolds."

The mention of tending to marigolds is interesting here.

The British have something called gardening leave.

From wikipedia, "Garden leave (also known as gardening leave) is the practice whereby an employee leaving a job – having resigned or otherwise had their employment terminated – is instructed to stay away from work during the notice period, while still remaining on the payroll."

It's a sort of limbo period between leaving the company and no longer working for them. You don't go into the office, you're not allowed to contact your former business associates, but you're still getting paid, and you're expected to respond if they call you for assistance. Gardening leave could be a short period of weeks or months to let things calm down before you return because you screwed up, or it could be a prelude to getting fired, or forced into retirement.

Gardening leave sounds an awful lot like what Crowley has on Earth. He was literally sent to a garden to do a job, and he does not return to Hell after. He remains. He lives a posh life with a expense account and a lot of freedom compared to other demons. Furfur remarks on the unfairness of it. Crowley appears to be given assignments once in a while but otherwise I don't think much is expected of him - again, compared to other demons. We've seen the way they're crammed in down there.

(Why he's on gardening leave is a speculation for another day.)

"Well, if they want war," Norm says, knotting his RED necktie around his head, "we're going to give them war. Okay, guys, let's get the bastards."

Clearly, this is when Crowley in Heaven says to himself, "Fuck it, I hate these guys, let's brawl."

And then he turns around and is promptly shot in the heart by the RED team.

He staggers dramatically. He falls. We see the life leave his eyes.

Except it's a trick. One that Norm is not privy to. He thought he was dead as much as everyone else.

But Norm raises his head and looks, bewildered, at the bullet hole in his pocket. He's made a miraculous escape. It mirrors the age-old TV trope of having some hard metal thing in his pocket to deflect the bullet.

In a way, I think this is supposed to represent Crowley's fall from Heaven that he did not see coming, but with S2 and the bullet catch adding context, I think this entire scene holds more meaning.

The thing is, part of writing a good story is including echoes of your theme.

Every single romantic relationship in Good Omens mirrors Crowley and Aziraphale in some way (I'll write more on that later, probably).

Adam and his friends being reflections of the Four Horsemen.

The bookshop being an echo of Eden. The repetition of the "leaving the garden" theme at the end of both seasons, with S1 burning down the bookshop, and S2 with Crowley and Aziraphale leaving it behind.

Twice now, once in each season, there has been a theme of bullets, of getting shot, of miraculously not dying, and no one expecting it.

I'm pretty confident that in S3, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale is going to have his hand forced. He's going to have to execute Crowley for something he has done to meddle with Heaven's plans. And I think Aziraphale is going to have to pull a fast one with very little planning to fake his boyfriend's death.

I can picture it now, with Aziraphale saying something ridiculous to the crowd of witnesses like, "FLAMING SWORD LOADED!" to drop the hint, and the crowd sighs inwardly over what an idiot Aziraphale is, but Crowley looks at him like, "What the fu- oh, we're doing a bullet catch."

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens analysis #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #Fell the Marvelous makes for a terrible executioner