#i was compelled to draw them kissing

[doodoodinklefart]

you are everything

my most demanding dream

[saltsig]

played the first case of dgs2 for the first time the other day and? I needed to get this out of my system don't mind me! ^_^

[widowshill]

happy aro week to everyone who celebrates. give your local aro a hundred dollars to compensate for their suffering (me).

[mondospookular]

this is why you don't date coworkers

[lucitrius]

i'll never be free from these two

[sirjo-esque]

sorry i had a vision

[coyoxxtl]

my understanding of Light/L is so far beyond what the fandom can fathom

[siriuslylantsov]

home

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

description: in which spencer gets home and he needs you.

tags: MDNI smut! and fluff, established relationship, sleepy sex, pinv, little praise, brief nipple stuff (im a creature of habit), cockwarming, aftercare, this is just sweet and quiet.

a/n: anon who sent in the req, this is for you :) little gilmore girls adjacent line there at the end because i have that show memorised and i think its silly. smut is slowly getting easier for me to right and im really happy about that. happy reading! tell me what you think

wc: 1.3k

you feel the all so familiar lips on your shoulder and you know. you stir awake. with a groggy groan, you open your eyes and turn your head around. the strap of your tank top is peeled down to your arm and a messy mop of curls is tucked into your neck. he's home.

“hey,” you whisper. “you're home.”

spencer lifts his head up, “yeah, baby.”

you scoot back into him, needing him to be closer. chuckling, when you feel an unmistakable hardness against your ass. you nudge your nose against his. 

“you okay?”

“mhm. you're just so pretty,” he responds, lip caught between his teeth, eyes glistening even in the low light. you could see the need in his eyes, and even barely awake, you felt compelled to tease him.

you turn to face him, subtly wedging a leg between his. action ever so slightly causing some friction, just enough that it seemed innocuous. you scrunch your nose up appreciatively, muttering a quiet “thank you”, pressing your thigh more firmly against him. 

he pouts, knowing what you're doing. “please,” he mumbles.

“please, what?” you taunt, playing dumb.

“i need you, please angel,” he whines, hand finding your waist.

you caress his cheek lightly with your knuckles, the gentleness making him shiver, so sensitive. you smile at him and he returns it. “you have me, spence. whenever you want.”

he leans into your touch, eyebrows furrowed in mild exasperation. “why tease me then?” he implores. 

“it's fun,” you offer up uselessly with a shrug. everytime you do, it draws something whiny from him and you find it so endearing. 

he huffs, in disbelief and amusement. “you're impossible.”

“you love me,” you retort, melting into the pillow.

“i do,” he confirms with a nod, leaning in to kiss your lips, lingering for a moment to see if you'll kiss him back.

you do, it's a little sloppy but he's okay taking the lead. his tongue slips into your mouth as he slowly pushes you to lay on your back. finding the waistband of your shorts, he pulls them down along with your underwear. your legs instinctively part as he lifts himself to settle between them. he dips his head down to capture your lips again, the kiss more frenzied this time. his hand trails up to your shoulder pulling the other strap of your tank top too and bunching the fabric at your waist so your tits were out. you weakly paw at his t-shirt and he takes it off, kicking his pants and underwear off in the process, clothes in a tangled mess somewhere under the duvet.

he mouths at your neck, sucking lightly. his hand trails over your breast, kneading the flesh. his thumb grazes your nipple and it stiffens. he rolls the bud between his fingers, making you quiver, causing arousal to pool between your thighs.

“spence,” you whimper.

“i got you,” he responds quickly, dipping his fingers between your folds. groaning when he feels the wetness there. “always so wet for me,” he murmurs. your eyes flutter shut as he gently circles your clit.

“do you need my fingers first? or are you ready?” he inquires.

 “‘m okay. i can take it,” you reassure him, your tone a little petulant because of the lingering sleep. 

you look so unbelievably soft, he's afraid that he might break you. “i know you can, angel, but it's been a week.”

“need you inside me,” you slur.

your gaze meets his, equally clouded in lust. he takes the plunge, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. he pushes in slowly, matching your sigh when he bottoms out. 

he stays there for a moment, relishing in the way you wrap around him. it's warm and soft and wet and overwhelmingly you, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. 

you seem just as content as him when you don't urge him to move immediately, raising your arms to pull him closer. your fingers trace the subtle lines of muscle on his shoulder blades, hallowed paths that you’re well accustomed to. 

your walls flutter around him and he buries his head into the crook of your neck, whispering sweet nothings into your skin, lips pressed firmly against you because he wants you to have it all, to absorb it, to take it. 

“perfect girl, you feel so good. so so good for me,” his words are muffled but heard by you all the same as he draws his hips back, only to somehow push in deeper. 

it goes like this. languid thrusts by him and soothing passes over his spine by you. it’s tranquil, the way that he fucks you–for a lack of a less crude word. it isn't making love either, in the sense that it isn't passionate or intense. but it's sweet, done with ease. practised motions of his hips has him dragging against your sweet spot incessantly. he can hear the hushed ah’s you let out, and god does he love how you sound. 

“i missed you,” he drawls into your neck, lips pressing feathery kisses to your skin.

your hand snakes into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. “i missed you too, sweet boy.”

his pace quickens, ever so slightly, in mollified desperation. you almost feel a little bad that he's doing all the work, but you're too tired to think about it–and he feels fucking incredible inside you–so you happily let him. he lurks his hand between your bodies to rub at your clit again, angling his thrusts higher.

“fuck, baby, like that,” you keen.

“yeah?” he pants.

just like that. your orgasm washes over you in a wave of bliss–high, high and higher. the feel of you squeezing around him, drives him over the edge too. his hips snap as he fucks you through it, once, twice, and then he stills. 

he raises his head from your shoulder, “hi pretty,” he whispers, soft smile gracing his lips.

you hum in acknowledgement, the post orgasmic haze lulling you back to sleep. he chuckles quietly, brushing his lips over your forehead. he cautiously pulls out as to not wake you, corners of his mouth twitching when you make an incoherent noise at the feeling. 

he grabs a damp towel, warily cleaning the mess. he's careful when he redresses you, slipping on a clean pair of underwear and pulling the straps of your top over your shoulders, kissing either joint before lying down next to you. he pulls the covers up, starkly reminded of how cold you keep the room, holding your hand as he falls asleep too. 

your eyes flit open hours later at the feel of his fingers skimming over your face. rays of sunlight peek through the gap in the curtain. you look up at him, already staring down at you.

“creep,” you rasp, though there's no malice behind your words.

“i'm sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologises.

“which time?”

“both,” he lets out sheepishly.

“it’s okay, i'm not,” you counter as you throw an arm over him and tuck yourself into his side.

he wraps his around you in turn, smiling into your hair. you rest your chin on his chest, half-lidded eyes staring into his wide eyed brown ones.

“what time is it?” you inquire, too lazy to check the clock that sat atop your bedside table.

“late,” he says, running his hand down your arm and up again.

“i’m hungry, i want pancakes. can we make pancakes?”

“we can make whatever you want, sweetheart,” he answers, prompting you to grin and spring upright.

you notice the clothes on your body and you stick your bottom lip out, “you’re sweet.” you look at him a moment longer, eyes following the features of his face in awe. you pull him up to hug him tightly.

“oh, i’m so happy you’re home.” you chirp giddily.

he squeezes you, “they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

you let go of him, jumping out of the bed. “yeah, well. sex does that too.”

m.list

[seredelgi]

Do they get jealous?/ JJK x fem!reader

Featuring: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Toji Fushiguro, Megumi Fushiguro, Yuuji Itadori, Kento Nanami, Ryoumen Sukuna

tw: kissing, making out, jealousy, possessive behavior, toxic behavior, implied/referenced sex, raw sex, groping I guess

Disclaimer: all featured characters are depicted as adults

Gojo would never admit it. He loves to think of himself as the carefree type, one confident enough not to fear other men stealing you away from him. However, he is also very much aware of how hot you are, and he can’t help but count heads turning when you stroll down the street, your arm securely hooked around his. You pretend not to hear his teeth gritting and not to notice the way he possessively circles an arm around your waist to keep you closer to him. He’s not jealous, they’re just too damn greedy.

Geto’s eyes immediately darken as soon as he catches sight of another man looming over you at the club. They’re awfully bold, honestly, considering you’re usually already grinding against him as they confidently approach the scene. As soon as the poor things meet his gaze from over your shoulder they’re able to catch a glimpse of the silent threat hidden within them. But he’s not satisfied with just that. No, he carefully snakes an arm around your waist, his palm shamelessly spreading across your belly to make them unequivocally aware of who you belong to. And if they still dare touch you, then they deserve what’s coming to them.

Toji acts cold. He freezes you out until he can have you as he properly wants. Whatever he’s had to endure while out with you, whether it be yearning looks from other men eating you up with their eyes or you exchanging words with way too lustful strangers in lousy bars, he patiently waits for you two to be alone to vent it out. As soon as you’re past the threshold of your apartment he slams you against the wall and claims your lips in a heated kiss. He takes you raw that night because he can, making you moan his name so loud that you’re sure the whole building can hear. That’s what you get, after all, for putting him in such misery all night.

Megumi’s not the type to get jealous. He knows how beautiful you are, and he loves the way boys look at you whenever they notice, too. He’s not scared of such attention, as long as you’re not bothered by it. His only response to the occurrence is to provide the comfort of his presence whenever it makes you feel somewhat uncomfortable. It always does the trick to pull you flush against his chest and start peppering sweet, passionate kisses down your neck, driving looks away and shifting your attention back to where it ultimately belongs: to him.

Yuuji’s not possessive in the slightest. He knows that you easily draw the attention of other men, and he’s okay with it. However, from time to time he does get a bit insecure about it. He wonders if you could find someone to satisfy you better than he can, if you would leave him were that to ever happen. That’s when he comes looking for cuddles and pitifully pouts at you as he asks “ You love me, right?”. You can’t help but chuckle at the display, affectionately bumping your nose on his before answering him “ Only you, always”. It’s enough to dissipate any lingering doubt, enough to make him playfully nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck and inhale in your scent.

Nanami’s fully confident in your loyalty, that’s never been a matter of concern to him. However, as soon as anyone tries to do anything even remotely disrespectful in your regards he feels compelled to step in, first and foremost politely asking them to back off. Unfortunately, sometimes that doesn’t work, and considering the size of the man, you’re dumbfounded by how often he’s got to resort to the second option. Let’s just say none of the boys that have made him go with it have left his sight unscathed.

Sukuna’s not so much jealous as he is proud to showcase you around. You're always the prettiest girl at any part he takes you to, and it shows in the way jaws immediately drop to the floor as soon as you walk by. He’s happy to circle his arm around your shoulder and dive into deep make-out sessions in front of anyone who dares look at you as if you were up for the taking. You’re his alone, and if the hickies covering your neck are not enough to make them stay away, then he’ll make sure to give them a little show by shoving his tongue in your mouth instead.

So what about the way they kiss you?

What gets them going?

And what pet names do they use the most?

What about AOT men?

[beenbaanbuun]

first kiss with ateez

park seonghwa

i’m of the belief that seonghwa is a gentleman through and through

unfortunately that means no kiss until at least the third date, and even then your lips would have to look particularly plush and tempting for him to even dare

a bit of pink lip gloss does the trick, drawing his gaze to your lips more than once during the restaurant date that you find yourself on

he studies them when you talk about what’s going on in your life, watching your pretty teeth peeking out from beneath them

in fact, the more you talk, the harder it gets to pull his gaze away to look you in the eyes

how can he when your lips look so, what’s the word, kissable…

and before he can even stop himself, he’s leaning across the table and is oh-so-gently holding your face in place with a hand on your cheek

your words stop in your throat as he breathes against your lips and perhaps you can’t help but find his lips a little tempting too

you close the gap, pushing your lips against his own soft pair and holding yourself in place for just a moment or two

neither of you forget that you’re in the centre of a restaurant so you pull away, sharing a silent promise that it would be the first of many

kim hongjoong

hongjoong didn’t quite know why he felt so compelled to show you his studio so early in the relationship

it was his safe space away from the rest of the world, and yet there you were, stood right in the centre of it looking like you belonged there

and he believed that you did because why else would you look so pretty under the dim lights that shone from the ceiling?

why else would he be so tempted to pull you over to his desk chair and have a long, passionate make out session with you?

he tries to shake the dirty thoughts away, but a few linger on for longer than he’d like

and as you look around the space, he can’t quite help but imagine what it would feel like to hold his lips to yours

feeling braver than usual, he struts up to you and leans into your personal space, mouth barely an inch from your own

“can i?” he whispers, eyes flickering down to watch your lips part and your tongue dart out to wet them, “want to feel your pretty mouth on mine…”

you nod and before you know it, he has a hand on your shoulder, pulling you close and his lips on yours, drinking you in

he doesn’t pull away until you’re both dizzy from a lack of oxygen, but before you can even fully catch your breath, he’s delving in for more

jeong yunho

another gentleman except he is more than happy to kiss you on the first date as long as you’re as willing as he is

because he never really believed in love as first sight, but when he sees you for the first time, kissing you is all he can thing about

spends half of his time staring at your lips, and half of his time staring at your eyes wondering how pretty it would be to watch them flicker closed as he kisses you

tries his hardest to listen to you as you talk but how is he supposed to concentrate when all he wants to do is lean in and press his own lips against yours

ends up asking you to repeat yourself pretty much every sentence but you don’t really mind because you like the way he pouts when he asks…

both of you so desperately want to kiss the other and yet neither of you say anything, until…

“is that lipstick on your teeth?” yunho asks. you try to rub it off but you’re rubbing at the wrong tooth and yunho is just giggling to himself

you ask him to get it for you, and he freezes up because he’s unsure as to whether you’re genuinely asking him or whether it’s some sort of weird way of you asking for a kiss

he plays dumb and hopes it’s the latter, leaning in a little and extending the invitation for you to close the gap, which of course, you do

you giggle against his lips as he pushes the tip of his tongue into your mouth to wipe away the lipstick

kang yeosang

you’ve been dating for a while and you both desperately want to kiss the other but you’re shy and yeosang is clueless

the two of you are trapped in a weird sort of tango where one of you will get just about brave enough to lean in for a kiss before uncertainty kicks in and you take it back

your friends can’t be around you two anymore because it’s genuinely annoying to watch you two perform this weird ritual

they’re all silently begging for the two of you to just quit the bullshit and make out (preferably not in front of them)

but even with the hints the guys drop to yeosang, he still doesn’t seem to understand that of course you want to kiss him as badly as he wants to kiss you

until one night, you’re at his dorm for a movie night that yunho invited you over for

eventually, though, he gets fed up of watching you two love sick idiots watch one another instead of the movie and he stands up with his popcorn bowl and his blanket

“i’m going to bed,” he grumbles, shooting the two of you a frustrated look, “you two need to get a grip and make out already…”

it’s the most direct hint any of the members have given to yeosang, and finally it sinks in that holy shit! maybe you want to kiss him too???

your lips are already on his the second yunho is out of the room and he can’t help but squeak in surprise before fully leaning into the kiss

it’s unsure to start with, but the two of you soon find your feet and as per yunho’s instructions, you do in fact ‘get a grip and make out’

choi san

another gentleman but only in the sense that he likes to get verbal consent before kissing you

and he’s been waiting so patiently to ask you all night but he can’t quite bring himself to interrupt you as you very cutely ramble on about some random topic

but as much as he could sit and listen to you talk about anything with your angelic voice, he just wants to lean over to where you’re sat on his bed and kiss you

you notice him zoning out after a while and your sentences trail off

“sorry, was i rambling?” you ask, growing shy

“huh?” he shakes himself out of his trance and pouts at you, “aw, you could never ramble, babe…”

while you’re grateful that he’s so quick to squash any insecurities you might have about talking too much, you can’t help but wonder what had him so deep in thought

but before you can ask, san gets there first

“can i kiss you?” you nod, but san doesn’t do anything until you actually say it

when you finally get the word out, he smiles and lunges forwards to let his lips crash against yours

it’s not a gentle kiss, but it’s not an aggressive one either

it’s more like a long awaited one, switching from slow and sensual to desperate and depraved, before going back to the former in mere seconds!

song mingi

this man can and will kiss you whenever he feels like it

don’t get me wrong, he gets so incredibly shy around you, but he is also so incredibly impulsive that the moment he gets the idea to kiss you in his head, he can’t shake it out until he’s done it

it’s only your second date, but the two of you click so well that mingi thinks he might already be in love with you

and then he says something jokingly mean, purposefully to make you pout, and he just freezes

have your lips always looked that kissable? because right now, that’s the only thing he can think about

they look so soft and pliant and pink and before he knows it, mingi is leaning down to your height, his own lips just a breath away from yours

“do you want to kiss me?” he asks with a dopey smile, “i want to kiss you…”

you nod with a dazed expression and he closes the gap, wasting no time in deepening the kiss

he puts his huge hands on your waist and holds you flush against him as he explores your mouth

after what feels like a blissful eternity, he pulls away, panting deeply as he licks at his own lips that are covered in your spit

jung wooyoung

this little shit wants to kiss you soooo bad and unfortunately for you, he can tell that you want to kiss him too

with anyone else, that wouldn’t be a problem, but wooyoung is evil and is absolutely determined to make sure the only thing you can think of all day is his lips

he spends all day biting at his lips and flicking his pretty pink tongue over them the make them glisten in the sun light

acts extra pouty just in case he didn’t already have your full attention on his lips

he can tell by the way you zone out mid sentence to stare at his mouth that he does in fact have your full attention but that doesn’t stop him

oh no, it only drives him to be oven more of a little demon

he decides he wants to get ice cream with you despite it being the middle of winter, and for some reason you agree

he eats it in such a way that gets it smothered on his lips, but with the smirk on his face you can tell it’s intentional

you try and dab it away with a napkin but he just pouts and leans in close

with a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you take the hint and press your barely concealed smile to his own lips

he transfers the ice cream to your own lips before letting his tongue dart out to lick it up

you pull away with a grossed out whine, but he pulls you back in immediately for more

choi jongho

for jongho, the urge to kiss you built up over time

like sure, on the first date he notices how pretty your lips look but all of you is pretty and that doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to kiss you

but then on the second date, he can’t help but notice that you like to chew on your lips and somewhere in the back of his mind is a thought that has him shocked at himself

like, he’s known you for a little over a week, why is he daydreaming about tugging your bottom lip between his teeth before diving in for a kiss

and then suddenly, it’s the fifth date and you’re sat on his sofa curled into his side and he just can’t stop staring as you nibble on your bottom lip

there’s a deep internal conflict about what he should do because he just can’t sit and watch you unintentionally tease him anymore!

decides to be a little bold and takes a deep breath before using his thumb to tug your bottom lip free of your teeth

you look at him in surprise, but you have barely enough time to be shocked before his lips are descending on your own and you’re leaning into the best kiss of your life

it’s slow and passionate and jongho is holding onto you like your made of glass with his hands splayed across your lower back

you pull away before delving back for more immediately, gasping when you’d feel jongho’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip…

[indigovigilance]

A Nightingale Sang in 1941

This is my inaugural meta (yay!) Eventually I will learn how to add gifs and whatnot to make this more interesting but today, I give you a wall of text.

I need to give credit where credit is due to three existing metas that I’m drawing upon heavily here:

A speculative continuation of the 1941 story, which includes an almost-kiss while “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays on the gramophone,

A behavioral analysis of Aziraphale during the S2E6 finale (will find ref later if possible)

A meta-analysis of the way in which “coffee” is used as a symbolic equivalent for liberty and freedom of choice, a running theme of this show (will find ref later if possible)

I’m going to expand upon meta #2 and #3 and explain why I think there is are very compelling reasons to believe that #1 will be canonized.

At the end of S1E6, an instrumental version of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays diegetically, but the lyrical version plays non-diegetically over the credits (we hear it but the protagonists don’t). So we the audience could plausibly say “that’s their song,” but as of the close of S1, we have no reason to believe that they know that it’s their song. Even Aziraphale’s S1E3 (1967) suggestion that they dine at the Ritz could be a reference that only he gets, or just a fancy restaurant suggestion.

So when I was watching S2E6 and Crowley said “no nightingales,” I was jarred. What does that even mean? We know it has something to do with dining at the Ritz, but what does it mean to them? The reference only works if they know it’s their song. But we’ve only ever seen them hear it together after the averted apocalypse; if this is the direct reference that Crowley is making, it leaves our 1967 reference contextless and twisting in the wind.

If we assume that there was a romantic story beat in 1941, wherein “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” (which, incidentally, was written in 1939 and saw the height of its popularity at the end of 1940, so timeline-wise it’s spot-on) became their song, then a lot of events get renewed interpretations through this lens, in a way that makes this story much more cohesive and the “no nightingales” comment even more soul-shattering than it already was.

Let’s presume that immediately after this became their song and just as they were discovering their romantic potential, they were forced back into hiding. Forever after, references to the song serve as a macro for “I’d like to pick up where we left off that night.”

The 1967 suggestion of “dining at the Ritz” now becomes a directly romantic suggestion. It also gives better context for “you go too fast for me.”

Actually going to the Ritz in 2019 is not simply a celebration or even a callback to 1967, it’s a callback to their almost-romance of 1941.

When Crowley says “no nightingales” in 2023, this isn’t to say “we’re not going to eat together at the Ritz anymore.” It’s saying that the romance that began that night, the precious, fragile romance, is over.

I’ll give you a moment to dry your eyes before we move on to metas #2 and #3.

In light that this is what has been going on - they know they want a romantic relationship but have gotten so used to hiding and denying it that they are more comfortable keeping the status quo static and quo-y then trying to achieve their ideal - a lot of S2 behavior can get a fresh view.

Crowley’s reaction to Nina isn’t a realization that he’s in love - he knew that already. You can only ask someone to run away with you so many times before you are forced to admit some things to yourself. No, he’s realizing that trying to hide it (which was justified by survival), hasn’t been working, but despite failing at being stealth nothing bad has happened. He’s realizing that it may finally be safe to show it.

Crowley’s confession, then, is not a revelation. It’s making the subtext text. He’s not telling Aziraphale anything he didn’t already know. He’s saying it now because he thinks he’s safe to do so. Pin in that.

Lots of people have lots of theories about Aziraphale’s motivations in the S2 finale, which can more or less be divided into 4 camps: the genuinely held belief, the coffee theory, the lie theory, and the mutual trick theory (some version of the body-switching at the end of S1). Let me start by saying that I love all the fans and all their theories and I find their analyses to be insightful. The genuinely held belief theory, while I believe it to be erroneous, has been incredibly conducive to so many wonderful conversations and I love being in a community that has those conversations. But I’m going to explain why I think the lie theory finds the most support in canon.

Re-watch the finale (when you feel like you can) from 35:18 to 36:19 and then from 40:45 to the end, paying very close attention to Aziraphale’s words and his eyes. Michael Sheen is telling us a LOT with his eyes, and in the back half of the finale scene, with pacing.

For 60 seconds of footage, this setup is doing a lot of work. If Neil Gaiman wasn’t doing enough to beat us over the head with how evil the Metatron is, that glare at Crowley at the end with the non-diegetic ominous horns should convey the message. But again, focusing on Aziraphale. He initially refuses to talk to the Metatron; he’s made his position quite clear. There is no hint of regret or wavering; this is not someone who’s aching to return to the fold. The Metatron ignores his refusal and functionally forces him to accept a “cup of coffee.” The coffee isn’t spiked, but it is a metaphor. It is symbolic of choice. The Metatron is going to force Aziraphale to make a choice. Meta #3 does a great job of exploring the idea that a choice between anything and death is never really a choice. Hang onto that thought.

Notice I had you start up again 3 seconds before “The Conversation.” That’s because it’s important to note where the Metatron is right now. He is across the street, staring straight in through those giant windows to where our protagonists are about to have The Conversation. He is watching.

When Aziraphale returns, Crowley begins his “let me talk” riff. Aziraphale ought to be interested in what Crowley has to say, since the preamble is pretty compelling. You’ll notice that Aziraphale quickly turns to the window and back, through which he (but not we) can see the Metatron standing there, watching them. Aziraphale is then doing his best to get Crowley to STFU without raising the suspicion of the Metatron, eventually having to cut him off.

Because unfortunately, Crowley’s entire impetus for speaking up now is that it’s safe to do so. Only Aziraphale knows that they are in very real danger (or at least, Crowley is, but I’ll come back to that).

You might take something from the fact that he’s shaking his head while talking about “incredibly good news,” and seems to self-censor his criticism of Metatron (or more specifically, he takes ownership of any criticism of the Metatron, censoring out Crowley’s role in that, with the emphasis on I in “I might have misjudged him”).

Notice in the flashback that he begins the conversation reasonably relaxed. The Metatron also says a series of things about him that not only are false, but everyone, including the Metatron and Crowley, know are false: Aziraphale is not a leader, he’s a defector; he’s not honest, he lies all the time, in fact this entire season revolved around his one huge lie of hiding Gabriel. Not only does the justification not make sense coming from Metatron, but it shouldn’t make sense that Aziraphale would accept these reasons and it shouldn’t make sense to Crowley either. So is Aziraphale including these details in his recounting to Crowley so that he will get suspicious and figure out the jig? Maybe. Let’s continue.

Immediately upon being offered the job of Supreme Archangel, Aziraphale says “but I don’t want to go back to Heaven.” This is direct evidence against the genuinely held belief theory. If returning to Heaven and making a difference was a genuine motivation, we would have gotten a different response at this moment. But then we get something more.

“Where would I get my coffee?”

This is a beautiful response for a number of reasons; coffee should be trivial compared to the opportunity to be a Supreme Archangel, so it serves to highlight just how little interest Aziraphale has in returning. Taken at face value, it’s the Aziraphale equivalent of “not even at gunpoint.” But remember that coffee is a metaphor for liberty in this universe and this season. So what Aziraphale just said, in the language of Neil Gaiman metaphors, is:

I don’t want to go back to Heaven, I would rather have free will.

What does the Metatron do next?

He brings up Crowley.

Watch Aziraphale’s eyes before and after the mention of Crowley. He goes from confused to eye-flicking panic in the space of two syllables. Aziraphale already understands that his “no” is not being accepted, and that bringing Crowley into it can only possibly serve as a threat.

So the coffee, the choice, is a false choice. No one ever orders death. The Metatron has forced Aziraphale into a situation that looks an awful lot like a choice (it comes in a blue cup, after all) but it isn’t.

We definitely have some reliable narrator problems here. I’m going to presume for purposes of analysis that these cut-outs are accurate but incomplete, and that a more explicit threat about what would happen to Crowley if Aziraphale did not return to Heaven was made.

If we assume that Aziraphale has been made aware of a threat and is trying to hide that from Crowley, the rest of this scene reads very differently. Aziraphale cannot say, “you are in danger but you will be safe if you swear your allegiance to Heaven” or “I have to go, no matter what, and the only way we can be together is if you come with me,” but nonetheless he now has to convince Crowley to do the one thing he ought to know Crowley definitely doesn’t want to do all through subtext. Which we’ve spent an entire season establishing that they can’t communicate well when they are allowed to use their words. Disastrously, this is not a magic trick that Aziraphale can make work when it counts. Their failure to practice good communication means that, right now, when it counts most, they are not going to pull it off.

We see that Aziraphale is very hopeful that Crowley will pick up on his cues and play along. Obviously, he doesn’t.

If the whole riff about Hell being bad guys and Heaven being the side of truth and light is taken as genuine, it discards a massive amount of character development that we’ve witnessed in Job, Edinburgh, etc. (again, to all the genuine belief subscribers, I think it’s a compelling argument but it simply doesn’t account for the evidence). So if it’s not genuine, why say it? Again, to alert Crowley that something is Off, because Crowley should know that Aziraphale doesn’t actually believe that. They saved humanity from Heaven and Hell. They hid Gabriel from Heaven and Hell. Crowley knows that Aziraphale knows that Heaven and Hell are just two sides of the same coin. Notice again that Aziraphale glances out the window while he’s talking up Heaven; he knows the Metatron is watching, he can’t not defend the position of Heaven. I think it’s also worth noting that Aziraphale forcefully glances and gestures off to Crowley’s left (away from the window) when talking about Hell, and then turns his head to Crowley’s right (towards the window) to try to get him to realize that a representative of Heaven is literally standing right over there, just look out the window please dumbass!

When Crowley is asking Aziraphale if he said no, and we see the back of Aziraphale’s head, again we can see him turn his head to glance out the window. This is also when he changes strategies, and admits that Heaven could use a little reform. Because now there’s a problem almost as big as getting caught, which is that he won’t be able to get Crowley to go with him.

Which unfortunately makes the next part of this so much more heartbreaking. Because when Crowley begins his speech about being a team, Aziraphale wants to hear it. He can’t bring himself to shut down Crowley again, even though it could get them both in massive trouble. Notice that he glances out the window again during this, and the look of panic on his face. He begins to shake his head when Crowley mentions that Heaven and Hell are toxic; this can be taken a lot of ways but I’ll argue for the interpretation that he’s trying to get Crowley to STFU and stop saying shit that could get him destroyed.

After Crowley puts on his sunglasses we are in the “back half” and Sheen is doing a lot with phrasing here, specifically pregnant pauses.

“Come with me… to Heaven!”

“We can be together… as angels!”

Based on the pacing decision I am thoroughly convinced that the first half of each of these statements is intended to be the message to Crowley and the second half is always a qualifying statement to satisfy the Metatron.

Unfortunately, these pregnant pauses are completely backfiring in their effect on Crowley. The sentiment gives him hope and the qualifying statement crushes it again immediately. He is being taken on a horrible emotional rollercoaster with these declarations which are only further amping up his instinct to run away.

The only truly genuine, unaldulterated statement I think we get from Aziraphale is

“I need you!”

When it becomes clear to Aziraphale that there’s been an irreparable breakdown of communication between them and the subtext is not getting across, he says:

“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.”

He means this literally. Crowley has not understood that Aziraphale is offering him protection from whatever threat the Metatron has made.

Which makes this part extra-devastating and also absolutely in keeping with a major running theme of this season.

“I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.”

Your understanding and my understanding are different understandings.

Crowley views the offer to return to Heaven through the lens of his trauma. He understands what life in Heaven would be like. But he doesn’t understand that Aziraphale is offering him protection.

But Aziraphale just heard Crowley say that he understood everything, and he’s still going to leave. There might be a little suspense of disbelief here to believe that Aziraphale really interpreted the statement this way, but we know that Aziraphale isn’t always the brightest battery-operated candle in the drawer. So under the assumption that Crowley did understand him and is still rejecting the offer, rejecting him—

“Well, then there’s nothing more to say.”

Please pay very close attention to Aziraphale’s body language for the next part. He’s active, agitated, turning side to side, arms swinging. This is a very fidgety angel.

“No nightingales.”

Aziraphale is now completely still. He’s feeling that feeling. You know it. The one where your entire body is getting sucked into the pit of your stomach. The aching paralysis.

This is their song, the one that began their romance in 1941, the secret code for all other attempts at flirtation. Crowley has walked out on him before, Aziraphale has been stubborn and obstinate before. But they always came back together, sometimes with an apology dance or other rituals that belonged solely to them.

But now the song is over.

By saying this, Crowley has broken up with Aziraphale. We can see in Aziraphale’s sudden transition from fidgety to paralysis that he has understood it this way.

Then he turns away from the window so that the Metatron won’t see him cry.

The kiss was heart-wrenching already. But we’re not done with this analysis.

During the kiss, Aziraphale has a choice to make between two very compelling bad choices. This is the Job dilemma. But worse.

If he doesn’t kiss Crowley back, he will let Crowley think that he doesn’t love him. He will have missed out on this (maybe/probably their first kiss?) and regret it forever.

If he does kiss Crowley back, in full view of the Metatron, they are in deep trouble.

He seems to do his best to split the difference. I would even go so far to say that the awkward arm waving is Aziraphale acting for the Metatron’s benefit, to try to portray that he doesn’t want this even though he absolutely does (just not like this). The anguish when they break the kiss is absolutely real, and the first thing he does is glance out the window. Through all this he has remained painfully aware of their spectator.

He wants to say I love you. He mouths it. He breathes it.

But the Metatron is watching.

He can’t tell Crowley I love you. So he has to say the only other thing that has always unequivocally meant “I love you” when he said it to Crowley. He has to hope that Crowley understands him now, even though he never has before.

Spoiler alert: Crowley doesn’t.

My forgiveness and your forgiveness are not the same forgiveness.

One more point against the genuine belief fans (I love you): if the offer to let Crowley back in is what changed his mind, then Crowley declining removes that incentive. Aziraphale should/would have consequently retreated to his last stated position of “I don’t want to go back to Heaven, where would I get my Crowley—I mean, coffee?” [post-publication nod to @theonevoice for a great little meta] It simply doesn’t hold up to scrutiny.

I think a lot of fans were already making these assumptions about the use of the nightingale song so this meta may not feel revelatory, however, it isn’t canon (yet), and I’m sure I’ll find company that agree that canonization of this connection would strengthen a lot of these story points, as evidenced by how it is already assumed by many fans.

If you made it to the end - omg thank you! Please leave a note and tell me your thoughts!

Bonus: somebody already made the song connection here

~~~

if you liked this, you may also like:

Book of Life and what it means for Crowley

The Erasure of Human!Metatron

Baraqiel and Azazel

~~~

Recommended related (lie theory) metas by other people:

making the subtext text by @theonevoice

Aziraphale's Decision Matrix by @yowlthinks

Nothing Lasts Forever: META by @phoen1xr0se

[hxltic]

imagine having an attitude w miguel o’hara

Even though he’s quick to anger, and very easily irritated, he’s never had that problem with you. You were his treatment in a way. You always dealt with people in a more kind manner, so he just lets you speak until you’ve given him permission, but today it seems as though the roles have reversed.

It’s even more angering with the fact that he just can’t seem to take you seriously, your cheeks bursting red with anger and fists unconsciously clenching, but he just leans against the wall, staring at you. Through you, almost. To be fair, whatever you were mad at you would probably get over later. But that wasn’t the point. You were angry and pissed off.

And you also hadn’t seen him in a relative amount of time; Spiderman work wasn’t easy. This was something you’d come to accept when you got with him, and you don’t mind being alone, but somehow it’s brought itself to matter in this very moment.

So how did you end up bent over as he plowed into you from behind? His brain pieced together that you just needed some dick. Whenever you two were intimate in any way, the next day he’d see you extra happy, beaming even, and the memories would flash in your head every now and then.

Of course, when he kissed you the first time, you pushed him off and said he was deflecting.

He doesn’t really run away from his problems, but this one could wait.

“You’re givin’ me the silent treatment, you can’t still be mad at me amor?”

Truth be told, you were quiet because you couldn’t speak. Your neck was upright, your throat dragging back and forth on the bed sheets, and your arms were forced back into his large, calloused hands. Your eyes fall closed when you grunt in response.

If he was being honest, this wasn’t even his favorite part. It was watching the scowl on your face dissipate into ecstasy and the irritated deep sighs transform into moans each time you came.

He rectifies his position by adjusting his foot placement and dropping his tight hold to your wrists, effectively finding a deeper way into you. It was messy and rough, the stickiness around where the two of you meet and the reddening skin pure evidence. Miguel bent his body over yours so your back was flush with his carved chest.

A muffled sound fell into the bed with every snap of his hips. His hair slightly stuck to his face when he forced his mouth into your right shoulder, digging his sharp canines past your skin. Not enough to draw blood, but it hurt and left a mark nonetheless. He sucked the skin and kissed it as if soothing. The senses were too much combined with your low pain tolerance, compelling tears to swell in buds.

He groans, “Not so upset now are you? If it was dick you wanted, you could’ve just said so.” He adds, “fuck, eres una belleza.”

You couldn’t even snap back. With this he flipped you over and spread your legs wide. Before you had the time to look down, his pink tongue was sliding through your folds eagerly.

“Miguel wait-“ you attempt breathlessly, but it was no good. He ate like he’s never eaten before: pushing his face between your thighs and wrapping the plush of them over his shoulders to press both palms on your abdomen. He shook his head sloppily, continuing regardless of your pleas.

The man wasn’t satisfied until the slick of you was dripping down his chin and coating his nose. Your back arched off the bed as you came, allowing those tears to fall in streams to your ears. Of course, he continued to slurp and suck and moan as you twist your hips in an escape to shake him off, but those muscles weren’t just for show. He only moved with you and gripped harder, almost taunting you, or giving you permission to try and escape from him. You couldn’t.

It wasn’t until you were pleading for him that he considered giving you mercy.

“MiguelMiguelMiguel- fuck! c-come off please,” you’d beg, accompanied by a futile effort to push his arms away. Like he was shaking his head no, he’d shake into you.

“mmphh.”

©️hxltic

i don’t speak spanish spare me

[fandoms--fluff]

Can you do more katherine and Elijah having a child? 

Safe

Flufftober, October 12th

Baby daughter witch reader x Katherine Pierce x Elijah Mikaelson

Warnings: None

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Dada!" You exclaim and run up to where Elijah entered the apartment. He closes the door behind him before lifting you up into his arms. "Hey, Sweetheart." Elijah tells you, placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Hello, Katerina" Elijah smiles over to Katherine. She followed your little toddle run and stood back as your father picked you up.

"Hey, Elijah" She smirks as he walks over to her with you on his hip. He places a kiss to her lips and she leans in, it's been longer than usual since his last visit.

He's been busy with his family and everything happening in town with the Salvatores and her doppelganger. And he didn't want to draw any unwanted attention by anyone by visiting you guys.

The apartment Katherine compelled is massive, to the point where it shouldn't be called just an apartment. But it's in the downtown area of town. It may be in the middle of town, but it's more hidden away than one may think.

But he's finally got the chance to come over and Katherine couldn't be happier. She's missed her husband, and she could also tell you missed him as well. Katherine gave birth to you almost two years ago now, her and Elijah still aren't sure how it happened, but they wouldn't change it for the world.

You're a first born Mikaelson witch, so there are obvious complications with your magical abilities going haywire when you don't mean to do anything. Though, when you were almost a year old, Elijah found a witch who charmed a bracelet to help control your magic and keep it at bay while you grow up and learn to control them.

So that's the reason why a dangling silver bracelet is looped three times around your wrist to stay in place. You don't mind it, the only problem is sometimes your Mama will have to pull your arm away from your mouth when you start to suck on it. Instead, replacing it with a pacifier.

"No one followed you, right?" Katherine asks, just wanting to be sure. "I made sure no one following or any spell was cast" He reassures his wife as he bounces you in his arms.

You cuddles into your Dada's chest, paying no mind to what they're talking about. You missed your Dada a lot, you haven't seen him it so long. At least that's what it feels to you.

Your Mama doesn't take you out a lot. And when she does it's already dark out and your in the forest or in a different town. Either way you have fun with her.

"Alright, that's good. I just wanted to make sure. I don't want anything to happen to her" Katherine places a hand on your small back. "Of course. And speaking so, how has our little girl been?" He asks, leading Katherine to the couch, and sits down.

She follows and sits beside you guys, leaning into Elijah's side. "She's been a perfect little girl. The only thing we've had to worry about is bathroom clean up after her baths. She likes to splash the water and bubbles everywhere. Don't you, Sweetie?" She runs her fingers up and down your side.

You let out a round of giggles caused by your Mama and nod your head the best you could while nuzzling your head into your Dada's chest.

"She's also found a liking for colouring. Our little angel has a colouring book full of them" Katherine says. "Well, that's amazing, she's our mini artist now, huh?" Elijah leans down and places a kiss on the crown of your head, making you snuggle more into his warmth.

"Has she drawn on the walls yet? I've heard kids her age tend to do stuff like that" Elijah asks, remembering hearing a conversation between the Forbes and Bennett girls as they were talking about old memories.

"Thankfully, not yet. But I doubt it's going to happen. Y/n's a very good listener" Katherine hums and rests a hand on Elijah's thigh in contempt.

"I'm sorry for not being here enough. I know it must be hard raising a child, a powerful witch baby, at that, by yourself" Elijah tells her with anxiousness laced in his voice.

"Lijah, you don't need to apologize. I know the circumstances, your siblings and the supernatural world can't know about her. Not yet. What we're doing is for the safety of our child. And this child right here knows you love her very much, and I know you love me as well. Yes, raising a child is harder than it seems, as many things are, but I learn along the way. Plus it's not like you're dumping everything on me, I know you're doing all you can for our little family in this world of ours. And I love you for it. It's why I married you" She tells him, everything coming from her heart. A heart many have said is ice cold. But it's not. Not for You or Elijah. You both are her world.

Elijah's mouth agapes, not knowing how to respond to her heart touching response besides for, "I love you too" He tells her, the adoration filling his eyes.

As you doze off in your Dada's lap, your parents lean in for another kiss. This world may not be safe for you to live in, but they will protect you at all costs.

[redstarwriting]

happy birthday

miles morales x reader

request?: yes

request: “I LOVEDDD THE HC’S OMG OMG WORK OF ART!!! i was wondering if you would write something expanding on getting miles’ doodles tatted as an adult!! i would love to read more abt it, it’s so cutee”

requested by: anon​

word count: 2.2k

genre: fluff

Warnings: language, tattoos, mentions of tattoos and needles, Miles is so sweet it's sick

A/N: GLADLY!! i've been itching to get a new tattoo since the minute i got my first like three years ago and writing this just made me want to get another one so bad LMAO. i hope you enjoy!

also in case you were wondering what hcs anon is talking about, it's my pda/general affection hcs i wrote for hobie and miles! you can check it out here if you haven't already and feel compelled to :)

───────────────────────────────────

“Miles! Baby, can you give me a tattoo?” you ask, and he smiles. This has become a common practice in your relationship. From the time y’all were kids in love to now, you would always ask him for a tattoo. Of course, he didn’t actually give you tattoos, he just drew on your arm. He’s mentioned you, and even urged you, to get a tattoo every now and again. Especially when he offered to design them, but you always say his temporary ones are more special than any other tattoo you could get. He isn’t upset about it. He genuinely loves drawing on you. “Of course, babe. Come here,” he says, motioning you over to him as he grabs his markers he has specifically for your “tattoos.” You go over to him, sitting between his legs and extending your arm. “Can you draw it right next to the uh… elbow pit?” you say, and he laughs. “Elbow pit?”

“Yeah, like the inside of my arm and not on the bicep part or the elbow pit part, but the forearm part by the elbow pit,” you explain, pointing to the area you’re talking about. He chuckles. “Elbow pit.”

“Well, what else would it be called?” you ask, smiling, and he grins, starting to doodle on your arm. “I’ll text and ask my mom what the scientific name for it is after I’m done here,” he says, and you lean your head back against his shoulder. “Oh, god, please don’t tell her I called it an elbow pit.”

“Oh, I’m totally telling her you called it that,” he teases, placing a quick peck on your lips before returning his attention to your arm. He draws a spiderweb, of course, but in the shape of a heart. He adds his Miles touch to it by making it look like the web was spraypainted, and having it pop with black and red. You don’t even look at the tattoo as he draws it, you just stare at his face. You love watching him when he does his art. You assume it’s similar to the way his face looks when he’s swinging around the city as Spider-Man. He’s in his element, laser-focused and yet has an ease about him that mesmerizes you. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he says, smirking and turning his attention to you. You feel your face heat up but roll your eyes. “Can’t, arm’s a bit preoccupied.”

“You can get creative; I have an idea. Maybe use the one I’m not drawing on?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and he shakes his head. “What do you think, amor?” he asks, and you look. You smile. “I love it, Miles. Thank you,” you say, kissing him on the cheek. He grins, wrapping his arms around your waist as you admire his art. “What time is it?” you ask, and he glances at his phone. “11:15. Why?” 

“Ganke and I are gonna go get some lunch today.”

“Should I be worried?” Miles jokes. “No, dummy. We’re just talking about… something happening soon,” you say, and a sly smile spreads across Miles’ face. “How soon?”

“I’ve said too much,” you say, trying to get up. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend is Spider-Man and can easily hold you in place. “Nuh uh, how soon is this something happening?” he looks at you with a shit-eating grin, and you roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know, spider boy?”

“I would. Is it, and this is just a wild guess… something happening tomorrow? A special something happening on a very special day?” he guesses, and you sigh. “Don’t tell Ganke you found out…”

“I knew it!”

“We’re supposed to be planning your birthday party, yes. For tomorrow. On your birthday. Are you happy you spoiled it for yourself now?” you feign annoyance, and he laughs. “I am, actually. Now I know to look good for you tomorrow.” You roll your eyes. “You always look nice, Miles.”

“Only for you,” he grins at you, turning your face to look at him. The two of you share a kiss before it’s interrupted by his police scanner going off. He frowns slightly. “It’s okay, Miles. I gotta go soon anyways,” you give him a quick peck for squeezing out of his arms. He sighs. “Fine, fine. Guess I’ll go save the city. Be the best thing that ever happened to New York and all that.”

“My hero,” you joke, and he grins. “You know it,” he says, slipping his mask on and sliding his everyday clothes off. “I’ll see you later, Miles. Stay safe. Love you.”

“You stay safe, too. Love you more.” He leaps out of the window, and you make sure he’s gone before you call Ganke. “Yo, what’s up?”

“You gotta plan Miles’ birthday party tomorrow.”

“Woah, what?” You sigh. “I already have the roof of our building booked out for it, I ordered the cake already and will pick it up tomorrow and have all the decorations. You just need to invite everyone, okay?”

“You mean I have to reach out to people in different dimensions, tell them to clear their schedules for tomorrow, and hope for the best?” Ganke asks, and you hum into the phone. “Yep! Thanks, Ganke! Also, if Miles asks, we went and got lunch, okay?”

“And where are you really going?”

“I’m getting a tattoo to surprise him for his birthday tomorrow,” you say, grabbing your keys and putting some money in your pocket. You put Ganke on speaker, sending a quick text to Hobie. “You need to stop using me as a cover-up, (Y/n).”

“Who else am I supposed to use? Gwen?” you say, and Ganke sighs. “I mean, yeah, you know she would be down to help you with something like this.”

“Ganke she is so bad at keeping secrets like that, and you know it,” you say, admiring the art on your arm again. “Then use Hobie.”

“Wait that’s actually a good idea,” you say, “Especially since he’s the one giving me the tattoo.”

“AND YOU STILL USED ME?!”

“I PANICKED! He was asking questions! Just, listen, invite as many people as you can think of, alright? Please, and thank you.”

“Fine. Go get inked or whatever they say,” Ganke says. The two of you give some quick goodbyes before hanging up. You receive a reply from Hobie, and a portal opens in Miles and your bedroom. You step through it and find yourself in Hobie’s flat. “Can I just say it’s about damn time you got one of ‘is works tattooed onto ya,” Hobie says, motioning to his couch. You sit and he gets his whole get-up ready, all the cleaning wipes and gloves and the tattoo gun all ready to go. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m getting it now and that’s what matters,” you say, and he clicks his tongue. “I can guarantee ya this is just gonna be the beginning. Kinda becomes an addiction,” he says, sitting next to you, and fiddling with his gun. “Then I guess I’ll just need to have Miles draw on me even more.” He chuckles. “Lemme see it.”

You show him the drawing, and Hobie shakes his head. “Your man is corny,” he says, and you shrug. “I like it.”

“I know,” he dips his gun in ink, and looks at you, “Ya ready?” You nod, and he begins tattooing Miles’ art onto your skin. The two of you talk the whole time, really, and you let him know about the party tomorrow. He, of course, agrees to come, and can’t wait to see Miles’ reaction. It takes a few hours, but eventually he finishes up and it looks exactly like Miles just drew it on your skin. Hobie places fake skin over it and gives you the rundown of how to take care of it. He turns away from you to put something away, and you quickly slip $100 under a pillow on the couch. You know he won’t accept any money from you because he’s ‘not a capitalist pig,’ so you have to be sneaky with it. “Thank you so much, Hobie,” you say, and he winks at you. “Anythin’ for my mate’s better ‘alf.”

He opens the portal again, and you two say bye until tomorrow. You’re back home, literally, in no time, and you quickly throw one of the hoodies Miles left lying around on. This way he won’t see the tattoo, and you can play it off like you missed him. Especially since you did kind of miss him and it is sort of a staple in your relationship that you wear his clothes when you do. That’ll make him melt and he’ll forget all about the art on your arm. And you were absolutely right. 

It ended up being a late night for Spider-Man, and when he got home, he saw you curled up on the couch, sleeping with his hoodie on, and all he could think about was that you missed him. He carefully picked you up and carried you to your shared bed. You started to wake up as soon as he was getting in bed after taking a shower and cleaning up, and he began desperately trying to get you to go back to sleep. “What time is it?” you groggily ask. “It’s like 3am, (Y/n/n), I’m here now, we can go to sleep, okay?” he says, slipping into bed next to you and pulling you on top of his chest. “Happy birthday!” you sleepily say, burying your face into his chest. He smiles. “Thank you, amor. Let’s get back to sleep now, yeah?” You make a muffled mmhmm sound and are out like a light almost immediately. Miles smiles to himself, wondering how he got this lucky.

You can imagine his disappointment when he wakes up the next day and you’re not snug against his chest, but he feels better the minute he sees a little note on his chest that explains you’ll be home, you just had to go do something for him. He gets up and decided he can do his Spider-Man duties until you text him and let him know he needs to come home. It may be his birthday, but the city still needs it’s defender. So that’s exactly what he does. He cannot explain how grateful he is that none of the big bads were trying to start anything today, because if he didn’t get to see you and eat a slice of cake, he was going to scream. The day went slower than he wanted but also sped by when eventually he got a text from you saying to come home. He immediately obliges, swinging in through the window and putting on some of his nicest clothes. He walks out of your room and sees you chilling on the couch. “Miss me?” he asks, walking over and bending down to kiss your lips. You giggle. “Obviously. Hey, before we go up to the roof where there totally isn’t a party waiting for you, I wanna show you something, okay?”

“Okay,” he grins, and you grin back. “Cover your eyes.” He does as instructed, and hears you shift slightly. “Okay… open them.” He opens his eyes, and immediately sees his “tattoo” on your arm. Only it was covered in a clear wrap. And it’s real. His eyes get big, and he looks at your face. You give a small smile. “You always encouraged me to get a real tattoo, so… happy birthday.”

“Yo! It looks so good, hold up,” he gently grabs your arm and softly traces it through the saniderm. “When did you get this?”

“Yesterday.”

“You weren’t actually with Ganke, were you?”

“No, I was with Hobie,” you say, and he shakes his head. “I got a little liar on my hands, huh?”

“It wasn’t lying it was covering my ass because you ask too many damn questions,” you say, and he laughs. “I love it, (Y/n/n).” You smile and the two of you share a kiss. “We should probably get up there. Some people are waiting. Oh, and pretend like you haven’t seen it yet. Hobie wants to see your reaction.” Miles laughs. “Alright. Well, I hope he knows I’m not gonna stop drawing on you. And that he fully traced my art,” Miles says, and you shake your head. “I’m sure he knows, Miles. You really like it?”

“Like it? Baby, I told you I love it. I love you; I love this tattoo; I love that this is a birthday present from you… everything about this? I love it. I don’t even need to go up there to make the day better because all I need is you,” he says, and you smile. “Hobie was right. You’re so corny.”

“Nah, hold on, he said that? Forget everything I just said it’ll be a perfect day when I punch him.” You laugh as the two of you make your way up to the party. But the whole time, Miles keeps finding his eyes drifting to your tattoo. Something about having his art on you permanently makes his heart swell with pride and happiness. And he and Hobie were both right.

It’s not the only “tattoo” that will become real.

───────────────────────────────────

[prythianpages]

'Cause Somewhere in the Crowd There's You | Lucien

summary: When Tamlin sends Lucien to the Night Court as his emisssary, he stumbles upon a nightclub and finds himself captivated by you. His sweet nightingale.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and violence (reader is trapped in a nightclub)

a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: but also was inspired by Lana Del Rey's music and a hint of Oscar Wilde ♥️ This takes place roughly before Amarantha's rule. If I'm going to be honest, I find Lucien hard a bit hard to write for (but this song really gave me lucien vibes) so I hope this doesn't come off a bit out of character for him. also why is it so hard to find pics that match Lucien's vibe on pinterest.

Trapped in the ceaseless rhythm of melancholic blues, you can’t help but feel sick and tired of everything. Days blur into nights. All you do is eat and sleep and sing. The weight of routine presses down on you, suffocating the spark that once fueled your passion. 

You wish every show to be your last.

That is, until you see him.

He emerges from the crowd like a radiant sun breaking through the darkest night. His presence is tall and striking with skin kissed by the sun and a cascade of red hair. Despite the length of scars that run down the left side of his face, there is an undeniable elegance and beauty that surrounds him. His eye holds you captive, drawing you in like a moth to a flame and your voice falters for a brief note. 

**

Lucien knows he should leave. Hewn city is not a welcoming one and his meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court did not go well. But against the warning bells ringing in his head, he decides to linger and wander around the dark city. With no clear destination in mind, his feet guide him through the labyrinthine alleys until, almost as if compelled by an unseen force, he stands before the entrance of a mysterious nightclub. Bathed in an eerie red light, the sign above reads The Rose. 

As he approaches, the entrance, despite being small, appears almost ethereal. Shadows dance upon the towering stone walls. The air is thick with an alluring blend of magic, pleasure and something darker. Inside is just as mysterious and intoxicating. He should leave and he turns around to do so when he a mesmerizing sound stops him and holds him in place.

“In the land of gods and monsters.” 

A beautiful and heavenly voice. It beckons him forward like a siren’s call and he allows the fae lights embedded in the cavern to guide him further. The corners of the nightclub harbor hidden alcoves, draped in luxurious silks and velvet.  

“I was an angel living in the garden of evil.”

Some high fae engage in secretive exchanges and gambles. Some are lost in the enigmatic allure of drinks and colorful powders that shimmer with enchantments. Some are engrossed in the pretty fae females and males on their laps. Others, like him, are captured by the hauntingly beautiful song.

“You got that medicine I need. Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly.”

Where ancient stone meets polished wood, Lucien finds himself at the bar and orders a drink. He turns to face the stage in the center of the club, leaning against the bar. His mechanical eye emits a soft whir as his gaze travels to the owner of the voice. 

“Put your hands on my waist, do it softly.”

A silent awe washes over him as he takes in the sheer beauty before him. Dressed in a white gown that drapes over you like moonlit silk, you stand on the stage like an angel amidst the monsters that lurk in every corner of the place. The fabric mirrors your every movement as you sway to the rhythm of the song in small billowing waves.

“Me and the Mother, we don’t get along. So now I sing.”

It’s as if you sense his gaze on you because your siren eyes are searching the crowd. Mirroring the depths of a fathomless ocean, your eyes are pools of sadness and longing, yet there's a vulnerability that softens in them as they lock with his. Your voice slightly falters and for a heartbeat, time seems to stretch.

A tremor courses through you, fingers tightening their grip onto the microphone. Your eyes darken again and then you’re tearing your gaze away from Lucien. He follows it, curious eyes landing on a male who stands on the balcony facing the stage. Even from where Lucien stands, he can tell the male radiates power and money.

“No one’s gonna take my soul away.”

“They call her the Nightingale.” The bartender says to Lucien as he hands him his drink. Lucien’s gaze returns to you. “She’s off limits. I suggest finding another female to warm you for the night. There’s plenty to choose from here.”

Lucien says nothing in return. Those hadn’t been his intentions upon seeing you. He simply found himself struck by your presence. And as the enchanting notes of your song continue to soar, there’s a rising desire to learn more about you. The thought of extending his stay begins to take root, a subtle whisper tempting him to linger a while longer. He’ll write to Tamlin to reassure him and continue to negotiate with Rhysand further.

**

The gamble Lucien took to stay in Hewn city is a winning one with each passing night yielding more promising signs of Rhysand's willingness to compromise. It brings him relief as it gives him an excuse to visit the nightclub again. He returns the next night and then the following, noticing something new about you every time. 

On the second night, he realizes the male you had glared at the first night he saw you was the owner of the nightclub. Lucien learns that he was right in his first impression of him. Benedict is a wealthy man, both in money and in connections, and is not subtle about the power he holds over this part of the city. Everyone in the nightclub bows down to him but not you. There’s a look of defiance in your eyes every time you look Benedict’s way.

On the third night, your usually hauntingly melancholic voice takes on a different, lighter tone. It’s still just as beautiful but now, harbors a sense of hope. And your eyes find Lucien’s with ease. You don’t break eye contact with him throughout the entirety of your performance that night, as though your song is a serenade meant solely for him.

It’s on the fourth night that he finally gets to talk to you. 

Breaking from your routine of disappearing behind the stage curtains after performances, tonight, you grace the bar with your presence, drawing stares from some of the high fae. His grip tightens on his glass when he recognizes a dark hunger in most of them but even so, none dare to approach you.

“What will it be, lovely?” Lucien hears the bartender address you.

Taking the empty spot beside Lucien, your presence and proximity captivate him. His heartbeat falters momentarily as you graciously flip your hair, surrounding him with the divine scent of the sweetest rose.

“Just a water,” you reply and he hears the rustle of your dress as you turn to face him. “You’re not from here.”

Lucien’s lips twitch upwards. “What gave it away?”

“You’re not a monster.”

He finally turns to look at you, a strange warmth spreading through him. Ever since he lost his eye, he had battled with the scars tainting his skin, internalizing a sense of monstrousity. Yet, as you regard him, it feels as though you see an angel where he sees only imperfections.

His eye drinks you in, the mechanical one on the left whirring along. The corner of his lips lift up into a smirk when he catches you doing the same. 

“How do you know I’m not a monster?”

“There’s something different about you. Something good,” your eyes study him carefully and then, with a soft sigh, you add, “It’d do you well not to dwell in places like this. They’ll only dim your light.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Lucien asks, "And what about you?"

Your eyes widen, as though the question catches you off guard. "What about me?"

Despite the myriad thoughts swirling within him, he restrains himself and settles for, "You, too, don't seem to fit into this place.”

You fall into a thoughtful silence and your brow slightly furrows. Lucien keenly observes the subtle shift in your gaze as you scan the room before settling back on him. Leaning in as though sharing a secret, he instinctively leans closer. However, as he anticipates your words, you’re turning your back to him. Just as he's poised to speak, you sweep your hair aside, rendering him speechless as you show him instead. 

A delicate tattoo is etched onto the skin between your shoulders—a bird confined within a cage.

“I can’t leave,” he hears your murmur and the ink on your skin appears to shimmer like stars in confirmation. A bargain permanently marked upon flesh. Your flesh and he swallows thickly at what your words imply. 

You’re that bird, the nightingale, trapped in the cage.

“I have to go,” you say suddenly and your hair falls back into place, cascading down your back and concealing the telling tattoo. “Will you come by tomorrow?”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t dwell in places like this.”

“You shouldn’t,” you reply with a wistful smile and Lucien hates the way you drop your gaze.

“But I think I will.”

His words prompt your head to lift, eyes meeting his in surprise. A rush of excitement flushes your skin, transforming the wistful smile into one that is lighter, more promising. A fluttering sensation stirs in Lucien's stomach, and he can't help but return your smile.

A couple more days in Hewn City wouldn’t hurt.

**

Ten days ago, you were stuck in an endless loop of exhaustion and despair, where every night weighed heavily upon you. However, a welcome shift has occurred since then. Sleeping, eating and singing still consume most of your days but a newfound presence has entered the scene. Lucien.

And as the curtains are drawn back, revealing your presence to the awaiting audience, you embrace yourself for the blinding super trouper beams. Unlike nights past where a tinge of melancholy enveloped you, tonight is different. 

You won’t feel blue, like you always do, because somewhere in the crowd there’s him.

Lucien’s presence is like a burst of brilliance, akin to the beaming lights that find you on the stage every night. When your eyes find his amongst the crowd, your pulse quickens and heat rushes to your cheeks. It’s like the sight of him proves to you that you're still alive. 

In his wake, the shadows that linger in the club cower and hide away. He shines like the sun and you find his brightness infectious. It chases away the gloom that had settled over your own light, reigniting the flames of enthusiasm that had long dimmed within you.

Each note you sang resonated with newfound energy, and every performance became an opportunity to embrace the warmth and vitality he brought into your world. As the final notes of your song hang in the air, you can’t help but feel a sense of destiny. You were meant to meet Lucien.

After your performance, you sneak your way back to the bar where he waits for you.

“You came again,” you smile at him.

Lucien smiles back at you but it falters. “I’m afraid it’ll be the last time…for a while.”

The smile doesn’t waver off your face yet the glistening in your eyes reveals the threat of an emotional storm beginning to unfold. You refuse to dwell in it, not wanting to let the darkness that lingers over you like a gloomy cloud to consume you again.

“Okay,” you manage to breathe. You knew this day was coming. Lucien had to return back home, and you, regrettably, can’t go with him. “Let’s make the most of tonight, then. Dance with me?”

“Are you sure?” Lucien asks and you follow his gaze to where Benedict stands, a top of the balcony as always. You feel a rush of relief when you see a pretty female wrapped around him. A distraction. Perfect.

Lucien watches you, taking in every shift in your expression as he awaits for your answer. It’s not that he doesn’t want to dance with you. Gods, does he want to dance with you. Anything to be able to hold you close. To take you into his arms and hold you tight. 

Unfortunately, he’s well aware of the tight leash Benedict keeps you on. He doesn’t let you stray far from his sight. You’re not allowed anywhere near the private nooks lining the club or the rooms at the back where private exchanges occur. It’s for your own safety and Lucien can’t be mad at that. What unsettles him is the way Benedict regards you as his most prized object and Lucien doesn’t want you to face consequences over a dance.

“Yes,” you finally answer. 

There’s a strong certainty in your voice but also a subtle plea that tugs at his heartstrings. It brings forth a tightening in his chest. He suppresses the urge to frown. He plans to return to you but for now, it’s your last night together before he has to leave the Night Court. 

Lucien graces you with a smile instead. He offers his hand to you, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that mirrors the blood coursing through his veins. A delightful shiver travels up his spine as your hand wraps around his. Until now, you’d only share glances, lingering stares and the occasional brushing of skin. 

As the piano begins its enchanting melody, Lucien takes the lead, guiding you onto the dance floor. You’re so close you can feel the warmth of his body and all you want to do is melt into it. Melt into him. But you can’t.

So you bask in the warmth of his gaze instead. Up close, you can now appreciate the depth of his russet eye and you can’t help but marvel at the intricacies of the golden mechanical eye on the left. His gaze never strays from yours throughout the dance and the tender connection between you begins to rise under the brilliance of his gaze, pulling your heart with it.

As he holds you tight, you surrender to the intimate embrace, shedding all inhibitions. Neither of you speak, your eyes speaking for you. It feels as though the world has faded away, leaving just the two of you swaying in harmony. Smiling, having fun, where each step becomes a silent declaration of the unspoken feelings that have blossomed between you.

The passage of time remains elusive as you share the dance, the minutes slipping away unnoticed until the pianist gracefully bows to the audience. Your dance comes to a dreadful stop. Lucien's grasp on you tightens, a reluctant acknowledgment of the inevitable separation.

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers, his promise carrying a tenderness that ignites a fervent flame within you. “I’ll find a way to help set you free, my sweet nightingale.”

He then pulls a pristine white rose, the same exact shade of white as the dress you wore when he first saw you, from the folds of his coat. He graces you with one last smile as he leans in, placing the rose carefully behind your ear. “Until then,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple and your eyes flutter shut.

“Until then,” you breathe and as Lucien walks away and the shadows inevitably return, you take delight in the way the darkness hesitates to claim you, leaving you untouched.

You can’t even bring yourself to care when Benedict corners you backstage, seething with anger. Of course, he noticed. You don’t even flinch when he throws his glass of whiskey toward the wall behind you, the shattered glass ricocheting. Some of them make their way to you, slicing your skin.

As you settle into the comfort of your small room, you retrieve the white rose from its perch behind your ear, cradling it delicately in your hand. A single drop of blood from one of your healing cuts taints the rose, painting one of the white petals red. Still, you cling onto the slender stem, gripping it as tightly as you grasp onto that fervent flame of hope burning within you. Your light will never dim again…

Because somewhere in Prythian, there’s him.

a/n: I'll admit this took an angstier turn than what I had intended but I hope you still enjoy this darker interpretation of ABBA's Super Trouper lol.

if you'd like to read more about these two, here's a part two.

tagging: @scooobies

[imawholeassmood]

What's in a Name

"Oh rao, I can't believe it." Kara works to contain her excitement as she nears the tiny shadowy figure stalking her in the unkempt grass outside her apartment. "This is really happening," she squeaks, "the cat distribution system has finally picked me."

The little void peers up at her with mischievous green eyes, it's backside wriggling with anticipation. Kara crouches and waits for the impending attack.

It comes with a burst of energy that burns hot and fast, then fizzles just as quickly as the black cat halts it's attack and stares at Kara with all the regret and panic of a teenage girl who just told her best friend she's in love with her. Not wanting to scare the cat, Kara hesitates, but the thought of this little cutie spending another minute on the streets compels her to scoop it into her arms and promptly rub her nose into its face.

"Right," she says and holds the cat at arms length, a quizzical gaze on its face. "Bath first."

***

Kara takes care to get the water temperature just right. Scratchy does not appreciate the effort. Claws scrape against her skin as Shadow fights against her, desperate to escape the soapy water. Kara hadn't actually found any fleas on Toothless during her physical exam to evaluate the cat's condition, and for that, she was grateful. She couldn't stand the idea of this baby being in any worse condition. A little prick digs into her finger and she mumbles, "ok, not Toothless."

She rinses the last of the suds and begins to wipe Bones with a towel. While the fight may have ended, Kara can't help but think it's a temporary reprieve, if the look on Merlin's face tells her anything. Those green eyes bite through her, clearly plotting revenge. Kara thinks it might be a good night for an all night movie marathon.

She wraps a dry towel around the still scowling cat and a tiny paw pokes out of the opening near its head, trapped like it got stuck mid escape. A disappointed huff let's out from the wet nose and Kara giggles at the adorableness.

"Here," she says," let me help you with that." She works to tuck the paw in the towel but not before dropping a kiss on the pink toe beans. "Beans," she tests the name. The cat throws a scowl at her. "Well if you have a name you prefer, feel free to share it."

The cat meows at her, and it draws a laugh from Kara whose whole body relaxes and swells with love. She drops a kiss on the furry forehead.

"I'll work on my pronunciation."

***

With Noodle cleaned and dried and now hiding under Kara's bed, licking herself to perfection, Kara works on preparing what amounts to a small buffet for each of them. She sets the takeout boxes on the table for herself and a plate of various wet and dry cat foods on the floor for Zephyr.

"Dinner's ready," she calls out, then wonders if she should take the plate to the bedroom instead. Building trust with cats sent by the universe can take time, and Kara's mind spirals with thoughts of what horrors Anubis might have endured while living on the streets. She's halfway to planning Calypso's catio to ease the transition from rugged outdoor cat to spoiled house cat when she spots the dark figure lurking along the wall. Kara freezes.

She debates her best course of action - does she offer her hand with a pspsps or do nothing? They stare at each other. After a moment where nothing happens, Kara averts her eyes, sending her gaze to the ceiling where she spots a spider in the corner. Great she thinks, let's hope Raven doesn't have an appetite for arachnids.

Kara's pulled from her thoughts by crunching near her feet. She sneaks a peak and sees Shuri ferociously air chomping a mouthful of dry food. A face-splitting grin splashes across her face.

After watching Potsticker test each of the offerings, finishing all but two samples, Kara once again attempts to build rapport.

"You don't have any allergies do you?"

Xena cocks her head and looks at her. Kara swears if this cat were human, there'd be a quirked brow to go along with that look.

"You're very expressive," she muses. "I wonder what you're thinking."

Unice meows at her, and Kara wishes she spoke cat.

***

She's struggling to stay focused on the movie with Ripley hiding away somewhere in her apartment. Kara hasn't seen the cat for hours and worries the progress she thought she made at dinner might have just been her hopeful imagination.

By the time breakfast rolls around, Kara's convinced Peony is plotting to kill her. Neither of them slept. Kara kept an eye out with her x-ray vision and noticed Nala spent the entire night exploring, poking and prodding with her pink-toed mitts at every window, door, latch, hatch, or moving part that might lead to a way out of the apartment. Every few hours, Jynx would check on Kara, looking almost annoyed to find her awake and looking back.

Kahlua's nowhere to be found when Kara's ready to head out to CatCo. She unlocks the door and calls out, "I'll be back soon, Calliope."

A flash of black streaks across the room and knocks into Kara's legs as soon as the door cracks open. Kara catches herself and stumbles into the hallway. Mittens is running around the hall, knocking into door after door. At the end of the hall, she stops in front of the elevator, looks it up and down, then turns back to Kara.

Little Yoda's ribs vibrate with heavy puffs and her eyes are wide. Kara approaches her slowly.

"It's ok, Izzy," she purrs. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Green eyes dart around. As if realizing there's nowhere to go, the fight leaves her.

"I know you're scared," Kara says, "this is a new place and we're still getting to know each other. But, if you'll give me a chance," she swallows, "I promise you will never again know a day without love."

The look on Dotty's face softens and it melts Kara's heart. The cat looks back at the elevator one more time before walking towards Kara. Grace, with all her regal elegance, brushes against Kara's ankle. It's the greatest moment of Kara's life.

***

"What is that?" Alex asks when Kara arrives at the DEO.

"This," Kara says, straightening herself and hooking her thumbs behind the shoulder straps at her chest, "is Griffin." The name is met with an immediate meow of objection. Kara looks down at the cat strapped to her chest then looks back up to Alex. "We're still deciding on a name."

***

It goes like that for a week with Kara toting the cat around with her. Bumblebee tries to run away at least once a day and continues to deny Kara's ideas for names. The day Dino curls up with Kara while an episode of Golden Girls plays on television is the day Kara thinks her heart might explode out of her chest.

With Athena's head buried in the crook of her neck, Kara strokes gently along her side.

"I love you, Tess," she breathes into black fur. A soft thrum purrs against her.

***

Kara enters the DEO panicked and sick with fear.

"She's gone, Alex," she manages to say through garbled, teary heaves. "I have to find her."

"Who?" Alex says and squeezes Kara's arms both to steady her and calm her.

"Ma'am's," Vasquez interrupts, "you might want to see this." She holds out a remote and turns on a television.

A news report shows an aerial view of a glass skyscraper with a large "L" emblazoned on the face. The ticker reads "Missing CEO found safe."

Before Alex or Kara can ask, a commotion stirs near the door. Agents scurry and someone yells, "you can't go in there."

Alex straightens herself to face the approaching party and sets a hand on her hip holster.

Kara wipes tears from her soaked cheeks.

A woman with alabaster skin, jet black hair, and deep red lips marches straight towards her. The tailored black suit commands the attention of every pair of eyes. Pale pink heels clack against the linoleum. Kara swallows the lump in her throat.

The woman stops inches before Kara, uncaring of the weapons pointed at her. Green eyes bore into Kara.

At long last, red lips curl into a smirk and a strong eyebrow quirks. She moves her head next to Kara's, so close Kara can feel the warmth of her breath against her ear when she purrs the words, "my name is Lena."