#i wrote him for so many years... SO MANY...

[arkhamsbrat]

you were robbed of summer, i was robbed of you

jason todd x civilian reader

when jason left, your light did too. six years of your life spent attached at jason’s hip crumbled around you with one knock on your door, and a small shoe box of old journals and trinkets was placed in your hands. they told you the funeral was that next week. you barely had time to register that they told you how he really died. asked you to keep it to yourself.

that boy you spent your childhood with, running through dark allies and making the best of your shitty little lives was gone. the boy who read to you, sat in the gamestop and played the trial of mario kart with you til you got kicked out, gone. you didn’t even get to say goodbye. they didn’t even let you see him before they buried him.

at least the bastard pitied you was kind enough to let you visit Mr. Wayne’s graveyard. you left letters, flowers, anything that reminded you of him. there were too many times that Mr. Wayne found you passed out against his tombstone. you’d wake up back in your own home, unsure of how you got there. it didn’t matter.

the next four years were miserable, barely scraping by without a few trips to the hospital from your constant exhaustion. you made it, at least. got a little cat to give you something to motivate you. her name was robin. a little stray you found on your fire escape. jason would’ve loved her.

you could see it when you closed your eyes. jason sitting on your couch, crooked smile wide as robin climbed all over him. how he’d whisper to her when he thought you couldnt hear. you saw him everywhere, doing everything. because that’s where he should be.

heroes came back all the time. the flashes, superboy, impulse, even batman. what did you need to do to bring him back? what did you have to give up? did you need to tear yourself in two all over again just to get your best friend back?

these thoughts played over and over, every single day that passed. it got to the point where you could see little silver hairs sprouting out of your head after april passed. they got thicker in august, when you kneeled by the edge of your toilet and sobbed so hard you got sick. he should be 21 now, piss drunk on your ragged old couch and cackling at how you stumbled around.

you felt pathetic when robin came and nuzzled at your leg, meowing for your attention. you ran your fingers through her fur before pulling her into your arms, feeling her purr. “how dumb do i look right now, jayce?” you muttered to yourself, bitterly. “makin’ you real proud, i bet.”

you didn’t hear the boots hit against your fire escape, nor did you see red hood slink down to peer through your smudged windows. it’d become a habit of his, though he was disappointed you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you should’ve been.

jason watched. almost nightly. thats more than what he thought he deserved. nearly threw up in his mask the first time he saw your grey streak, stress induced.

the two of you were strangers now, he reminded himself consistently. the boy you knew was long gone, and he strongly doubted you would ever accept any of his changes. he’d hoped you’d changed for the worst. maybe he’d find something he could move on from. something to hate you for. maybe he could throw away the letters he wrote to you in hopes that one day he could come to you. in hopes he’d be able to come home.

thats what he’d always found in you. he craved it- the simplicity of you. hell, he’d even take you yelling at him for being stupid. for leaving you. he’d find a home in that, as long as it was your voice raising at him. before he came back, he was afraid you’d forgotten. he’d hoped you didn’t, in a fucked up way he hoped you’d hurt the same way he did. that you’d never forgotten him.

he regretted those wishes the minute he saw you crying over a cheap cookie with a candle stabbed through, drunk off your own ass. the date didn’t even cross his mind when he landed, only looking to check in on you. he had to fight back his own tears when it dawned on him. even now, you cared about his birthday?

if he wasn’t so stupid you wouldn’t be alone. if he didn’t care so much, if he didn’t go to-

you looked up before he got to finish any of his thoughts, letting out a shrill scream when you saw the masked vigilante on your fire escape. if he wasn’t so upset he would’ve laughed at how fast you grabbed your cat and raced to your bedroom, nearly tripping against the toys strewn about the floor. he’d wanted to mock you about how you spoiled that cat. jason wanted to be with you again. to be normal with you.

he’d never see you again if he could just tell you that you’re what got him through it all. it’s always been you, always will be. thirty minutes pass while he contemplated if he deserves to be selfish with you before he just said fuck it. he slid your window open and slipped through, searching for your room.

he’d get on you about actually locking the damn window later.

jason couldn’t find it in him to care about hiding that it was him. it was you he was telling. no matter the fear blooming from deep withinin him, he knew you’d see him. trust him. love him, if he let you.

the red hood mask got thrown onto your couch while he scrambled to your door. he knew you could hear his footsteps, probably scared shitless. how was he supposed to start this?

“been a long time…” he spoke, barely able to mask the shake in his voice. “i didn’t… i didn’t think you’d still think about me, honestly. i hoped you did, but… everyone else seemed to replace me. shoulda known you never would’ve…” jason couldn’t feel how his whole body shook as he kept speaking, barely remembering when he slid down to the floor.

“thought about you every god damn day, y’know? always wanted to tell you that. wondered if you went to school. if you were still damn awful at chemistry… did’jya start workin’ at that little cafe? said y’would once you turned sixteen…” he rambled on, tears spilling down his scarred cheeks. “i know y’don’t know me anymore… y’lost your jason… but i probably lost my you too… y’look miserable. that my fault too?”

jason heard the floorboards creak from the other side of the door. a quiet shuffling, alongside a very upset meow as a cats paw swiped under the door, catching at his jeans. he laughed quietly, setting his hand down so the cat could paw at him instead of the jeans that he just stole off some douchebag that tried to mug a mother thrifted. he felt his whole body tense when you finally spoke. “her name’s robin… thought jason would’ve liked that. none’a this is his fault.”

“i do.” he pressed his head against the door, seconds away from begging you to open it. a cat… you named your scraggly ass cat after him. you sounded exhausted- if he could snap his fingers and take it all from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat. “jason’s dead… they said he got killed by…” he let out a sharp sigh. “i wanted to come back to you, i swear. it’s a real long story.”

he heard more shuffling behind the door, and then a click. your head peeked through the crack. “…i never make plans on your birthday…i have time?” for the first time in a long time, jason felt a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth. “are you gonna remember any of this in the morning, drunkard?”

his grin widens when you shrug, teary eyes boring into his. “then i get to see you for the first time all over again. jackass.”

[masodemic]

Oh yeah that makes sense

Cuz when I read it I was like aint no way

When did Mello even TALK to L? Sure maybe L was at Wammy's at one point and Mello ran into him rummaging the fridge at 3AM, and to convince him not to tell Roger he bullshitted up the story

Then 10 years later Mello - the night before his fake arson kidnap plan - wrote it down in ONE sitting with no editing or proofread, possibly while sleep deprived

I treat Another Note like an epic, like an oral tradition passed down until somebody put it on paper but by then it's gone through so many changes there's virtually no original truth

Especially since everybody involved or heard of it directly from the horse's (L) mouth is dead

Another Note is crazy because the entire story is the result of the worst game of telephone you've ever seen. It's narrated by Mello, writing it years later after he learned all this information from L, who is, by the way, a Chronic Bullshitter. In fact the story is INCAPABLE of being even halfway true. Because it's not even L's story. It's from Naomi's point of view. My brother in Kira you made half that shit up 😭😭

[stardustrebels]

A Heart Like That- A Joel Miller x f!reader one shot

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E/ 18+ MDNI WC: 2.7k

Summary: I really wanted to write a Joel Miller Valentine’s Day story, but couldn’t decide between naughty or nice so I wrote both.

Tags: No Outbreak!AU, established relationship, Joel Miller x f!reader, unprotected PIV, oral sex (f receiving) pet names (darlin’, sugar, baby) soft!Joel for days, fluff & gentle sex. A little bit of worship, a whole lot of care. Minimal descriptions of reader, no use of y/n. 

A/N: A little Valentine’s story with a very tired, very soft and very domesticated Joel Miller. PWP but make it sweet. If love isn’t like this, I don’t want it, tbh. 2/2 of my Joel Miller Valentine’s day naughty & nice one shots. Enjoy! 

You could say that you had gotten used to it- the way Joel Miller loved you- but that would be a lie. 

He was a man of few words, but you didn’t need to hear many. His care for you shone through in his actions; in little gestures that you were sure would have fallen by the wayside the longer you dated him, but after nearly a year together they hadn’t. 

He would leave your clothes on the heater for you on cold mornings and set up the coffee machine so that all you had to do was turn it on when you woke up. He kept a mental list of things that you liked, or mentioned in passing; your favourite seasonal flowers, what type of snacks you preferred, books you wanted to read, places you wanted to go. He would surprise you with little trinkets he’d found in your favourite colour, or candles for his place in scents that you loved to make you feel more at home there. He always rested a steadying hand on the small of your back when you walked together and hold you close when you climbed in to bed with him after a long day, lulling you to sleep with kind words whispered in to your hair. He would sometimes wake you in the fresh hours of dawn before he left for work, murmuring those same things into the soft skin of your thigh as he pleasured you with a devotion that you had previously never known.

“I gotta treat my girl right” was all he would say with a shrug and a coy smile whenever you brought it up.

You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, of course. You both knew that. You had for years before you’d welcomed him in to your life. It was one of the first things that made him fall for you, your independence, but Joel revelled in making life just a little bit easier for you, even when it made things more difficult for himself. 

So today, you decided that you wanted to make things easy for him. You weren’t the overly domestic type, but he’d had a long week and you wanted to do something nice. You left work early and stopped by the grocery store on your way to his place to pick up a cute Valentine’s day card and the ingredients to make dinner for him.

You started on dinner as soon as you made it to Joel’s and changed in to some comfy clothes as soon as it was in the oven. The sight of your clothes nestled in against his in the dresser made your heart swoop. You tidied round a little, set the table and set one of Joel’s prized vintage records on the turntable as you waited for him to get home. 

You called a hello over the music when you heard the front door close, and he appeared in the threshold of the kitchen with a bouquet of pink roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. His face broke in to a wide smile when he saw you, but it wasn’t quite enough to cover the weariness that sat heavy on his features. 

“Hey, baby,” he said, leaning in to kiss you when you padded over to him. “Didn’t think you’d beat me here. Wanted to surprise you with these.” 

“Left work early,” you said, accepting the flowers with a smile as he set the wine on the counter. “These are so gorgeous, Joel. Thank you.” 

“Gorgeous flowers for my gorgeous lady,” he murmured, winking at you. You beamed up at him before moving to put the flowers in some water.

“Smells good in here,” Joel said, shrugging off his jacket.

“Made us dinner,” you explained, reaching up to the cupboard for some wine glasses. “It’s pretty much ready, I think.”

“You didn’t have to do that, sweetheart, we coulda just ordered takeout or somethin’,” Joel said, watching you fondly. 

You shrugged and gestured for him to sit, before turning your attention to the dish in the oven. 

“I wanted to do something nice- you do nice things for me all the time.” 

Joel shifted awkwardly where he stood and flexed his hands against the back of the chair, but kept his eyes fixed on you. You missed the expression that crossed his face. “That’s different,” 

You turned to him with a hand on your hip. “It’s really not. Would you just sit down, Miller? Let me take care of you.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, shooting you a lopsided grin before he did as he was told. 

Dinner was nice, and you were overjoyed to spend some time with Joel like this. He looked relaxed. Happy. The music from the record player floated through from the other room as a sweet soundtrack to your meal. Joel was as tactile as he always was, his knee bumping against yours affectionately under the table as he complimented your cooking. You both sat and talked for a long while after the food was finished, and only moved when Joel yawned so widely his hand didn’t even cover it. 

You cleaned up together, despite your assurances that he could get in to bed and leave you to sort out the mess. Joel had refused and started washing up before you could stop him. 

As you dried the last dish, Joel moved to stand behind you, arms caging you in as he peppered kisses to the side of your neck. 

“I really love comin’ home to you, y’know.” He said between kisses. 

“Oh yeah?” You said, leaning in to his chest. 

“Yeah.” He breathed against your ear. 

Your stomach flipped as you turned and leaned back against the counter to get a good look at him. His eyes didn’t meet yours- he looked at the floor and took a steadying breath before he spoke again. 

“I wondered if… if you’d maybe wanna move in here with me?” He murmured, throwing you an awkward, lopsided smile. “Or find someplace new together? I wanna come home to you every night, darlin’.” 

You stared at him, lips parted in surprise. Not because you hadn’t thought about it before. You had. A lot. But you’d never voiced your desires to him, you weren’t sure if he’d felt the same way, and you hadn’t wanted to fuck anything up by asking him. 

Hearing Joel say it, seeing how tense he was, bracing himself for your response, made something bloom deep within your chest. Your silence must have stretched on a little too long- Joel exhaled sharply, and his arms dropped to his side giving you a chance to move away if you wanted to. 

“Look, I don’t wanna rush anythin’,” he said, the words scraping their way out of his throat, rough under the effort of hiding his disappointment. “Just thought since we’ve been doin’ this a while, and I think you like it here. I figured-”

You cupped his face in your hands, gently tracing your thumbs over the scruff on his jaw, and lifted his head to make him look at you. “Joel.”

The look on his face when his eyes finally met yours made it feel like something was squeezing your heart.  

“I’d love to,” you said, smiling up at him so that there was no room for any doubt. 

His breath hitched, a sweet little sound you’d only ever heard him make when you were in bed together. “You would?”

You nodded, your smile widening. “Yeah.”

Relief washed over his face, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you. His hands splayed over your hips, pulling you even closer. Your fingers slid in to the short curls at the nape of his neck, and as you deepened the kiss you felt his shoulders drop as the last of his tension melted away.

The realisation filled you with a sudden yearning. You wanted him to feel it, to understand just how much you wanted this- wanted him. 

You tightened your fingers in his hair and he let out a low moan, his fingers sliding down to squeeze the backs of your thighs. You pulled back just enough to catch your breath and rested your forehead against his. He looked so beautiful; dark eyes blown with desire and his lips swollen from your kisses. 

“Let’s go to bed, handsome,” you said, taking his hand.   

As soon as you’d closed the bedroom door, Joel was on you. He tugged at your clothes, pulling them off with a fervour that suggested he’d suddenly forgotten how tired he was. 

When he’d stripped of everything except your underwear, he sat you down on the edge of the bed and stayed close, kneeling between your parted knees and sliding his hands up your thighs, thumbs pressing gentle circles in to your soft skin. He looked up at you from his spot on the floor with an expression so full of adoration it made your head spin. 

“You gonna let me take care of you now, sugar?” The want in his voice caused it to crack, and you heard the plea laced through the words.

You nodded, unable to find your own voice as your fingers threaded through his hair again, guiding him down to where he longed to be. He trailed soft open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, pulling a contented sigh from you. 

Joel took his time, as he always did when he had you like this. The soft scratch of his beard left a tingling warmth on your skin, and his hands pressed firmly against your legs, holding you open as he nosed against the damp fabric between them, breathing you in like he was savouring something precious. 

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss over the damp patch before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your legs.

You barely had time to let out a whimper before he was settling between your thighs pressing his tongue against your aching heat. He groaned at the first taste of you, and it vibrated against your clit so deliciously that you had no choice but to fall back on to the bed, your fingers leaving his hair to clutch at the comforter. 

You gasped his name, thighs beginning to tremble in anticipation of his licks. He dragged his tongue over every sensitive spot he knew by heart, fingers digging in to your skin when your hips raised toward his face in a silent request for more. 

It was almost unbearable- when he took you apart like this- when he made you feel like nothing else in the world existed except you and him and the pleasure that shot through you, building with every moment. 

You bucked your hips again and he groaned against you, pressing his face closer to nudge his nose against your clit as he eased two fingers inside you, curling them just right. 

“Fuck- Joel,” you gasped, chest heaving, 

“I got you, darlin’. It’s alright, I got you.” He murmured before moving his tongue to flick right over your clit. 

He knew exactly how to take you apart. At this point, you’d call him an expert at it with no hint of irony, and as always, it wasn’t long before you were clenching down on his fingers, moaning loudly to the heavens as you came. He hummed against you, a sweet satisfied sound, as he coaxed you through the aftershocks. 

“Joel,” you whined, breath catching. 

His movements stilled slowly and then he was moving, pressing one last lingering kiss against your thigh before shifting to stand, pulling off his clothes before sliding up your body. His hands bracketed your face as he hovered above you. His eyes were dark and hazy with want, his lips glistening, his breathing uneven.

“Yeah?” He murmured, head tilted in appreciation as he looked down at you . “Need me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling at him until your lips brushed against his, tasting yourself on him. “Always,” you whispered. 

A groan rumbled from his chest and he pressed his body flush against yours. You could feel his length hot and heavy, pressing in to your hip as you arched up in to him, desperate for him to be inside you. He pulled back just enough to met your gaze, thumb stroking along your cheek. 

And then he was guiding himself to your entrance, sinking in to you with a slow, deliberate thrust, filling you completely. 

“Jesus,” he rasped, voice tight as if he was holding on to his control by a thread. “You feel so good, darlin’.”

You let out a low, breathy moan against his jaw, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him as close as possible. He was so deep, so warm and solid above you, surrounding you, overwhelming every one of your senses. His hand moved to cup the back of your head, tucking it against his shoulder gently as he thrust in to you. He was all around you, all that you could feel and see- overwhelming in the most intoxicating way. 

He started to move, rocking his hips slowly, dragging his cock against the spot inside you that made you weak, that left you unable to do anything except press crescent shapes in to his back with your fingernails. He kept his pace unhurried, murmuring words of praise that you could hardly hear over your building moans of pleasure. When you came again it was blinding; the pleasure wracked through you like a wild thing, twitching and clenching at your insides before it subsided in to a rolling wave of fuzziness, rippling through to your toes like TV static. Joel let out a string of curses at how hard you clenched around him, and only increased the speed of his movements when you let out a couple of whimpers as the residual spasms of your orgasm rolled through you. 

Joel’s breathing grew heavier, his rhythm faltering somewhat as he chased his own release. He let go of the back of your head to press a rough kiss to your temple as his body started to tremble above you. The way you clenched around him, still pulsing with aftershocks, made his jaw go slack, a deep, broken moan spilling from his lips. 

He buried himself deep with a rough, shuddering exhale, body tensing as he came. His face pressed against your neck, breath hot against your skin as he let himself fall apart in you. You could feel the way he softened, how his hold on you turned from something desperate to something grounding, like he needed you there with him more than anything. 

Joel shifted just enough to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, his hands smoothing over your body, slow and careful. He never pulled away too fast, never left you feeling empty. Instead, he cupped your cheek, guiding your mouth in to a kiss that was soft and lingering as he pulled out of you. 

“You okay, baby?” He murmured, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. 

You hummed, nodding sleepily, and he smiled, tracing his thumb along your cheekbone. 

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to the side of your face before shifting to pull you against his chest. 

You nestled in as he pulled blankets around you both. He always did that, always made sure that you were warm, safe, cared for. 

His fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns along your back, his breath deep and steady against the top of your head. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and warm in your post-orgasm bliss. 

“Love you,” you muttered, pressing a soft kiss against his chest.  Joel’s arms tightened around you, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “Love you too, sweetheart.”  His hand found yours beneath the blanket, fingers slotting together with yours in a practised, effortless way. As sleep began to pull you under, you felt it- how deeply he meant it, the depth of your own love for him, and how you didn’t want to spend another day where you didn’t sleep and wake beside him. He was home, and so were you. 

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 11 - flatline

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language

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after your day with rafe yesterday, the girls had so many questions and you told them everything, down to the song he wrote for you. what you didn't expect however, was that the song was going to be released in a few days time.

"i genuinely can't believe this," sarah started, "i mean him opening up to you? the commincation? the song? where is rafe and what have you done with him." she giggled.

"no y/n i don't think you understand the extent of this. like we've all been friends with rafe for a good 6 years, and i have never seen a girl have this affect on him before."

"guys stop you're making me think i'm some kind of miracle." you laughed with them.

"that's because you are a miracle." cleo joined in.

"so do you think you'll become official soon...?" sarah questioned.

"i don't know, the fans already think we are." you stated.

"the fans are fucking crazy. you'll get used to that i promise. when me and pope started dating everyone went bonkers over it." cleo reassured you.

"i guess so, it's okay i don't mind it, it's just getting used to seeing my face whenever i open twitter." you said. "whatever, we've got a flight to catch." you all finished your last minute packing and made your way into the car that was waiting for you outside the hotel.

part of you was sad to be leaving the state you had made so many memories in, but you knew heading back to new york all together was just the beginning for this new chapter for you and rafe.

once you made it to the airport, you found the rest of the boys who had left earlier as they all entered 'dad mode' and were getting stressed, john b to blame for that.

"finally you're here!" john b began as he saw you walk through the door.

"yeah thought we were gonna have to leave without you." pope said sarcastically.

"enough. we're here now aren't we?" cleo said rhetorically.

"yes ma'am" jj joined in, everyone was in agreement that cleo was the boss of the group.

you made your way to say hi to topper, who was slowly starting to become his usual self again, you assumed him and rafe had a conversation to try and clear the air.

but you eventually made it to rafe, who looked like his was patiently waiting his turn to get your attention, "hey you" he said.

"hey" you replied with a slight blush, "i didn't know you were actually going to release the song." you rushed out.

a look of concern took over him, "do you mind?" he asked worriedly.

"no! no i'm happy" you started, "but the fans are a little crazy."

"yeah i know they are and i should've warned you about that, but the best ones mean no harm and all you can try and do is ignore them." he replied.

"hard to ignore them when they're commenting on everything i post." you quietly said.

"i can say something if it really bothers you, okay?" he softly reached out to give your hand a squeeze.

"okay" you smiled at him, always putting you at ease.

"ok love birds pack it in," jj hollered "i don't think this plane is going to wait for us."

"whatever dude" rafe grinned, "ready?" he turned to you.

"ready."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: sorry guys i made this chapter a lot more smau, just as i had the idea to do the thread (which took me ages LAWD) and also wanted to get the song mentioned ! 5 points to anyone who knows the actual song and band🙈

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1@amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld @blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy @bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @popou61

[inkedinshadows]

For the requests: "I would certainly take all night" with Eris, please. I would be forever indebted to you. Can be smut or not, write it however you want! :)

Held in Firelight

Pairing: Eris x f!reader

A/N: Hi! No need to be indebted, don't worry! I just hope you'll like this bc I really liked this idea but I wrote it after six hours of class so it might not be my best work. I also don't know how to label it because it's a bit fluffy with a tiny sprinkle of angst and allusions to smutty bits? Idk idk I really like it tho

Warnings: arranged marriage, cheating (but the parties involved are aware so idk)

Word count: 1k

“I think he has a new lover.”

Your words cut through the comfortable silence that had settled over the sitting room. Eris raised a brow, but you continued to stir the wine in your glass, your eyes fixed on the swirling red liquid.

The silence stretched, broken only by the crackling embers in the fireplace. Eventually, he asked, “What makes you think that?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “He spent every night out this week. He doesn't do that if he's just sleeping around. He still comes home.”

Eris hummed, as if contemplating your answer.

These were your favorite moments—when Eris didn’t have court duties to attend to and could spend hours talking and drinking with you. It was your favorite way to ease the stress and tension of the life you had been forced into.

“He was out even two nights ago?”

You looked up at him. The firelight flickered on the side of his face, turning his hair into molten copper. You felt a sudden urge to reach across the couch and run your fingers through it.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Why do you ask?”

“It was your birthday,” he stated simply.

“So?”

He looked startled. “You really don’t care that he forgot?”

You sighed, setting your glass down. “Eris, he hasn't remembered my birthday in years.”

He didn’t reply, but his jaw clenched. You couldn’t tell if the flames in his eyes were just a reflection of the fire or if it was that simmering power of his.

With another sigh, you pressed on. “Let’s say he remembers,” you said. “Then what? You really believe he would spend the whole night with me, taking his sweet time to make me feel cherished, at least on my birthday?” You shook your head, the mere thought making you scoff. “No, I prefer it this way. He doesn't care about me, I don't care about him, and there's no point in pretending we do.”

Eris remained silent, his gaze fixed on the fireplace, his fingers clutching the stem of his glass so tightly you thought it might break. You knew he cared about you, that he hated your situation as much as you did, but even he couldn’t change it. Maybe once he became High Lord he’d banish arranged marriages and spare others from this fate, but it was too late for you.

Picking up your glass again, you tucked your legs beneath you and settled back against the pillows. You took a sip of wine, hoping that its rich taste might offer an excuse to change the topic, but you came up empty. You’d already commented on the flavor when he opened the bottle.

“I would certainly take all night.”

His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, but when you turned to look at him, he was still facing away from you.

“What?” you blurted out. Surely, you had heard that wrong.

Finally, his eyes met yours, determined and unflinching. “I would take all night with you,” he repeated, “I would cherish you. And not just on your birthday.”

Your breath hitched. There had been a few lingering touches, a brush of fingers, words whispered after one too many glasses of wine. But never like this—so plain and blatant, so unguarded.

“Don't say that,” you murmured.

“Why not?” His eyes bore into you, pinning you in place. There was no escape—not that you wanted one. “We both want it.”

He was right. There was no arguing with that. Yet you still shook your head. “Eris, we can't.”

He moved closer. You didn’t resist when he took your glass and set it on the small table alongside his. An empty bottle stood next to an unopened one.

“Why not?” he asked again, his voice gentler now. “Just because you’re married? How many other females has he been with?”

Countless.

Maybe Eris was right about that too. Maybe you didn’t owe loyalty to a husband you had never wanted—a husband who had never been loyal to you. If he could have all the females he wanted, then maybe you could have the one male you wanted. The one person who always understood you, who never judged or mistreated you.

“When was the last time someone made you feel cherished?” Eris’s hand covered yours, his slender fingers intertwining with your own, squeezing once. “Made you feel good?”

You had never thought about your marriage in those terms. You had never wanted that union in the first place, so you had clung to the small things. Time away from your husband was good. You hadn’t shared a bed in a long time, and your conversations were awkward and stiff enough that the thought of intimacy hadn't crossed your mind in years. And you’d told yourself that was good enough.

But deep down, it had never really felt good.

Eris was still looking at you, his expression soft and understanding. As if he could see your every thought.

You looked away, unable to stomach it. “I don't know,” you finally whispered.

“Let me be that person.” He reached out, gently tilting your chin. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your eyes met again, and your resolve wavered. Then he brushed his thumb over your lips and spoke in a barely audible whisper.

“Let me love you.”

That word.

Love.

Your husband had never uttered it to you, nor had you to him. But hearing it from Eris… you knew he didn't mean just now—a stolen moment to carry in your heart. And that realization was the final push you needed.

You didn't know who moved first. One moment you were staring into each other's eyes. The next, your lips met.

He tasted like a wish come true after years of waiting.

You were done longing and yearning in secret, done pretending you didn't know what you truly wanted.

And as Eris loved you in front of the fireplace, you finally felt good. You felt cherished. And he took all night to make sure of it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[talkingaboutmybullshit]

quick unedited thing i wrote after i saw a bitches love me tiktok about Tim in the 90s. And kinda a response to a lot of fandom tim thinking he’s a loser that hasn’t dated or slept with anyone when canonically he’s had like 20 live interests.

“Why are you asking boy Virgin over here?” Jason said

“Jason don’t be mean,” Dick chided

“What because it’s true,” Jason flipped Dick off

Tim couldn’t hold back a snort.

“Why the hell are you laughing like you’ve gotten laid ever in your life?”

“Did you forget that him and Steph dated for a year,”

“I don’t think I was there for that? Is that why she hangs out around us because she dated the shrimp? She’s to cool for him.”

Tim made a so so motion with his hand “Officially for like a year ish. Then we kinda had this on and off thing for a few years after that. Though she wasn’t the only girl I got with during that time. I was actually dating another girl when I first got with Steph,”

“How the hell did you get not one but two girls interested in you?” Jason asked “How the hell did you even have time for that?”

“Look when I was Robin and in high school I had a lot more extra time than I have now,” Tim explained and then scrunched up his face at the memories “and that wasn’t one of my proudest moments,”

“Honestly I don’t know how you can even keep track of how many people you been with,” Dick rolled his eyes “I swear you were talking to another girl every week before you got with Bernard,”

“Oh I got a spread sheet,” Tim answered non chalently

“You got a whole ass spread sheet?!?” Jason said

“Yeah,” Tim at least looked sheepish

“Why?” Jason ask

“Well back in high school me and my friends were talking-“

“You have friends?” Jason asked

“Well back in high school at least I had a decent amount. Then I dropped out and went around the world looking for B. I kinda got out of touched with them. You know the normal post high school kinda stuff,”

“Totally,” Said the guy who died Freshman year of high school

“Anyways,” he rolled his eyes “They were asking me how many girls i slept with and honestly I didn’t know off the top of my head. So I went home, started a list. Then that kinda morphed into a spread sheet because that’s easier to manage than like a google doc. Then I was like well I have a spread sheet I can document like umm,” he looked away trying to figure out how best way to say it without being to crass “bases and stuff I got to. Then I kinda just kept up with it over the years. Started a guys data section too since bases work a little differently and-“

“You’re a freak, of course you have a spreadsheet about your sex life,” Jason said “forget I said anything and never answer questions about sex again,”

“Gladly,” Tim shakes his head wanting this whole thing to be over

“I’m surprised you didn’t know this,” Dick said “Not the spread sheet thing but Tim ummmm…”

“Apparently getting with everything that moves,” Jason answered

“Yeah that,”

“Hey!” Tim objected “I do not. Plus I think the worse of it was when Jason wasn’t around. I had more time when I was young,”

“Dude you’re still like 20,”

“Plus I got a boyfriend now so I’m settled downed. I’m busy with work and being a vigilante,”

“Never stopped you before,”

Tim cringed at that “ok high school me wasn’t the best but-“

“When the fuck did you get a boyfriend,” Jason, who just had his twentieth revelation about Tim that hour, asked

“Oh a while ago when I rescued him from this pain cult,” Tim waved him off “we were friends in high school and reconnected after that. Really I think he brings out the best in me-“

“Meaning he hasn’t gotten bored yet from a lack of adrenaline and gone on to the next person who catches his eye,”

Tim huffed “I do not want to hear any slander from the guy who fumbled Starfire,”

“You fumbled Superboy,” Dick said

“When did you even get Superboy?” Jason exacerbated by Tim’s way to messy love life. Maybe the spread sheet was necessary. Jason at least needed a time line to get this straight.

“There was nothing even going on there!” Tim said

Dick turned to Jason to answer this question “Superboy was Tim’s first gay situation ship,”

“Was not!” Tim fought back

Jason groaned accepting he opened Pandora’s box of Tim’s messy love life.

[jamdoughnutmagician]

The Heat is On

Joseph Quinn!Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader (18+)

I'd wanted to write for him ever since that teaser trailer dropped a few days ago, and I wanted to challenge myself to keep it as close to 500 words as I could (534, but eh I'll take it.)

Also I wrote this with Joseph's version of the character in mind, but I guess you could imagine Evan's version in this too?

*divider by @bernardsbendystraws

Masterlist // Miscellaneous Characters Masterlist

With his usually perfect blonde hair being ruffled and dishevelled out of place by your eager hands and a devouring hunger gleaming in his blue eyes Johnny had your back pinned against the wall as his hands rested confidently on the plush skin of your ass. Your legs were suspended from the floor to wrap around his narrow hips as he slid himself into you with quick, but no less precise, thrusts. 

Since becoming The Human Torch, Johnny had become something of a ladies man, or at least that's what nearly every newspaper, magazine and gossip article tried to paint him as. Always there, ready and waiting to photograph him as he stumbled out of a glossy night-club. They were all so fascinated by Susan Storm's younger, apparently, as far as they were aware, was an eligible bachelor. 

 But you knew the truth.

Whilst he was more than certainly eligible in your eyes, bachelor he was not.

The truth that you had been with Johnny longer than he had ever been the Human Torch. His sister was your best friend, and it was practically her that pushed you together. Not that you were about to object to that. Not when you’d quietly been in love with him for so many years.

You’d been with him when he was just Johnny, your lovingly adorable, slightly dorky, boyfriend.

You both felt that it was better that you kept your relationship quiet. At least for the time being. He didn’t want to put you in danger by putting you front and center of the media’s spotlight, where anybody could tie you to him and use you as leverage against him. Likewise, you didn’t care for the hustle and bustle of everything that came with him being suddenly thrust into the public eye. Of course you weren’t thrilled when he was nearly constantly bombarded with beautiful women throwing themselves at him, but he never gave you any cause to worry when he would always end up in your bed with his lips pressing hotly against your skin.

But now, as his hands held on to your hips so steadily and his hips fucked up into you to chase the slick feeling of your cunt tightening on his cock with every deep thrust, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

“You know you’re the only one for me, right” he mumbles as his lips are blazing a trail across your neck and collarbones. “You’re the only girl who makes me feel this way.”

You can barely do much more than moan, and surrender yourself to the feeling of him filling you up so perfectly every single time. His thick cock stretches you in the most delicious way.

His hot and nimble fingertips slip between your closely pressed bodies, eager to run precise circles around your clit enough to have you clinging to him as he ignites a burning fire in the pit of your stomach. A fire that burns brightly as he pushes you over the edge of pleasure with a wicked smile on his perfect face. By his own declaration, you were the only one for him, and likewise, he was the only one that you could ever want.

@penguinsandpotterheads @abitchyouhate @mrsjellymunson @songbirdmunson @seatnights @ali-r3n

[evolnoomym]

Dirty Little Secret 🗝️

Dad’s Boss!Joel Miller x F!Reader

General Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: Joel likes his employees daughter just a little too much. He really tried to not give in but one fateful evening Joel loses control.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 0.8k

Authors note: No thoughts, just horny. Perhaps Yoga pants kink ??? What do we thinkkkkk??? I’m not promising for this to be amazing. I literally wrote it down in lightspeed.

Warnings: no y/n, F!OC, age-gap, FathersBoss!Joel Miller, dub con, thigh fucking, dry humping, yoga pants fetish???, Joel being a horny lonely dude, he’s sleazy

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Shoutout to @cafekitsune for the divider 🫶🏻

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 🫶🏻

Amongst the many things Joel shouldn’t do in his position, that being the boss of a successful contracting company, the worst is most likely lusting after the daughter of his favorite employee. You.

A stunning 22 year old sunshine. Something about that warmth made his cock swell again and again. How many times did you simply smile at him, resulting in Joel trying to tame his erection in the bathroom. Though he never finished, or was more was not able to. All his cock wanted was you, but just the mental image was not enough to quench his need.

It began innocently. Running into you when you brought your dad his forgotten lunch, short talks about whatever you could think of and giving you a tour of the company. Being the good girl that you are, you made sure to bring lunch for Joel too and for that alone he wanted to fuck your brains out.

He noticed that yoga pants, precisely those incredible skin tight ones, were your most liked attire to wear. You seem to own them in an array of colors and designs

Unprofessional is also to give an internship to you without paying attention to your skills or experience. He would hire you if you’d ask, he’d do anything and by now he had accepted the slight unhealthy obsession.

Even though Joel loves having you close to him, watching you walk away from him was so much better. Your butt cheeks jiggling so enticingly always leaves him Hard. Painfully so, he hadn’t gotten the chance to sink into a tight, wet and warm hole in forever so his lust was building up each day you tempted him.

Tonight however, he is gonna explode. Joel had watched you enter the cozy little work get-together earlier with your dad. Of course you wear one of those tight yoga pants again, these darn pieces of fabric leave nothing left to the imagination.

Sometimes Joel questions if you’re even wearing underwear. He sits in his office, not drawing up building plans and instead imagining your pussy rubbing against the seam all day.

He drifts off so far that he envisions sniffing and licking those pants after you wore them, these horny thoughts eat away at him.

It all boils over when he sees you slipping into the office of your dad, a chance for him, in there he can finally catch you all alone.

He trails after you carefully, watches you round the corners and bend over the table once you enter his room. A simple action that causes even more of his thoughts to stray, it’s the delicious curves of your ass, how they mold into the crotch where your puffy lips are so visible under the stretched fabric.

It all happens almost as if in trance, he pushes the door shut, locks it. Before you even have the chance to turn around he’s on you, pushing your front down on the table.

He’s tugging his zipper down, freeing his impressive throbbing length and drags his leaking tip all over your clothed butt-cheek.

“Sorry, babygirl, i couldn’t handle seein’ you prance around in those ridiculous pants.” Each word is emphasized with a thrust of his hips into your backside. His hands have a bruising grip on your hips.

“M..Mr.Miller, what are you doing?” You sound frightened and Joel can’t blame you but he has no intention to stop.

“Havin’ some fun, baby, I can make it good for you too,huh?” He humps you for a brief moment before pushing his shiny head between your clenched thighs.

“This is wrong, Mr.Miller you need to stop.” Joel might believe you’re actually telling him off, but the way your voice quivers doesn’t convince him. You don’t wanna get caught but the cock of your father’s boss doesn’t bother you.

“Shh, sweetheart, i can feel how wet you are, don’t lie to me.” The wet spandex material is offering the perfect amount of friction.

Joel can feel the telltale warmth in his groin of a pending orgasm. This might be over swiftly but he’ll make sure it won’t be the only time.

“I’m gonna come, sweetheart, paint those nice pants a lil white, huh, how bout’ that?”

Joel is on cloud nine, rambling in horny stupor.

“I’ll make a mess of you, my good little slut,” and that’s all it takes. He’s groaning loudly, frantically shaking from the harsh unloading of his heavy balls.

Unfortunately he can’t bask in the moment because he hears your father’s voice call for him. He tugs his length back into his jeans, closes his zipper and turns to leave, but not before landing a smack to your buttocks.

“That ass is a fucking present,” he leans down to your ear and whispers “can’t wait to unpack it.”

©️ evolnoomym 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[tsukumomei]

OKOKOK in my mind in the “puppy love” fic, reader is moving to spain

and then three years later sae comes to spain cause he gets scouted by re al you know the story

and so they meet again ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 (they have cute “dates” if you will, where she shows him around spain and what not 🤭)

now idk if you’re taking requests at the moment, or even want to write a part two for this, but i (and many others i feel like) would LOVE to see this!

no force though, if you do wish to write it take your time, and if you don’t it’s all fine too!

much love, xoxo 💋

a/n: This is actually insane because this is EXACTLY what I had in mind for a bonus part! I was originally going to end it when they saw each other again, but I took your request and wrote about their dates too. Enjoy! Mwah! I wouldn’t consider this a part 2, though—if I ever write one, it’ll still be from Rin’s POV. But I’m open to writing more bonus parts for this fic, so feel free to send me an ask! ^^

—RIGHT WHERE WE LEFT OFF

ft. Sae Itoshi

a bonus chapter for Puppy Love

synposis: Sae moves to Madrid after getting scouted by Real, but he has two problems. One—he hates it. The city feels unfamiliar, foreign, nothing like home. Two—he’s determined to forget about you. But the harder he tries, the more his own mind betrays him—because no matter what he does, everything leads him right back to you. wc: 3.1 k

The shuffling in Sae’s carry-on grows more frantic as he impatiently searches for that notebook from you.

It was the first thing he stuffed into his bag.

Flipping through the worn pages, his eyes finally land on the last one—covered in messy scribbles, but the only thing that stands out is a single line written in red ink at the bottom:

"Wait for me. ❤️ Y/N"

Sae presses his thumb against the words, as if touching them could somehow bring back the past. Could somehow make you feel real again.

He leans back into his seat, staring out at the endless stretch of sky beyond the plane window, but it’s not Madrid he’s thinking about. It’s you.

This morning, back at the house, he’d been kicking a soccer ball around the backyard, the steady thud of leather against concrete filling the quiet air. Rin was there too, watching him with a knowing look before finally speaking up.

"Nii-chan, it was just puppy love."

Maybe it was. Maybe Rin was right.

But if it was just puppy love, why is it still lingering?

Why did he still worry—that if you ever came back, that you’d be mad at him for not being there?

It’s been three years.

The chances of seeing you again were close to impossible.

—

Sae steps into his new apartment in Madrid, rolling his suitcase inside as his manager gestures around the space.

“This is your living room,” his manager begins, flipping on the lights. The apartment is modern, minimalistic—exactly what Sae expected. “Kitchen’s over there. Fridge is stocked for now, but you’ll need to do your own groceries after this week.”

Sae nods, setting his bag neatly by the couch.

“The bedroom’s down the hall,” the manager continues, walking ahead. “Bathroom’s connected. There’s a desk if you need to study or review game footage. Wi-Fi’s already set up.”

Sae peeks into the bedroom—plain, clean, nothing extravagant. Just a bed, a nightstand, and a small window overlooking the street below.

“You’re across the hall?” Sae asks as they return to the main area.

“Yeah,” his manager confirms, crossing. “If you need anything, just knock.”

Sae scoffs lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

His manager gives him a once-over, then exhales. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to settle in.”

With that, the manager steps out, leaving Sae alone.

The moment the door clicks shut, Sae gets to work. He unzips his luggage, methodically putting his clothes away, setting his toiletries in the bathroom, and neatly stacking his training gear by the closet. He takes mental notes of what he needs—more food, basic supplies, maybe an extra pillow.

Once everything is in place, he pulls out his phone and dials home.

His mother picks up almost immediately. “Sae?”

“I just landed and got to the apartment,” he informs her, his voice steady. “Everything’s fine.”

“That’s good,” she says warmly. “Have you eaten?”

“I will soon.”

“Don’t just eat whatever’s fastest. Make sure you’re getting proper meals.”

Sae hums in acknowledgment before adding, “Tell Dad I made it safely. And Rin, too.”

“Of course,” his mother says. There’s a brief pause, then a softer, knowing tone in her voice. “It feels real now, doesn’t it?”

Sae leans against the counter, staring at the empty space around him. His new home. His new life.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

After a few more exchanges, he hangs up, setting his phone aside.

His eyes drift to his carry-on, to the one thing he hadn’t put away yet.

The notebook.

The worn cover, the slightly frayed edges—he traces them with his fingers before flipping it open once again. The pages are filled with your handwriting, messy yet familiar, scrawled with thoughts and doodles from years ago.

It’s ridiculous, really. He hasn’t seen you in three years. He has no idea where you are, if you’re still in the same country, if you even remember him the way he remembers you.

But memories flood in anyway. The afternoons spent at the park, your determined expression when you first crashed his soccer game, the way you always talked too much but somehow, he never minded. The way you scribbled on his arm once with the same red ink you used to write—

"Wait for me. ❤️ y/n"

Sae exhales sharply and shuts the notebook.

Maybe it really was just puppy love.

He stands, grabs his wallet, and heads for the door.

He needs to get out, get familiar with the city. He’s going to live here now, after all.

—

The city is foreign, unfamiliar—Sae hates it.

He was never one for traveling. The only reason he’s here is to play soccer at an international level, but outside of that, it feels suffocating in a way he never expected.

The streets are too loud yet too quiet at the same time. He doesn’t understand the conversations happening around him, the unfamiliar syllables blending into meaningless noise. The people pass by in a blur, all strangers, none of them acknowledging him beyond quick  glances.

It’s not like he’s stupid enough to get scammed—he’s careful, always aware of his surroundings. But that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t belong here. It doesn’t change how frustrating it is to have all this free time and nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

The city is alive, buzzing with movement, but it only makes the loneliness feel sharper.

—

Today marks his second week in Madrid.

Sae realizes just how useless he is when it comes to directions.

The sun is already beginning to set, casting a golden glow over Madrid, and he has no idea where he is.

The street signs might as well be in a foreign language—which, technically, they are. He squints at them, but the unfamiliar words blur together, useless in helping him find his way. And as for Spanish? Well, he knows about as much as a toddler forming his first sentence.

Great.

Of course, it’s at a time like this that he remembers you.

Because you were always the human GPS between the two of you, navigating streets like you had a built-in map inside your head. You always knew the right turns to take, the fastest shortcuts.

And right now? Right now, he is the one most in need of that skill.

Rin thinks Sae is perfect, so he probably doesn’t even know about this little flaw of his.

Sae scoffs to himself, shaking his head. It’s ridiculous that, even now, when he’s supposed to be moving on, he still finds himself thinking about you.

He exhales sharply, pushing the thoughts away.

Enough.

With renewed determination, Sae steps onto the crosswalk, telling himself—again—that it’s time to leave his childhood love in the past.

But by the time he reaches the middle, doubt creeps in—just enough for him to hesitate, just enough for him to misstep.

And just enough for him to accidentally bump into someone walking from the opposite direction.

"Perdón," the girl mutters, barely sparing him a glance—until she does.

She stops short, eyes widening in surprise.

"Oh."

Sae blinks.

"It’s you."

For a moment, the city fades into the background. The people rushing past, the hum of conversation, the faint honking of impatient drivers—it all disappears.

You look different now. Your hair is dyed, a little wavier than before. A stylish bag hangs off your shoulder, outfit effortlessly put together in a way that makes you stand out even in the middle of Madrid.

But to him, you’re still the same stubborn girl who once barged into his soccer game with Rin, the one who never asked for permission—just demanded a pass like you belonged there. The one who never looked at him like everyone else did.

Your eyes are the same. That’s what catches him the most. Time has changed a lot of things, but not that. They still hold the same warmth, the same quiet confidence.

Sae wonders if he looks different to you, too. If you notice the way his shoulders have grown broader, the way the exhaustion lingers under his eyes. If you can tell that beneath all the fame and titles, there’s still a part of him that never stopped waiting for you.

Neither of you speak. Just stood there, caught in something neither of you were prepared for.

Sae exhales, then—without thinking—extends his hand toward you

But before you can take it, a sharp whistle cuts through the air.

"¡Oye! Move it!"

The traffic officer’s whistle cuts through the air, snapping both of you out of your daze.

Startled, you both turn at the same time, realizing the light has already turned green—and you’re still standing in the middle of the crosswalk.

Reality has always had a way of interrupting you two, hasn’t it?

Sae clenches his jaw, frustration flickering across his face. Meanwhile, you weren’t handling it any better—because instead of just walking away like a normal person, you were flipping off the traffic officer and hurling a wooden spoon at him.

Where did you even get that? Sae has no idea. And honestly, he’s not sure he wants to.

But then he feels you grab his arm, yanking him across the street as you break into a run—both of you fleeing from the traffic officer, who Sae can only assume is cursing you out in rapid Spanish.

And just like that, his expression softens.

—

“Whew, that was close,” you say between heavy breaths, still catching your breath from all that running.

Sae glances at you, unimpressed. “Maybe if you didn’t throw a spoon at him, we wouldn’t have to run.”

You roll your eyes, waving him off. “Oh, please. That guy already hates me. This isn’t even the first time, you know.”

Sae raises a brow. “Not surprised.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Hey! Rude.”

He exhales sharply, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “What did you do to piss him off before?”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Sae gives you a look—unamused but intrigued nonetheless. “I would, actually.”

You grin, pretending to think. “Let’s just say… it involved a churro cart, an old lady, and a very, very unfortunate slip on my part.”

Sae stares at you for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re a menace.” 

You flash him a cheeky smile. “And yet, here you are, running away from traffic officers with me.”

He huffs but doesn’t argue. Because, somehow, you’re right—because he’s relieved that he can finally talk to someone other than his manager, and just as relieved to see that you haven’t changed at all.

Isn’t it ironic? The very day he decides to finally let go of your memory, fate throws you right back into his life.

But something nags at him. You haven’t asked about Madrid, about why he’s here. It’s like you’re not surprised at all, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to bump into him on the street.

Sae narrows his eyes slightly before speaking. “Hey, you’re not gonna ask?”

“Ask what?” you blink at him, confused. Then, as if remembering something, your face lights up. “Oh! Where are my manners?”

Before he can react, you throw yourself at him, wrapping him in a warm embrace.

Sae stiffens, caught completely off guard. But before he can say anything, you sigh dramatically against his shoulder. “I missed you so much! I can’t believe you followed me all the way to Spain. Oh, you really do love me.”

He clicks his tongue, exasperated. You’re being an idiot again—definitely pushing it.

But he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, after a brief hesitation, he exhales and wraps a single arm around you, listening as you ramble on like no time has passed at all.

—

“Maybe I should put a tracker on you.” you tease, walking a step ahead of Sae as you lead him through the narrow streets of Madrid.  

He exhales sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I would’ve figured it out eventually.”  

You throw him a look over your shoulder. “Yeah, sure. After getting lost for another three hours.”  

Sae doesn’t bother denying it. Instead, he follows as you turn into an alleyway, stopping in front of a small, unassuming café tucked between two buildings. 

“This place has the best tostada con tomate in the city,” you say, nodding toward the café. 

“The old man inside—Rafa—he always yells at me for ordering too much, but then he sneaks me an extra pastry for free.”  

As if on cue, the door swings open, and an elderly man steps out. His eyes land on you, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “¡Ah, mira quién es! La niña que me arruina el negocio.” (Ah, look who it is! The girl who’s ruining my business.)  

You laugh, stepping forward to greet him. “Don’t lie, Rafa. You love me.”  

Rafa scoffs but affectionately ruffles your hair before turning to Sae, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “¿Y este quién es?” (And who’s this?)  

“My amigo,” you reply smoothly, though there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. “He just moved here, so I’m showing him around.”  

Rafa studies Sae for a moment before nodding in approval. “Bien. Come inside. I’ll make sure he eats something decent.”  

Sae barely has time to protest before you’re dragging him through the door, the scent of warm spices and grilled meat immediately filling the air. The restaurant is small, a little tucked away from the busier streets, but it’s lively, filled with laughter and the soft hum of conversation.

When the food arrives, you dig in without hesitation, taking a bite and immediately letting out a dramatic sigh. “Oh my god,” you moan, clutching your chest like you’ve just ascended to heaven. “This is it. This is what happiness tastes like.”

Sae raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You sound ridiculous.”

“You sound jealous,” you retort, shoveling another bite into your mouth. “You haven’t even touched your food.”

Sae watches you for a moment. The way you eat so shamelessly, without a care for how you look, is something he vaguely remembers from when you were kids. Some things never change.

“I’m just letting you be the poison tester,” he mutters, finally picking up his fork.

You roll your eyes. “Please. If Rafa wanted to kill me, he would’ve done it years ago.”

Rafa, passing by, snorts. “She’s not wrong.”

Sae sighs, finally taking a bite. He won’t admit it, but it’s good. Really good.

Just as you’re finishing your plate, you glance at your phone and stand abruptly. “Be right back. Don’t go running off without me.”

Sae only scoffs in response, watching as you disappear towards the bathroom. The moment you’re gone, Rafa leans against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to Sae with a knowing smirk.

“She talked about you before, you know,” Rafa says casually.

Sae tenses slightly. “Did she?”

Rafa nods, chuckling. “Not by name. Just 'some guy I used to know who’s hopeless with anything besides soccer and even worse with emotions.'”

Sae huffs. “Sounds like something she'd say.”

Rafa shrugs. “Well, if you’re sticking around, you better get used to her dragging you everywhere. She’s got a habit of making lost people feel at home.”

Sae doesn’t respond, just looks at him, expression unreadable. Rafa only chuckles, shaking his head as he wipes down the counter.

A moment later, you return, eyes narrowing the second you spot them. “What’s this?” you ask suspiciously, sliding back into your seat. “What were you two talking about?”

Rafa smirks, tilting his head towards Sae. “Oh, nothing much. Just sharing stories.”

You gasp dramatically, pointing a finger at Sae. “You weren’t talking bad about me, were you?”

Sae finally speaks, deadpan. “Wouldn’t need to. You embarrass yourself enough.”

You scoff, reaching over to steal a piece of food from his plate. “Unbelievable. I leave for one second, and you two become best friends conspiring against me.”

Rafa laughs. “Don’t worry, querida. He’s not that easy to befriend.”

You nod sagely. “That’s true. I had to force him to like me.”

Sae rolls his eyes. That was true for most people, but definitely not for you.

He liked you from the get-go, like there was a gravitational pull towards you that he just couldn't escape from.

The day continues like that.  

You don’t take him to the usual tourist spots—the grand plazas or famous museums. Instead, you show him the Madrid you love.  

A tucked-away bookstore where the owner lets you sit and read for hours without buying anything. A tiny family-run tapas bar where the food is cheap but incredible, and the owners greet you like family. A rooftop spot where you swear the sunset looks better than anywhere else in the city.  

Everywhere you go, you introduce him like he belongs there.  

By the time the sky turns golden, Sae realizes something.  

This isn’t just a city to you. It’s a home.  

And for the first time since moving here, Madrid doesn’t feel so unfamiliar to him anymore.  

Maybe it’s because he’s finally seeing it through your eyes.

And maybe that so-called puppy love Rin kept telling him about is beginning to grow into something more.

a/n: "Puppy Love" is the one and only beloved Sae Itoshi fanfic franchise that will remain untouched by despair. I wholeheartedly believe that at some point during his four years in Spain, Sae had his dreams crushed and utterly heartbroken. But in this au? nah. no angst, no career-crushing disappointments, Just endless, tooth-rotting fluff and relationship bliss. The kind of soft, sweet moments Sae would never admit he enjoys. Because for once, he deserves to have something go perfectly right.

[hisirishsoufflegirl]

Tea Is A Love Language ~ A.H x Reader

A/N (wow I haven’t wrote that in years): Hi! I’m back (says them to people who did not even realise they stopped writing lmao). There’s been an Aaron Hotchner x You slow burn fic brainstorming away whenever I’ve been rewatching Criminal Minds for the past few years so I thought I’d make a comeback to write a sample entry (that takes place a bit into the actual fic) to see what everyone thinks, aha.

CW/Context: Aaron and Hayley are divorcing/there’s no Emily(sorry!)/Aaron being grumpy but then surprisingly sweet/Reid and reader are best friends/Morgan and reader are very close due a traumatic past/Aaron gave a private lil sweet pep talk to reader when they got overwhelmed after the college campus murders/the timeline is a bit jumbled but it’ll be easier to follow/explained in full fic/in canon mentions of violence/I’m rusty at this, forgive me

-

A sigh. Then a smacking sound as the paper contents of a file hit the desk.

“Who’s up for a drink?” Morgan stood up. Eyebrows raising as if a lightbulb flashed atop his head, he turned. “Actually.. who’s up for five?”

The man didn’t need to ask you twice. Nights out drinking with Morgan were always the safest. Sure, they were wild and chaotic.. but you always knew you would get home and you always knew you’d never wake up the next morning fearing you did something you regret. It was funny. One of the men who inspired you to join the Academy and pursue this as a career was not only now a colleague but a friend. A close friend at that. Your letters containing updates on your life since that awful period of your life when you were 18 were more for Gideon’s sake. Though that didn’t mean Derek never checked up on you throughout the years that led to you surprising the agent the day it was announced a new member was joining the team and in you walked into the table meeting.

“I don’t know..” your best friend trailed off, his focus on fixing the contents of his brown satchel.

You got up from your desk, the one attached to Spencer’s, shouldering your own bag. “Nuh-uh, Spence. You’re coming.” You looked up at him, trying your hardest to use your eyes to silently beg to coax him out.

It worked. It always worked. Reid hated nights out, especially Morgan’s definition of a night out, but you knew you made it tolerable for him. Many a night of drinking you sat with the doctor, letting him ramble off about statistics or Star Trek and often debating the one topic you yourself did know about - Doctor Who. You didn’t know why some of the others treated listening to his interests and rambles as almost a chore. You had always found them interesting and besides, how could someone not take an interest in what their best friend cared about?

“.. you’re still cosplaying at comic con with me, right?” Spencer’s eyes narrowed at you.

“Of course.”

“Alright, I’m in.”

You mouthed a “thank you” at him, your hand coming up to touch his elbow as a comfort as you both walked to join Morgan and Rossi heading towards the door.

“JJ?”

“Ugh, I’d love to but.. gonna have to take a rain check.” the blonde woman grimaced, picking up her share of files.

You felt someone brush past you as they hurried towards the glass door of the bullpen. You turned your head, realisation hitting you that it was your Unit Chief. You hadn’t properly spoken one on one to the man ever since the day the team was about to leave Flagstaff, Arizona. There had been a spree killer on a college campus, murdering women who were very similar in age to you and it brought back some painful memories. Painful memories as well as a feeling of guilt that you had survived your own attack and had went on to go and finish college. A privilege that those victims never got to make a reality. You had stepped away for a moment to compose yourself back at the hotel while the other agents were packing to go home when Hotch had appeared beside you. You had been sure you were to be scolded for being too soft or for your exterior slipping, a worry that was all too evident as you had tried to quickly wipe your tear away and swallow the ache in the back of your throat. But no. He had been kind. Really kind. The conversation had not been long, nor did the comforting hand on your arm to gesture you back to the hotel to leave linger, but it had helped.

“Hotch, you up for a beer?” the Italian man extended the invitation to his friend.

Hotch stopped in his tracks, his eyes flickering to the side as he pondered his answer. He decided with a sigh. “Sure.” He turned and you offered an awkward smile when his eyes settled on you.

“Agent Hotchner.” came the suited man with a clipboard and envelope into the room through the glass doors.

Breathing in, Hotch’s eyes looked away from you as he turned. “Yes?”

The man presented him with the clipboard and a pen to sign for the brown envelope.

Hotch’s eyes shifted down to it and his body stiffened slightly with a sharp intake of breath.

You had never seen Hotch display a crack in his exterior like that before. I wonder what’s in that envelope. You thought.

Breaking the silence, you sucked your lower lip in - a tell, you had been told by one of your profiler buddies, that you felt awkward and anxious. “What is it?”

Your boss stared down at the envelope, his fingers subconsciously kneading the paper. That’s one of *his* tells, you surmised, whatever it is it’s bothering him.

He finally glanced up at you through dark eyelashes, a look of defeat in those dark eyes. “Hayley’s filing for divorce. I’ve been served.”

Fuck. Fuck. You fucked up.

You watched as Hotchner took a final look at the contents in his hands before walking away, no longer feeling up to a fun and happy night.

~

“McCoy Boy! How was Connecticut?” You greeted Spencer as you, Morgan, JJ and Rossi piled back into the bullpen. You dropped your bag onto your chair and circled round to the opposite side of the desk to throw your arms loosely round the genius’ neck and shoulders. You never took advantage of the privilege of being the only one Reid allowed to casually touch him like this but now didn’t count. You had missed him. While you were in Indianapolis helping Rossi catch the monster that haunted him and three siblings, your best friend and your Unit Chief were in Connecticut interviewing a death row inmate.

Spencer rested his hand on one of your arms as you squeezed him, propping his book down on his desk. “Ultimately uneventful.”

You shifted your head from the top of Reid’s curly mop to his temple. “Fill me in anyway.”

Spence chuckled before turning his gaze at Rossi. “Uh sir, there’s someone waiting to speak to you in your office.”

You pulled back to crane your neck behind you. Sure enough, Kevin Lynch stood in the doorway to the office at the end of the walkway.

You focused on JJ’s face as Kevin talked, a face barely containing her smile and giddiness. Your eyebrows furrowed confused and as Rossi walked past to talk ‘man-to-man’ with the tech analyst, you mouthed ‘what??’ to the blonde.

JJ raised her eyebrows suggestively at you as she swivelled to walk away. “Garcia and Kevin sittin’ in a tree..”

Morgan’s mouth dropped open. “Get out of here.”

“Wait, what? What?” the brown eyed genius piped up, confusion and anxiety about missing a clue seeping in his voice.

“Didn’t you hear the song, love?” You asked your friend, your left arm still leaning on the back of his office chair for standing support.

“The song meant something? No, I missed it!” Reid grew frantic. Adorable.

“Yeah, it..” you trailed off as your eyes looked around the room as you looked up. They landed on the dark haired man in his pristine suit, shoulders tense as he hunched over his desk, one hand resting on his forehead.

He looks so stressed.

You sucked in your lower lip. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” You ruffled the top layer of Spencer’s brown curls. “I’ll explain it later.”

You moved your duffel bag onto the floor underneath your desk and settled in your chair. Every instinct in you was screaming to check in on your boss. That’s just the type of person you were and your instincts never did you wrong. You had gone on gut instinct when you asked Spencer what was causing him to struggle which eventually led to him going to rehab. You had listened to your instinct when it told you to gather up Morgan and JJ to join Rossi in Indianapolis a few days ago. But this was Hotch. This was your boss. You had never seen the man crack a smile let alone open up about his feelings.

Leaning your chin on your hand, your head twisted to look at the environment behind your desk. Looking behind you had become a habit since you were a teenager, even when your body knew it was in a safe environment such as the bullpen. But old habits die hard and listen, it was a habit that kept you alive in the field. Funny that. You’d think someone with that self preservation habit would run away from situations that posed a threat, not run to them. And certainly not make a career out of solving them.

Your eyes landed on the coffee machine set up and kettle sat on the communal kitchen countertop.

Hmm. Too late for coffee. You hummed. Hold on..

You swung your legs out from under your desk, pushing yourself up and away from your desk and headed towards the communal kitchen. The plethora of jars containing coffee grounds - the jar with the brown and gold label was Reid’s only go to - and sugar - the plastic tub of aspartame was JJ’s - littered the counter. But you weren’t looking for the coffee. Stretching up on your tiptoes, you opened up each cupboard. You searched the top two before bending down to view the contents of the bottom ones.

A-ha! Found you. You took out the green box praying it wasn’t empty and silently thanked God when it wasn’t. Plopping one of the tea bags into the clean ecru mug you found, you filled the kettle in the sink and flicked on the switch.

As the water boiled, you dared to glance to your right at Hotch’s office. You didn’t think it was possible but the man looked even more stressed. The noise of the kettle turning off drew your attention and you poured the hot liquid into the mug, pressing the teabag to the sides of the mug with the spoon before scooping it up and binning it in the pedal bin. Stealing the last of the semi skimmed milk from the fridge, you trickled some of it into the tea before stirring. Dropping the spoon into the sink promising to clean it in a few minutes, you grasped the handle of the cup and headed towards the steps to the walkway.

Your feet reached the closed door to the office and your knuckles rapped against the wood.

“Come in.” He sounds tired.

Careful not to spill the tea, you pushed the handle of the door down and the door opened. Hotch glanced up. Twice. Once out of habit. The other a double take. His head left his hand and he placed his pen down on the case files in front of him. You could tell he was trying to figure out what you were doing in his office, it was obvious in his eyes. For a man so expressionless, his eyes were always so expressive.

You realised you had been staring at him for probably a bit too long and shifted your eyes down to the mug in your right hand, your other hand clasping round it for the excuse of holding something as a distraction. You lightly tapped your ring against the porcelain as you tried to word your sentence in your head before your mouth could get you into trouble. The action had Hotch’s gaze look down at your hands, something you noticed he did often. You had a habit of fiddling with one of your rings when you wanted to say something but were deciding if you should or not. It usually ended in Hotch noticing and asking you your opinion on the topic at hand.

You took a breath in. “Sir, if I had known.. I wouldn’t have asked about the envelope in front of everyone.“

“Y/L/N-“ Hotch sat upright in his chair.

“Anyway, I uh, I’m not going to ask you to talk about it.” You reassured him, cutting him off. Still looking at the mug in your hands, you continued. “I just want you to know that you’re not alone in this. I, the team, will support you in any way we can.”

You could feel your heart speeding in your chest, you were sure your boss could even hear the thumping. You risked looking up. The usually stoic man’s gaze softened, his forehead smoothing out. Maybe Hotch wasn’t so scary all the time.

“My mother always liked to show it with tea,” You remembered the mug in your hands. Probably should explain that, yeah. “And it’s what I know so.. uhm..” You shuffled forward closer to his desk and settled the cup on top of the dark wood. Stepping back, your hands went to the back of your trouser legs.

Hotch stared at you, his expression not giving anything away. “You didn’t have to.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Think of it as repaying the favour.”

You watched as those big dark eyes softened, gaze switching to the mug now sat on his desk. Giving an tight lipped smile, you nodded awkwardly and turned to leave. You didn’t wanna overstay your welcome. As your hand reached for the door, your name being called stopped you in your tracks. Not your last name. Your name.

“Y/N?”

You turned, surprised at the switch from your surname to your first name. Hotch called everyone by their surnames, even Rossi sometimes. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” He meant that. Sincerely.

You tried to stop the smile etching its way onto your face. You felt bold. “Don’t mention it.. Aaron.”

Hotch - Aaron cracked a small smile. A tiny quirk of his lips. You nodded at each other, your hand closing the door behind you as you left the office.

Taking the steps down to your desk, you didn’t see Hotch bring the mug to his lips, taking a swig. His eyebrows raised in approval. Another swig. Leaning back in his chair, he inhaled, looking to his left to watch the bullpen out of his office window. He spotted you carrying case files back to your desk, engrossed in conversation with Reid.

He sighed, his attention turning back to his desk, pausing before opening the drawer next to him. His fingers hovered over a brown envelope, picking it up and sliding the contents of it out in front of him. Taking a breath and another swig of tea, Hotch picked back up his pen and signed his name on the dotted line.

[asheepinfrance]

i wrote this with futile devices in mind but i don't think that really shows. i don't think it matters cause i think this one's silly. there's not much of a plot, this is just sorta a day in patrick's life after moving back in, in my mind a week or so post-new rochelle. i hope you like it. as always, feel free to leave any thoughts, critiques, etc. in the comments, should you have any advice on where to improve. thank you <333

The sun rose an hour ago, and Patrick woke with it, whether or not he wanted to. He can blame Tashi for the disturbance, because apparently she’d been the one to choose the thin, white curtains that are doing absolutely nothing to block out the rays of sunshine threatening to make him actually do something with his day. He’d rather not, really, when it’s better to curl up and pretend nothing is real besides the warmth of his blanket for another few hours. Eventually, Tashi and Art join the sensory input keeping him from sleep. He’s not even comfortable anymore, too leggy and curled up to fit onto their couch properly, but he can’t make himself move. He likes that he knows they’re looking at him, learning to watch him exist again. Learning to be comfortable with him the way they used to be. 

It’s quite easy, actually, to get comfortable again. He hasn’t changed in too many ways, though there’s an air about him that hadn’t been there in their younger years. Whether that came with age, a natural maturation, or their absence they weren’t sure. They’d feel less guilty about the former, though. Tashi’s holding a mug in both hands, the warmth slightly stinging at her palms, heating the metal of her wedding ring up. She watches Art watch Patrick, who shifts slightly to cover his face with the throw blanket they’d lent him. How he’d ended up staying the night at their hotel the first time was unclear. Now, here he is, curled into the couch of their actual home, acting as Dad #2 for Lily when she and Art are training, and switching off when she finally gives in and coaches Patrick a bit. She’s sure her mother appreciates the break. 

She laughs through her nose, her shoulders bouncing with it, and the sound, or lack thereof, breaks Art from his trance. “Has he always been this deep a sleeper?”, she asks like she doesn’t know the answer. Art drums his fingers against the marble countertop, a satisfying, rhythmic wave created by just some skin and bone. She wishes she could be an artist in that way, just moving her body and making something worth seeing. She used to have that. “I don’t know, it’s been a long time”, he shrugs, sniffles a little bit. They both know that he won’t move until about 12 in the afternoon, just like he always had done.

Patrick “wakes” to Tashi’s eyes level with his, and he can’t imagine why she’d kneel for him of all people, and just for the sake of greeting him. The roles should be reversed and he knows it, Art probably knows it from wherever he’s watching this display from. He feels a bit like a child with the way she speaks to him, airy and soft like he’s delicate. He isn’t entirely aware that he is. “Hey… you sleep ok?” He grunts when he sits up, a noticeable ache in the muscles of his lower back that her gaze immediately falls to, her lips pulling down the slightest bit. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like for that disapproving of hers to be born out of concern. “You know you can always sleep in the guest room, right?” He shakes his head, waves his hand somewhere in her direction to signal disapproval, and she doesn’t really understand why he won’t take the easy way out. After all, isn’t Patrick known for it? But he thinks he hasn’t earned it yet. He has to make Tashi and Art remember he’s sweet, that he can be a better man than he’d shown himself to be, because no one loves a man who only wins for himself, and then again he rarely wins at all. Everyone loves a selfless champion, so no one could quite love him. So he needs them to remember he values their attention so deeply that just knowing the layout of their house now, watching them exist and love one another, knowing the name of their preferred coffee, that’s enough for him. He isn’t sure whose approval it is that he needs more at this point.

Patrick’s favorite part of the day, or at least, part of the day to himself, has become showering. He remembers the first night, back at the hotel in New Rochelle, he’d watched dirt he hadn’t known existed run off of his skin in that warm water and he felt new. He felt clean and pure and cried like a baby, curling onto that cold, tile shower floor. He only snapped back into his own body when Art had knocked on the door after an hour, fearing Patrick had fallen. Patrick isn’t sure why he let Art come in, shakily voicing his consent through the unlocked door, considering his state, but Art didn’t mind. He minded so little that he kneeled at Patrick’s side, still clothed, and held him through it. He ignored the shirt now sticking to his skin, the inevitable heaviness of wet denim, and let Patrick fall into him like he’d needed to for 13 years. His awe at consistent availability of warm water hasn’t run off, and he can’t get out until the jack-and-jill bathroom mirrors have fogged up with steam, and he lets himself hope for a bit that his toothbrush will join theirs in that little cup in between the two sinks. 

When he watches Lily later that day, sitting on his knees to watch her intently draw on a sheet of yellow construction, she doesn’t seem to notice the weight of her words when she says, “You know, Mama and Dad haven’t been fighting so much now that you’re here.” She’s like Tashi in that sense, not knowing that every little thing she does has everyone’s heart aching. He can’t help the little scoff that comes out, more from disbelief rather than annoyance, and Lily just goes back to scribbling on her paper. “Whatcha drawing, kid?” He asks, forcing himself to change the topic and not wallow in something sickening and sweet in front of this little girl he’s still finding his way around interacting with. She pushes the paper towards him, and when he flips it over, he finds four disproportionately drawn figures, two tall men, one woman with two lines for hair, and a smaller girl furthest right. He decides then and there he’s going to hang it on the fridge, and wonders when he got so comfortable so as to feel he can make an imprint on their home. Even one so small as paper placed on the fridge with a magnet.

At night, a time that comes with a star-riddled sky, after Lily’s been put to bed and Patrick insisted on washing the dishes leftover from dinner, he finds himself staring at a small family photo on their wall. Art, Tashi, and Lily, clearly younger then, on some sunny patch of grass. He wonders what life would be like had he been there, what their walls would look like if they had traces of him, too. He feels like it’d sully their image. Selfishly, he hopes they wouldn’t mind that hit to their reputation. Maybe he hopes they actively choose to endure it. It’s late now, Tashi and Art’s voices carrying quietly from their bedroom, and he knows he won’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep anymore because he was happy, and he’d become accustomed to only dropping from sheer exhaustion. From a brain shutting down purely because it couldn’t withstand consciousness anymore. He feels like a child awoken from a nightmare when he knocks at their door, blanket draped over his shoulder, twiddling his thumbs, asking if he can sleep in their room. He insists it’s just for the night, they insist they wouldn’t mind if it was for longer than that. He tucks himself between the two of them as carefully as he can, avoiding Tashi’s knee at all costs, though he knows it’s years past being healed. They don’t do anything but touch him, a natural press from lack of space, warm breath to goosebump prickled skin, and he has to force himself not to cry, laugh, moan. He just closes his eyes and lets himself melt. He thinks if he lets his eyes close long enough, melt enough, he’ll fuse into them. Maybe that’s what he needs.

[cabotslvr]

Against All Odds.

Summary: Reader is Kate Laswell's niece, Laswell had noticed the look you gave Price and she immediately made you promise not to do anything with him. Laswell knew you were a troublemaker, but she hoped you kept your promise. But everyone likes trouble.

Word count: around 6.1k or something

Warnings: uhh semi-public sex, smut, some swearing but not awful (even tho price has got a mouth on him), badly written british words, office sex and i think that's it? uh good luck if not. also on my ao3 which is the same as here, might be easier to read idk. i'm not good with tumblr 🙏 i wrote this at 3am and i did NOT proof read

It had been a while since you've seen your aunt Kate, you hardly ever went to her office. Why? Who knows, CIA buildings freak you out. You had clearance to visit, but still. They were all trained spies, everyone would be nervous, no?

But, since you finally had time to visit her, you figured you should before she found out you were in town and decided not to visit her. Aunt Kate knew everything, and she made sure you knew that too. Growing up, she was mostly the one to take care of you. Her and her wife, taking you under their wing even though you were a troublemaker.

"You're not my aunt." You said, leaning against the door of your aunt's office. A tall, broad man stood in front of Laswell's desk. He was tall, strong, and definitely hot. Even the bucket hat on his head looked oddly attractive.

You raised your eyebrow slightly, crossing your arms as you eyed the older man up and down. Price had a smirk playing on his lips, as if he was amused you chose to eye him like he was a piece of meat.

"I see you've met John," Laswell sighed, making her way past you and towards her desk. She was less amused with the way you were eyeing Price.

You smiled, making your way towards her. "Aunt Kate!" Your voice made the older woman smile and her eyes softened ever so slightly, though you knew her long enough to know the difference.

She wrapped her arms around you in a quick hug before she pulled back, sitting down in her chair. Her desk was filled with files and folders, it hardly had any room to see the glass table.

"What brings you by, dear? I assume you've finished school then?" She asked, handing files to Price. You assumed she asked to see him before you randomly popped up.

"Oh, indeed. And you thought I'd get kicked out before I would finish." You teased, your eyes glancing back at Price for a moment. He was too hot to keep your eyes off of him.

"Don't even think about it. He's 37, you're what? 26 now?" Laswell said, her voice firm and leaving no room for argument.

"Age is just a number, aunt Kate. Eleven years is nothing." You smirked, keeping your eyes on Price. Even he had a slight smirk on his lips, he was clearly amused by your antics. And also wanting to put you in your place for your bratty attitude.

"John, leave. We'll discuss this later about some upcoming missions. And the things you did on the last mission." Laswell pointed towards the door, clearly wanting Price to leave. Price simply nodded, turning and leaving. Once the door was closed, Laswell looked back at you.

"Promise me you won't do anything with John. He's been my friend for many years, I do not want anything to happen between you two." Her voice was firm, yet a sound of a plea could be heard.

You sighed, rolling your eyes slightly. "Promise. But you're no fun, aunt Kate."

You and Laswell caught up for a while, talking about school mostly. CIA and their secrets, she couldn't talk about her job. Though, you didn't mind because you loved ranting. But she was busy, so you decided to leave and let her.. do whatever she did in the CIA.

You decided to stay in England for a while, knowing your aunt was staying on the 141 base for a mission or whatever. She didn't give details. You stayed with her and her wife, a temporary place on base until they had to leave. Being on base meant running into Price constantly, whether you were leaving for a workout or getting a simple snack from the shops.

No matter what; you saw him. You've met his team too, Ghost was quiet and Soap was.. well, he was funny. Though, you could tell he probably had some anger issues lying underneath his funny demeanor. All funny people did.

"Funny seeing you here, eh?" Price asked, sitting down next to you. You had a cup of coffee in your hands, a book in the other. You raised your eyebrow slightly, a small smile playing on your lips.

You leaned forward slightly, closing your book before you spoke. "Either that, or you're following me. I must say.. I'm flattered, Captain."

"Oh, please. Can't a lad get some coffee? You have a mouth on you, love." His voice was rough, but not in a mean way. Just from all the cigars he smoke.

"My mouth bothers you?" You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest. "Maybe you should fill it. If you catch my drift."

Your comment had left Price speechless, he didn't expect that from someone like you, Laswell's niece. To say he was intrigued was an understatement. Price was always all work and no play, except for the 'play' he got in the field. Which was just defying orders and doing what he saw fit.

After a moment, Price chuckled and shook his head. The older man was clearly amused and honestly, a bit flustered. "Careful, darling. I might just take ya up on that offer. Might help with the cockiness you have."

Price leaned forward against the table, clasping his hands together. "If yer serious, love, I will gladly do it. What Kate doesn't know won't hurt her."

You raised your eyebrow, considering your options. If your aunt ever found out, she'd feel betrayed by both you and Price. Especially because you promised her. But he was so fine, how could you pass up this opportunity?

"You're right. What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Those words were all Price needed, and suddenly you found yourself following him back to base. You knew you shouldn't be doing this, but you just couldn't help yourself. He led you to his quarters, which was different than most. He had his own bathroom, that was a plus.

You hardly registered the door shutting because Price had you pinned up against the wall, taking your hands in his and pinning them above your head. A sharp gasp escaped your mouth and you attempted to struggle against his grip, though it was no use. His free hand sneaked around your waist, pulling you into his body.

Next thing you knew, his lips were slamming onto yours. You could feel his beard tickling your skin, though you were slightly distracted by the kiss. You expected him to be rough, but his kiss was somewhat.. gentle. You felt like putty in his hands, and if he wasn't holding you up, you wouldn't be standing. His hand moved towards your ass, lifting you into the air.

Your legs immediately wrapped around his legs, while your arms wrapped around his neck. Price hummed in satisfaction, carrying you towards his bed and he plopped you down into the middle. He looked down at you, your hair sprawled out onto his blankets while your chest rose and fell.

"Strip." He commanded, his tone firm and serious. You almost chuckled, wondering if he was truly serious. But it appeared he was. With a sigh, you sat up and started to unbutton your blouse. It only took you a short time to get your clothes off, considering Price was being impatient.

He hummed in approval, his eyes wandering your body. He couldn't wait to get his hands on you, touch every inch of skin he could. Price unbuckled his belt, tossing it onto the floor. Then, he unzipped his pants until he was able to get it pants off, along with his boxers. He was left in just his gray shirt. Your eyes widened slightly at his size, not only was he large, but he was thick too. Your mouth watered at the sight.

"Now.. why don't you put that pretty mouth to good use?" He moved closer towards the edge of the bed, though he just stood there. You were confused slightly, but you obliged, moving towards him.

"Ah, ah," he tsked. Confused, you went to speak but he cut you off before any words could get out. "I want you to lie on your back and hang your head off the bed."

His request seemed easy enough, though it sounded like it was going to hurt. Being upside down, trying to fit his thick cock into your mouth. Regardless, you nodded and went onto your back. Once you got close enough, Price tapped the tip of his dick on your lips, wanting you to open.

You opened your mouth, running your tongue along the tip of his dick, a deep groan escaping Price's lips. You moved your tongue lower, coating every inch with your spit before he got impatient, shoving his cock into your mouth. You could barely fit half of it inside your mouth, it felt like he was splitting your mouth into two.

"Fuck, you feel bloody brilliant. Look so beautiful like this." Price praised you, his hand caressing your forehead. His words made you want to do your best for him.

You started bobbing your head, the best you could in your position anyway. Grunts and groans left Price's mouth, his hips thrusting to meet your pace. You gagged, feeling the tears prickle your eyes as you felt his cock go deeper into your throat. You hallowed your cheeks, making Price groan in pleasure. You reached your hands up, playing with his balls as he shoved his dick down your throat. You could tell he was close, the way his balls tightened and his pace got sloppy. Without warning, you felt hot cum shooting down your throat, to which you swallowed as much of it as you could.

He pulled back once he emptied his load down your throat, so you sat up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "You did good, darling. That mouth definitely was filled, eh?" Price smirked, climbing onto the bed next to you.

You took the opportunity to sit on his lap, your dripping cunt rubbing against his thigh. His hands found your hips, gently kneading your skin. "I have another hole you can fill."

"Naughty girl." Price taunted, though he loved the way you spoke. So filthy and dirty, making him turned on more than he already was. Feeling your dripping cunt against his thigh made him groan, lifting your hips up slightly so he could run his fingers through your folds. He brought them to his mouth, his tongue licking his fingers clean.

"Taste bloody delicious. Could eat you all day. But for now, I need to be inside your perfect cunt." Price growled, taking his dick into his hands. You smirked, feeling him line himself up with your entrance. He lifted his hips, forcing the tip of his cock into your entrance.

He was bigger than you've ever had before, making your pussy feel like it was tearing as he pushed the last few inches in. You whimpered, causing Price to chuckle. Something about your whine had made him want to take control of you, like you were his. No one else's.

He suddenly flipped you two so you were on your back, his hands lifted your legs around his waist. He started slowly thrusting his cock into your tight heat, low moans leaving your mouth as you felt every vein of his cock. God, he felt amazing inside of you. You rocked your hips back and forth, matching his pace as he slowly sped up. He couldn't hold back, not with the pretty noises you made.

Your cunt was dripping down his cock, every time he went deeper, your juices followed. You gripped the sheets, trying to keep your moans quiet so the whole damn base didn't hear you. But it was difficult with the way he pounded into you, like a man touch deprived. He gripped your hips, pulling you down onto his cock, the tip hitting that spongy spot inside of you. He moved one hand to your clit, his fingers rubbing circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Ohhh, fuck! I'm close, John! Don't stop!" You choked out, your head falling backwards against the pillows. Price didn't slow down, nor give you any words. He simply sped up, his balls hitting your ass with every thrust. You were seeing stars, considering your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

"Come for me, baby. Come on my cock." Price panted, his voice full of lust and desire. His words were all you needed to be pushed over the edge, your legs shaking slightly while your back arched off the bed. Your pussy fluttered around his cock, forcing a loud groan from his lips. A few seconds after you came, Price hit a deep spot inside of your pussy, his hot cum filling your tight heat. He slowed his movements, pushing his cum deeper inside of you untill there was nothing left and his cock softened.

He pulled out of you once you came down from your high, a small smile on your lips. "You're amazing at that." You chuckled, your eyes half lidded as you looked at him. Price simply smirked, pushing two fingers into your cunt, making sure his cum didn't leak out of you. You didn't know why, but the scene made you more wet.

Eventually, Price got off the bed and grabbed a wet rag to clean you both up before you got into the shower together. You knew from that day on, there was no one else you'd want to fuck you. He felt too damn good, no one could possibly make you come like that.

And from that day on, no one else but Price fucked you. Any chance he got, he was pulling you to his office or his quarters to fuck the living shit out of you. You simply didn't mind, it was just sex, right? That's what you two told each other from the start, just sex.

You've been trying to spend as much time with your aunt as possible, to make sure she wasn't getting suspicious. But you could tell she was, the way she looked at you when you came home late or not at all until the next morning. It didn't take a genius to figure it out. But she was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. For now, at least.

"You wouldn't lie to me, right?" Laswell asked, sitting next to you at a table. You raised your eyebrow, setting down a piece of toast.

"No, why do you ask?"

"Just making sure," Laswell clicked her tongue, like she didn't believe you. "You should know better than to lie to me. I've always found out, haven't I?"

Her words lowkey scared you a bit, she couldn't possibly know about you and Price. You were discreet, even keeping the marks in places no one but Price could see. You played it off with a cheeky smile, taking a bite of your toast. "I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid, aunt Kate."

"Good." She said simply, standing up from the table and leaving you alone. You exhaled a breath you didn't realize you were holding, shaking your head in disbelief.

You tried being more careful after that conversation, not wanting to be caught by your aunt Kate. That'd be one awkward conversation, for both you and Price. Though, the risk of getting caught was such a thrill. Knowing you were doing something you shouldn't be doing.. you always did enjoy causing trouble.

While you have been more discreet and careful, you started spending more time with Price. Mostly just sitting in his office while he worked on paperwork, you'd sit on his cock until he was done and then he'd fuck you senseless. And sometimes you'd just sit and talk, though you did the talking most of the time. Price always listened, even when he was busy.

You've learned things about Price, what he does and doesn't like during sex. Things he likes to be called, what he doesn't like. Kinks, etc. things you haven't tried, he'd talk you through it. God, it was so hot when he'd talk you through it.

"Are you almost done yet?" You whined, shifting on his cock. You weren't sure how long you've been warming his cock, but it felt like eternity. You desperately needed him to move, your poor pussy was clenching and unclenching around him. You could feel your juices dripping down your thighs and onto his pants.

Price sighed, setting his pen down on his files. "Quit yer whining, you ungrateful thing." He pulled you off of his cock, causing you to whine again. He pushed your shoulders, making you get onto your knees. He kicked you back slightly, so you were underneath his desk.

"Quit complaining and fill that mouth with my cock. If you do good, I'll think about ruining yer pretty pussy." Price grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugging you towards his dick. You nodded eagerly, wanting to do something rather than bloody nothing.

You swirled your tongue around his tip, then down his shaft and back up to the top. You did it a few times before Price got impatient, tugging on your hair. "Quit teasing. Don't make me punish you and deny your orgasms."

Your eyes widened slightly, not wanting to be punished when you were already horny and needy for his cock to be inside of you. You took his cock in your mouth, flattening your tongue to take him deeper in your throat. Price groaned in approval, using his free hand to go back to signing paperwork.

You bobbed your head up and down, your spit falling down the corner of your mouth. You used one of your hands to hold onto his thigh, while the other wrapped around his cock. Working together, both your mouth and your hand made Price grunt in pleasure. He wasn't one to moan much, but you knew he enjoyed the way you sucked him off.

A knock on the door made you freeze, but Price shoved your head down, forcing you to continue. The thought of someone knowing sent a shiver down your spine, your thighs clenching together to feel some type of friction. You couldn't touch yourself, Price never allowed that.

"Come in." Price said lowly, not wanting to give away what was happening underneath his desk. He glanced down at you, making sure you were okay with this.

"John, we need to talk about your behavior on the last missi-" Laswell cut herself off, raising her eyebrow slightly. "Are you alright?"

Price snapped his head up at Laswell, not expecting her to be the one knocking on his office door. You almost choked on Price's cock when you heard your aunt's voice, trying to pull off of him. Price didn't let that slide, he kept your head in place and roughly pulled your hair to make you keep bobbing your head.

"I'm fine, Kate. Coming down with something. What did you want to talk about?" His voice was strained, but damn he was such a good liar.

Laswell sighed, sitting down across from Price's desk. Luckily, she couldn't see you, underneath and sucking his cock like it was your last meal on earth. "Your behavior. You need to follow orders for once in your life."

Laswell went on, basically reprimanding Price for never listening to orders and doing what he wanted instead. Though, Price was hardly listening. He was fighting for his life, trying not to cum while Laswell was in his office. He felt his balls tightening, especially with how you played with them and took his cock as deep as you could into your throat.

"Fine. I'll listen. I have work to do, are we done?" Price asked, his voice sounding rushed. He was desperate to get her out. Laswell nodded, wrapping the conversation up before she left. The moment Laswell closed the door, Price let out a loud groan and spilled his hot seed into your throat. He couldn't hold it back any longer. You swallowed as much as you could before he pulled you off his cock and up from the floor.

"Lay on my desk." He pushed his paperwork aside, most of it falling onto the floor yet he had no care in the world. You obliged, hopping up onto his desk and laying back. You couldn't deny you were excited, your pussy was practically dripping. Watching Price try not to cum from you sucking him off had you needy more than ever.

Price wasted no time, leaning over and swiping his tongue through your folds. Your hips buckled, needing more friction than he was giving you. He pulled back, sucking a dark mark onto your thigh. Mostly so no other man could get between your pretty little legs, sucking your pussy that belonged to him.

"John, please." You whined, grinding your hips against his nose to feel something. Price growled, not wanting to keep his precious baby waiting any longer. His tongue swirled around your clit before he sucked on it, his teeth grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasped, your hands falling to his short brown hair.

You hummed, your eyes fluttered shut from pleasure. "Just like that, John.. keep going."

Price sucked on your clit, rubbing his tongue in tight circles before dipping into your entrance. His nose rubbed your clit while he fucked your pussy with his tongue. You couldn't help the moans that left your mouth, he was like a man starved as he ate you out. His tongue returned back to your clit, his thick finger pushing it's way into your entrance. It easily went in, your pussy was dripping with your juices.

"Fuck, so wet for me. Naughty little thing." Price muttered against your pussy, sending vibrations through your core. You moaned, your hips grinding against his finger. He added another, thrusting them in and out of your dripping cunt. His name fell from your mouth, singing it like a damn lullaby. Price added a third finger, curling them to hit your g-spot.

"Oh, God! I'm going to come!" You warned, to which Price only sped up his movements. His fingers worked faster and deeper, while his tongue sucked and nipped at your clit. You gripped the edge of the desk, his name coming off your tongue in a chant as you came undone, your walls clenching and unclenching around his fingers. He let you ride out your high before he removed his fingers, standing up from his chair.

"Open your mouth." He demanded, pressing his fingers to your lips. You hardly had time to register his words, but you opened your mouth. He pushed his fingers passed your lips, your tongue swirling around his fingers. While you were busy tasting yourself, Price used his free hand to line his cock up with your entrance.

You gasped against his fingers as you felt his cock fill you up, though it quickly turned into a moan. As Price got his pace, he removed his fingers and replaced them with his lips. You kissed him back, though it seemed more passionate than usual. It was soft, almost gentle. It always was, but something just felt different this time.

Your thoughts were broken as Price moved his lips to your neck, sucking on your pulse point. His free hand slipped underneath your shirt, twisting your nipple between his fingers. You yelped, only making Price chuckle against your neck. The pleasure from his cock, his lips against your neck, and the feeling of him playing with your nipples was almost enough to send you over the edge. Again. But Price slowed down, wanting to keep you on edge. He kept going fast then slow again, making you whine over and over again. You couldn't take it, it was like torture.

"No, please. Please don't slow down! John, please." You whined, grinding your hips against him. Price smirked, placing soft kisses along your collarbone. He couldn't help himself, he just loved hearing those whines from you. But, he also wanted to cum inside of your tight heat like always, so he finally gave in.

He lifted his head up, gripping your hips and pulling you deeper onto his cock. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him in place so he couldn't move from his spot. You covered your mouth with your hand as he pounded his cock inside of you at a fast pace, hitting every right place inside of you. Your back arched off the desk as you felt your legs shaking slightly, feeling your release wash over you. Price groaned in pleasure as he felt your walls fluttering around him, milking him of everything he was worth.

You felt his cock softening inside of you after his cum was deep inside of you, then he slowly pulled out. He grabbed a few tissues, cleaning up your thighs and carefully pressing your sensitive clit. Price always admired the way you looked after he fucked you, your cheeks flushed and your pussy swollen, dripping with his cum. God, he could stare at you forever and never get tired of it.

The mission had been months now, it was taking longer than usual and Laswell was never the patient one. She'd rather be at home with her wife rather than being on a base with smelly men. You, however, enjoyed the time being on base. Every time Laswell left, you were with Price all day until he had to leave. You couldn't even count the amount of times you two have fucked by now, but you did know one thing for sure; you were falling in love with him. You didn't know how it happened, you found yourself wanting to be with him 24/7, never leaving his side. You hated it, yet also loved it.

You thought about distancing yourself so that you wouldn't get hurt in the future, it's not like you could hide it from Laswell forever. You were already getting sloppy, she noticed the hickeys on your collarbone that you tried covering up. Or the way you held your breath when she talked about Price. She hoped you kept your promise, but then again, she knew you like the back of her hand. You were trouble, and even though she loved you, that was just the truth. But in the end, you couldn't distance yourself from Price. You were already too attached.

Price had invited you over again, knowing Laswell was in a meeting with the General and some other higher ups about their mission. You didn't immediately have sex, you haven't for the past few weeks you often watched a movie or ate dinner together in his quarters. Part of you believed he had feelings too, what man invites a woman over for a movie when they were supposed to be just fuck buddies?

Price picked up the plates, putting them into the sink while you got comfortable on the couch. You laid down, bringing your legs up onto the couch. When Price came back, he simply smiled and lifted your legs to sit down, then you placed your legs on his lap. He rubbed your feet, paying attention back to the movie. It was a comfortable silence between the two of you, something you've gotten used to with him. But, all good things come to an end, don't they?

You sat up from the couch, taking a seat on Price's lap. He chuckled softly, reaching for your hips and pulling you closer to his body. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against his. You loved kissing him, his soft lips against yours.. he tugged on your bottom lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth. Oh, how much you enjoyed that. You couldn't get enough of him, and Price couldn't get enough of you.

While you made out with him, you ground your hips against his thigh, feeling slight friction between your clothes. It was faint, but it was enough to keep you going. You eventually pulled back as he unbuttoned your blouse, then you attached your lips to his neck, sucking on his pulse point. He grunted, lifting his hips slightly. But just as he pushed your blouse off your shoulders, there was a knock on his door.

Price sighed in annoyance, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he lifted you off his lap and got up from the couch. When he answered the door, he quickly closed it to only where the person on the other side of the door could see a glimpse of his quarters. You took the advantage to use the bathroom while Price was busy. When Price noticed you were gone, he looked back at the person.

"What can I do for ya, Kate?"

Laswell wasn't a fool, she noticed the hickey the moment he opened the door. And she was going to find out one way or another. She pushed past the door, forcing an eye-roll from Price. "I told you I needed those reports an hour ago. Where are they?"

Price closed the door behind her, leaning against it as he crossed his arms. "Never a dull moment with ya, huh?" He shook his head, letting out a sigh. "I left them in my office, I forgot about them. But they're done."

Laswell looked around the room, just in time for the bathroom door to open. You, standing in the doorway, made Laswell furious. She knew it, she just needed proof before she accused you of anything. Her gaze hardened, her arms crossing over her chest. Your eyes widened, looking between your aunt and Price.

"Aunt Kate.. it's not what it looks like!" You stammered over your words, not wanting her to hate you for what you did. She raised you, and here you were, betraying her.

"Save it. I'm not an idiot. You lied to me, I don't like when you lie to me. You promised me, does that mean nothing to you?" Her voice was cold, almost detached. This was the first time you heard her this angry, but not for Price. Price knew she was holding back, and he gave you a sympathetic look.

"It-it does! I.. it just sort of happened! It's not an excuse, I know! But-" You couldn't help how pathetic you sounded, you just needed your aunt to believe you. But she didn't.

Laswell cut you off with her hand, immediately shutting you up. "Bullshit. You made a promise and you broke it." She didn't say anything else, she simply turned and left, leaving you alone with Price. You expected him to kick you out, not wanting to deal with Laswell's wrath. Especially because they were best friends. Instead, he pulled you into a hug and kissed your forehead while whispering reassuring words in your ear.

Weeks had passed and Laswell still wasn't speaking to you. She didn't make you leave, she didn't tell her wife what happened. She just simply.. ignored you. It hurt your feelings, but you knew you brought this onto yourself. And that's when you noticed Price was asking you to come over less, he hardly spoke to you either. Now you just felt alone, you didn't know what to do. You told yourself it would be fine, Laswell would come around. But when Price stopped talking to you? It wasn't easy anymore.

You didn't understand what you did, you thought he'd stay when your aunt found out. He told you he would, but he broke his promise. Just like you broke yours to your aunt. You've been trying to keep yourself together and not cry, but it was difficult. It wasn't about losing sex, that didn't matter to you. It was about losing two people who you loved. You couldn't take it anymore, breaking down into tears as you headed to the office your aunt used on base. It was quiet, the lights were off and she wasn't answering your calls or texts. You sat down, crying in your hands.

And soon enough, you heard footsteps in front of you. But it wasn't your aunt, no. It was Price. He kneeled in front of you, letting out a quiet sigh. He hadn't even thought about how this was affecting you. He lifted your head by your chin, wiping your tears with his thumbs. You didn't know what to say to him, he had ignored you like your aunt.

"I'm sorry," he started, not knowing what to say. He wasn't good with feelings, he wasn't a good man. How could he be with someone like you? A sweet person who has done no harm to the world. Regardless, he tried his best. "You deserve a man who's not gone all the time, who doesn't risk his life for his country. A man who will make it back, not one who might not make it home." He spoke softer than usual, it was so different.

You sniffled, trying to keep yourself together and not cry more. But you wanted to cry again, especially now that he's basically ending it. It always starts with 'you deserve better', rather than asking what you want. "That's not your choice to make! I want to be with you, why won't you let me? I thought you cared about me, that we had something together." Your words came out rushed, speaking between sniffles.

Price tilted his head, a small frown on his face. Of course he cared about you, he loved you. But how could he give you something he knew he couldn't? The look in your eyes, your sad face was driving him crazy. He wanted to make you happy, not sad. He knew he'd give in, he always does. "We did have something together. We still do, if you'll let me."

Your eyes lit up at his words and you got onto your knees to be level with him. You nodded eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck. Price was caught of guard, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he pulled you into a hug. How could he not make his girl happy? He would do his best for you, to prove he loved you. Because that's what you deserved.

You heard your name, making you freeze. You quickly pulled back from Price, scrambling to your feet and you wiped your remaining tears away. "Aunt Kate." You hoped you didn't sound too desperate to talk to her, but you couldn't help it. You missed your aunt, you would apologize over and over again if that's what she wanted.

Laswell's eyes softened slightly as she saw the state you were in, knowing it was her fault. She loved you, of course, but you frustrated her. And you needed to learn a lesson about lying, but you wouldn't get it unless she proved her point. By ignoring you until you got like.. well, this. Maybe it wasn't the best way to handle it, but she was CIA. Hardcore was her thing.

Laswell looked between you and Price, who was now standing up from the floor. She wanted to see how this went, if you'd still lie to her face or at least be honest. Sure, she still would've been mad but less upset if you didn't lie. "What's going on between you and John? You need to be honest with me."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. You knew how your aunt was, but you hoped she'd come around eventually. She raised you until you went off to school, she was there more than your own parents. "Me and John.. we-we're um.. dating? I think?" You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, looking at Price. Not even you were sure what was going on between you two.

Laswell followed your gaze, also looking at Price. He simply nodded at your question, looking back at Laswell. She let out a sigh, grabbing the keys to open her office. You and Price, confused, followed her into her office. You shut the door behind you, Laswell had already gotten behind her desk. She didn't sit, just rested her palms on the top of her desk.

"I can't stop you two from being together. I don't like it, but I can't stop you." She spoke through gritted teeth, like she was trying to hold back her anger. You weren't surprised by this, you knew she didn't approve of it. You nodded slowly, keeping your emotions in check.

"However, there will be rules," Laswell looked up at you and Price, looking between the two. You furrowed your eyebrows at her words, and Price did too. Though, his was more in amusement than confusion. "There will be no PDA. Not even when I'm not on this base. If it gets back to me, I will not be happy. You will continue to stay with me until I leave, no complaints. And no more hickeys. That's for teenagers."

You both listened to her words, a smile eventually coming to your lips. If she was making you stay with her until she left, that meant she wasn't going to ignore you anymore. Once she finished talking, you nodded at her words and quickly made your way to her to hug her. "I'm sorry I lied, aunt Kate. I didnt want you to hate me. Do you forgive me?"

Laswell let out a quiet sigh, wrapping her arms around you. She couldn't stay mad at you forever, even though you lied straight to her face and broke a promise to her. She didn't take that lightly. "I will eventually. For now, I need time to get over it." She pressed a kiss to her temple before pulling back, gently squeezing your arms. You would give her the time she needed because in the end, you knew she'd come around. She always did, she loved you too much not to. She soon told you she had work to do, or probably an excuse to get some time alone.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you and Price stepped out of the office, fingers intertwined, the warmth of his hand wrapping around yours like a promise. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, each more tangled than the last. Price, with his unwavering discipline as a military captain, carried the weight of his responsibilities, while you grappled with the delicate situation of his connection to your aunt—a friendship that added layers of complexity to your budding relationship. Yet, in that moment, the world around you faded away. The mutual love binding you two felt palpable, a fierce determination radiating from both of you. It was clear: no challenge was too great, no obstacle too daunting, as you were ready to fight for one another, proving your love in ways none could deny.

[vesearlee]

──── 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕

Like the flow of ink across skin, his artistry carried stories to the surface: delicate linework, shaded secrets, painted dreams. Not only did artwork hold the stories he created, but his own decorated arms told tales of their own, and you would be hard pressed to keep anything a secret among the soothing hum of his tattoo machine and voice while you lay in the sanctuary of his workspace, drawn taut by the tension of his proximity that you craved more of. 

But with the fierce tide of secrets, also came burning revelations. 

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Tattoo Artist!Rafayel x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 6.5k 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── T 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Tooth Rotting Fluff, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, teasing and flirting, slight angst (anxiety and insecurity), first kiss, first tattoo 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ── HERE 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ── This whole fic was inspired by the utterly phenomenally talented @obligatedart and her Tattoo Artist!Rafayel artwork ― I was captivated and on the first day of working on this, I wrote 2k words in the span of 2 hours, never have I been so inspired. ── Thank you so, so much for allowing me to work with you on this, love. I had the time of my life! please be sure to check her out her blog or visit her linktree! ── Event runners, please mind the tags and specifics written at the end of this fic, well beyond the read more cut... this fic has 32 fills in total.

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

─── 𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ───

“Sooo,” Rafayel teased, the vowel long on his tongue. “I’ve got no clients this afternoon. What does a fishie like me gotta do to get your cute butt into my studio, kitty?” 

You sighed into the phone, picturing the way he would be sitting on the high stool at the counter of his shop, swinging his legs while he held the phone between his shoulder and neck to talk to you. There were no doubts to what his hands were occupied by — through the speaker in your ear, you could hear the quiet hash of a lead pencil brushing over paper. 

“You’re only asking because you want to be the one to finally break me into the world of tattoos, or whatever.” 

It was true, the tattoo artist you called your best friend and whom you adored beyond what was platonic, had used every single trick in the book of bribery and persuasion to get you through the door and onto his chair as his client. 

An honour that many artistically inclined people waited years for — to have the opportunity to display even a stroke of the prodigy’s work.

But what Rafayel didn’t know, however, was that the decision was already made weeks ago — the very concept of your tattoo design he himself sketched with your studious input would stretch from your collarbone and down towards your shoulder. Swirls of colour with strong lines would map the delicate skin.

A coy laugh filled your ear. The butterflies in your stomach roared to life at the sound. “Okay, you caught me, I’m busted.” There was a short pause where you could hear the muffled sound of shuffling, and his next words sounded somehow closer — as though they were spoken against the shell of your ear, his hot breath caressing the skin softly. “What’d’ya say, cutie?”

You stopped and thought. While your attraction was no doubt a hesitant topic for you to broach to anyone but your journal — the butterflies in your stomach swirled in agreement to that thought — holding out the game of cat and mouse no longer appealed to you. Each glance, word, or touch from Rafayel never failed to spark that heat, and you knew, deep down, that maybe getting this tattoo was only an excuse to be close to him; to feel the touch you craved with no ulterior motive. 

Ulterior motive, my ass, you scolded internally. 

But if it were true, and he had no clients for the afternoon — no matter how suspicious that may be — the two of you would be free to see one another with no outside expectation of attention being diverted elsewhere.

“Hmm,” you hummed, unsure if the teasing lilt of your tone was nullified. “I don’t know, Raffie. I mean, maybe? I’m just not sure.”

The sound of Rafayel’s sharp inhale made you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. “What do you mean ‘I don’t know’? You’ve been thinking of this design for ages!” The expression of indignation in his tone and undoubtedly on his pretty features made your stomach tie in knots — the furrow of his pierced brows and pout of his full lips, while he tilted his head to the side to better analyse your words. 

“It’s–” you tried, but he cut you off.

“What’s stopping you, huh? D’you want more colour, maybe?” A sudden gasp from the speaker made you jump slightly. “Have you found another artist?”

“No! No, you dummy,” you rushed, horrified at the idea of any other person making their mark on you. 

Only, Rafayel laughed, the sound of it was real and deep in his chest. “I’m only teasin’ you.”

“Oh, you– No, what’s stopping me is that once I get one, I might not be able to stop. You might just have a new regular, Raf,” you replied petulantly, crossing an arm over your chest in protest. 

He scoffed, and you could feel the eyeroll he sent your way in your very soul. “You say that like it’s a problem—you don’t think I wanna see my favourite girl more often? Especially so I can tattoo her?” It truly was there now, the petulant scowl on his downturned lips was crystal clear in your mind. “C’mon, I thought you were a clever kitty.”

“Do you realise just how annoying you are?” you asked seriously. Despite your words, you started to get ready to leave all the same. 

“Yup.” 

A small silence grew, though it wasn’t uncomfortable, rather he seemed to be waiting for a confirmation. And there was no way you would give him the satisfaction. 

“Well,” he sighed, “if you don’t want it, it’s fine. But I’m lonely.” That pout on his lips made his tone of petulance far more exaggerated. “Come and keep me company.”

“Fine,” you huffed, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “I’m headed over, do you want anything while I’m on my way?”

“Yes!” His shout made you wince and hastily pull the phone from your ear. Even then you could hear his exclamations of joy at being brought snacks. You finally put the speaker back to your ear as he finished with: “Gods, yes. Uh– I wouldn’t mind–”

“Your usual?”

“I was gonna say–” He groaned. “Ugh, you know me too well.” The sound of him moving over the line made you raise a brow in silent question while you slipped your shoes on. “Yes, my usual, please.” 

“Unfortunately for me, I do.” 

And you ended the call before you could hear his retort. 

The drive to his tattoo shop was pleasant and short — the sight of the ocean’s swell so close to his haven always gave you pause at the sheer beauty.

You turned your car into a free parking space, right out the front of the elaborately decorated studio — seashells and fire lilies decorated the gold, bordered windows, and with the reflection of the water a few meters away, you could almost swear the petals danced with the movement of the waves. 

The aroma of sea salt filled your senses as you stepped out of your car and into the sea breeze. It made a warmth fill you from the tip of your toes to the tips of your fingers, much like the wave of contentment you felt when you saw Rafayel yourself. 

His tattoo studio truly was your haven, too — hours upon hours had been spent behind those walls, helping the artist work through portfolio to portfolio, all while he groused at the uptick of unpleasant encounters with arrogant clients. 

It wasn’t all an unfortunate time of complaints, however. 

Your memories of his wide smile while he hung frames of his own works on the walls still engrained in your mind. How, on the frequent occasion of him being so focused on his work, you would have the exceedingly rare instance of hearing him sing quietly; the melodic tune only just loud enough to hear, but you treasured it all the same. 

All of the instances warmed your heart, and suddenly, you found yourself smiling widely as you approached the door. It was the right decision to make today the day. 

Before you could reach the singular step at the entryway, the door was swung open with a cry of happiness. 

Rafayel burst through the doorway, his smile blinding with his glee at seeing you. While he approached, you took notice of how he looked — the glint of his eyes was shimmering with the rays of the sun, making the blue and pink hues breathtakingly beautiful.

The black shirt he wore was loose on his lithe frame, and the sleeves were folded at his elbows to better display the stunning array of ink on both of his forearms that extended down to his hands. A few rings adorned his fingers — each as pretty and elaborate as the last.

Black ink filled the black spaces between an array of marine designs on one arm, while his other was decorated with elaborate scales, separated by the use of negative space. Layered over the top of the rows and rows of scales, was a luminous, finned entity, the colours blending seamlessly together to match the shades of his eyes. 

A singular fire lily on his forearm stood out the most to you, however, and your heart swooped at the sight of it. 

“There’s my girl!” Rafayel called, jogging towards you. His hair was loose around his face, the purple strands swaying with his gait. “Hey, you.”

His arms wrapped around your middle as soon as he collided with you, and you let out a gasp of surprise as he swayed you side to side. “Hey, my favourite fishie.” You kissed his cheek and pulled back, smiling just as widely as he was. 

The sun shone down, and the rays of light reflected off of the silver piercings on the bridge of his nose to his dimple piercings. They were a simple titanium silver, but they gleamed brighter than diamonds as you mapped his face. 

From the round collar of his shirt, the theme of his tattoos continued all the way up to his sharp jawline — the use of scales and negative space repeated, but instead of solid, dark shading on his arm, the scales were engraved with the gentle touch of flower petals to fill each one. 

There was no splash of colour to compliment, rather the monochrome palette of black and grey applied to a standard of perfection only an artist could attain. Strands of his purple hair fell over the lines of his tattoos as he stood there, staring at you like you were the blessing he needed for that day. 

Which, you supposed you were. 

“You brought me a snack?” Rafayel asked, his eyes widening slightly while his lower lip pouted. 

In reply, you shook the brown paper bag in your hand — the momentary stop at the convenience store worth it for the utter adoration in his expression. “I swear the way to your heart is through your bottomless tummy,” you teased, poking his stomach.

“Hey! Hands off, you’re touching the goods!” He snatched the bag and danced just out of reach of your fingers to peer inside. 

You snorted a laugh and shook your head. “What goods?”

Rafayel’s eyes snapped up to glare at you. “Puh-lease, I have abs, okay?” 

The butterflies pivoted their movements in your stomach, and you cleared your throat to fight the bubble of emotion in your throat, but he didn’t notice your sudden, flustered actions on account of his face being buried in your peace offering. 

His mussed hair suddenly moved and revealed his gleeful expression. “Seaweed chips?”

“Only the best for my man.” 

“Ugh, I could kiss you. C’mon, come inside.” Rafayel grabbed your hand and led you back towards his studio, his grip sure and true — unwilling to let go. And you couldn’t help but feel dizzy over how you wanted him to make good on his threat, or the fact that your hand fit so perfectly in his. 

The interior of his studio was aglow, to say the least. The walls facing the sea were floor to ceiling windows with pillars between each stretch of glass — every single one decorated with the theme of water in mind. Your favourite one depicted a pod of dolphins, their fins seeming to move and chase the momentum to propel them forward and catch the pearlescent spheres of bubbles. 

A few of the windows were wide open to the view — curtains swayed with the sea breeze, and with it they carried the sound of cawing seagulls. 

“They’re loud today,” Rafayel commented, nodding his head towards a heaped pile of sand a few paces from the window, where a small gathering of gulls called to one another endlessly while you watched. “I could’a sworn they’d been possessed by you at one point, they were so obnoxious.”

You shot a glare at the artist, though he only smirked. “What are they going on about, then?” The bag of treats in Rafayel’s grasp made a dull thump as it settled on the till counter. “Surely they aren’t shouting prophecies and telling you that I was going to come today.”

“And what would you say if I said yes, cutie?” Rafayel laughed heartily at your exaggerated eyeroll, and he then gestured towards a large fishbowl. “Someone else also missed you.”

“It’s only been like, two days,” you sighed, but you still looked towards the fishbowl and found a small, red fish pacing the glass — back and forth, back and forth. If he were a dog, you would have guessed his tail would be wildly wagging with excitement. “Hey, Reddie, baby.”

The fish did a fast loop and faced you, his fanned tail swishing from side to side so fast that small bubbles floated to the surface of his water. You walked over, smiling wildly as you felt Rafayel’s dumbfounded gaze watching your every move. 

The tip of your finger touched the cool, smooth surface of the glass. 

“I would have thought that you missed Reddie more than me. What the hell?” Rafayel grumbled, and just as you looked over at him, you found his arms crossed over his toned chest, the fabric of his shirt rumpled and pulled tight over the muscles of his biceps. “Why don’t you greet me like that, huh?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you cooed, and you stepped back from Reddie’s tank. “Would you like a re-do?”

“Well duh.”

You smiled gently and walked towards him. “Hey, Raffie, baby,” you repeated, and you lifted your finger to boop the tip of his sharp nose. 

In response, his nose scrunched, and he shook his head, the sway of his hair mesmerising. With such a small distance between you both, you took him in, committing the way his eyes sparkled with mirth and the quirk of his lips, the metal of his snake bite piercing reflecting the afternoon sun’s light. 

“That it, kitty?” he teased, the tip of his tongue running over his lips. 

“That’s it,” you affirmed, nodding assuredly — albeit ignoring the swoop of your stomach as you watched the movement on his tongue. Get it together, you reminded inwardly. “So, what’s on the agenda today, my second favourite fishie?”

“Second favourite?” Rafayel scoffed. “You’re a brat, y’know that, right?” 

“Yup.”

Before long, you were lounging on the seashell-shaped couch in the reception area, while Rafayel kept fiddling around behind the counter, the scratch of lead over paper louder this time compared to earlier. “What are you up to?”

He looked up, his wide-eyed gaze meeting yours briefly before he glanced back downward. “Nothin’.”

“Nothing? That’s a lie if ever I heard one,” you teased, sitting up straight. Rafayel didn’t look up at you again, until: “I guess we’re both hiding secrets today then.”

Fiery eyes met yours faster than you could blink, and he narrowed his gaze. “And what do you mean by that absolutely ridiculous accusation, Miss Fishie?”

You were in trouble now — that title had only been bestowed upon you when Rafayel suspected something, whether it be a prank, secret, or whatever else he could sense with his otherworldly observational skills. “Miss Fishie? I haven’t done anything–!”

“You’re not doing yourself any favours by getting so defensive, cutie,” he laughed, sitting up straighter on his stool and crossing his leg over his knee. His shirt creased as he moved, and he placed his elbow on the countertop, his chin now resting in his hand. “Go on, shoot—what’s got my girl’s tongue all tied and twisted?”

You blinked, taken aback by his curiosity — there was no doubt you expected as much, but to be such a genuine interest without the undercurrent of his usual teasing manner was unusual. “Uh– Well…”

Rafayel arched a brow, urging you to continue with his free hand before he draped it over his thigh and spun his pencil absentmindedly over his knuckles. 

“Well I decided something…” 

“And that something is?”

A deep, steadying breath did nothing to calm the racing beat of your heart. The sudden nerves of admitting your desire to have the tattoo snuck up on you far faster than you hoped they would. In one exhale, you said: “I want you to tattoo me with that design you came up with.”

It was Rafayel’s turn to sit speechless. 

The pencil that was flipping effortlessly over and through his nimble fingers fell to the floor with a deafening clatter in the silence that filled the space between you — though it was only a few paces, it suddenly felt like a cavernous trek. 

He cleared his throat, and you looked at your lap, hastily placing your hands there to fidget and have an excuse not to meet his eyes. 

“You want me to what? Did I just hear you right?” His voice was strained with an indiscernible emotion, though you noticed the rasp of his tenor was far from unpleasant. 

“You heard me right,” you mumbled, picking at the skin by your fingernails. Footsteps sounded over the floor of his studio, and they grew louder until you could see the source toe to toe with you from under your lashes. 

The warmth of Rafayel’s fingers brushed against your chin, and he cradled your jaw to move your head upwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. A smile, one of genuine warmth and happiness, pulled at the corners of his lips, and it somehow made the gleam of his eyes even more dazzling. 

“You want me to tattoo you?” His voice was soft, and as he spoke, you felt his thumb brush gently over your skin. “How long have you been planning this, kitty?”

“I decided ages ago, but I only worked up enough courage this morning.” 

Rafayel beamed — the piercings on his lips, nose, and brows outshone by the brightness of his smile. “Okay then. Let’s get you ready, yeah?” He offered his hand, and you took it, letting him help you up from the couch. “Can’t have my favourite client disappointed, so I’ll pull out all the stops.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, squeezing his hand. “I couldn’t ever be disappointed by you, Raf.”

“Nice to know you have so much faith in me,” he said, smiling over his shoulder at you. 

A closed door came into view, and the thud of your heart against your ribs grew painful — it was his space, where he worked day in and day out, where he tattooed true masterpieces on his clients and where he was in his element. 

Your breath hitched, and he noticed. 

“Hang on,” Rafayel whispered, and you were suddenly crushed to his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into yours and grounding you in the present. “What’s goin’ on in that head’a yours? Talk to me.”

The rumble of his voice in your ears soothed the rush of blood that thrummed in your ears, and you took another deep breath. “Just nervous, I think?”

Rafayel squeezed you tight, and stepped back to lean in close, his nose almost touching yours. “That’s alright, cutie. It’s me, and you’re safe.” His hot breath fanned over your lips, and the butterflies rampaged through your stomach at his proximity — it would be so easy to close the distance, to claim his lips and take what you’ve craved for so long. 

The train of thought must have shown on your expression because he winked, the tip of his tongue toying with the shining piercing. You watched the action, only to realise he was doing it on purpose. “Up here, pretty girl.”

You blinked, your focus moving from his lips to his eyes. “I’ve got you and I’ll be sure to make this first tattoo a beautiful one; hard to surpass the canvas herself, but an artist’s gotta try, yeah?”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and Rafayel grinned back at you before he kissed your forehead. 

One step after the other, you followed behind him, your hand still held tightly by his as he guided you into his booth.

The walls were painted in a pastel blue — a colour that soothed something deep in your soul, while splashes of fiery red and soft pinks decorated the space in all manners of fauna and flora, from whales to coral. 

“There it is,” you breathed through a wide smile, a small giggle of laughter making your voice shake. The culprit for such awe was framed on a wall — the same, impassioned shades of red, orange, and yellow of the petals were identical to the ones that adorned Rafayel’s arm. A fire lily, symbolising such fierce passion, couldn’t be imagined to be placed anywhere else beside the artist’s space.

“There it is,” said artist assured. 

The piece was simple but symbolic; one afternoon of you both glued to the hip of the other, brushes in hand while you playfully splattered paint over the canvas in a bid to sabotage his attempts to challenge you. What resulted was an outlined flower with flames of pink that licked the leaves, never charring the beauty of your joined creation. 

“Never have and never will move this one,” he continued, walking backwards. “Thomas was insistent the other day on moving it to the gallery.”

“He what?” you gasped, astonished. While Rafayel was a renowned tattoo artist, his venture into traditional styles resulted in his need for a manager to juggle the endless pieces and enquiries of purchases. “But didn’t you tell–?”

“Oh, I did.” The stool next to the padded chair squeaked as Rafayel sat down, and the wheels spun as he pushed himself to the corner, where all of his supplies were messily placed. “Haven’t seen him run so fast from a lit match before.”

The implication of a lit match being waved around the precious creation made your heart leap with fear, and you started forwards, a finger pointed at his chest. “Raffie!”

“Hey, hey, it’s not harmed, is it? Kitty–! Stop–” His protests were cut short by his laugh, the jabs of your fingers hitting each ticklish spot on his side with precision. “Enough, enough—I yield!” 

The wheels of his stool squealed with how fast he pushed away from your looming figure, and he held his hands up in surrender — deep, navy blue and black lines that curved around his thumb, index, and ring finger was the only art visible in his act of contrition. The rings gleamed like his piercings under the studio lights overhead.

“Good,” you goaded, lifting your chin. “Don’t you dare do that again.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said aloud, but as he turned away to focus on his supplies again, you could have sworn you heard a mumbled continuation of: “Maybe I would if you react like that. Adorable.”

As he fiddled with his tools, you walked around the space. Frames were hung high on walls with awards he won over the years, as well as a few choices of his most prideful works — one of which was a stunning, surrealist, fantastical interpretation of Reddie and a Merman, the red scales of Reddie’s body contrasting against the crystal blue of the Merman’s fins. 

“Okay, cutie,” Rafayel sang from behind you, the excitement in his voice far from hidden. You turned around and found him staring up at you, his eyes gleaming with a kind of tender adoration. 

His palm slapped the leather of the reclined chair. “I’ll get you to take just your shirt off so I can get to your shoulder,” he said quietly, gesturing to the stencil he had made. “Then you can get your cute butt up here, and let’s get started, yeah?”

“My shirt off…?” you whispered, eyes widening slightly. Of all the possibilities and outcomes of you getting this tattoo, somehow, this was the one thing you had not considered — naturally, being close with Rafayel meant that accidents did happen and so many hasty apologies had been said through laughter, but as for a purposeful act of this nature made your stomach tie in anxious knots again. 

It didn’t help that the swirling feeling of restless butterflies grew worse the longer he stared up at you from his perch on his stool. 

“Yeah, Miss Fishie,” he teased, tapping the shining leather of the seat. “Won’t be an accident this time—I can turn around if it’ll help.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “What? It’s fine, kitty. I think you’re cute, y’know, so I don’t mind.”

Oh.

Oh.

“What?”

Rafayel chuckled and shook his head. “C’mon, times tickin’ away. I wanna get started.”

“You are such a smug asshole,” you groused, trying utterly hard to ignore the heat crawling up from the collar of your shirt. “Seriously, you really are.”

“Yeah, and yet, here you are, my feisty kitty.” He made a show of smirking cheekily while he turned around, and he reached for the box of gloves on his trolley to pull free a pair. 

The thunderous beat of your heart made you swallow thickly, and you cleared your throat to try and force it to settle in place, though it was in vain. Your hands gripped the hem of your shirt, and slowly, ever so carefully, the fabric revealed the skin of your stomach, your chest and neck, until it passed over your head to be held in your trembling hand. A shaky exhale made your sides flutter.

The stool Rafayel sat on made a small clinking noise as he moved to sit comfortably. “You ready now, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, looking at the floor hastily when he made a move to turn around. 

The silence swelled uncomfortably, and it passed for a beat until you heard him ask: “What’s up, kitty? You wanna get on the chair for me…?”

“Oh, uh– Sorry, Raf–”

“If you apologise again, I will take this–” Rafayel picked up the tattoo machine on the table beside him, and effortlessly twirled it in his hand, “And I will tattoo a post it note on your forehead saying idiot.”

His sudden and ridiculous threat made a small laugh burst out of your constricting chest, and you stepped slowly towards the aforementioned chair. “You wouldn’t do that–?”

“Bet. Try me.” He scooted the stool closer to the chair and offered his hand to help you up onto the comfortable padding. “Apologise again and you’ll see.”

A small, nervous sigh escaped your lips, and with the guidance of Rafayel’s cool, smooth hands on your back and shoulder, you laid back against the chair, somewhat uncomfortable with the position — especially since he was so damned close to your side that you could feel every single one of his exhales against the skin of your shoulder or chest, dependent on where he positioned himself to place the stencil. 

He hummed quietly as he worked, tilting his head side to side while you laid stiffly underneath his scrutinising gaze. “If you sit like this for the whole session,” he started, licking his lips absentmindedly, and he leaned in so close while looking at your shoulder that his loose hair tickled the tip of your nose. “I’m not taking the blame for how sore you’re gonna feel after—though it gives me an excuse to give you a world-famous-Rafayel-massage.”

“World famous, huh? Who else has had one?”

The colours in his irises burned at your question, and he stared at you from the corner of his eyes. “Only one person—she may be a brat, but she’s my world and I wouldn’t have it any other way. So don’t you worry, cutie.”

“Raffie,” you whined, looking away from his intense gaze as though it seared through you, the burn of it terrifying and oh, so addictive. “Don’t do that to me, please.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed again, arching a brow before he focused back on his task. The click of his tongue sounded while he smoothed over the paper and gently pulled it away from your skin to reveal blue and purple lines from the stencil. “Sorry, kitty, ‘fraid I can’t listen, ‘specially not when there’s truth to it.”

You groaned low in your throat and threw your arm over your eyes to shield yourself from the embarrassment of meeting his stare. 

“‘Kay, we’re good to get started. You feelin’ ready?” he asked suddenly, his voice now coming from beside you as opposed to above you. 

You moved your arm and blinked against the sudden, bright light, and you glanced to the side. 

Rafayel was sitting patiently, his hands in his lap while a small smile curled his lips upwards — the light in his eyes didn’t reflect just the bulb above you, but his joy for the moment. “Hmm?” he prompted, tilting his head to the side. 

Slowly, you turned your head forward, inhaled deeply, and let it out with a huff as you stared up at the ceiling. “Better now than never.”

“That’s the spirit,” he teased. 

Movement from the very corner of your peripherals made you snap your attention towards Rafayel once more, only, you froze in place at the sight. A hair band was around his wrist while both his hands raked through his hair — streaks of purple caught the light as he moved uncooperative strands into a messy up-do that left the longer parts of his hair remaining loose down the back of his neck.  

With the hair gone from his forehead, his eyes became far more piercing — colours that would normally be intense in their own right, bore into your very being as you met his gaze. 

The gloves he grabbed from a small cardboard box fit snug over his hands, and the plastic snapped against his wrist while he adjusted them to be more comfortable. “Alright then, kitty.” He winked and leaned forward, one gloved hand resting on the skin below your collar bone, while the other securely held the machine. “Here we go.”

The initial prick of the inked needles on your skin made you hiss with the sudden pain, and your head jerked upwards from the headrest to stare into his face. “Shit!”

“You’re okay,” Rafayel soothed. “It’s always gonna hurt more during the first few—wanna relax and let me work?”

You grimaced and rested your head back down onto the headpiece of the chair. “Not like I got a choice, right?”

“Nup.” 

Time passed slowly while the ink coloured your skin, each stroke of the needles stung a little less than the last and the discomfort plateaued enough for you to lay more comfortably in the seat. “You’re doin’ well, kitty,” Rafayel praised softly, the hum of the machine momentarily silenced as he wiped the tender flesh of your shoulder, cleaning it of built-up ink. “Not much longer to go, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” 

A small silence stretched, only occupied by the droning hum of the needles effortlessly working, and the slight hitch of your breath as he moved the machine.

The light over your shoulder lit up his sharp features, and you smiled at him through the sting of pain. With the adrenaline of sitting still while he worked, a sudden rush of bravery overtook you — starting at the tips of your fingers and your toes, much like the wave of warmth earlier, and it settled in the depths of your stomach like a molten weight. “Raf…”

“Mm? Yeah, cutie?” he asked, his eyes not leaving the fast-disappearing blue, stencilled lines on your shoulder. “What’s up, you alright?”

Fire coursed through your stomach, swirling upwards into your chest and around your heart. The feeling was intoxicating, freeing with its very presence. “Have I ever told you…” You licked your bottom lip, the sudden dryness of your mouth forcing you to clear your throat. 

Your best friend, the light of your life, and the recipient of your deepest affection, stopped the machine in his hand and glanced upwards, arching a brow in question. “Told me what?”

You blinked and dragged a deep lungful of air to quell the rioting butterflies in your stomach. In one breath, you exhaled and spoke quickly. “That I think you’re really pretty.”

A beat passed, another, and another. 

Rafayel seemed to have frozen in place. The amethyst of his eyes bloomed to be blinding, though he sat as still as a geode, unmoving with shock — the rise and fall of his chest from each breath even ceased. 

A sobering amount of ice flooded your veins and embarrassment burned up the skin of your chest and neck, the scorching pain of the needles entirely unlike it. The reality of preferring to be chained to the chair for eternity with the constant pricks of needles over your delicate skin, rather than take in the way he only sat there, hit you like a tidal wave. 

“I’m sorry–” You gasped, the build up of shameful tears forcing their way to the corner of your eyes. “I didn’t–” The chair rattled as you hastily moved to sit up on your elbows. “I’m so sorry, I’ll go–”

Before you could even sit up and run from the room, you were forced backwards by the solid weight of a body. Tattooed arms caged you against the chair — steadfast, gloved hands were planted either side of your hips, while you scurried backwards with a squeak of shock. 

Rafayel had moved so fast it was a blur. All you could see was his face, the way his cheekbones were dusted pink; how his lips were shining from the light next to you. 

“Raf–!”

“Shut up.” 

You tried to shy backwards, to gain some distance from his suffocating presence, but he followed, keeping his nose close enough to yours to bump against the tip of it — a normal, cute tradition that suddenly held you in its vice just as tightly as the man who loomed over you. 

“Please–”

“I said shut up, cutie.” Rafayel remained immovable, his hands still caged you in place — no matter how hard you tried to scoot backwards over the leather chair, you could not escape the warmth of his molten stare, or the way his breath came in slow, deep exhales over your cheek and jaw as you desperately looked everywhere around the room but at him. “Look at me.”

“Please don’t make me.” The pressure of tears on your waterline made you squeeze them shut, desperate to stem the flow. “Please, I– Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Who are you talking to, kitty? You, or me?” His question made you freeze, the entirety of your body stiffening, and he pressed his advantage. “Huh, so you’re talking to yourself and gettin’ all worked up.” There was a slight shuffle, and the sound of latex gloves snapping followed straight away. “You’re gonna make me ask again, aren’t you?”

A heavy sigh sounded, and you felt the rush of air against your shoulder, above the freshly done tattoo. The room was filled with a silence that grew and grew, expanding to encompass your whole being to make it feel like an ornate pane of glass soon to shatter from an unseen pressure. 

“Miss Fishie,” Rafayel whispered, his voice so close you could almost taste the words on his tongue. His fingers gripped your chin gently and turned you to finally face him. Through the protection of your closed eyelids, you could imagine his expression of pity, and it only soured the butterflies in your stomach. “I need you to look at me, pretty girl. C’mon.”

Your eyes opened immediately — the fond use of your nickname mixed with the praise made a whole new heat settle in the pit of your stomach, and the butterflies bloomed through the murky depths to flutter once more. 

Rafayel looked earnest, almost desperate in his need for you to look at him. The way his eyes glimmered and ebbed with the waves outside, amethysts and coral colliding as one again; his mouth slightly agape as he stared back at you. His hand moved from your chin to cup your jaw. 

“I–”

“Shh,” he soothed. The pad of his thumb brushed over your cheek, a soothing gesture that only made your heart ache more. “Why’re you gettin’ all scared, baby? I didn’t even get to reply—you shut me out like a clam, or an oyster, take your pick.”

Baby. 

Never before had that word been said between you, and you blinked fast in shock. The flush of heat deepened on your chest and neck while it spread to your ears. 

“But you’re– You don’t–” The stuttered reply was silenced by his arched brow. Each of his movements were sharp in clarity, and if you hadn’t have felt so poised to run, you would have admired the way his tattoos and piercings only made him more beautiful in the moment. 

A small, amused smile played at the corner of his lips, and the tip of his tongue darted out to wet the pink skin. “My cute kitty can truly be so damned stupid sometimes, y’know.”

“Hey–!”

“Do you see me backing down?” Rafayel pressed, his brows suddenly furrowing and casting his eyes into shadowed depths. “Do you see me runnin’ away from you right now?”

You hesitated, and in your telling silence, you realised something. The feeling of it crashed over your whole body like a tsunami wave — far more intense than you ever felt before. “...No.”

“No,” he repeated, and he moved closer. The tip of his nose brushed yours. “I think you have your answer then, baby girl.”

“Hmph–” Any reply to him you could have mustered was utterly banished from your mind at the feel of his lips on yours. It was tender and soft; the warmth he held consumed you whole. 

Slowly, he pulled away and rested his forehead on yours, his breath fanning over your parted lips while a smirk tugged at the corner of his. “Is that enough to show you just how much I want you; how long I’ve waited for this?”

“You knew!” you burst out, staring at him with wide eyes. “How–?!”

Rafayel chuckled quietly. “It’s Reddie’s fault.” The rise of his shoulders in an indifferent shrug obscured the light for a second. “He’s the one hidin’ my secrets.” 

“You– You’re blaming a fish–! Oh my god.” 

You surged forwards and captured his lips again, the leather under your legs scuffed with the sudden movement. Rafayel grunted with the force of your embrace, and he kissed back fervently, one hand on your waist while the other rested on your cheek. 

The soft, feathered feel of Rafayel’s hair tickled the pads of your fingers, and you wove them upwards, revelling in the shuddered breath that hitched his chest. Your tongues met in a brief dance, and you tugged his head back lightly — more tresses fell loose from the updo to cover the ways your fingers entangled to your anchor. 

“Shit, kitty,” Rafayel huffed, his lips only far enough away to draw breath. “If I had known you felt like this…”

“What, you would have said something sooner and put us both out of our yearning, heartfelt misery?” 

Pink and purple danced with mirth, and he kissed the tip of your nose. “Damn right I would have.”

“I guess we’re both pretty dumb, huh?” you asked quietly, holding his face in your hands. 

Rafayel winked, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a playful smirk. “Yeah, I’d say so, but you’re still the cute one.”

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[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“Nosferatu” (2024) Ending Explained Through Cast and Crew Interviews

“My influences are all very clear, and Nosferatu is a remake, after all,” Eggers says, yet he plays with the canon, with expectations and clichés – “hopefully subverting them to do something unexpected.” (x)

“It is very much Ellen’s story, about a woman who is as much a victim of 19th-century society as she is of the vampire. And this demon-lover relationship she has with Orlok.” (x)

“I think that what ultimately rose to the top, as the theme or trope that was most compelling to me, was that of the demon-lover. In “Dracula,” the book by Bram Stoker, the vampire is coming to England, seemingly, for world domination. Lucy and Mina are just convenient throats that happen to be around. But in this “Nosferatu,” he’s coming for Ellen. This love triangle that is similar to “Wuthering Heights,” the novel, was more compelling to me than any political themes.” (x)

“Cinematic vampires have lost their power and what makes them frightening,” says Eggers, who “went back to the folklore to understand the time when people believed vampires existed and were truly terrified of them” (x)

“So it was clear to me that I needed to return to the source, to the early folkloric vampire, to written accounts about or by people who believed that vampires existed – and who were terrified of them. Most of these early accounts come from Balkan and Slavic regions. Many are from Romania, where Stoker’s Dracula resides.” (x)

"I never think of things in a contemporary context," director Robert Eggers says […] "I try to stay in the worldview of the characters.” (x)

“A [willing] sacrifice”

“there is a sacrifice” (x)

“she's [Ellen] doing a good deed and she's breaking the curse” (x)

“When reading the script early on, Skarsgård wrote a note down that the finale was “death and ecstasy,” he says. In his last moments, Orlok is “seeing the sun for the first time in hundreds of years. So he's mesmerized by it and fear and all of these different things. “And in a way, maybe that is what Orlok wanted all along.” (x)

Ellen doesn’t sacrifice herself to save Thomas and this theory is debunked by the film itself

"A black enchanter he [Orlok] was in life. Şolomanari." "Our Nosferatu is of an especial malignancy. He is an arch-enchanter, Şolomonari."

Robert Eggers using camerawork to show the audience who’s the “them” in the breaking of the curse, whose instructions are in the Şolomonari codex of secrets (a book, which according to Romanian folklore, was written by Orlok himself):

“And so the maiden fair [Ellen] did offer up her love unto the beast [Orlok] and with him lay in close embrace until first cockcrow, her willing sacrifice thus broke the curse and freed them [both] from the plague of Nosferatu.”

Mutual healing theme: Orlok drains Ellen of her excessive blood ("too much blood"), balancing her “sanguine temperament” and ending her “hysteria” and “melancholy” (he also gives her an orgasm, a nod to hysteria as repressed and frustrated female sexuality); and Ellen’s love and willing sacrifice sets Orlok’s spirit free from the rotten vessel it was trapped in; as they are reunited in the spiritual realm, as their covenant intends, now fully healed.

“Vengeance”

“[Ellen is a] victim to 19th-century society […] she can see into another realm, and has a certain kind of understanding that she doesn’t have the language for,” Eggers said. “But people are calling her melancholic and hysteric and all of these things.” (x)

Ellen: "Why do you hate me? You have never liked me. Never. Listen to me, please!" Friedrich Harding: "I have done everything in my power to be kind to you for these long months. Find …" Ellen: "Tied me up?" Friedrich Harding: "Find the dignity to display the respect to your caretaker." Ellen: "How can you be so stupid and cruel?" Friedrich Harding: "Hartmann will call you a coach, at my expense – of course. And for your husband’s sake, I pray you might learn to conduct yourself with more deference."

Thomas: "Never speak these things aloud. Never. It is a trifle. A foolish dream, just as your past fancies."

Anna Harding: "Perhaps Professor Franz was wrong. Perhaps it was only your wish to see Thomas safely returned, and your… your..." Ellen: "My melancholy? Thomas has seen something awful. If only I could speak to the professor-" Anna Harding: "Hush. His thoughts are so queer, so sordid, I dare not repeat them! [...] Leni, please. For the sake of the children – Christmastide is upon us. Why must you remain so exasperatingly contrary?"

Friedrich Harding: "Jesus Christ in heaven! This isn’t a Satanic magician, or any other humiliating fantasy. It’s no wonder you’re a laughing stock. Out! Frau Hutter is mad and should have been locked up long ago." Friedrich Harding: "Take that blackguard from this place! Your diseasèd mind has brought all of this outrage - Your very presence does me wrong!"

“She [Ellen] has this understanding of this other world, and this other way of thinking that she doesn’t have language for, so she’s isolated. But the pull to it is very strong, and so people consider her melancholic and hysterical, and we can see her fighting within herself. I think having it stem from the realities of a woman who’s a victim of 19th-century society is something that makes it hopefully work.” (x)

“Thomas thinks he's the hero but really his wife, who everyone is calling crazy and telling to shut up and tying to beds, is the only one who can solve the problem," Eggers says. "That's much more interesting.” (x)

"My entire life I have no ill but heed my nature.”

“One example of costume design serving the plot, as you mentioned, is Ellen’s corset. I came across a particular style called a fan-laced corset during my research, which I’ve also referred to as a “self-tying corset”—though it doesn’t actually tie itself! This type of corset can be tightened from the front, allowing the wearer to adjust it independently.For Robert, this design was ideal. When Ellen is in the throes of her supernatural connection with Orlok, the men around her—Sievers and Harding—try to impose control by tightening her corset. Because of the fan-laced design, we can see her anguish and convulsions, as well as the men’s oppressive actions, without needing to obscure her face or body by laying her prone. This moment is a perfect example of how research and storytelling can come together harmoniously in costume to enhance a scene." (x)

“Depp sees Ellen as a woman experiencing “a real loneliness as well as a nascent sexuality.” […] We’re talking about a time period where there was a lot less room for women and girls to be much of anything except for exactly what people wanted them to be. So, I think you feel that in Ellen, and you feel like the birth of all these new feelings, and she doesn’t really have anybody to talk to about it, or anybody to understand her … I think it’s a real source of shame for her, and one that she’s trying to come to terms with, and that’s what I think is so beautiful about her relationship with Von Franz, Willem’s character, because he sees her in this way and understands her, I think, in a way that she longs to be understood.” (x)

“Her [Ellen] true nature [takes over] in the end. She liberates herself by ripping herself open, ripping her striped dress open. She liberates herself by wearing the same garment over and over and over again when she's staying at Harding's home. So she's liberated herself in that she doesn't feel the need to dress up completely each and every day. And then she liberates herself completely in the end.” (x)

“What's so beautiful about the place that my character [Ellen] ends up is that it's tragic, and it is empowering. There's so much power in the choice that she makes.” (x)

Thomas: "I shall send for Doctor Sievers." Ellen: "No! No!! Please. I’ll be good, I’ll be good. You could never please me as he could."

“But isn’t it interesting that this female archetype who understands the dark side of humanity and is sexualized keeps being reconstituted as the savior of Victorian culture?”(x)

“Particularly in the 1980s, there was a lot of literary criticism talking about all these Victorian male authors who created these female heroines who have sexual desire and sexual energy, and then need to be killed and punished for that,” Eggers says. “It’s this misogynist thing. But I think a lot of female literary critics who I was also reading were saying, “But isn’t it also interesting that, from this repressed cultural period, there’s the idea of this dark, chthonic female heroine who would be the person who could understand the depths?” (x)

“she’s [Ellen] as much a victim of 19th-century society as she is a victim of the vampire. People talk a lot about Lily-Rose Depp’s character’s sexual desire, which is a massive part of the character, of what she experiences — being shut down, and corseted up, and tied to the bed, and quieted with ether. Misunderstood, misdiagnosed. But it’s more than that. She has an innate understanding about the shadow side of the world that we live in that she doesn’t have language for. This gift and power that she has isn’t in an environment where it’s being cultivated, to put it mildly. It’s pretty tragic. Then she makes the ultimate sacrifice, and she’s able to reclaim this power through death.” (x)

“There’s a lot of literary criticism about Victorian male authors who have strong female characters with chthonic energy and understanding, who are then punished unconsciously by the male authors by making them die. While there’s certainly validity in that [critique], I’ve also read feminist literary criticism that says how it’s interesting that in this very repressed Victorian society, over and over again, this archetype that was needing to consummate itself in the patriarchal imagination is a woman who understands the darkness and the sexuality and the earth juju, and should be the savior of the culture.” (x)

"Enchantress." "You are not of human kind." "I am but an able tourist in this occult world, you were born to it. It is a rare gift." "In heathen times you might have been a great priestess of Isis. Yet, in this strange and modern world your purpose is of greater worth. You are our salvation."

Ellen’s Vengeance: Vengeance (verb) and "revenge" (noun) are different things. "Vengeance" is "to avenge" (not "take revenge"), it's the achievement of justice (not personal retaliation), after being wronged by others. Both Ellen and Professor Von Franz are avenged by Ellen’s breaking of the Nosferatu curse because they are proven right when Victorian society says they are wrong. Ellen is avenged (or vindicated) because she has been medicalized, drugged and tied-up because of her mediumship (diagnosed as “melancholy” and “hysteria” by Victorian doctors), but it’s her empowerment through free sexuality (sex) and spirituality (death) that saves the day, and proves Victorian society wrong. She breaks the curse and frees them (herself and Orlok), and everyone else, from Nosferatu plague.

“Sacred wedding in a union sense”

“It was always clear to me that Nosferatu is a demon lover story.” (x)

“Skarsgård says. “Nosferatu” is “a very heightened fairy tale/dark story, but also it's two people potentially falling in love. It isn't love, it's something else, but love is maybe the closest thing to it that you can kind of relate to. If it's not love, it's a craving and it's an appetite and it's lust and desire to devour.” (x)

“It was clear to me from the beginning, and from what Rob [Eggers] was saying to me, it’s a love story with Count Orlok as much as it is with her husband. There’s a real love triangle there […] She carries so much darkness within her, and that he, in a way, is a manifestation of that darkness. And so she’s pulled towards him for a reason. and she calls out to him […] there’s a mutual yearning there.” (x)

“he’s [Orlok] the only person who can understand and fulfill a part of Ellen.” (x)

“this demon lover that attracts her, and she doesn’t know why, but somewhere there is a deep understanding there and a deep attraction.” (x)

“She's [Ellen] an outsider. She has this understanding about the shadow side of life that is very deep, but she doesn't have language for that. She's totally misunderstood and no one can see her [...] this demon lover, this vampire, who is the one being who can connect with that side of her." (x)

“Ellen’s husband loves her, but he can’t understand these ‘hysteric’ and ‘melancholic’ feelings she’s experiencing, and he’s dismissive of her. The only person she really finds a connection with is this monster, and that love triangle is so compelling to me, partially because of how tragic it is.” (x)

“[Orlok] represents a sort of forbidden desire for Ellen […] Eggers, for his part, was eager to bring out the sexual subtext of Nosferatu, calling his version a clear “demon lover story” and likening it to Wuthering Heights (which he reread while trying to crack the script) […] the only ‘person’ that she can kind of connect with is this demonic force, this vampire, this demon lover. [And] Orlok is also alone.” (x)

“Yes, it is a scary horror movie with a lot of dread and even some jump scares. But more than that, it is a tale of love and obsession and a Gothic romance.” (x)

“when Ellen and Orlok come together in the end, she's wearing a complicated multi-layered wedding outfit and all of the foundational pieces. And Orlok is wearing a number of garments. When we see them come together, that silhouette of the bride and the groom is very important. And so I go through the script with all of the other elements of prep and address those things.” (x)

“That final scene, is a different paint job. It's a little more sedate and not as visceral as the first time he comes out of the coffin. That was just to give it some sort of sense that there's some kind of twisted romance going on here, in a way. It wasn't just grossing everyone out. It's quite delicate. The beats that Robert's looking for, he's very good at pacing those things.” (x)

“The way they died in the play I did as a kid was very similar to what we ended up doing in the film. But I thought that what I had done in the play was wrong, and so I was trying to do something else. And then when we kept rehearsing with Marie-Gabrielle, and I realised that my instincts when I was 17 were actually spot on, it was much more about Orlok and Ellen’s relationship.” (x)

“Completion of some kind of destiny”

“I sent [Bill] a backstory of Orlok that I wrote. So we came to it together to achieve what I was after. Because I’m so tired of the heroic and sad vampires, I was just like, ‘He’s a demon. He’s so evil.’ Bill was like, ‘Yeah, but there needs to be some times where he has some kind of vulnerability.’ It’s very subtle, and it’s not there often, but it is enough. I think the ending of the movie is much more effective than it would have been without Bill’s acute sensitivity to that – while still delivering on this big, scary, masculine vampire”. (x)

“And while Bill was also doing what I was asking for, he brought more to the table too, particularly with binding moments where Orlok was vulnerable. I was so sick of the tropes of the sad vampire that I didn't want to go there. But Bill knew that it was important to still have the vulnerability in some places. And I think it makes the performance.” (x)

“Ellen’s most prominent evening dress is indigo with lilacs embroidered and beaded on the front and on the sleeves. This lavender hue subliminally underscores the connection between Ellen and Orlok, who remembers lilacs from when he was alive.” (x)

“What kind of trauma, pain and violence is so great that even death cannot stop it?” (x)

"Sated" from the Old English verb (late 16th century) "sit"; "rest" or "lie". "I cannot rest without you"; can't find peace in death without her soul by his side

“You wonder what is the dark trauma that doesn't die when someone dies. […] [So you suspect something terrible happened between them in real life and that this story was a way of grappling with that?] That's my hypothesis.” (x)

Reincarnation theme: Traumatic separation of souls, yearning to be united.

[bluiela]

Antis Fanon: "Azriel is up at night thinking of Elain, he spends his nights in thoughts of Elain"

actual canon:

I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days. Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. So he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours. Azriel surveyed the empty family room, presents and ribbons littering the furniture. Cassian and Nesta hadn't reappeared down-stairs, though that came as no surprise. He was elated for his brother, and yet... Azriel couldn't stop it. The envy in his chest. Of Cassian, and Rhys. He knew he'd be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he'd remained down here by the dying light of the fire.

Takeaway: Razor sharp thoughts keep him up at night, the envy in him of his brothers having found their mates swallow him in in his bedroom.

"Azriel said nothing. He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to."

Now e/riel see the words "too many wants and needs left his skin overheated" and "he stared at the headache powder at night every day" and ignore any context or words and think that its elain. Azriel feels lust towards elain so Elain. He's up at night thinking about Elain. When Mass really spelled it out how It is his envy and razor-sharp thoughts that keep him up and which he is running from.

That keep him up and attack him. How just because he stared at the powder and jerked off to her does not mean that it consumes his entire night. Even after a whole year of thinking that the third sister should be his he had not once planned for her beyond sexual fantasies.

Maas wrote it and spell it out, there is no need to interpret something that is obvious. Razor sharp thoughts and the envy swallow him and keep him up at night and he had not planned for her beyond sexual fantasies

Gwynriels are not just pulling out its only lust argument out of thin air. Maas wrote it. She contrasted it in the same chapter with him planning for a snowball fight for a year (there was no reason to add this if it didn't mean anything.)

No one is disagreeing that he doesn't think of Elain. They are just stating the obvious that he does have surface level feelings for Elain that are not true love. It is obvious. Maas with these many hints is literally shoving gwynriel and elucien down our throats. People who see it from an unbiased and working brain can see it from a mile away.

[emmaaxomarie]

Hello my lovely i hope you are well 💞

Could i request something cute and fluffy? I'm thinking with 90's Nikki and 21 year old female reader? You can do whatever you feel like I'm just in the mood for something adorable hehe! 😚 Much love gorgeous 🫶

hello hello gorgeous <3 anything for you!

lets go down the rabbit hole and get more delusional together!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚cutie pie⋆. 𐙚 ˚

nikki sixx x female reader

i can't think of a single plot so i'm going to give you different scenarios that run through my mind 24/7 🧸ྀི

nikki would 100% call you every single pet name under the sun. i personality feel his favorites are "baby girl" "princess" "baby" "babe" and on special occasions, "little girl" ❥

he is an extremely jealous guy, and especially because of the age gap between the two of you, it only fuels him ten times more. even though nikki wouldn't let you out of his sight, almost follow you like a lost puppy, he is very clingy but with his clinginess comes sweetness!

baby girl, you are just the cutest, you're my girl right? yeah you are!

god i can't get enough of you baby.

hey! where are you going? did i say you can leave me?

he can not and will not keep his hands off of you, finding any excuse just to have his grip on you, let everyone know you are his.

many people find it shocking but nikki is very much the romantic type, he would treat you like an absolute queen! leave you little notes around the house, making sure he's on your mind while he's out working on music in the studio.

ah how can i forget! without hesitation, during every single one of his breaks, he would pick up the phone and call you. he needs to hear the sound of your voice or he will die, well not literally, but it would feel as though he is, you are the answer to all of his prayers.

hey sweetheart, i have some time to spare right now, how is my good girl doing?

you miss me? hahaha i miss you way more!

i don't understand how you do it, your voice gets me so hard, please keep talking to me. (whoops couldn't help myself.)

────୨ৎ────

when it comes to nikki having some free time, he always dedicates those days for you.

as soon as he comes home from working his ass off, dealing with nonsense and all the bullshit that comes with making music, he runs, not walks, runs to you!

guess who has the next few days off! i'm taking you out tonight, i was thinking maybe 7ish, does that sound good to you baby?

oh! wear that black sexy dress i got you the other day, you look so fucking good in it!

🎀🫶🏻💌💓

before my mind goes into overdrive, ill stop here for now BHAHA! hope you enjoyed what i wrote for you beautiful <3 my inbox is always open, please feel free to send me more requests!