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yxami · 1 year

Note

I'm sorry if there are spelling mistakes, I'm using Google translator.

I literally adore all your fic. I like how you put submissive yandere boys. Personally, my favorite is the roommate brat who is very needy and masochistic. Can you write more about him? And if you can, make it a long text. I love your twisted creativity <3

Don't stop writing your fics!!

Omg of course! I’m so happy someone liked my work enough to ask for more, thank you!! I understood everything btw!!

Desc: Malakai being a jealous guy, masochism, murder, horrific themes, angst, drinking, meeting a new character and maybe a new oc if anyone likes him enough to ask about, obsession, yandere scenarios, etc.

───※ ·❆· ※───

A car door slam made Malakai beeline towards the front window. Who was it? Was it you? You should’ve gotten home 20 minutes ago! He was going to spam call you but you scolded him the last time he did that.. which was yesterday.

He saw you say your goodbyes with such a bright smile to a person. He squinted, getting a good clear look of some guy in the car. Who was he?? Why did he think he could drive YOU to your own home. HE could do that himself, he has his own car to take you so why didn’t you ask him??

The black screen was about to tear with Malakai’s nails sinking into them like a cat trying to escape out of the house. He couldn’t believe you had the audacity to chastise him for being jealous. Look what you were doing now!

He heard the door start to unlock and he quickly got in front of view. Immediately glaring at you as you locked eyes.

You open your mouth about to say something before Malakai decided his words were more important.

“You expect me to not be upset when you go out and you pull this shit??” He folded his arms, noticeably annoyed.

“Listen, I needed a ride home and he was able to do it! Nothing bad with that, plus he has a girlfriend so it doesn’t matter, he wouldn’t pull anything!” You explained, setting your bags down on the table before sitting on the couch.

Malakai taking his quick spot next to you, still not clinging onto you like he normally would when you came home. ‘He must be really upset’ You thought.

“You never know how guys are! You’d be surprised how many would cheat to get one inch of a girls attention” He huffed. As if he wasn’t a guy as well.

“I know that but he isn’t like that, I know him and he would do that”

“OH? So you know him like that??” He huffed getting more upset and stormed off to his room.

You sighed not understanding why he got jealous all the time. You honestly found it cute not going to lie. His little whimpers trying to justify his jealousy, his clinginess when you apologized, it was all pretty adorable.

“Pff… he isn’t like that.. mememe” He mumbled, mocking you while sitting up right on his bed. Of course, you weren’t here to hear his mocking because if you were you would’ve definitely beat him up.

You waited just a tiny bit before entering Malakai’s room to apologize and assure him. You wanted to make sure he could’ve off a little bit before talking.

You entered his room and saw his worried eyes that quickly looked away. Was he waiting for you to come in? You shook that thought away and sat down next to him. Inviting yourself to tuck your body under the blanket just as he did.

“Alright, how about every time I need a ride I’ll call you? If he asks, I’m going to deny his offer and be nice about it.” You explain your part of the deal. A deal he didn’t know was a deal he just immediately assumed you were gonna do that with nothing in return.

“Yay!! Just call me every time you do and then I’ll quickly pick you up! Probably faster than him” He smiled so happily, turning to his right to hug you tightly.

“BUT! You have to be nice to anyone you meet that I know, like friends, co workers, those type of people” You looked straight into his eyes. The eyes that told the heavy distaste for the words you said showed.

“Mm…” He thought about it for a bit.

Malakai would love to be your personal driver, it would mean nobody else would have you in their car! More time to see you and less time with someone else! But being nice to certain friends that came over would be a pain in the ass..

Though, he did have an idea.

“Fine! But that means every single time you need a ride you have to call me.”

“Alright! Deal” The both of you shook hands as if you were business partners of some sort and settled it.

───※

The snow fell on the ground quicker than usual. Malakai’s shoes crushing it under his footsteps. He was successful in finding the reason for going outside. His eyes death staring a certain someone in a cafe. A little fly who has to be crushed or else he would certainly come back.

As if the guy could feel eyes in the back of his neck, he looked behind him, the clear glass window only showing heavy snow and some people heading home. It was getting late after all, the cafe was going to close soon so he decided to go on back home.

The unknown guy parted his ways with his girlfriend. ‘The one you spoke about earlier’ Malakai thought to himself. So it was true.. that wouldn’t change anything though. It was already set up and he knew it he had to crush that guy or else you would never be safe in his arms.

Malakai knew the man would leave through the alley way behind the cafe so that was his perfect chance to eliminate him. His quick footsteps following the unarmed guy. Malakai knew that he sense that he was being followed soon.

As soon as he turned around Malakai struck him with a sharp blade in the center of his heart. The quick stabs left the man speechless, unable to process the blood spreading throughout his shirt faster then water pouring down a hill.

He opened his mouth, about to scream for help before Malakai kicked him down and stabbed his throat. Making sure he wouldn’t be able to call for any sort of help. He eliminated his only way to receive help and his chance in surviving.

Malakai looked down upon the man on the floor. The guy’s dark blood splattered all around the snow and had colored a large spot on his shirt. He knew he wasn’t going to survive, he just looked straight up. He didn’t want his killer to be satisfied in him being the only thing he saw as he died at a rapid pace.

The sunset colors were pretty, he hoped his girlfriend wouldn’t have to witness the awful scene on the news. His eyes burned, trying to refrain from crying. His killer had already fled after he stabbed his throat, knowing he was unable to do anything but pass away.

His throat and heart burned. He didn’t want it to end like this. Why did it have to end like this? What did he do? His ears picked up a quiet ringing, one that slowly gained in pitch. He heard a woman scream before he heard sirens blaring nearby. The ringing becoming unbearable he closed his eyes.

※───

Malakai happily discarded all his clothes and weapon. The gloves he used were the primary thing to get rid of. This wasn’t the first he did something like this. He remembered hurting someone for the first time when they tried fighting him. They obviously got beat, ending up in the hospital which got Malakai in a lot of trouble in school. He smiled enjoying that silly little memory of his young self in high school.

Malakai got home in a different pair of clothes. His attitude happier than usual. Biting his lip he was a little nervous to open the door. What if you immediately knew it was him? He hoped you wouldn’t ignore him if you did find out. He’d probably break down if you did.

You greeted Malakai as usual, asking him where he was so late at night.

“Ah, i was just hanging out with my friend. We went out to a club, just for fun yknow” A toothy grin appearing on his face.

“Oh, alright. I just finished making some pasta if you want some. I didn’t know if you did want any but I did make a bit more then usual” You started walking to the living room. You had laid down some of your blankets on the couch to snuggle up on while you watched the latest news and shows. Speaking of news, it seemed like it was getting interesting when you heard a reported speaking about something.

Malakai, fidgeting with his fingers a little nervous he waited before getting pasta and sat next to you. Watching to see if you knew or not.

‘And we have details coming that a young man in his mid 20’s that was just identified as Julian Mark was murdered near the popular cafe called Cats and Coffes in a dark alleyway. Reporters say a woman encountered the man lying on the floor in his own pool of blood. The injuries were very fatal—-“ At the point you tuned the news out.

He was dead? You just saw him today, that was your friend. Your heart ached thinking about how heart broken his girlfriend probably would be when she saw the news. You had her number and didn’t know if you should break the news or not. You decided not to, Julian’s best friend would probably tell her.

You bit your lip thinking, why would he get murderer? Who would do that? He never had any enemies so why—

You looked beside you and saw a slightly nervous Malakai. His demeanor was normal but his eyes looked nervous, glancing upon the news then to you back to the news then back to you.

He stopped doing that once he realized you were directly staring at him now.

“Tell me you didn’t do this”

His silence showed the answer you needed.

You got up and went to your room. Slamming the door shut and locking it.

Seriously? Why would he do that? He had a girlfriend so he didn’t need to kill him. You found it disgusting and weren’t sure what to do. Your stomach queasy as your mind refreshed itself to show the image of his your friend in a body bag behind yellow bright tape that kept the public away.

You just felt saddened at the fact that he was gone now. You weren’t sure what to do, you didn’t think Malakai would go that far.

You could hear his whimpers while knocking at the door. Begging for you to open it since he knew you were upset and felt like you were going to neglect him.

You picked at your lip trying to think, ripping off the dry skin helped you somehow. It was a bad habit but whatever. You decided that you would have to control Malakai somehow. If he didn’t stop he was going to kill more people that he thought was a threat to him just because they had your attention.

He sobbed scratching the door for you to open it. He didn’t want to break it down because he knew you would get even more mad if he did. He kept profusely apologizing as he wiped his tears away with his sleeves. He knocked and knocked and still heard silence.

How would you control him though? You just didn’t know that part. He did listen sometimes but that was on little thing, he was always a bratty guy. Maybe if you ignored him if he didn’t listen to you?? That’s basically what you were doing now.

You knew you weren’t gonna rack your brain quick enough to make a plan so you just unlocked and opened the door. You saw him sitting down, his eyes lit up and his sobs were louder as he clung to your leg.

You stood there for a moment trying to think just for one second before pulling your leg away from him. You walked to your bed and just sat down. His cheeks wet with tears, he followed quickly behind and sat next to you.

“Please”

“Please what”

“Please don’t leave me, I’m sorry..”

“Are you really though? You did it without remorse and came back happier then ever as if it was something normal.”

“I- I know! I know it looks bad but you never— you never said I couldn’t kill anyone.. y-you you just said I had to be nice” His sobs made his chest intake more air then he needed and his sniffling became more apparent.

Malakai just stared with hurt in his eyes. Knowing what he did wouldn’t gain any happiness from you and only pleasured him in knowing that he wouldn’t have another person talking to you.

He sniffles, still trying to breathe normal instead of hyperventilating.

“I’m sorry.. I won’t do it again” He wiped his wet cheeks and tears that wanted to spill.

“Are you really though? Are you really going to stop? Or are you just going to say you won’t then pull more shit like this”

His heart ached and felt like it had been stabbed. ‘How ironic’ he thought

He sat in silence trying to formulate a response, a response that never left his lips. You stormed off, angry about god knows what exactly. His crimes? His silence? You didn’t know and you didn’t care to ponder about which one angered you the most.

You needed to escape, just for a bit. Enough for you to compose yourself before you murdered the man yourself.

You went to a bar and sat down on the elevated stool. You never really were a drinker, never found it pleasing. Maybe your mind convinced you it was worth a shot when you saw the bright neon lights, convincing you, pushing you to go see why people used it as a coping method.

The lights truly weren’t the ones that convinced you to, it was just your mind trying to make a reason for you enter. You knew that you just wanted to get drunk and forget about everything. Forget about your loss, forget about your frustration, and certainly forget about HIM.

The bartender wiped the counter with a rag. He was attractive, you took notice of that quickly. He was probably good at his job, easily swayed people into buying things.

“What would you like darling? Something to relax you? You look rather tense” He referred to your tense body and emotionless expression.

“Yeah, and maybe a little something to make me forget about a few things” You giggled, trying to lighten the mood.

As he started preparing your drink you looked at your phone. Not paying attention to the buzzing of messages that popped up, but rather the time. Wow, it was 12am? You honestly thought it was 9 or 10 pm.

As you waited you started finally paying attention to the music. It was upbeat and fun, you liked it. You honestly expected them to be playing horrendous music that made you even more negative than before.

“Here ya go, tell me if you need anything else honey” He set your drink down, it was colorful and had a lime on the side with ice that floated to the top.

“Thank you” Was the short reply you made before grabbing the glass cup and sipping a bit down. You didn’t want to overload yourself too far yet.

It tasted strong, it wasn’t repulsive though, it had a little sweet taste which you enjoyed. Your body forced to relaxed instead of being tense with thoughts and worries.

You sort of got it now, maybe you should do this more often. Alcohol did take quick effect didn’t it? You were glad you walked to the bar rather than stupidly drive to it.

The bartender took notice of you quickly, he wondered what you were trying to forget. You looked gorgeous even with your casual clothes and no attempt to look good. He bit his lip trying to refrain from approaching you in a way that wasn’t professionally. He was on the clock! Think properly Xalvador!!

He cleaned a few glasses, trying to look busy. You looked dazed lost in thought. He observed you for a bit before eventually getting called to go serve a drink by a drunk man. ‘A very drunk man who shouldn’t be having anymore’ Xalvador said. Of course, not out loud but in his head.

You finished your drink, gulping the semi sweet alcoholic beverage. You wondered what it was called, you couldn’t remember what the bartender called it again.

You weren’t sure how to call him so you just raised your hand. You didn’t want to yell at him like some asshole or snap your fingers.

He thankfully noticed and went over once he was finished serving the other guy across the table. He adored your tired messy look, you looked out of place even but he didn’t mind. He loved looking at you, he was happy you called him over.

“Hey, uhm.. what was this drink called again?” You were thankful that you weren’t drunk enough to slur your words. Also thankful you weren’t a light weight.

“I don’t have a name for it right now. It’s just some bourbon, soda, lemon on the side, and some strawberry flavoring..” He chuckled while remembering the items.

“It tastes really well, thank you. Can I have another?” You asked politely.

“Of course! I’ll get that started for you” He smiled happily.

You looked at your phone and saw it was almost 12 at this point. Time went by fast, huh?

You saw glanced upon all the messages Malakai sent in his nervous frenzy that you had left so suddenly. He didn’t think about chasing after you until a good 10 seconds were you had already ran off so he couldn’t find you.

All the messages contained pleas and all sorts of apologies. You glared at them, hoping he wouldn’t find where you were. You weren’t on to go drink at all, so he likely wouldn’t think to come in here.

Xalvador looked seeing your annoyed expression at your phone and giggled. You quickly looked up and saw him set down your drink.

“What is it? Lovers quarrel? Perhaps something like a friend breakup?” He asked curiously. He would stop questioning if you showed that you were uncomfortable.

“Ha-, yeah let’s call it a friend thing. I got overwhelmed so I just came over here” You smiled at the fact he was trying to pinpoint you reason for being here and the face you made.

“Everybody’s got their own thing going on, interesting that it made you come to a place like this. I can tell you don’t drink, I’ve never seen you around here” He enjoys the fact that nobody was calling out for him to serve drinks.

“Yeah.. drinking isn’t my thing but I see why people do it now” You giggle taking another sip.

“You’re good at your job yknow..” You mumble getting tired.

“How so? Is it my amazing bartending skills” He chuckled at your sleepy demeanor. It was cute.

“Yeah.. and you’re very cute” You accidentally slipped out the thing you first thought of when you first saw him.

“Ah- thank you! It’s always nice to hear compliments from customers who aren’t total creepy” He tried playing casual but his cheeks felt a little warm. He hoped his blush wasn’t too obvious.

“I gotta go now, but thank you for serving me tonight.” You looked at the time and decided you had enough time to play around. You brought out your cash in your back pocket and gave money for the drinks. Along with a tip because you might as well.

“No problem! Come again soon, I would love to serve you again” Xalvador grinned.

“I’ll try to! Thank you again” You head towards the exit and started to walk back to the house. Your walking was a little wobbly but you didn’t care. As long as you got home.

Once you actually made it, you were less prepared then you thought but you still continued. You unlocked the door and felt a sudden embrace.

His sobs were louder and sadder than before you left. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—“ his quick mumbles and hiccups were almost incomprehensible.

You sighed, feeling drowsy and wanting to go to bed. Being a little drunk felt nice but weird. Malakai smelled your clothes and was able to detect a strong scent of alcohol.

He stopped the embrace and backed up a bit.

“You were drinking? Why? Why would you do something so stupid?? What if you forgot were to go back home or someone took advantage of you!” He expressed his worries loudly as you took off your shoes.

If yelled anymore louder you were probably going to get a headache. You mumbled for him to quiet down and walked to your room.

“Seriously??” He sniffled. Following close behind you as if you were going to run away again.

“Are we okay now? You’re not going to ignore me anymore??” he hugged you as you sat down on the bed.

“Pf, of course not.. it doesn’t matter how many times you apologize. He’s not going to come back and neither is me forgiving you. So what does it matter” You mumble, lying down on the warm bed. He must’ve been lying on it trying to comfort himself. You grabbed the blanket and pulled it from under him and laid under the warm blanket.

“I know it won’t…” He didn’t know what else to say. Just sat down on the comfy bed and looked at you. You looked like you were about to doze off.

“Can I get under the sheets too?” he asked quietly. Not wanting to upset you but he still wanted comfort in knowing you weren’t mad enough to ignore him again.

“Whatever” You mumbled before turning to the wall and closing your eyes. You quickly dozed off, faster than you thought.

Malakai wanted to hug you, to comfort you, to make you feel better but he knew that wouldn’t happen. Not right now that’s for sure. So he just tucked himself in and turned to face away from you. He stared at the other side of the room and tried to think about ways to gain your forgiveness.

A forgiveness that would take a long time.

───※ ·❆· ※───

“I’m so done with you, I can’t believe you actually think it’s okay to do that for no reason. I don’t even know what to do with you. I try and be nice but you pull shit like this. He was my friend you knew he had a girlfriend and you still did this?? What exactly did this gain you? Happiness? Pleasure? Satisfaction? Are you satisfied for eliminating another ‘threat’ to your precious partner? Let me drop a small obvious fact on you, THIS WONT GAIN ANYTHING FOR YOU.” You practically talked his ear off but you hoped this would give him the needed realization of what he did. B

“I didn’t expect you to kill anyone just for no reason, i’d assume being nice would also refer to not killing someone for no apparent reason. Do you have any clue what you’ve done??” You almost starting yelling at him but you kept your cool as much as you could which was going to run out soon.

Why are you being so mean?

Soos

“You nev- never said I couldn’t - you just said I had to be nice to the- them” His stuttering became apparent with his is

“You never said I

“You never said - I couldn’t murder them, i-I…. I didn’t know okay?” His stuttering became apparent, he kept sniffling trying to breath normally but his body kept in taking air that wasn’t needed.

“But you never said I couldn’t do that, you just said be nice to them.” He whimpered trying to compose himself for such a serious conversation. His sniffles unable to stop as he kept

His sobs and screams kept gaining in volume so you were scared neighbors were going to call the police so you opened the door.

‘I wonder what my cute little roomie is doing’ He thought to himself. He fin up

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #gn reader #pls request #yandere x darling #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #male yandere #angst #oc stuff #death mention #maybe new oc #malakaimyoc

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dearhargrove · 6 months

Note

Hii can you do Ethan x Reader where reader grew up with Ethan and his family so she was always close with him and Quinn and they go to the same college and are in Tara’s group but when they go to the party reader gets really drunk and Ethan takes care of her and the next morning reader thanks Ethan and they end up confessing 🫶🫶 (can have slight smut at the end if you want)

Let me care for you

Ethan Landry x fem!reader (but isn't specified I think)

summary You're drunk - your eyes unfocused and mind working at 0.5 speed. But one thing you knew for certain was that Ethan Landry was half-carrying you to your dorm and taking care of you.

word count 1426

warnings swearing, alcohol

a/n this was so cute! I wrote this dead tired and google docs wouldn't spell check, so if there's any errors tell me pls <3 otherwise enjoy! Oh, also: I know I made Ethan a lil more confident than he probably is canonically BUT him and reader have known each other for so long he's just comfortable around her and doesn't second-guess himself! Hope y'all don't mind and I also don't think it's that apparent, anyway

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You were drunk. Wasted, even. There were other students surrounding you, dancing and drinking, some you even knew from a random class or seeing them around campus. Well, right now? You weren't seeing anyone - at least not clearly. Your vision was fuzzy from the shots you'd drank pretty much the second you had gotten here with Tara and the rest of the group.

The party was fun and the music was good, the alcohol even better. So far you hadn't thought about your unfinished assignments and essays, you'd left all the stress in your dorm after pregaming with Quinn (and Ethan warily watching).

You were stumbling through the living room and kitchen, trying to decide whether to find another drink or just dance for now. However that decision was made for you when you arrived in the kitchen to see the few people there browse through bottles - all empty.

“Wait, they're out?” You drunkenly slur, glancing at the boy that was standing at the kitchen island next to you. You just barely hear his laugh, “Yeah.”

That's where the conversation had ended in your book, but he turns around and faces you, a grin on his face. “I haven't seen you around here?” You stop in your movements and look at him in your peripheral vision, hoping he'd take the hint and notice your definite disinterest.

He didn't.

“You don't wanna talk to me, princess?” He teases, though even in your drunken state you hear the slight aggravation in his voice. “No, sorry,” you dismiss and turn to leave the kitchen. He yells an insult after you and in turn you hold up your middle finger without looking back. Great, now your good mood is ruined.

Pursing your lips you look around the full hallway and living room, trying to spot at least one or your friends. How did they manage to turn invisible? You frown and stumble along a wall, your hand on it supporting you as you pass by a random couple making out (you don't know if the bile in your throat is from the copious amounts of alcohol you'd drank or these two but you're pretty sure it's the latter).

You don't know if you're imagining it or not but you can hear your name being called in a familiar fashion. You squint your eyes in suspicion and do a quick twirl, surveying the people. You regret that immediately, remembering why exactly you never moved that hastily while intoxicated. “Oh, God…” you lean over and heave, silently begging to whoever would hear you to let you get to a bathroom before vomiting on the floor of this frat house.

You feel a hand appear on your back, casually stroking along it in hopes to calm you down. Your brows crease and you're about to lash out at whoever thought they had the right to be touching you when you see the familiar pair of shoes and recognize the voice.

Ethan!

You look to the side and upwards, seeing the curly hair covered with the dorky cardboard knight helmet from his last minute costume (that you had helped him with!). He has a worried frown on his face and is talking but you don't hear him, focused on his unhappy expression. Who made him upset? Who did you have to have a word with?

You swallow and stabilize yourself on the wall again before straightening up, him copying your movement with his hand now on your shoulder.

With determination to make him happy again you reach out and press your thumb on the frown, trying to smooth it out. “Why is it not- Ethan. No frowning.” You warn when your thumb doesn't do the job.

There's a flicker of surprise on his face and then he laughs, “How much did you have to drink tonight?” It makes you giggle and you shake your head with a finger on your mouth, “It's a secret.”

He raises his eyebrows and then his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, alright. I won't tell anyone. If I hadn't seen you dry heave I wouldn't have had a clue you had something to drink.”

You squint your eyes again but decide to believe him. Then the music you'd ignored faded back in and you groan, really not a fan of the way you could feel the vibration of the bass in your gut (you were a hair's width away from puking, this was not making it any better).

“Hey lovie, let's get you home?” Ethan suggests and puts an arm loosely around your waist. He never held you tightly, always loose enough that you could just slip out of his hold if you wanted to.

You see this as an offer and lean your full body weight against him, mumbling about going home and being happy to see him after wandering around this house, unable to find anyone.

He catches and holds you up with ease, gently guiding you to what you guessed was the front door (could've been a window and you wouldn't have batted an eye) before leading you outside.

Cold, crisp air surrounds you and suddenly you can breathe again, the music only in the background.

“Fresh air is great, isn't it?” He asks with amusement and you manage a glare that makes him grin.

“Alright, I'll help you walk home.”

Now, almost an hour later, you're back in your dorm. The small, dimmed lights around the room are turned on and Ethan is busying himself, cleaning (you guessed, he was mainly moving stuff around and then putting it back).

You simply sit on your bed, hands under your thighs and feet swinging as you watch him, only looking away when his quick movements overwhelm your drunk brain.

“Alright, come here. You can't sleep in that,” he finally says, holding a shirt (your favorite!) and sleep shorts in his hands. Instead of complying you cross your arms and eye him up and down, “and why can I not sleep in this?” Your party outfit is… well, a party outfit. Apart from the overall vibe and fit there was definitely some liquor that had burned its way into the fabric.

“Because it smells like tequila and you'll hate me tomorrow if I let you lay in bed with it,” he calmly explains and nonchalantly kneels in front of you to help you take off your shoes.

Your eyes are droopy and teary as well as a dull pulsing at the back of your head. You're almost asleep by now, having been convinced to change and get ready for bed (Ethan had gently but clumsily cleaned off your make up with some wipes and then you'd tiredly brushed your teeth and changed).

But, even now with you already in bed, he was still here, back against Quinn's bed and sitting on the floor.

Cuddled under your blanket you blink tiredly at him, “Eth?” He looks up from his phone and looks at you attentively. You just take him and his cute costume in for a second before a warm smile appears on your face. “Thanks. You don't have to do this but you do anyway…”

You seem to surprise him with that and he puts his phone down, “Nothing to thank me for.” You smile warmly, no strength to phrase how thankful you actually felt.

“I'm glad it's you. Taking care of me.” You admit, the haze of drunkenness fading with the time and water you've chugged. “I'm glad too.”

You're staring into his brown eyes, the light of your desk lamp illuminating them beautifully as he smiles at you, this time a bit more shy.

“Eth?” You mumble and you two just look at each other before he gets up and you lift the blanket. He lays down with his back facing the door and yours facing the wall, a palm coming to rest on your cheek.

“I'm happy you're my best friend.” He says, but there's a slight hesitancy as he says the last thing.

Maybe it was the buzz from the drinks or just the vibe of right now but you lean in and press your mouth to his. You're both too out of it and tired to do more than this, smiles in between short pecks.

It was sweet, no words needed to be exchanged between you to know what this meant.

You would talk about it in the morning with both your heads clear, but for now all you needed was to be cuddled against his chest, his hand lazily stroking along your back.

#jack champion #ethan landry #jack champion x reader #ethan landry x reader #ethan kirsch #scream iv #scream #scream 6 #ghostface x reader #ghostface

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thefallennightmare · 1 year

Text

Moment of Weakness-twenty five

*credit to whoever created the gif. found on google/Pinterest *

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Author's Note: it's short, I apologize. I tried to get something out. I promise the next chapter will be so much better.

Tags(closed): @splendidreads @sebsgirl71479 @mdpplgtz03 @pattiemac1 @unaxv @alana4610 @broadwaybabe18 @themayzittcha @playboystark @raajali3 @ozwriterchick @ragamuffin285 @screamingdying @themorningsunshine @kenziekugler22 @calwitch @sebastianstansqueen @stanaddict @stucky-simp03 @sleyeveryday @loustan90 @lyra-black13 @valsworldofcreativity @cjand10 @tesseract69 @batprincess1013 @subwaysurf45 @arsonfrogger @yoruse @5moremin @lipstickandtanqueray @mandijo17 @joannaromanoff @justsebstan @winters1917 @elizacusi-blog @football1921 @elxvrr

I sat in the large bedroom, feeling out of place. Bucky told me to make myself at home, no matter what. He wanted me to feel comfortable especially since I wasn’t sure how long I’d be staying with him. To be honest, I probably could have gone to stay with anyone else but when Bucky offered his house, my heart jumped at the idea of being alone with him for more than an hour. It wasn’t the best idea, knowing our history, and I had done such a good job at getting over him that this only spelled disaster.

The loud voice in my head scoffed, knowing that I was lying about getting over him.

With a sigh, I forced myself to get up and at least unpack my bags, hoping it would make me feel a bit more comfortable here. This house was Bucky's. He worked so hard for everything and it felt wrong for me to come in pretending that I belonged here with him.

There was a soft knock on the door and I gave my best smile to Bucky, who was leaning against the frame with his arms over his chest.

“Settling in fine?”

I gave a half shrug. “I guess.”

He could tell by the way my voice faltered that something was wrong so Bucky pushed himself off the frame and motioned towards the bed.

“It’s your house,” I responded flatly.

Bucky let out a deep breath while sitting on the end of the bed. “Is that why you’ve been so closed off? You didn’t say one word the entire drive.”

My gaze stuck on my hands as I watched my fingers work on folding a shirt, two times to many.

“I feel as if I’m invading your personal space. I would have been fine staying in a hotel until everything blows over.”

“You’re not, Y/N. I want you here. How else would I be able to make sure you’re safe?” Bucky questioned.

I didn’t say anything, only tossed the shirt back into my suitcase and let out an annoyed breath.

“This is such bullshit,” I grumbled. “I shouldn’t have to feel like I can’t stay in my own home.”

Bucky went to reach for me but held himself back, knowing that we weren’t there quite yet. We only just saw each other again after eight months.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized with a broken sigh.

“It’s not your fault, Bucky,” I shook my head and finally looked into his eyes.

The usual light that shone behind them that I found myself drowning in was long gone. Clearly the last eight months had also been hard on him; even though he deserved some pain. Just a little bit.

“Can I ask you something?”

His voice was quiet but I had still heard him by giving him a nod.

“Why did you leave for eight months?” Bucky asked.

“Bucky,” I sighed, not wanting to get into this right now.

“I deserve to know,” he said.

I scoffed while crossing my arms over my chest. “You deserve to know? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He placed his head in his hands. “I don’t want to fight, doll. I just want to know why you were away for so long.”

My shoulders dropped when I heard the hurt in his voice and decided that a fight between us wasnt what either of us needed. I took a seat next to him but not too close, unafraid of what would happen if I felt him brush against me.

“I thought that if I stayed away that long that it would help me move on from you, get over what we went through,” I admitted.

Bucky’s hands were clasped together as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Did it work?” he asked

I looked at him with so much love in my heart and eyes, my voice breaking in a hushed tone. I almost uttered those three words that would fall from my lips while I dreamt of him every night while I was gone.

“I’m afraid to find out.”

Vibranium fingers wrapped squeezed my thigh, Bucky’s touch shocking all the buried feelings back to the surface.

“It was wrong of me to put you in that position. You deserved to have someone that wouldn’t cause you pain. You should be their first priority, Y/N.”

I began to slowly trace the gold lines of his arm, my gaze falling on his face. “I wanted you to be that person, Bucky.”

He let out a very shaky breath, lips trembling, and looked down. “I’m sorry.”

For the second time tonight, he apologized. The only difference was that this one was his fault, so I gently leaned my head against his shoulder.

“I appreciate your apology.”

We stayed like this for a while, my head on his shoulder and his hand on my knee. No other movements happened between us as words were not said, only enjoying the quiet solace that we had found ourselves in. Even if he had apologized, I wasn’t going to pick up where we left off. I couldn’t let myself get distracted with him when my life was on the line, the hit looming in the dark behind us.

Bucky’s phone began to ring and I removed my head with a quiet sigh, watching him answer the call from Steve.

“Yeah? I’m at home. Y/N’s here,” he gave me a small smile. “When did you find this out?”

The anger was clear in the way his jaw glanced, eyes going dark.

“Send me the address. We’ll meet you there.”

Bucky ended the call and rose to his feet quickly. “Let’s go.”

His hand was extended towards me and I raised a brow at it. “Where?”

“Steve has a meeting with someone who knows more about where Clint and Natasha may have gone.”

Without a second thought, I followed Bucky’s previous actions by rising to my feet and slipped into my jacket. As I went to walk past him, Bucky’s finger slipped between my fingers.

“Promise that you’ll stay close to me tonight?”

I nodded and gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “Whatever you say, goes.”

#mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes x yn #mob!bucky barnes and yn #mob!bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes and reader #sebastian stan #moment of weakness-mob!bucky barnes

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thepastisalreadywritten · 1 month

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By Kate Andrews

Has Kate Middleton united America? For the past few days, we have been one nation under her spell.

The Princess of Wales has dominated Google searches in the United States ever since Kensington Palace released that now-notorious doctored photo of her with her children for Mother’s Day.

Her name search beat that of both ‘Donald Trump’ and ‘Joe Biden’ over the past week.

To say she has broken the internet would be only the start of it: rumours of her well-being are making their way into every newsroom, dive bar, and church fellowship hour across America.

My friends from all over the country text and call me to ask the same question: What’s happened to Kate?

They know I’m as removed from the royal family as anyone could be, but I’m in London and I work in Westminster, so they hope I’ve heard a theory that hasn’t made its way across the pond just yet.

Left-liberal pals who usually text me when Trump says something obscene now want to know when I last walked by Buckingham Palace.

Did anything seem strange? More right-leaning friends, who tend to send videos of Biden jumbling his words, want to know if it’s unusual in Britain to not wear your wedding ring.

Or did someone photoshop her ring out of the Mother’s Day photo, too? Is that even her hand in the picture?

I wonder if Kate knows she has achieved the impossible in bringing America together in this way.

I suppose that depends on where she’s been, how she’s been faring, and how much she’s checking the news – all questions that largely remain unanswered.

Either way, it’s an impressive feat and a wonderful service she has performed.

Sure, it would be nice if existential threats to the United States and its citizens were cause enough for us to find common ground. But I’m not going to be picky.

I will forever be grateful for this smidgen of evidence that, if the cause is compelling enough, America can pull itself back from the brink.

How did ‘Kate-gate’ go viral in a nation that isn’t even her own? The princess’s prolonged absence from public life has the right components to capture America’s imagination.

We are a country obsessed with The Crown and true crime. Since we rejected the British monarchy almost 250 years ago, we have rarely had the opportunity to combine the two.

The mystery of Kate’s movements and the online sleuthing required to discredit that photograph proved to be a golden moment.

But it’s the cover-up elements, which made the story stratospheric.

Like everything else in the States, conspiracy theories tend to be big – the more far-fetched, the more viral they go.

Trumpist QAnon talk has never appealed to non-partisan Instagram girlies, but speculation around a princess’s whereabouts make for perfect 20-part video series to add to your highlights reel.

That’s because Kate-gate is not your traditional conspiracy fare.

The big questions – what’s happened to Kate, where has she been – have not been whipped up from nothing.

Suspicion has been fed by a number of public-relations mishandlings from the Palace.

Stories have changed, a photo has been botched and is still being censored on social media.

This is particularly strange given the normal PR slickness of the Firm: a protective, ruthless operation that presidents and popstars envy.

Some of the rumours have taken absurd and dangerous turns. But it’s not only fantasists who have questions. Something seems to be happening; we just don’t know what.

We may never find out what Kate has been up to these past months. And perhaps we shouldn’t. Her medical issues aren’t our business, after all.

But we know what’s happened to her in the eyes of the public: Brand Kate has skyrocketed.

She and her family have become even more intriguing – the Prince and Princess of Wales’s Instagram and X accounts gained more than 200,000 followers combined in the days after the doctored photo was posted.

That intrigue has made the princess all the more sensational.

Kate is now a mega-celebrity. She has the kind of fame her sister-in-law craves so badly.

Markle’s tactic was to shout from the rooftops: to make herself and her point of view heard through every media platform and streaming service that showed any interest. It worked for a while.

Had a pandemic not scuppered her big moment, ‘Megxit’ would have been the story of 2020.

She and Harry still got to sit down with Oprah. Netflix charted their journey from the Palace to the Hollywood Hills. But attention quickly waned.

This week, the duchess finds herself doing what every fame-hustler must do in the fight for survival: launching a lifestyle brand.

Her Californian-inspired venture, called American Riviera Orchard, will be offering us fashion advice and gardening tips, along with another outlet selling artisan jams and yoga gear.

Yet as she pushes the cutlery and cookbooks, it’s absent Kate whose face is projected all over the world: a testament, if there ever was one, to the power of silence.

Given the long line of mess-ups from the Palace, this boost for Kate is a fairly good outcome.

The princess disappeared for a few months, and the world made its message clear: we simply can’t bear to be without her.

When she returns to public life, she will be more adored and loved than ever.

The rumours and theories will die down. The outpouring of support for the Princess of Wales will continue.

It seems likely that she will, as promised, resume public duty in the spring.

The future queen of England will return, radiant as ever, to stand next to her future king and her family, as if nothing ever happened.

We’ll watch on, always with the niggling feeling that there was something we weren’t told and that not knowing is the key to the charm.

As Walter Bagehot said:

‘We must not let in daylight upon magic’ – or photoshop, for that matter.

NOTE: Additional photos have been included in this article.

#Princess of Wales #Catherine Princess of Wales #Catherine Middleton #Kate Middleton #British Royal Family #Brand Kate #trending #viral #fake news #misinformation #disinformation #cancer #chemotherapy #break the internet #Kate-Gate

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prettyoddfever · 3 months

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hi! there’s a poem that brendon supposedly posted in august 2008 on “dylan’s myspace” that a lot of fans call “the summer poem” and i was wondering if you could confirm if he wrote it or not. i know you touched on the fact that there were a lot of fake accounts made around that time, but this specific poem has always felt more genuine than other posts and the writing style fits his tone. i’ve always really liked it, but i was never 100% sure of its validity. thank you!

ok so I had to google this to see what the "summer poem" was and I found this tumblr post, which had this link at the bottom:

and that links to the dilloncornbreadandchicken myspace as the source of that poem, which explains everything.

So towards the end of the Honda Civic Tour (and shortly after Pete Wentz got married), one of Pete's dog Hemingway's supposed extra myspace accounts posted a bulletin that said “it would make me happy if you would add my buddy dillon. here's his myspace" and linked to the dilloncornbreadandchicken account. The fact that Dylan's name was spelled wrong and she was misgendered was a little weird. Also, Hemingway's real account didn't post anything about this. (Side note: Yes, Panic's myspace got hacked around the end of the Honda Civic Tour, so even the legit myspace accounts could occasionally do something unusual. Also can I please just complain that the hackers could have posted some highly entertaining stuff "from Adam" on Panic's myspace if they'd had any imagination. Like we all know what's going on, so why not just do something absurd for a laugh).

But the dilloncornbreadandchicken account seemed questionable on its own anyways. Keep in mind that a lot of fans were obsessed with the idea that Brendon & Shane were dating... like a lot of the Ryden enthusiasm got channeled there in 2008 because at least it still implied that Brendon was into guys.

Some random things that seemed odd to me:

Several of the pictures on that myspace were absolutely not Dylan. Similar looking dog, but definitely not her.

One of the songs that played on Dillon’s profile was “Ur So Gay” by Katy Perry.

The account said things like "yea i have 2 daddys... out of the ordinary? daddy brendon and shane both take excellent care of me.”

Many girls had convos with the “Shane and Brendon” who ran that myspace. That account was also very active with replying & commenting on other's profiles. June was still a busy month for the real Brendon, who was finishing the Honda Civic Tour (and doing a lot of publicity/media stuff) and then getting ready for Europe.

In July (while the band was still in Europe), fans asked Shane about Brendon's comment to Kerrang about how the last time he cried was when he heard that Dylan ran away for a few days. Shane explained that Dylan was living with his parents while Panic was on tour, and that she'd run away on a nearby golf course to chase rabbits for a few days. Shane also apparently seemed confused when a fan at the Astoria show told him she was friends with Dylan on myspace.

There were a ton of fake myspace & facebook accounts for everyone in PATD over the years. Some of them even managed to spell Brendon's name right. But Brendon just would not be talking to fans on myspace like that (or even be on myspace at that point period). The band had stopped doing even basic journal updates by 2008, but even in 2006 Brendon & Ryan had put a lot of distance between themselves and fans, and we heard from them less & less. The guys didn't even run their band's social media in the Fever era. This whole episode reminded me of how in late 2006 many middle school girls swore they'd been talking to Ryan on AIM and he'd shared secret lyrics with them, and I was like omg common sense please.

The person who wrote that "summer poem" sounds like a school schedule still factored into their awareness, and they're possibly trying to make a subtle connection to Brendon's old part_time_lovah livejournal account. I stopped paying attention to the dilloncornbreadandchicken myspace after seeing so many big fans similarly conclude that it was fake, so I don't remember much about the poem. I'll only say that it should be regarded with some suspicion... even just posting a poem anywhere online like that would have been very out of character for Brendon. (For context, that poem was posted while Brendon was busy being a tired, sick, sweaty mess on tour in Asia and the band was heading to Australia next).

#ryden

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littleesister · 2 months

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more tickle questions beucase I’m bored 😂

Glitch's Tickle Questions | Volume 1 |

Trying my hand at the tickle question creating game 😋 Calling it "Volume 1" in case I end up making more, don't know for sure if I will yet, we'll see how this one goes. Did my best to come up with some fun questions, I hope you all like them!

Feel free to reblog this around to receive some questions from your followers, just as my followers can send some to me if they'd like 😜

🥞 If you could make one spot more/less ticklish, which would it be and why?

well I’d make my ribs less ticklish because I’m so insanely ticklish there to a violent degree. When I was a kid my dad tickled me a lot until he tickled my ribs to harshly and I kicked I’m him the jaw. So he bit his lip and bled a bit (not a lot). So my point is I don’t like to be ticklish to a violent degree. I don’t wanna hurt my poor ler 🥲

🍦 Can you tickle yourself, and if so, do you do so often?

well when I have acrylics or press on nails, I tickle my tummy and wrist every time before bed. Since I love to be tickled there. Also if I turn of all my light I can tickle myself with an electric toothbrush on my ribs and in my bellybutton since these spots are so sensitive.

my mom tickles be before bed usually but because she’s also chronically ill sometimes she’s to exhausted. So that’s when I step in 💅

🔪 Are there any ticklish spots you have that you'd prefer not to be tickled?

well I’m kinda not into feet stuff, especially when it’s with tools or motion tickles. Like fine tickle my feet but I’m not comfortable with my feet being the main focus. Like when I watch a tickle video I usally skip the feet portions 🦶😷

🍿 If you could have any superpower, what would it be and how would you use it for tickles?

well I’ve always wanted to talk any language, including animal ones. So think how funny like I give lots of teases in an ancient or just a rare or uncommon language my Lee can’t understand. So when they pull out google translate and literally have a fluster attack. Especially if they don’t know how to spell the words and say it themselves 😈

also think how funny like I’m tickling someone and I hear a fly or bird or heck their dog just tease the Lee to and I translate it heheh 😝

🍭 If you could choose one spot to be magically continuously tickled, which spot would it be and for how long?

my tummy, and here’s my essay form me as an educated zookeeper:

you know when a puppy or kitty shows you their tummy is a sing of trust. And the reason for that is most of the body is protected by bones. Like a rib cage, but the tummy doesn’t really have any bones except for like hips and spine but these bones more give structure. So my point is when you tickle or rub someone’s tummy you’re right on top of their digestive system and reproductive system. That’s why in the animal kingdom showing the tummy shows you trust them since you give them free access to hurt or damage your organs. That’s why tummy attention is one of the most vulnerable ones.

and since you are right on top of their organs tummy tickles and rubs helps with digestion and period cramps.

so my points is, if I let you tickle my tummy or someone else let’s me tickle their tummy. It’s an honor ❤️🤲

🌶 Think of a crazy wacky way you can think of to tickle/be tickled that you wish you could experience. No logical constraints. What is it?

Hunger games but with tickling instead of killing.

people get to enter and a friend can sign you up as a surprise, but consent to participate it needed

its a televised show in a secluded or closed of area

the crates from sponsors have tickle tools or restraints

food, water, hygiene and medical care is included

When someone safewords they “die” (not for real) and get disqualified

last one standing of the games is the ler of the year

🍞 Look around wherever you are while reading this. You can choose one item to come to life and tickle you. What item is it?

electric toothbrush…

🥯 If you could choose any fictional character(s) to team up with you to help tickle someone, who would you choose and why?

the dream them, like I got obsessed with the Dsmp during the pandemic, so yeah and I love the fandom’s head cannons.

Dream - more Lee then ler and will probably just hold me down and cuddle me to help me relax ☺️

Sapnap - a true switch and he’s very gentle and teasing, lots of games since he’s the youngest they play lots of games with him😉

George - more ler then lee and he’s ruthless, tickling any spot he can reach and siding in his bony figners 😈

🧇 If you could have an animal friend that loved to tickle you, what animal would it be and how would you want them do it?

a golden retriever ❤️🥹

Decent sized dog that can pin me down

has a long snout so the puppy can blow lots of raspberries and nuzzle it’s nose in my belly button and give little nibbles on my sides

a long fluffy tail that’s like a feather duster tickle tool

flappy ears so when the doggi shakes its head during nuzzling it tickles more

the playfulness so the dog will give lots of teasing

that slight smile or smirk on some individuals

and those puppy eyes

🍟 If you're feeling brave.. which friends, mutuals, and/or other tickle blogs would you want to tickle and/or be tickled by?

oh Noo hahah here we go again I guess, I love to expose myself, let’s see if my favorite blogs find me🫠

@kikibumblesqueaks

@the-shy-ler

@covenofwives

@fluffallamaful

@awkwardtickleetoo

@wishitweresummer

@eldelascosquillas-blog

@emmadoodlewrites

@kasey-writes-stuff

@mushiewrites

@missamyrisa2

@trashyswitch

@sleepysheepytea

nothing personal I just love your works and everything, so I wouldn’t mind if you guys wrecked me or I could give you a little tickle 👉👈 ummm yeah. I got so flustered when a few responded to me last time and guess what I wanna get even more exposed hahah 😍

#tickle fluff #tickle thoughts #lee #ler #answered #tword community #ask answered #sfw tickling community #tword content #asks #sfw tickling #tickle questions #umm yeah #tummy tickles #tickle content #Exposing myself

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catholic-saint-tournament · 11 months

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I was raised Protestant so I don’t have any background knowledge here but I’ve always been SUPER curious about the saints and how it all works, no obligation to explain don’t worry about it, but I’m finding this tournament very interesting and a bit educating. Like I didn’t know about the whole “pre-saint” thing (can’t remember the word well enough to spell it) like the church or whoever designating that someone will become a saint once they die if I’m understanding that right from the context clues I haven’t googled things yet for further research.

OK! Happy to help! The professor in me won't let this ask go unanswered.

There are two kinds of saints. Capital S saints are people who the Church has declared are in heaven/with God because of a) exemplary, holy lives they've led, and b) signs of miracles (often medical ones) where people pray for their intercession. Little 's' saints is anyone and everyone in heaven. So, in theory, your grandparents, great grandparents, etc.

Big S, canonized saints, is what this tourney's all about. What Catholics believe: when people go to heaven and they are with God, they are literally closer to God than we are. When Catholics pray (talk) to saints, NOT WORSHIPPING, that is reserved for God and God alone, they're asking for help. Worship = praise, love, adoration, service, acknowledging power/glory/majesty. Praying to/talking to - let's have a chat.

Think of it this way: have you ever asked a friend to help you move? You've got a super heavy package and need help taking it from point A to B. Technically, you can do it all by yourself, but you can get a friend to help you, or several! Catholics ask these saints, or friends, to help with prayer requests.

We believe that the saints can hear us when we pray to them, and will help us. They want to help us! You'd help a friend in need, yes? This is what the saints are for all of us. Friends! Free friendship for free help with God! What a fabulous deal!

The pre-saint business comes with beatification. When a holy person dies, there's a five year waiting period before their cause can be opened for canonization. In the past, 3 miracles were needed, but now only two are needed for canonization.

The process goes like this - person dies, wait 5 years, go through investigation to make sure the person was actually a good person. Martyrs go straight to Blessed stage (2nd to last before Saint). Venerables are non-martyrs but still super cool holy people. They need at least two miracles. Martyrs need one.

In the past, incorruptibles were considered miraculous, e.g. people whose bodies mysteriously/miraculously don't decay after death. Nowadays it's not considered good enough for a miracle because burial conditions can impact this and it's hard to verify. I mean, people still go apeshit over incorruptibles (I do) but it's not enough to be a miracle.

What IS a miracle: very commonly it's medical miracles. Tumors that disappear overnight. Diseases that disappear. Things doctors said couldn't happen and then they do happen.

The Vatican hears thousands of cases a year, they have a team of medical professionals, and most of the miracles don't qualify as miraculous. They're REALLY rare. For a lot of saints, it can take hundreds of years to go from one step to the next because the professionals try to prove that there was no medical reason why something would disappear or be healed.

The miracles, combined with holiness, 'prove' that these people are truly with God because God has worked through them to produce a miracle. The miracle is not the saint's doing, per se, but rather God working through the saint. We thank the saint for 'bothering' God enough to hear our prayers.

Again, you can go to God directly, but imagine if you had a ton of friends bugging God about the same thing. The persistent widow of Scripture comes to mind, or all the prophets' bothering God in the Hebrew Scriptures. The more friends you have bothering God, the better off you are.

This is why Catholics, in particular, are SO fond of Mary. She is the mother of Jesus, the mother of God, and what's Jesus going to do? Ignore his mother? Hell no. He's going to pay attention, and maybe it doesn't always work (Mary's a busy lady with all our prayers) but she listens and intercedes for us.

This is why saints are so rad. They're normal folks like you and me who led exemplary lives across so many circumstances and are now enjoying the splendor of heaven.

I'm personally gunning for little 's' saint. I doubt I'll be cool enough to be a canonized saint, and that's ok by me!

#saints #catholic saints #sainthood #catholic #catholic saint tournament #catholicism #christianity #theology #saintmod answers #saintmod is a theologian

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discordantwritings · 1 month

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Nine People I’d Like to Get to Know Better

From here

Thank you sm for the tag @fanaticsnail! I really want to make friends here but also I am So Bad at it my social anxiety will never let me message someone first. Know I yearn for the human connection

Last Song - The Masochism Tango (Tom Lehrer)

If you haven’t listened to this song- please do. Tom Lehrer is a hell of a guy. He’s the guy who not only did The Elements Song but also invented the Jell-O shot. Icon.

Favorite Color - Blue

Purple and grey are close seconds though. Cool colors through and through for me.

Last Movie - John Wick 3

The John Wick movies are a comfort series for me I’ve seen them so many times that it’s soothing to my brain.

Sweet/ Spicy/ Savory - Sweet

I cannot handle like any spice. I’m such a huge baby. I also have a giant sweet tooth I’m so excited for Easter because that means all the peeps are on sale and it’s the best excuse to shove sugar covered sugar into my face.

Relationship Status - Single

And happily so considering I’m aroace. Which may seem odd given my writing but the theoretical is where I feel comfortable exploring my relationship with… well, relationships.

Last Thing I Googled - Jugular

I needed to make sure I was spelling it right lol

Current Obsession - Honkai Star Rail

Don’t ask how many hours I’ve played in the last few weeks it’s a scary number. My wheels are spinning and none of my friends are playing right now so I’m screaming into the void and writing fics. Talk to me about that Black Swan/ Acheron animation I haven’t stopped thinking about it. When Gallagher is officially out I’m going to write so much x reader for him I’m only a little sorry to the people who only want to read One Piece stuff but that man is (screams into my pillow)

Sooooooooo everyone I was going to tag has been tagged. And I can’t think of other people to tag that won’t give me anxiety 🥲 but I hope it’s ok to tag the people I would have tagged (a short list, yes, but yknow) - @turtletaubwrites @hey-august

#tag game #discordant rambles

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bradandchris · 4 months

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Brad knew there was no more clear or better place to be free to express yourself, to be who you are without judgement, and to promote positive self image of men who like men, than a fiercely competitive nationally televised drag competition that culminated in a paraded showdown of its self-proclaimed losers deemed so via unquestioned, ambiguous, and unwritten rules.

Did you get all of that? Read it again if you need to. The library will be open for a minute.

It was true. Just in the last ten minutes of that show viewers were forced to jump through more flossy hoops than in Fergie’s earring collection just to justify their own sanity and get hooked for another episode. It was hardly surprising straight women could relate. When it came to meeting the many sets of expectations and double standards put forth by society, were we not all consumed in various orders of intricate dance?

Brad knew he could make anything WERK in part because as a gay man he had to from the get go. He could make whatever was thrown at him WERK in the very same sense slapping the word irony on anything instantly made it ironic. The difference of course being irony didn’t actually take any work. What presented itself on the show was WERK, a hole different level (yes, hole is spelled correctly), and according to gay legend that made drag OK.

Anyone could make something ironic, and it’s usually by accident. Where it gets tricky is doing it with any thread of intention. You sure better make like Madonna and make it an art or you are that person wearing the printed t-shirt and the embroidered hat that does speak truth as proclaimed but don’t realize it’s actually about them.

Eeek. That’s always painful to come across for many reasons. For one, it’s a good guess the poorly threaded failed to friend any gay men or black women because neither have the time for something like that. Each would save the other a step at the register and likely ask for the money since they’re just throwing it away anyway.

Slap a WERK on instead, and what you already knew to be nothing is suddenly something because the gays navigate more than a google of hoops just to walk out that front door. Yes. That was worth repeating.

That’s right. No need to ask ladies, the ‘Amens!’ are are all up in here already. It is just how it is right now. At least that’s what it felt like to Brad.

As many in the erotic dancer and male model industries, Brad held no doubt that show went mainstream via the same well mirrored thread as the flick Pretty Woman just with the reverse set of players. Not everyone was on board, but it was enough sassy razzle dazzle in the right place at the right time with just enough tattered frames of attention to get through.

Both earned enough money to let ruffled feathers go, and it remain tolerated by the others as it’s understood as a one time deal. Once deemed ironic something can’t be made more ironic. The same notion apparently applied here.

Brad also knew if you make the impossible WERK the first time, you’re not going to go through it again. It’s far too exhausting and who wants to live by the skin of their teeth where they already do? You’ve been there. You are there. You made it happen, and any decent queen knows how to make her peace…

‘Did everyone not see the mf rain just now?!? Sky. Water. Fell. You’re welcome. Ok then. I gots to go!’

The door slams and that’s what happened.

WERK!

The show goes on because it must.

It was here Brad heard the snap of his own finger.

Pulled out of his own thoughts and still leaning against the palm tree in his shiny new speedo, Brad realized he was really gay. Like really really REALLY gay.

Brad let out a sigh and took note of his bulge.

Well, that certainly explained having a boyfriend.

It explained quite a bit actually.

Looking at things a little closer, Brad could say this much as to his newly realized gayness…

As long as he put out, Brad felt confident his boyfriend Chris would be ok with everything.

And that he was.

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cornerstoreclown · 1 year

Text

Wounds

Summary: This is a one-shot (6690 words approx.) where the reader (Gender Neutral) is tending to Art’s wounds. At the same time, the Pale Girl is here and the reader has to deal with her being a distraction in the house. There’s more light domesticity, because it’s my favorite.

Warnings/Contents: None that I can think of unless you find general gore uncomfortable. This will contain some humor in it too. There’s also food mentions.

Author’s notes: This is a sequel to Laundry Day! I’ve decided to make some one-shot continuity here, where this will be a collection of SFW gender neutral reader x Art content following a timeline so it doesn’t feel like a different person each one-shot. I want it to feel like an actual relationship here. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SUBSCRIBE TO THIS SERIES AND RECIEVE EMAILS FOR ADDITIONS TO IT, HERE IS THE SERIES LINK ON AO3.

If there's any spelling errors or whatever else, I am sorry, I will probably fix it the day after slamming this down on tumblr. It's only me proofreading what I write.

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Art was at your place a week ago last time you’d seen him, but you’ve seen him a handful of times before his last visit. The laundry stops were a little overwhelming sometimes. He’d show up at the most random intervals, but you weren’t one to turn him down, lest you invoke his wrath and end up like one of those poor suckers on the television. And you’ve heard what happens. The news was always kind and brief, but a good Google search gave you all the intimate details. You’ve read the creative ways that he’s desecrated bodies–chopping them up into tiny cubes, flaying them, putting their heads on sticks outside of residences, devouring their tongues, eating their brains or smashing their grey matter across the pavement–you could wax poetics about this man’s endless creativity. His friend, the young girl, was a wonderful accomplice, bursting with even more ideas than Art himself sometimes. So, staying on the clown’s good side is ideal.

Last you checked the clock tonight, it was roughly 7pm. The sun’s already down. The weather outside is downright cold. Spring and summer are biding their time until the earth changes its axis again. You are already in your pajamas for the night, and you had to pull out the more heavy duty clothes. Finally, the weather seemed to get a hold of itself so you didn’t have to alter between fall and summer nightclothes. With the transition period over, you are comfortably dressed in a long shirt and pants, sitting on your couch, opening up a bag of chips. The television’s on, and you’ve got your can of soda in front of you on the coffee table. The home is a little cold, but it isn’t too cold where you needed to turn up the heat just yet.

As fate would have it, right when you’re about to start snacking, there’s a knock at your door.

It makes you pause, quieting yourself as you have your hand in the chip bag, unmoving. You didn’t order anything, right? Nothing that you can remember. You didn’t order anything online that’s set to be here tonight, and you sure as hell didn’t order via Doordash. Maybe it’s just someone who is at the wrong door, your social anxiety tells you. Maybe they’ll think no one is home. You even take the extra precaution to reach for the remote to turn down the volume of your television in case someone would be listening in through the door.

A few seconds pass, and when you think you’re in the clear, you hear another set of knocks, only this one harder.

You squint as you turn to look over your couch, in the direction of the noise. Some of your fear begins to dissipate, but it’s replaced with a whole new kind of energy.

Stress.

Is it him?

You get up off the couch, put the open bag down on the table in front of you, and make your way over to the hallway where the door is. You make sure to keep your footsteps light, just in case. When you’re in front of the door, you take a second to gather yourself, and peek out of the peephole.

You feel relief, but with that relief comes a headache waiting to happen. Your cortisol levels are already rising when you catch the familiar sight of black and white. It’s not just the Miles County Clown that you see standing at your front door, but his friend. Daughter? You’re not really sure. As you watch them, she looks up, blue eyes locking onto yours through the peephole, seeming to sense you. You’re so thrown off and your blood runs cold that you’re temporarily paralyzed–until Art gives perhaps the most aggressive slam with his fists into the door that you’re rattled back into action with a yelp. It sounded like he’s about to bust in by the next set of knocks–you even saw the door literally move against the hits.

“Alright! Hold on!” You yell out, “Give me a second, please!”

Of course he’d be here in the middle of the night. Of course he’d be here right when you’re getting comfortable and getting ready to settle down for the night and do absolutely nothing. Of course! Of course.

Undoing the locks, you prepare yourself for the most friendly greeting you can give to a literal murderer and his accomplice as you swing open the door.

“Heeeey–OH! Oh my God.”

Art is slightly bloody across his face, and the cause looks to be from a few cuts. You don’t know how you didn’t notice it at first, but in your defense, you were a little overwhelmed when you looked down and saw the young girl. Art is somewhat manageable, but she is a handful. She is the one you were focused on when you looked through the door.

Your gaze finally travels down towards maybe the most obvious wound now that you’re standing in front of him–

Art’s hand is bleeding. Literally dripping, right on your porch. He’s got plenty of blood spots on his costume, too.

“Art–”

Putting two and two together, you look back to your door, and on the front of it is smeared blood. That’s definitely not going to get the neighbors attention or anything, you think to yourself rather sarcastically. You turn your head back to Art.

“What did you do?”

He raises both of his hands to his sides, then raises his shoulders in a shrug and blinks innocently a few times while giving perhaps the most sheepish smile you’ve ever seen come from him in a while. The little girl next to him only covers her mouth as she’s swaying back and forth in place, finding the whole situation humorous. She’s not laughing, but she is smiling, watching your exchange with Art. All you needed was a laugh track and this could be a sitcom.

“Okay, well, um, Art, can you–can you come into the kitchen? Please?”

The floor is just another thing you’ll have to clean off now that he’s here. Door, and now the way to the kitchen. No way in hell is he going to walk over your carpets like this. You’ve cleaned the carpets out so many times in the past, and you want to keep the mess to a minimum. You usher him in, and then the pale girl, who makes that brief flicker of eye contact with you, and you feel a shiver trail up your spine. Art listens to your request, and he’s leaving a dripping mess of blood from the hallway into the kitchen, as you anticipated. The pale girl follows along, chewing on her fingernails absentmindedly. Art’s standing in the center of the room when you enter the kitchen, and he’s looking at the dripping mess onto the floor. The little girl’s still smiling, and Art’s having a brief silent conversation with her as they have another laugh over something. Maybe they told a joke real quick that you missed, or maybe they just find Art’s silly little oopsie so funny.

“Over here, please.” You stand by the counter, right in front of the sink. Art follows, though a bit slowly on purpose you think, because now there’s more blood on the floor in him doing so. He’s smiling faintly right now, so you’re inclined to believe he’s just being a smartass. You purse your lips, not saying anything, and wait for him to put the bleeding hand under the faucet, and you run cold water.

“Keep it there, okay?”

He doesn’t answer you, he’s busy watching his hand under the running water. You see the girl looking at you in the corner of your eye, but you don’t make eye contact with her. She eventually directs her attention to Art, and they’re exchanging glances, communicating again nonverbally. She’s making hand gestures, in what you think is maybe something like a version of sign language, but not one that you recognize. Art is nodding his head in understanding. They’re talking again, but just as before, you don’t know what is being said.

You don’t dwell on it, and instead go to the bathroom, opening up the cabinet beneath the sink before kneeling down, fishing through the organized chaos for the first aid kit. After moving various plastic bottles around, you see the familiar shape that’s a square with red and white. Grabbing it by the handles, you close the cabinet and stand up. Your knees hurt at that, and you grimace. You’re not even that old, why is that happening to you?

When you walk back to the kitchen, you stare down at the familiar blood trail, then follow at the source of it all–Art. He is still standing in front of the sink like you asked. His back is facing you, hand still under the cold water. He seems happy to see you when he finally notices you, but you’re not smiling in turn. You see that he’s got wounds in his back. Blood spots, pierces in his black and white suit, between and around his shoulder blades. He’s a little on the tall side, you think. You’ll have to move him into the next room and sit him down on the couch next to you, hopefully with the girl in proximity so you know she’s not doing anything shady.

Speaking of…

You’re scanning the room as you notice almost immediately that the room has one less person–or, person shaped presence in it.

“Art,” You start, and he’s tilted his head at you. “Where did she go?”

Art is now looking at his hand, flexing his fingers under the water. He’s since taken off his glove, watching the way that the gushing blood mixes in with the water and drains down the sink. He’s not answering you on purpose, and that makes you uneasy.

Your nerves have been frayed a long time ago when it came to these two, and the sense of danger, while it still lingers over you like a shadow, you’ve maybe gotten a little more comfortable. Too comfortable, maybe Art and the girl are thinking. In theory, this could be a great time to take you out. Right when you’ve let them in this space, and you’ve adapted to them, and now your guard is significantly lowered. It would be the ultimate joke, the ultimate gag, something so hilarious and funny that these two would be laughing about it for weeks, reminiscing about how they tricked this adult into thinking that maybe they were on good terms with them, that maybe they were different. You’ve seen Art commit to the bit, and he does every year, it’s what Halloween was to him, wasn’t it? The man was always playing the long game. What would stop him now with you, in theory?

You feel yourself become tense. Art doesn’t seem to pay attention, he’s too busy with his hand either because he is genuinely focused and fascinated by the visual of blood spilling off his hand, or he’s acting. Again, you don’t know. You were becoming gradually more insightful to him in general, but some things with him still remained obscured.

Before you open your mouth to speak again, you hear the sounds of a bag rustling, coming from just out of the field of your current vision. When you turn your head to the source of the sound, it’s her.

With her hand in your bag of chips that you initially placed in the living room, fully intending to eat before you were interrupted earlier.

When she pulls her hand out and shoves a few in her open mouth, you take note of the fact that it seems like her fingers are always stained with something. Today is no exception.

You feel your stomach turn.

That's her chips now.

She seems pretty pleased with herself, and you’re standing there for a few seconds, the gears in your head turning at a lag. She’s somewhat of a loud eater, and the loud crunching isn’t drowned out by the running sink. Art hears it too and he takes notice. With his free hand, he signals for her to come closer, because he wants some too. She obliges, holding out the bag for Art, lifting it up a little for him as he also now reaches in to grab a few to shove some in his mouth. He’s eating them messily, just like her. There’s crumbs hitting the floor from both of them. You’ve never seen someone eat so weirdly before. Open mouth chewers were something else, but these two ate like people who weren’t actually inhabited by people sometimes, if that made any sense. It’s like their physical forms are just a vessel containing something far more sinister.

And judging by how hungry they both look to be, maybe after all is said and done, you can cook them something. You did have some food in the fridge that you were going to make into a few days worth of dinner tomorrow. Maybe they wouldn’t be opposed to soup. Did clowns eat soup? You’re going to find out.

Taking a bit of a deep breath, you let oxygen fill your lungs as your shoulders relax and lower, and you make your way over to both of them. You stand next to Art in front of the sink, placing the kit on the counter and opening it up while he’s preoccupied. There’s a lot in the kit–standard bandages, antiseptic, bandaids, more bandages, medical tape, ointment, gauze pads, a small pair of scissors, alcohol wipes and cotton pads. You reach for the cotton pad and unscrew the top off of the antiseptic before putting the pad at the front of the mouth of the bottle. You let it soak up the hydrogen peroxide and set the bottle down on the counter.

“Alright.” You tell Art, who is still effectively distracted by the pale girl. She’s now taking a small step back, twisting from side to side slightly while sticking her fingers in her mouth, bag still in her other arm. Art now has his attention to you. You turn the faucet off and take a look at his hand, holding it, facing it palm up to inspect the damage.

It’s pierced through the center entirely.

You’re familiar with Art at this point. You know that he’ll heal fairly quickly. This is an inconvenience at best, if he even saw it as such. You aren’t sure if he could even suffer from infections given his ability to regenerate, but… Better to be safe than sorry. Worst case scenario, it does nothing and he’s fine. A lot of the bleeding has appeared to have come to a stop, and it really makes you wonder in those few seconds if it’s even really worth trying to go through the effort to even try and bandage him up.

But you’ve already gotten this far, and he hasn’t told you no, and Art is never someone who is not afraid to tell you no.

“Someone really tried to fight back, huh.” You ask, although, there’s no upward inflection in your voice to indicate that it’s even a question. Art’s smile is wide, and his eyes are closed as his nod is knowing and slow. He’s trying to hold back laughter now that you’re mentioning it, but he’s failing. You can see his shoulders rise and fall a little with his glee. He even uses his other hand to mime how it happened, holding an imaginary knife and ‘stabbing’ into his damaged hand. Art shakes his head and looks at his hand, then back at you. ‘Can you believe this?’ You feel like he’s telling you, and you sense that he’s telling you that the attempt was utterly laughable. He’s even silently scoffing, then gives a dismissive gesture.

You tilt your head slightly as he continues to ‘talk’, his silent laugh starting up again as he now takes that imaginary knife with the same good hand and gestures slitting his throat. He even emphasizes it with an expression on his face, eyes going a little funny and his tongue sticking out to emphasize death, then making his head go slack briefly thereafter. If he had a voice, he’d be making the choked out noise that came with it the moment of death he’s portraying.

“You slit his throat with his own blade. Brutal.”

You’ve since picked up a lot on how he communicates. You caught that the way that he talks with you and how he talks with the young girl is different. The two of them seem to have their own sign language for time to time on things that they couldn’t exchange with visual body movements, meanwhile Art has to be more direct with you, sometimes even to the point of writing when you just wouldn’t get it. He’s had to do that less and less, though. You’ve been catching on.

Your attention flicks back to his hand, and you look at him, before back at his hand. He could talk your ear off, figuratively in this case, about his murders, you’re certain. There’s a few seconds that pass that you once again assess if this is a good idea, or if you’re just being ridiculous.

“Okay,” You say, “I’m going to apply some antiseptic now. Might sting a little.” You warn him, and he seems okay with it–Until you actually apply the cotton pad right onto the open stab wound. Art jerks his hand back reflexively and pulls it to his chest, a mix of offended and what you interpret as a betrayed expression. His brows are furrowed, and he’s got a half snarl, teeth showing like he’s a feral creature that’s feeling threatened.

“Art.” You say, your tone pleading. “I told you it would sting. I know it hurts, but I can’t help you if you don’t let me. If you want this cleaned, you need to stay still.”

He looks disgruntled and mildly disgusted with you for a few seconds, eying you up and down like you just committed a true atrocity, nevermind the fact that he’s the one who runs around and kills people for literal fun.

“Can I have your hand again?”

His face scrunches up, still keeping his hand defensively to his chest. He doesn’t look convinced yet.

“Art.” You say. “Please.”

There it is, the magic word. He sways his head back and forth a few times, relaxing his shoulders, as if to say, ‘weeeell, okay’, before gently extending his hand out to you again. He’s got the cheekiest expression. Playful, even in the face of pain. Couldn’t be you–A simple stub of your toe could take you out and have you faced with the urge to curse like a sailor.

“I’ll make it quick. I promise.”

And you do, you make quick work of it, and you can see the way that he initially balls his other hand into a fist and looks slightly uncomfortable, but he keeps his hand there the entire time, despite how his fingers are faintly twitching. Once you finish wiping the wound, you place the cotton pad down, reaching for the proper cloth to put over his injury. When you cover it up properly, you begin to wrap bandages around his hand repeatedly until you feel like it’s tight enough, but not too tight. He watches you focusing on the task at hand as you begin to keep the bandages in place with your medical tape.

You don’t know if he’s ever received medical treatment once in his entire existence. When the last stand of tape is cut with the scissors and applied, you take a few seconds to admire your handiwork. He does too, turning his hand this way and that.

“There.”

Art is still judging the work that you did, and now you’re starting to feel moderately self conscious. The way that his attention is focused on it too long opens the door for insecurity to step in, but it’s kicked out when Art gives an approving expression, pointing towards the bandage job and giving you a thumbs up. You did good! Great job! He’s even smiling!

“I still need to clean your face and your upper back.”

The smile’s gone now.

For someone so dangerous, he sure had his moments of being funny and… cute. You feel a slight twitch of a smile wanting to form on your face, but you’re able to expertly resist it. His reaction is only a smidgeon amusing. You pack up the kit and all its contents, tucking it under your arm.

“Come on.” You tell him, taking his good hand. “Let’s go sit on the couch so I can finish up the rest of you.” He watches as you do so, and so does the young girl. You give his hand a gentle squeeze and sigh. There’s a flutter of something warm in your chest.

He squeezes your hand back, just a little. You take note of that as you make your way with him to the family room. You make sure that the pale girl knows that she’s encouraged to come along by looking over at her, but Art has already taken the initiative for her to gesture to come along with his typical smile.

She also trails behind you both, and you can’t help but feel her piercing stare at the back of your skull. You liked her, but for some reason, it’s taking you a lot longer to adjust to her than Art. Yet, Art’s the one whose respect you perhaps needed the most out of the both of them. Art’s a wild animal, you’ve told yourself this time and time again. You’re not sure if he even does respect you. He barges into your house at all times of the day, expecting for you to let him in, and you do. When he wants something from you, he takes it. And you don’t say a thing against it. What COULD you say to a homicidal clown?

You don’t have blatantly sharp edges like Art has. You’re far gentler, but you do have anger that simmers inside of you. There’s a lot of repressed rage bubbling beneath the surface. You’ve joked about snapping before. Maybe he’s counting on that. Maybe that’s why he’s sticking around. The nicest people could be capable of being the meanest, you’ve been told.

You make your way in front of the couch, and you have to sit this bloody clown on the seat next to you. There’s plenty of space for the young girl, it’s a three cushioned couch, but she had no interest as she’s still holding the bag of chips, but now the remote in the other hand. She’s flipping through channels and turning up the volume. You’re not sure what’s playing on the television because you’re not listening, nor did you care. As long as she’s taken care of, that’s fine.

She’s been a bit of a mystery to entertain, especially since she didn’t have the standard interests of a girl her age.

You learned that the hard way when you tried to give her a stuffed animal a few months ago. It was at the grocery store when you were shopping and you thought to get it for her in hopes of maybe establishing some sort of positive relationship instead of one where you felt that you were walking on eggshells. There’s just something about her that sets you off in a way completely different from Art.

She was certain to reinforce those feelings of unease the next time she visited after that, handing the stuffed bear you gave her back to you, and it was leaking. It was literally leaking fluids of some kind, and it smelled god awful, until you saw through the poorly done sutures on the back of the bear that there were rotting organs and maggots inside of it. You almost threw up when you realized, and Art and the little girl had laughed at you, Art even going so far as to slap your back like you were in on the joke. You did your best to keep the contents of your stomach inside your body, and you did, but the moment that you were alone by yourself, you had to sit and figuratively digest what happened.

That bear was disposed of. Whether you buried it or threw it in a dumpster was irrelevant, but you took care of it.

You put the kit on the coffee table in front of you next to your drink you left earlier. You open up the kit again, and Art doesn’t react to you doing so. He looks like he was nicked a few times across the face with the same blade that stabbed him in the hand and back. One across his cheek, one on his forehead, one across the bridge of his nose, and another on the opposite side of his face, right next to his jaw. They aren’t deep cuts, which leads you to believe that whoever tried to make deeper wounds, wasn’t successful. You wonder how it all went down, how it all happened. A small part of you wishes to have been a fly on the wall during that encounter. You grab a fresh cotton pad and have it absorb the antiseptic again like last time, pausing for a few seconds. You swallow and make eye contact with him. He didn’t like how you touched his hand earlier. How the hell would he react to his face being touched?

“This is going to sting a bit like last time. Okay?” You ask him. Art watches you, doesn’t respond or seem opposed to it outwardly, and is looking at you almost expectantly. His teeth show a little and he gives a silent yet expectant huff. Taking that as him accepting it, you reach out gently and begin to clean the wounds on his face. His lip twitches in a snarl a few times as he closes his eyes. His teeth are showing again, and it’s like you’re in front of the face of a lion right now, praying that the beast won’t have a sudden change of heart and maul your face off. You know he can do that. He’d bite your nose clean off your face if he wanted to and stab you with the medical scissors right in your ear. You’ve thought of all the possible ways that he could kill you at any moment, and you don’t know why you do it, it only creates further anxiety for you. Your mind’s attempt to protect you and keep you prepared only seems to make matters worse.

“Okay…”

It doesn’t take long to clean his face, and the makeup somehow still stays on the entire time you are cleaning him. Whatever face paint he’s got, it’s pretty good quality. It’s impressive, actually.

“I think we’re done with your face.”

You flash him a gentle smile, but it’s kind of forced. You’re trying to be nice and not focus on the mental images you’d had going on in your head a few seconds ago. His eyes open after you speak, and you feel your heart skip a beat. It’s only for a brief second, and had you blinked, you know for a fact that you would have missed it–the glint in his eye. It makes you feel as if you’ve just been jolted with a current.

This back and forth between the two of you has been a long game. A lot of moments of intimacy, but never anything acted upon. It’s thrilling in these interactions alone, and no matter how often it happened, you couldn’t get enough of it.

As much as you are afraid, you couldn’t get enough of him. And even as he watches you through half lidded eyes and you stare back, he once again reaffirms to you what you’ve known for months now.

You both like each other. You like the way that he makes you feel like you’re living life on the edge, and despite how he could devour you piece by piece, quite literally, a part of you is okay with that. A part of you … Wanted that.

Have you been in the dark for too long? Not literally, but… Mentally?

You suddenly hear a crash coming from the direction of your bedroom, which instantly snaps you out of whatever spell you could have sworn you were stuck in when you were looking at Art. His smile is wide, teeth showing as he looks off in the same direction as you. You immediately glance over to where the little girl was standing earlier, only to see… She’s not there, but the plastic chip bag she had is.

Yeah. Figures.

Art appears entertained. You’re feeling your blood pressure rise.

“I’ll be right back.” You tell him, and he’s shaking with the giggles while giving you a nod. Nothing is ever simple with these two. You’d have been shocked if it was.

The door to your bedroom is cracked, and you almost don’t want to open it fully in fear of what you might find, but you rip that bandaid right off, knowing that you would very much like to get Art taken care of so that maybe you can eventually settle down for the night, if you’re given such a moment of grace from him. And her.

Especially her.

The door creaks when you open it, and what you see is a lot better than what you’d been expecting, which, you’re not sure what, specifically you’d think you see, but to only see a knocked over potted plant from your dresser is a relief.

The girl’s back is to you, which doesn’t bode well. The plant is still here, albeit amid a shattered vase that is sprinkled across the floor with a bunch of dirt. You pause and hear a munching noise… She was eating chips earlier... So... What is she eating now? You know kids have appetites, but when she wanted to eat, she ate.

“Uh…” You clear your throat gently. “Hey.”

When she turns around, you’re only slightly thrown off. You’ve seen worse from these two, but the sight of her holding a mouse with a missing chewed off head is still something you would not have anticipated to see. In retrospect, if you think about it, it makes sense. You’ve had mice problems in the past during the colder months… But now it begs the question–did she catch it? And if so, did she just eat it? Did she have any hand in killing it? She smiles at you and continues to chew on the stump of where the mouse’s head used to be, grinning cutely at you in the way that children who knew that they are charming would act. Only, you’re not sure how charming she really is. You’ll admit though… She could be adorable sometimes. But definitely not right now.

The destroyed plant in the room, while you are upset, is nothing. You’ve become used to things in the house being subject to destruction or theft. That’s why you’ve vowed to not get too attached to anything here once they made it clear they’d be regulars.

“I’m almost done cleaning up Art. You want to sit and wait a few more minutes until I start to cook?”

Evil entities and demons or not, who could say no to food? You knew few who could. It’s an indulgence and one of the few joys that comes with existing. Food is a source of comfort, and a way to keep oneself going. The act of nourishment and bonding over a meal with those you might not understand entirely is another feature worth appreciating. The times that you did eat with them, though quiet, and despite how messy they could be, you felt a connection in the silence. Art seemed to be a bit more on the amicable side after eating, too. He’s prone to moody fits, you acknowledged. He’s been hangry before.

When you start to walk back to the living room, she follows behind you, mouse still in hand. Art’s back is to you from the way that you both come in, and when you come closer to see the side of him, you see that he’s drinking your soda that you left on the table, shamelessly chugging the rest of it until the can is entirely empty. Some of it runs down his chin.

You can’t have anything in this house to yourself when they’re here. Privacy or food.

When he sees what his companion has, he gives that mute laughter, pointing at it, gesturing as if to ask ‘did you catch that?’ and the young girl responds vaguely. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. But they both find the mouse with the chewed off head hilarious. While this is all fun and games, you’d rather get right back into it.

“Alright, let’s finish this up.” You announce, moving over to the couch and taking a seat next to the clown. “Art, can I see your back?”

He’s still finishing the drink, and you wait patiently. When he’s done, he silently says ‘ahhh’ to himself in a way that shows that he found the drink refreshing. You scratch your elbow as you continue to give him the time he needs, and finally he gives you an incline of his head in acknowledgement, turning around to give you his back.

You take a few seconds to brace yourself and purse your lips inwards a bit. You’re looking right at the zipper at the back of his suit. Carefully, you reach for it and begin to unzip the top half of his suit, enough so that you can see the wounds of where he’d been stabbed. It’s not as bad as you thought it’d be, at least. You prep another cotton pad, meanwhile in the corner of your eye you see that the pale girl is in the doorway of the kitchen, looking in, as if contemplating on what to get into. She’s still holding that mouse in her hand, and you don’t know how much longer she intends on keeping it, because you anticipate it ending up on your pillow or under your blankets or in your bathroom eventually as a small surprise for later after they’ve long left. You aren’t going to exactly take it away from her, either. It just didn’t … Feel right to try and do that. Your senses of self preservation might be practically nonexistent, but there’s a twinge of it that kicks up when it comes to interacting with this kid.

“Hey… Um… Art?” You give him a gentle tap on his shoulder, where you know that there’s no stab wound, and he looks over his shoulder, first at you, then at the sight of the young child. He seems past the point of finding things funny at this particular juncture, and gives a snap of his finger to catch her attention. A single snap is all it took, and her head turns. She stares at you, and then Art, who is gesturing for her to come sit next to him, on the other side of the couch. There’s space for her.

You couldn’t control the young child. You could only guide her. Art, however, is a different story. They have a special bond.

She sways gently in place, then obliges Art, listening to him and taking a seat in front of him. You can’t see what she’s doing, nor what he’s doing either since you’re looking at the back of his head, but you can tell that he’s communicating to her. That’s fine.

“I’m about to apply the antiseptic again.” You warn Art, in case he needs to brace himself. Seeing his skin so largely exposed isn’t jarring to you. The instances of him coming to use your shower really level set what you were used to around him. He saw you fully naked only recently, and you know it was on purpose because he was trying to scare you when you were in the shower, peeling back the curtain with a weapon drawn. He’s walked around in similar states of undress without a towel once or twice after a shower. It’s been very much an oh moment for you every time you did see it happen, but you didn’t remark on it.

You both felt very much like a couple sometimes in that regard. A weird one, but one nonetheless. You’ve been more comfortable with him walking in on you when you’re getting dressed. He’s done that a few times, for a variety of reasons, but never just because, except maybe one time.

You still have yet to see him without his makeup though. Part of you is okay with not knowing. But if it happens to be something you do see, you know it’ll be because he let you.

After a few minutes, you clean the wounds there. You’re not sure if you should bandage those up. The worst one is in his hand.

You suspect he’ll be right as rain by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Again, you ask yourself, was this even really necessary?

You’d like to believe it was. Art seems to like the attention from you, anyway. You think that’s why he stopped by here. His visits used to be out of convenience, but they’ve most certainly become frequent.

You zip up the back of his suit, and he turns his head again to look at you.

Your eyes meet his.

You feel it again–that sensation like the rays of the sun have enveloped your entire body like a warm blanket.

“Well.” You say with a light huff and a friendly smile, “Guess I can get started cooking then, huh?” You close up the kit and ball up the cotton pad in your hand, which you intend to throw away in the kitchen trash can. You left another one in there too at the counter that you also need to dispose of if you remember correctly.

You don’t know how well this will go tonight. You don’t know if the both of them will behave. Last time when you played scrabble with Art and the child to keep them out of trouble, he had a good laugh spelling out profanities like cunt, bitch, fuck, shit–the entire dictionary of curse words was all on that game board. You’re not sure if you’re in the mood for that.

“And if you’re going to try and help in the kitchen, please…” You emphasize on the please. “Please don’t eat the raw meat in the fridge. Not like last time.”

Art blinks innocently at you, giving the most guilty smile that you ever did see. The girl is still holding onto the mouse. She might stick it in between the couch cushions when you leave the room. You know you can’t stop her. It’s only a matter of trying to find it as soon as possible before it stinks and there’s bugs on it.

“Alright.”

Maybe after this, you’ll have to get Art in the shower. You’ll just have to… put a covering over his hand like they do at the hospital. You can make it work. You always did. He needs his clothes cleaned again, too. And stitched up and repaired. You knew how to do that too. It’s a life skill.

Work is never done for you with these two, and they are part of the reason that you learned how to be so self-sufficient. To this day you still don’t know if you should thank or blame them.

“Let me know if either of you need anything,” You tell them, leaving them to the television. Art gives you a thumbs up. Hopefully they can sit still for twenty minutes.

They probably won’t.

You already hear Art’s footsteps as he’s making his way in the kitchen, presumably to help.

#art the clown x you #art the clown x reader #art the clown #terrifier 2 #coulrophilia #slasher x you #slasher x reader #long post #minors DNI #canon x reader

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huginsmemory · 1 month

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Tag game! Tag nine people you would like to know better

I was tagged by @jaz--hands 💕

Last song: come over by Noah Kahan. I've been listening to the album stick season, most of which I really like. His other stuff is fine but not anything of note from what I've heard of it tho aksjsksks.

Favourite colour: don't really have favourites but I love a good green, the colours of moss and plants and being in lush nature :)

Currently watching: one piece, slowly making my way through! I'm nearly finished dressrosa now. I'm also clinging to my seat every Thursday for the new dunmeshi ep; I read it in the summer and am ecstatic to be able to watch it when it comes out. I like to watch it in the evening after the day is done sprawled out on the couch with a cup (or two if I top it up) of sake and an umeboshi or two to nibble on. Very relaxing.

Sweet/savory/spicy: all three! I love things that are all three. I have a decent spiciness tolerance but not super high. If it really came to a draw, I generally prefer savory, as sweet things can be too sweet for me.

Relationship status: goin' steady with all my wonderful hobbies. Being on the ace and aro spectrum I have basically zero interest in pursuing anything with anyone.

Current obsession: tragically right now I'm a bit in the ass crack of the couch cushions for obsessions; Trigun and vashwood had me going for a good part for the last year. I've picked up one piece and dunmeshi which fills some of the void but I'm not properly raving mad about it or any of the character dynamics (excited for sure and at time it's gotten close, but not chew through my leg bonkers, which usually requires tragic characters and relationships). So I've been hopping from characters and ships within one piece and revisiting old fandoms in search of that spark/addictive high, which I'm not really getting to my horror.

Non-fandom related I'm currently into carnivorous plants and a plant place near me stocks them, so I've got a bunch which I tend to both anxiously and with pride (sundews seem to hate me, nepenthes on the other hand...). I also was briefly obsessed (it's mellowed a bit now) with tankscaping those asian 'goldfish' pots, of which I now have two, but only one up and running (the second I've been too busy), but hopefully with the semester ending I can get the second up.

Last thing you googled: mmmm I think dispel magic dnd 5e, since I was just at a friend's playing dnd. My character accidentally caused a crack in reality and was trying to fix it, and I was supposed to give a description of what the spell looks like (spoiler alert: its not actually given a description for what it looks like)

To tag: anyone who sees this and wants to do it! And: @hellebore-petall @mothghhost @origami10 @crowlore @walluno @forgedobsidian @el-the-cell @eshtaresht @cookies-and-doom @garrandia

#tag games #tag game #hugin answers

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stereopticons · 10 months

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oversharing on the internet

Thanks for the tags, @jettestar @celeritas2997 and @mostlyinthemorning ! Sorry this took me a minute, I just got home from traveling.

ONE: Are you named after anyone?

No, though I do have the same middle name as my mother. Her primary reasoning for naming me what she did was that she always wanted people to call her a “boy’s” name growing up but no one did and so she made my initials a “boy’s name” so that people would call me it (no one ever has). I wish someone would have told her you can ask people to call you whatever you want.

TWO: When was the last time you cried?

About twenty minutes ago when I stepped on the pointy end of a toothpick that was stuck in a blanket on the floor (welcome home, I guess).

THREE: Do you have kids?

david rose absolutely not dot gif (I searched for it but tumblr hates me)

FOUR: Do you use sarcasm a lot?

I do, but sometimes I feel bad using it because I know many people struggle to understand it but it’s so deeply ingrained in the way I talk

FIVE: What sports have you played/do you play?

For an un-athletic person, I seem to have tried a lot of things: soccer (grades 3-5), swimming (ages 6-15, this is the only one I was actually ok at but quit because it interfered with band), dance (ballet, jazz/modern, ballroom), tennis (one brief summer that my parents were trying to keep us occupied), fencing (college, this was so fun but it was too expensive to keep going), gymnastics (it was called tumbling actually because we were very small), yoga, weightlifting

SIX: What's the first thing you notice about people?

I…don’t know. Is this a thing people know?

SEVEN: What's your eye colour?

Hazel-ish

EIGHT: Scary movies or happy endings?

This is a false dichotomy (and I’m bi so that exempts me from choosing between things)

(for legal reasons that’s a joke)

NINE: Any special talents?

Not unless you count making every conversation awkward.

TEN: Where were you born?

In a town that I still have to google to make sure I’m spelling it right.

ELEVEN: What are your hobbies?

Theoretically, reading, writing, baking, crochet, playing music, staring at large bodies of water but tbh my brain has been so broken lately that I haven’t been doing much of any of them

TWELVE: Do you have any pets?

Three small monsters of the cat variety.

THIRTEEN: How tall are you?

Completely average.

FOURTEEN: Favourite subject in school?

Does band count? Instead of taking calc my senior year of hs, I took three band classes because I was sure I was going to be a professional musician and insisted that all the math I needed I had learned by fifth grade (jokes on me, I ended up in a v math heavy field!)

FIFTEEN: Dream job?

Sometimes I still fantasize about quitting everything and opening a bakery/coffeeshop/bookstore/bar. Or going to work with the otters at the Monterey Bay aquarium. My ultimate dream musician jobs (see previous question) were to be a Broadway musician and/or own my own recording studio. Sometimes I miss that person.

I’m way late to this but if you didn’t get tagged, please consider this your tag.

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write-it-good-imagines · 4 months

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Nothing More(M) - Three

~5k words, in this chapter we see how Mark and Sam navigate being apart from one another and how rain washes over the souls. Enjoy and don't hesitate to let me know what you think about it!

Don’t you want to try it? Are you scared to start? There’s no one you’ll find that’s quite like me.

Do you wanna take my broken heart?

Fame, music, concerts, freedom, artistry. In a fruitless attempt to sum up all that being an artist meant to Mark, the ability to walk up on the stage in front of as many as 60,000 people was exhilarating. It never stopped being meaningful. To inspire another person enough to have them watch and admire thyself was not only a privilege but also a responsibility.

Each concert began with the same mantra, it would be safe to assume for each of the seven members was the same. Each time they would walk on and make sure they enjoyed themselves to the maximum, as much as they made sure they would do their best. In the tumult of the shows, there was now something different.

All the love songs sounded a little different.

When the love song was hopeful, Mark performed happier. When the love song was desperate, Mark performed sadder. It all played a bigger part in the tapestry of each performance, but it would never go unnoticed by those closest to him. With each show, the emotion grew little by little. And as much as Mark tried to dismiss it to the back of his head, it sneaked right back in when the lights turned down.

It always came back when he wanted to forget.

When the lights turned down over Jakarta, the boys were still bowing to the audience. Under the ravenous applause and the avalanche of confetti, the platform on the stage brought the boys down under the concert set. Another night ended in complete success.

Mark was the last one to dispose of his ear set. He stretched his arms above his head and felt a cramp starting to settle at his nape.

“Mark?” Jackson traced behind the group to match his pace with the other. “You good?”

“Yeah,” sighed Mark, massaging the tense muscles in his neck. “Just a little tired I guess.”

“Huh, we still have one week and a half to go, if you’re tired now... “ Jackson joked and nudged Mark with his elbow. “Getting old?”

Mark threw an arm around Jackson’s shoulder in a friendly hug. “No chance.”

“Passionate out there I’d say.” Jackson began, fidgeting. “Each concert getting only more passionate.”

“Yeah? Thanks. Aren’t we supposed to be like that?”

Silence.

“No?”

“I mean, sure.”

Jackson shrugged his shoulders. That’s when it hit Mark.

“Should’ve asked me to my face, Jackson.”

Jackson sighed. “I’m not good at subtleties!” He cleared his throat. “But you haven’t told us nothing in… ever since we left.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Jackson.”

Jackson stopped dead in his tracks, looking at the other with a much softer expression than he would have liked.

“There really isn’t.” Mark concluded, walking ahead of Jackson. “I am the sex. She was the sex. That’s it.”

Mark grabbed a bottle of water from an adjacent table to drown out the words, and the apparent reality. Spelling out loud that they never spoke after he flied out left a burn to his throat.

A couple thousand miles away, Samantha was jerking her body to the other side of the bed. She extended her hand to grab a hold of her phone. 2:15 AM. With a light groan, she threw her feet into her bed slippers, rose from the bed, and hugged her body into her bathrobe. Murphy perked an ear up in response to the sudden movement, but he was not interested enough to follow Samantha from his nest.

Samantha opened the kitchen window to fill her lungs with a breath of fresh air. When she unlocked her phone, she realized that her latest google search was still pointing to Mark’s band’s latest concert.

Jakarta: more than 20,000 fans delirious after boyband’s successful stop.

Live pictures from the concert were quick to flood the internet. Samantha’s finger hovered over a very flattering picture of Mark, half-naked on stage, his chiseled abdomen contracting with whatever movement he was making. One arm was lifted in the air to hype the crowd, the other holding up his microphone. The tattoo reaching over his right set of ribs was vivid to the eye.

The kiss in the locker of the club flashed into Samantha’s memory.

Samantha locked her phone and slid it across the kitchen counter, leaning herself against the window frame, with one arm hugging her side. To the contrary, what should have come to mind should have been the dirtier times, all the times her fingernails drew over his tattoos, reshaping them into muscle memory.

She sighed, her eyes fixated on the shimmering full moon. If she called, would he pick up?

“Probably not. He has all those girls to keep him busy.” Samantha lied to herself, unable to resist the urge to pick up her phone. She hesitated, reading Mark’s name on the screen over and over again. Until she tapped on it.

Once, twice… “Mark?”

The call went to voicemail. Her voice deflated in disappointment.

“All those girls to keep him busy.”

The next dawn, Samantha was already ready to leave for the hospital. Sleep was light and uncertain, and she tried to mask it with concealer and foundation. In a haste to leave the house, she grabbed her motorcycle helmet, to catch a ride in hopes of easing her mind.

Sun was cracking out on the horizon, tangerine hues intertwined with tamed shades of red. Samantha took a longer route to the hospital to enjoy the scenery. Chestnuts strands tossed out of the helmet were gliding freely in the wind in an enduring antithesis with her thoughts.

‘You’re going to have to find a replacement for me.’

Unbeknownst to her, Samantha’s hand switched another gear.

‘I cannot make love to you and leave the next day like I am the worst scum to have ever walked this Earth. I am not that guy.’

The motorcycle revved once again.

‘You are irresistible, you know that?’

Samantha reached the hospital faster than she anticipated. She took off her helmet and shook her head to the sides, ruffling her long strands in the process. She locked the bike and put her helmet under her arm, a high-pitched whistle distracting her from her thoughts.

“Nice suit, cat-girl,” Jonathan smirked, locking his Yamaha super sport bike some paces away from Samantha. “We should ride out together next time.”

“I’ll think about it.” She stated simply, taking the lead towards the entrance of the hospital.

“That’s it? No smart reply, no anything? Wow, did I do anything to offend you?”

Samantha threw out a chuckle. “Not necessarily, just didn’t get that much sleep.”

Jonathan caught up with her, entering the hospital at the same time. “Oh? Mind me asking why?”

“Yes.”

“Touche. But I can take a wild guess.”

“Don’t take a wild guess.” Samantha offered a polite smile to the nurse’s station, grabbing the medical documents of a case.

“How’s Romeo doing? Wait, is that a—”

“Yes Jonathan, I’ll take a consult today.”

Jonathan put a hand over his mouth in a mocked attempt to hide his shock. “No fucking way, are you actually coming back?”

“Wait and see!” Samantha chirped, walking away to her office, the bounce in her hair leaving Jonathan with a smile imprinted on his face.

“And I told him he should have bought Rome! If he’d bought Rome, he would’ve won that trade on the airport with you, Jinyoung!”

A hearty laugh filled the room as Mark and Jinyoung entered Mark’s hotel room. The sun was well up in the blue of Jakarta sky, sending its shimmering beams across the universe. A sleepless night passed for the seven boys, fighting one another to the death to the Monopoly title. Their departure was set in a couple of hours to Kuala Lumpur that left them at liberty to let a night’s sleep go by.

“Bambam’s sweet tooth for money, what can I say.” Jinyoung threw his body on the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling to revisit his winning strategy. “Truth be told, he never had a chance to win.”

“You just led him on.” Mark chuckled and walked to the bathroom. “I am going to take a shower to wash off the defeat.”

“You bet.” Jinyoung rolled over on his chest, hand reaching out for the phone in his pocket. His movement on the bed caused Mark’s phone to light up. The water in the bathroom was not running yet.

“Hey, Mark,” Jinyoung shouted for the other. “You have a missed call.”

“Yeah?” Mark’s voice echoed. “Text Joey and let him know I’ll call back.”

There was a delay in Jinyoung’s response. “It wasn’t Joey. It’s Samantha.”

The next thing he heard was the faltering sound of the water running in the shower. Mark stepped under the rapid droplets, closing his eyes. It had been 11 days since they’d last spoken and she only left an unpicked call behind. It was not like Mark was expectant of something else entirely to happen, but he did not know how to feel. Happy that she had reached out? Bitter that she had not tried more?

Mark slapped his hands against the cold tiles to steady himself. As vehemently as he tried to distance himself from Samantha, something tugged him closer. Mark felt like he walked one step ahead, and two steps behind. He kept reciting to himself that it was not real, the feelings he rejected to feel. He couldn’t allow himself to miss her.

Still, I miss you.

The bathroom door opened, and Mark walked into the room with a towel ruffling his damp hair.

“So?” Jinyoung spoke, thumb scrolling lazily on his Instagram. “Are you going to call her back?”

“Probably,” reacted Mark, almost choking on his own spit. Would it be pitiful to acknowledge to the other that, in fact, he was not as nonchalant as he wanted to let on? “when we leave later for the airport.”

“Huh.” Snickered Jinyoung, jolting himself to his feet. “Here I thought I’d get to hear that conversation.” He pursed his lips, tapping at his chin with an index. “Maybe some sort of a clarification for why she had not reached out until now?”

Mark rolled his eyes with a small smile on his lips. It wavered when Jinyoung stopped in the doorframe. “But I guess fuck buddies don’t really get such clarifications, huh?”

Two and a something hours later, the boys were prepared to leave the hotel and embark for the next stop on their tour: New Delhi. The lobby of the hotel was swarming with staff, luggage, and security, preparing for the group’s very public departure. The journey to the airport was as chaotic as ever for the boys, in a joyful and brotherly atmosphere which always eased Mark’s mind and heart. He was always beyond thankful for the company and friendship of all the boys. Each held their own piece of Mark’s.

While waiting for the private transport from the gate to their plane, Mark stepped aside from the group to make the call he owed. It should have been around 4PM in Seoul. He took an anticipative breath in his lungs and tapped on Samantha’s phone number. There shouldn’t have been a singular reason why he felt so expectant.

‘You aren’t making love to me Mark. We are having sex, it is just sex.’

“Do you really think about us like that?” he whispered under his breath, a hand reaching up to cover his face better with the mask.

Mark did not receive his chance to hear the voice of the person whom he wished to hear the answer from because the call got interrupted to voicemail. “Fuck.” The breath in his lungs rushed out, leaving blooming traces of disappointment attached to his veins. All at once, the 10-hour flight became burdensome. Mark switched his phone to airplane mode to join the boys, a wee piece of his heart shattering from the expectations that failed to come alive.

In an empty common room, Samantha was flipping through her patient’s chart, examining and re-scanning what the laboratory results and the obvious common sense were reiterating. Because of an unforeseen and tragic natural complication, her patient would have to choose to lose her pregnancy to save her life.

“How do you tell someone this?” Samantha mumbled to herself, resting her face in the warmth of her palm. She flipped the chart and sighed, closing her eyes for a loose second. She had grown too soft in the big shoes of a surgeon. But it ultimately was what made her a better surgeon.

“Hey,” Leena stopped by, in a rush to reach somewhere else entirely. “Did something happen? I was in a hurry to prepare for surgery, but I couldn’t ignore you here all sappy by yourself.”

“Yeah. This patient I saw today… I have to tell her she has to give up the baby to save her life. This is why I sometimes am at peace with my decision to step back from being a surgeon.”

“And all the other times when you are not at peace?” Leena seated herself by Samantha.

“All the other times are when I miss going in the OR. Like last time I went in with Jonathan. It was the thrill crawling back, until it made my fingers tingle.” Another sigh. “Then I try to heal and come back, and I have to tell a mother to kill her child. Is this fair?”

“No, it’s not. It’s not. But you must remember how many lives you’ve saved and how many you can save, still. Young lives, who don’t even know they are about to live.”

Samantha tilted her head to look at Leena who had a softened look on her face. “Yeah.” She concluded as Leena rose from her seat.

“I gotta go now, Sam. Think about it. We miss having you around the OR. My girl power team lost all that power.” Leena gestured dramatically with her hands. “Maybe it’s a stretch but I think Mark would say the same to you, if he were here.”

“What?” Samantha exhaled. “Why are you thinking about Mark?”

Leena perked in the distance, as she was walking away “Because you won’t!”

And true she wasn’t. Samantha leaned back down in the chair, eyes obsessed with the ceiling of the office. It pained a little, both her ego and her wishes. Reason would say he couldn’t have picked up in the middle of the night, through the thousands of little things he had to attend to in the middle of a world tour, on top of probably the fatigue kicking in. Against reason, Samantha would tell herself anything to keep herself from hurting. Lies were always easier. Truth was always justifiable.

Truth was, Mark was everything she didn’t picture him to be.

Samantha gathered the scattered chart off the desk and mustered her courage to fill the big shoes of the surgeon she knew herself to be. Ever since Mark stumbled in the bar that night, to curl her hair through his fingers in a cheeky endeavor to rescue her from a vulgar stranger, with the smooth smile and the glimmer in his eye, Samantha’s life felt like it finally took a seat, on a vast green plain under the night sky. When pausing for oneself started to matter.

The rest of the day felt differently after Samantha decided to take charge. She went ahead and had the talk with the family whose happy hope vanished from their fingers. Then she offered to take lead of the surgery. The way she used to carry herself was slowly returning, with all the responsibility and the dignity. It was then she realized she did miss saving lives.

“So I guess it’s time to ask again about riding together? On the bikes, of course.” Jonathan laughed at his own joke, which brought a smile to Samantha’s own lips.

“You know what?” Samantha said, turning up the engine and securing herself atop of the seat. “I’m going to say pass for tonight, but let’s do it some time. It’s just been a full day today.”

“So I’ve heard,” Jonathan said, climbing in his seat and undoing his helmet. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

Samantha chuckled. “I know I don’t really take you at your word, most of the time. But I do appreciate you being in my life Jonathan.”

Jonathan threw his head away to veil his content expression. There were times like that one when Samantha wished she knew what was going on through his head. “Someone has to stick around, until prince charming rides back from his tour. Saw he got all naked and whatever up there. Not cool.”

“Mhm. Not cool for someone who asks prince charming how sex with me is.”

Jonathan almost dropped his helmet to the ground.

“Why would you ask him that?”

He raked his hair with his fingers, the previous content expression fading into a longing one. “Because it is part of why I made that bet with you when you were hopelessly drunk and so was I and I hoped we’d wake up and forget.”

It was almost puerile that they both remembered an inebriated bet to sleep with one another when they both had the desirous impulse of the body to do that on the spot. And, somehow, they did not go through with it.

“Jonathan—”

“You should have lied to me and told me you forgot. I would’ve made allowances for how your skin felt against my own. You didn’t even kiss me on the mouth you know?”

Jonathan kicked the jack of his motorcycle. “And trust me, I am actively working on giving up on you but it’s one hell of a job. So yes, that’s why I asked him how sex with you was, to get some closure. And Romeo proved to be almighty with it.” He threw one last look at the girl, and it caused Samantha’s breath to hitch in her throat. Under the alabaster streetlight, Jonathan looked so vulnerable. “Bear with me as I’m giving up on you.”

Keys rumbled against the glassy surface of the living room coffee table. The helmet bounced on the cushions of the sofa in a hasty attempt for Samantha to undress off her riding suit. Samantha plopped into the depth of the couch, skin getting goose bumps from the cold material. It was already the depth of the night when she finally managed to catch a stable breath. The roughness of the day found refuge in her nape, pressing unpleasantly in her muscles. Murphy came running towards her, jumping in an agile motion on the couch beside her. The contact of his fur against her skin eased the pressure in her body. Samantha twirled Murphy’s coat through her fingers, and the dog snuggled closer into her side. He perked up at her, always receptive of her mood.

With the other free hand, Samantha hastily searched for her mobile phone. The silence in her house echoed loudly, in sync with her accelerated thoughts. Jonathan’s confession ripped a band-aid which she did not believe she had. She felt guilty for the impulsive decisions she took a long time before, which still reflected into their present. Almost like a butterfly effect. Had she chosen Jonathan back then, would she have suffered the same heartbreak by his side? Would they have parted, or would they have thrived? Would she have avoided the public humiliation in the hospital?

Would she have met Mark?

The silvery radiance of the moon tiptoed into the living room through the crack of curtains, settling on the black screen of Samantha’s phone. It was repelled by the quick motion to turn the gadget on, an even quicker one to reach Mark’s phone number. A very late observation that he had called her back.

Would she have felt the same need to reach out to any other man, same as she did to Mark? A sliver of a breeze trembled through the thin material of the curtains, disturbing the lull of the house. In that natural equilibrium, the moonlight painted Samantha’s features in an artificial calm. Her heartbeat picked up in her chest.

Samantha drew her breath in sharply when the call connected.

“Mark? Hey, I know it must be late wherever you are, I wasn’t expecting you to pick up. How are you?”

She must have spoken fast, precipitated, in a much too evident surprise and much too little preparation for the feelings raging in her ribcage. All the stupid childish reasons of Mark being and keeping away took the reins.

“I’m sleeping, babe.”

Mark’s voice was low and coarse, at times breathy. Unbeknownst to him, Mark played with her heartstrings, with the ease with which he called her that affectionate name. He could not have meant that.

“Sure, no I’ll let you sleep, I’m sorry I disturbed you—”

“…don’t go. Missed your voice.”

Samantha took her phone away from her ear reflexively to double-check it was indeed Mark whom she was speaking to. On the other line, a faded puffing sound confirmed he was still there, as if he was adjusting his position.

“You there?”

“Yeah, I am, I just… you took me by surprise.”

“Mhm. You, too.”

A gust of wind played with the calescent air in Samantha’s living room. Through Mark’s groggy voice she couldn’t tell if he was upset, sad, or even remotely happy with her for contacting him.

“Just know I’m kinda drunk, so I might say shit.” Mark snickered, which caused Samantha to emit a giggle of her own. She had a palpable reason to blame Mark’s drunkenness for her heart’s quiver. “Drank our minds off with the boys. Middle of the evening.” Another snicker.

He was devastatingly alluring.

Samantha’s voice eased to Mark’s, a lonely index tracing the naked skin of her abdomen. The moon shifted, as if following the movements of the hand in a trance. “You’re too coherent to be drunk. Any special reason for the celebration?”

“Guess we felt like. Don’t know about them but I had a reason.”

Samantha took the bait. “Oh? How so?”

A sharp breath echoed on Mark’s side of the line, closely followed by another sharp exhale. “Promise you won’t get upset with me?”

Samantha’s eyebrows rose with curiosity, yet the heart in her ribcage threatened to stop beating. “I won’t.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.” But Mark stopped himself once again to prolong the anticipation Samantha prepared herself for. Maybe he would tear the scar open and confess he’d slept with others, that he went ahead and made good of their agreement, that he did not care. Or maybe that he was enough of a good guy to at least let her know he’d touched other women, that he’d heard other women scream his name in the intimacy of his sheets—

“I missed you.”

The sound of thunder reverberated in the infinity of the sky and a glim of lightning flashed in the darkness of the living room to put a halt to Samantha’s life. A strong current awoke goosebumps on Samantha’s skin, akin to Mark’s tender touch whenever he pulled her body to hide into his own.

Mark continued. “But I know you don’t miss me cause heck, you would’ve called a lot more than once, so cheers to me. You’ll say, ‘why are you an asshole cause you didn’t call either’, and you could be right.” A short pause. “I actually could be the asshole.”

What was Samantha supposed to say? How was she supposed to form coherent thoughts in her mind when Mark singlehandedly went and kicked away all rationality had to offer? In the tone of his voice, Samantha felt resentment. A resentment directed at himself for wishing he’d done better.

I should have done better, Mark.

“No, Mark, don’t say that about yourself. You could be anything but an asshole.”

I missed you too, Mark. And I didn’t want to.

“No, it’s fine. Absolutely fine. I’m just sex. You’re just sex. We’re just sex, nothing more, right?”

A sudden downpour started falling over the horizon, in a ghastly chase to envelop the night sky of Seoul. The sound of droplets played in a staccato rhythm, brushing against the tall glass windows of Samantha’s house. The restless curtains danced however the wind dictated, to cast shadows of the moon over her features, now rigid from the amalgam of emotions pirouetting through her being.

If she hadn’t met Mark, would she have wished to grant herself a second chance so easily?

Samantha rose lazily from the couch, leaving Murphy behind to meditate in his calmness. She carried herself to the windows, gripping the handle to open one of them, and ultimately seated herself on the windowpane. She extended one leg to feel the rain. “Do you hear that, Mark?” she spoke ultimately, tears gathering at her eyelids.

“Is that rain?” replied Mark, accompanied by a hissing sound. “It’s pouring in New Delhi, too.”

“It feels so cold on my skin.”

Another thunder trembled in the sky.

“I’m so jealous.”

“Jealous? Jealous on what?”

“All this rain is getting to touch you and I’m not.”

Samantha brought one knee to her chest to lean her cheek against it. If it was raining in New Delhi, it meant that maybe, just maybe, her and Mark could both look at the same sky.

It took a considerable amount of effort for Mark to push himself straight outside of bed. He couldn’t remember at what time the boys got back to the hotel, at what time he fell asleep, and he couldn’t remember why he recognized Samantha’s voice without even knowing it was her who called. With each reply exchanged between them, Mark was driving back to reality, a reality where both him and Samantha were looking at the same sky.

He walked over to the window of his hotel room, peeling it open to fully pick up the song of the rain. There was a tiny table adjacent to the window where he prompted his body, head leaning against the pane, and the free arm toying with the beads rushing down from the sky.

A reality where he was catching feelings for a woman who did not feel the same.

“It feels so cold on my skin too, beautiful.”

Maybe it was because of the same sky they both were watching but it felt like Samantha was smiling. “Why would you be jealous?”

“I should be, shouldn’t I? When something other than me is touching my fuck buddy.”

There was a pause on the other line. Rain was feeling tougher against Mark’s forearm.

“No one has touched me since you left, Mark. Don’t think anyone will.”

It was too good to be true. He did not believe her, could not believe her. Mark retreated his arm and raked his fingers through his hair. The coldness of summer rain made him flinch.

Mark was playing a game he knew he’d already lost.

“Do you think about us? Do you think about me, how I’m touching you?”

“Yeah, I do. I did today.”

Mark’s mind replayed their kiss in the club’s locker room.

Samantha’s mind replayed their kiss in the club’s locker room.

“Do you like the way I’m touching you?”

Mark’s mind replayed their hug in the club’s locker room.

Samantha’s mind replayed their hug in the club’s locker room.

“I do.”

“I guess you still want me to fuck you, then.”

Samantha’s lack of response gave Mark the opportunity to glue his eyes to an outward building which still kept its presence through the water veil. The buzz of the alcohol was still messing with his head, and with his emotions. He shouldn’t had gotten so attached to a game plan, he should had cared enough back in the club when Samantha stated she was not interested. There was just something about her that kept reeling him in, which only amplified with each touch they shared, doubled with each kiss, tripled with each moan she’d mewl, calling out his name.

At the end of the day, the heart wants what it wants. And the heart shuddered at the thought of her moaning any other name than his.

“Hey Sam, I gotta go. I’m supposed to be waking up in 3 hours to rehearse the setting for the concert.”

This time, it was Sam. Not ‘babe’, not ‘beautiful’, just ‘Sam’. Bleak, obscure, a name. Samantha feared a simple name that carried no meaning. It was supposed to carry a meaning.

“Are you frustrated with me, Mark?” she breathed out, the tears rolling down her cheeks at the thought.

“What? No, I’m not. I’m not. Promise.”

“How long will you be gone, still? I hope it’s not that long because I’m naked and I am sitting on the windowpane, hoping that this rain will make me recall how your hands felt against my skin, and it’s not you and I cannot recall how your hands felt against my skin, Mark.”

Clouds wrecked into one another to release a rambunctious roar.

Mark sighed, and it almost broke Samantha’s heart. Then he laughed, and suddenly, the world came alive.

“Okay, let me guide you to remember, hmm?”

“Guide me.”

“If you lay your hand to the side of your neck, cupping it, but not too tight, and a bit far back, you’ll remember it is my favorite spot to hold when we hug.”

In thorough obedience, Samantha did just as Mark instructed her to. She closed her eyes, picturing Mark’s silhouette right by her side.

“Now, if you lower your hand to your side, not too low on the hip, and drum your fingers against the flesh, you’ll remember it is my favorite spot to tickle you.”

The action made Samantha giggle loudly, almost the same as Mark used to. “I am ticklish there, yeah.”

Mark laughed, and Samantha couldn’t see, but he laughed heartily. “Yeah, I know. Now, if you go further and caress a trail from your lower belly all the way to your clit, you’ll remember it is my favorite spot to make you pant. Right before I slide a finger inside you.”

Samantha followed Mark’s voice until her middle finger caressed over her womanhood, a loud whine erupted from the back of her throat. “Oh no, no, don’t even think about doing it. The last part is left for me to do.”

She unexpectedly stopped, Mark’s charm still working strongly. “How did you know I wanted to do that?”

“I know what your body is telling me, angel. It’s just you I need to know more about. I’ll be back in a week and a half, can you hold out for me this long? I can always talk you through it if you think you can’t.”

Samantha scoffed jokingly, draping her hand around herself instead. A week and a half felt to her like an eternity. When Mark had her wrapped around his finger like a marionette, when he knew when to go back to calling her endearingly, when he so easily confessed it was hard on him, as much as it became hard on her, the time stopped dilating as fast. Another bolt of lightning pierced the night sky, casting a porcelain light over her body.

“When you come back to me, Mark, I’ll tell you about the more you want to know.”

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unohanadaydreams · 2 years

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This part of TYBW reread is just that ‘When will you learn your actions have consequences!’ Vine

He goes on to ignore this line of questioning which proves to be fatal to Nemu.

Why is soul king’s left arm serving Yhwach? Because no part of the soul king would ever serve you, Mayuri. The soul king serves only because he has been rendered a useful corpse. This is well over 1000 years of distilled hatred of shinigami—the arm of a God.

Right now, Mayuri truly believes this is a being he can subjugate. But this arm is more Quincy pride and calculation than Uryu was—the one person so far that Mayuri hasn’t beat.

Again, Kubo is really hamming up how over confident Mayuri is. He just won’t shut the fuck up! He’s doing the same thing he did with Orihime—bargaining as a farce of respect.

You can keep only the dignity he wants you to keep. Have your name but the spelling will change because you’re a thing.

You’ll have a paper typed up on you and a nice place to float in preservation liquid and you’ll have everything about you squeezed out and dissected and stitched back into something new. Because the respect Mayuri gives is in how thoroughly he’ll use you.

The fact that he basically tells them to fucking google what Explosive Reactive Armor is dhzuajahsishsis. Also, does that mean his sunshine outfit was metal??? He’s so paranoid, like he will put a bomb in or on anyone, even himself.

Also the way he sits into the floating platforms looks really fluid and no wonder—I’m sure he’s glad to have the weight off.

Mayuri would rather die than not make freaky little inventions. If he can’t misuse the human body for functional purposes, he can’t live.

His alarm clock is a horrible mouth that starts licking his eyeballs if he tries to snooze, I just know it.

I wanna know how long Mayuri gauges as a long time for performing arm surgery. Like, what, a week? A month?

Also, Pernida is evolving rapidly. He could barely speak a couple panels ago and now he’s taunting Mayuri back. Not just that, but he’s doing it in a similar way to how Mayuri would. His eye is smiling. If he could grin with a mouth, he’d be mirroring Mayuri, no doubt.

Pernida is bastardizing what Mayuri did to Jizo.

Mayuri caused Jizo to bleed from his eye, using his finger to cause harm to Jizo.

Pernida is using the blood from his finger to pour into his eye, causing harm to himself.

Pernida is now mocking Mayuri for real and I’m not sure Mayuri is fully picking up on it.

The fucked up abortion baby who looks purple and bloated and dead is finally due. He’s so proud of himself for this one liner.

Szayel is rolling in his grave and so is Jizo. Mayuri punished his zanpakuto for disobeying and then altered it into a more advanced version of the one who made Jizo disobey.

Very vindictive. Mostly because Mayuri views disobedience as the highest insult from something meant to explicitly serve and protect him.

Even more so that Jizo’s first birth is one who feels constant pain.

Remember the last time you forgot someone was a Quincy, Mayuri? Remember what happened when you dismissed that aspect of them as uninteresting?

Now begins the come down, methinks. Mayuri begins to realize what he should have panels and panels ago—why the soul king’s arm is fighting for Yhwach does matter.

Pernida spells it out right here too—he has always been a Quincy. And by extension, the body he was attached to has always been a Quincy. The king they coveted was never theirs. The powers Mayuri is still figuring out are that of! A! Quincy! What do quincies do to their surroundings Mayuri???

Mayuri should start to feel very worried about how he’s going to come out of this alive—Pernida is thinking and acting and articulating like him. When the ending panel shows Nemu, it’s clear she understands Mayuri has been driven into a corner and is worried for the both of them. I’m not sure Mayuri has figured it out yet.

#this battle is definitely a huge fucking L to Mayuri #if IIIII am figuring out the battle faster than Mayuri there is something wrong #R&D backlog

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dancingqueen0019 · 2 years

Text

Saving Grace Ch. 7

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Themes: Budding Relationship, Fluff, Awkward Love, Slow-Burn ish, Age Gap (roughly 15 years; Aaron 40ish and Reader 25)

Warnings: Mention of murders, natural death of parent (reader’s parent), slight cursing (?), school drama (slight bullying, additional school assistance)

Author’s Note: Chapter 7! Hope you enjoy. According to Google Docs its 5 and a half Pages. This hasn’t been edited so I apologize for grammar/spelling errors.

I will not be posting for this weekend. I’m leaving for my cousin’s college graduation and I am moving back home for summer.

I stared out the window of the car, everything blurring together as we sped down the highway. I leaned my arm on the window and placed my chin on my fist as I thought back to last night.

“You are absolutely incredible Y/N” He whispers as he pulls my frame closer to his. The whisky rolling off his tongue and his cologne mingling together invaded my senses. I looked up to him with hooded eyes and…

“Y/n? You good sweetie? I asked you a question.” My mom said from the driver’s side as she briefly looked over to me. I fidgeted in my seat and sat back up straight, “Uh yeah, sorry. I dazed off there for a moment. What was the question?”

She shook her head at me, “I asked you two questions. Firstly, did you decide on what color tile we are going to look for? And secondly, you have got to update me if there’s anyone in your life. You never know when you might meet someone. It could be love at first sight, sparks flying all around.”

Yeah, I thought to myself, there definitely have been sparks. The light touches, subtle grazes over my body.

“Y/N!” My mom started snapping her fingers at me, “Are you sure you’re okay?” She looked over to me a bit longer to study my face. I pulled my baseball cap down further on my head.

“Yes, I’m sorry mom. Just have a few things on my mind. I really think I want to go with something dramatic. Like big black tiles for the wall with the sink and dark grey on the floor. As far as your second question, no mom. There is no one and if there was, I would update you.” I said as casually as I could. I hated lying to my mom, but to be honest I didn’t want anyone to know about Aaron and I’s new relationship. The only person I would consider telling right now would be Sammy and that’s just because she’s my best friend and wouldn’t judge me as much.

Last night with Aaron was…something else. We needed to spend a couple hours away from each other so that we could figure out our thoughts and feelings. When he came back into the house though with groceries in hand, the air felt different. I didn’t know he had come in because Murphy was outside for the time being. I told Aaron I left the front door unlocked when he texted me he was on his way. I had quickly cleaned my bedroom and made sure my bathroom was in order, took a quick second to make sure the blankets were folded in the living room before I went downstairs.

The floor had been swept and I kept the kitchen window open to let in some cool Fall air. The wax warmers in my house were changed over to a caramel scent from its usual clean linen. Inhaling deeply enough in the car, I almost was able to smell it now.

Last Night:

I was standing at the counter facing the backyard while I made some more iced tea. My hips swayed softly to the music and I hummed along to it. Some verses would pass my lips and when I needed to concentrate on what I was doing I hummed the rest. Looking up briefly I watched Murphy sniff along the fence line where the neighbor’s new dog had just been a couple minutes prior.

In the middle of squeezing the remaining liquid from the tea bag, two hands rested themselves on my hips and I jumped. “You know, it’s very dangerous to leave your front door unlocked. Unwanted guests could come waltzing in.” Aaron’s smooth voice said firmly. He was close enough to me that I was able to lean back into his touch. I angled my face on his shoulder to look up to him, “I guess it’s a good thing that you are a wanted guest.”

He took a quick look at my lips before pressing his to my head, his hands giving a soft squeeze. “I didn’t know what you wanted for dinner so I grabbed ingredients to make a creamy herb chicken.” I hummed at the sound of what he was planning on making.

“That sounds delicious. Do you need help preparing it?” I asked and stood back up so I could finish with the iced tea. His left thumb rubbed my hip and he dropped his right hand, “No, I shouldn’t need help. Just some good company.”

“I think I can manage that. Let me put this in the fridge so it can cool more. Would you like a drink though?” I asked as I moved away and set the pitcher in the fridge. When I turned back around I was pleased to see Aaron still dressed down. He was in jeans and a brown pull over jacket. “Yes, please. What whisky do you have?” He asked as he unpacked all the ingredients and I walked over to the bar. I held up the couple of bottles and he settled on Woodford Reserve. I poured him a glass and grabbed an empty wine glass for me. Setting his glass next to him, I walked around him to the fridge to grab the chilled wine I had been working on the past few days. It was kept on one of the lower shelves so I bent over at the waist to get it, the rhythmic chopping of veggies halted for a moment while I was bent over and it began again when I stood back up with the bottle.

“Here we are, just what I was looking for.” I said with a bright smile.

Today:

“Here we are, just what I was looking for.” I said with a bright smile.

“This? This is what you want to tile your bathroom with?” My mom asked inquisitively as I held up the shiny black large subway tiles. I knew she wasn’t going to approve of it fully because we didn’t have similar style choices, but I thought that this would be a statement piece. Especially with a manly man like Lucas living there, and I liked the upscaled look anyways.

I nodded and placed it in the cart. So far we had those tiles, greyish white paint swatches, and the gold light fixtures I had put on hold earlier this week. “Why do I have a feeling that you and your brother are essentially creating a cave? You’re going to decorate the whole house in black and grey and make it really depressing.” She rambled on while pushing the cart further down the aisle to the floor tiles. We spent the next several minutes butting heads as we went over what color tile would look best with the black and grey. I was busy staring at the pricing of everything while my mother walked off to ask a stranger for their opinion.

“Sir, do you mind helping me? My daughter and I can’t agree on what color tile for the floor. Which one would you think goes best with these?” She adamantly asked and I heard them walking back over to our cart. I turned around and my breath caught in my throat. Of all the people that could be at Home Depot, Aaron was standing there. We stared at each other for a brief moment before he cooly asked me, “What can I help you decide on?”. I turned and pointed at the tiles sitting in the basket of the cart.

“Personally I want these black tiles to go on the wall of the half bath, but we can’t agree on the floor tile. What do you think?” I moved to the side a bit so he could come closer, but he didn’t. Probably to maintain the facade that he’s a stranger, but I really wanted him to be closer. Mom was oblivious to what was going on as she talked and talked about different options. We stood there and talked as a group for a few minutes before mom decided to walk off and grab another paint swatch. I turned towards Aaron and whispered quickly, “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to pick up Jack.” He smiled softly at me and leaned in to speak, “Don’t worry, I am on my way to pick him up. His aunt needed a couple of things.”

I narrowed my eyes at him teasingly, “Uh huh. For a moment I thought I had myself a stalker.” Aaron’s dimples showed through and was going to lean in further until his eye caught something behind him and he backed up. I turned to see my mom walking down the aisle with her head down judging the paint swatches in her hands. She came back up and asked if we had decided what tiles to use.

Aaron clapped his hands together, “I think she did decide what she wanted. She sure seems to know what she wants.”

Last Night:

“You sure you know what movie you want?” Aaron asked teasingly as four different DVDs were laid out in front of us on the couch. I leaned forward towards the ottoman, elbows on my knees with my head resting on my hands. Dinner was great, just as Aaron promised, and now we were upstairs with our drinks trying to pick out a movie to watch. I looked back at Aaron, “Of course. I always know what I want, Aaron.”

I turned back around to debate on movies once again, and I felt Aaron’s hand slip under the back of my shirt. I had put on a flannel shirt on top of the tank top and when I leaned over the two must have lifted up slightly. In my wine haze I closed my eyes for a brief moment and relished in the strong hand pressed against my lower back. I peeled open my eyes a moment later and randomly picked the first movie I laid eyes on. I stood up and put The Hangover in, “Maybe it isn’t the best choice to watch with an FBI Agent since there’s lots of illegal activity, but it’s still a good movie.” I sat back down on the couch with my legs tucked up under me, sitting criss cross. Aaron had his feet resting on the ottoman and he lifted the giant blanket up for me so I could sit back under it. I smoothed it out and Aaron hit play on the remote. His left arm came up and rested on the back of the couch, around my shoulders. As the movie continued and our drinks became more and more empty, the more relaxed we became. Laughter would bubble out and every so often Aaron would remark every illegal thing that the foursome did with how long they would be in prison for. The wine mixed with my body and started making me sleepy so I relaxed a bit more and leaned onto Aaron’s body.

My legs shifted so they spread out to the left and Aaron stayed upright so I could use him for support. I could feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest, but I didn’t dare look at him. Slowly the movie came to an end and our glasses were long empty. We sat for the next hour talking softly in the darkness. The only source of light came from the kitchen light downstairs. I shifted myself so I was facing him and placed my arm on top of his along the back of the couch. My hand was near his head and as he spoke about his past I gently toyed with his short black hair. He shared more about college and his beginning years of being a lawyer and why he wanted to become an agent.

Somehow in the next minute I found myself leaning forward, and Aaron was leaning forward too.

Today

We finished shopping at Home Depot and made our way back to my house. Tonight we were going to have dinner and make a plan for painting the rooms and tearing out the bathroom walls. When we made it back inside the house, mom played with Murphy for a bit before helping me prep dinner. We talked for a bit but it started to get dark and she needed to get back to the grandparents. “You promise to call me if you need anything out here. I’ll happily drop whatever I’m doing to help you.” She said while hugging me bye. I promised her I would and I made sure to lock the door behind her when she pulled down the driveway.

I laughed to myself and started picking up the kitchen. I thought it was just comical that Aaron was there at Home Depot when we were. I let out Murphy one more time before heading upstairs for the night. The blanket was still there on the couch and as I folded it, I let myself remember last evening.

Last Night

Aaron’s hand slid along my cheek, fingers twisting into my hair as he looked at me intensely. “You are absolutely incredible Y/N” He whispers as he pulls my frame closer to his. The whisky rolling off his tongue and his cologne mingling together invaded my senses. I looked up to him with hooded eyes and closed the gap between us. Our lips pressed together, molding along as I slipped my hand to the back of his head. He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth and pulled on it, a small whimper escaped before I could contain it. Aaron was the first to pull back, only by a little bit, and he slightly panted from kissing me. The whisky now fanning along and mixing with the wine that I had finished. Maybe it was the dark, or maybe it was something else but his eyes managed to look a bit deeper as they studied my reaction. I probably looked horrendous with my jaw slacking open, but to be fair, I was in a bit of shock.

“Wow.” I managed to get out and we started laughing at ourselves. Acting like dumbstruck teens having their first kiss.

“Wow.” Aaron echoed back and I smirked at him, “W-was that okay?” he softly asked. I leaned my head forwards and rested our foreheads together.

“That was perfect. Kind of want to do it again.” I lightly bit my bottom lip and Aaron made a noise from the back of his throat. His hands flew to my waist and pulled me to straddle his lap, the blanket tangled between us. With me being slightly taller than him now I angled his face upwards and kissed him feverishly once more. His large hands spread wide on my hips and somehow tugged me even closer to him.

We couldn’t stop kissing each other and I never wanted to either. My hands grasped the front of his pullover as he moved his lips down the side of my face to my jawline. A gasp flew out of my mouth as he sucked the skin there before taking my earlobe between his teeth. The gentle bite followed by the soothing suck of his lips put my brain into overdrive and I started acting on what I really wanted. His hands moved to the lower part of my back and he leaned us forward, bracing me as his lips and teeth grazed down the front of my neck and to the top of my tank top.

He paused there, right at the top of my breasts and I let out a whine. My eyes were closed tightly and they pinched together more when he stopped, causing my face to scrunch. “I-we- We should stop. I really want to continue, I really do, but don’t you think it’s too soon?” He mumbled against my skin. The vibration of his lips sent sparks through my chest, which made it all that much harder to agree with him. I sat back up and said that he was right. He assured me that he did want this, but it was just a little too soon for him.

I put my hands on his cheeks and kissed his head to reassure him that I wasn’t upset with him. Aaron took the glasses downstairs and made sure the house was secured before coming back upstairs to my room. I was already in the bathroom doing my nightly routine. The door was cracked so Aaron was able to watch me as I took my makeup off and applied creams and hydrating oils to my face and gently massaged them in. I brushed through my hair and threw it into a low braid for the night before Aaron joined me to brush his teeth with me.

When we crawled into bed and Aaron turned out the light, he pulled me closer to him. “Thank you for breakfast and dinner again, it was lovely.” I spoke out into the still night. He hummed and replied with a welcome before settling down into the covers. He was laying on his back and I was laying at an angle on my side, with my head resting on his chest. I let out a yawn and whispered goodnight to him. To my glad surprise, Aaron lifted my head by my chin and planted a chaste kiss onto my lips.

“Goodnight Y/N, sweet dreams.” He said softly against them. Quickly enough we both fell into a deep sleep.

Today

I climbed into bed by myself tonight. A little sad that I spent the past two nights with sweet company, but I willed myself to sleep. I would be seeing him soon enough for Hero Day as he was coming in as Jack’s hero. That thought brought me comfort as I hugged the pillow he had been using for the past two nights. I inhaled deeply and it smelled like his cologne. Smiling to myself I closed my eyes and went to sleep. Tomorrow is Monday, and those never go smoothly.

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds #jack hotchner #teacher #smut #fluff #jj jareau #derek morgan #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #spencer reid #david rossi

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