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fvckwluv · 3 days

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I'll Pick You Up at 8

Spencer Agnew x gender neutral reader

accidental first date fluff one shot

word count: 4.6k

A/N: I haven't written fiction in such a long time, so bare with me.

potential content warning: make-out session depicted, joking/talking about the implication of s3x (s3x NOT depicted)

Just like after every SwordAF recording session, you're still so amped up from the game, you insist the group goes out to your favorite restaurant for dinner. A small authentic Italian pizza joint, Ardovino's. And just like every time, your exhausted friends decline.

Well, everyone except Spencer.

"C'mon guys..." Your whine draws on as you pout with your whole body, like a disappointed child. "It'll be fun I promise. And the food is to die for."

Your friends' rejection wasn't new, far from it. It had actually begun to become a running joke. You always get the post-performance adrenaline rush after SwordAF. While the rest of the crew would rather wind down, you insist on a big group dinner.

"Y/N." Chanse spoke. "Leave It." The group, including you, chuckled. "The very last shoot of one of our busiest shoot weeks isn't the time for a pizza party."

"He's right, babe." Amanda chimed in. "It's time to sleep."

You throw your arms down to your sides in defeat and give Shayne a pleading look.

"Sorry." Shayne shrugs. "Me and Court are bathing the cats tonight."

"You guys are lame!" You exclaim. "You have your whole lives to sleep and bathe cats! You have only one night to rally at Ardovino's!"

"Ardovino's isn't going anywhere." Shayne retorts. "Look, we all promise, we'll do it another time."

"But I'm not gonna be here for the next week and a half!" You playfully whine. "It could go bankrupt and shut down by then!"

Spencer closely watches you from behind the cameras with a subtle smirk. The scene of you insisting they all go out never gets old to him. You get so passionate. Your eyes grow wider than they already are. You pitch dinner like it's life or death. A trait of yours Spencer has always adored.

Spencer makes his way over from behind the cameras to start putting up the mic equipment. "Y/N," He shakes his head and chuckles to himself as he wraps up various cords. "I don't think that place is in danger of shutting down as long as your around."

You scoff. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I don't think there's been a single week that's gone by since I've known you, that you haven't eaten from there." Spencer says, eyebrows raised. And a smile he couldn't get rid of, even if he tried.

"What else am I supposed to do? I make up like half their business." You joked. "Since none of my 'so called friends' have ever even set foot in the joint."

Shayne, Chanse, and Amanda are all getting up from the table, getting ready to go home for the weekend. While you keep sitting there, looking up at Spencer, with that smile he thinks about when he's all alone.

Spencer had eyes for you since you first met. Something only a close observer, and of course, Kiana, would know. You weren't just obviously and immediately stunning- you were the funniest person Spencer has ever met. And in his eyes, that was the most attractive quality a person could have. You were also incredibly caring and warm, of course. You gave steadfast support and generosity to the people in your life. The things that came out of your mouth consistently took him by surprise- whether it was your unwavering wit, completely unique observations about the world, or the most thoughtfully crafted and kindest compliments. Spencer knows you as one of the strangest and greatest people in his life.

The one thing Spencer didn't notice about you- was your clear feelings for him.

It took you guys a while to become good friends. His crush on you made him shy. But you eventually wiggled your way into his shell. And he was more than happy to accommodate you. It had almost been a year since you really formed a genuine and intimate friendship with him outside of work. Playful teasing. Inside jokes. Carpooling. Cat sitting. Late night phone calls. Stories you've never told anyone else. Testing games for the channel at Spencer's place. Ordering in. Falling asleep together on his couch.

All while you adored everything about him. His laugh. His unfiltered jokes. His attentiveness. His green eyes. His tattoos. His arms.

The same arm he was currently nudging you on the shoulder with. "Okay, fine." He groaned. "You win. Let's go to Ardovino's."

Amanda and Chanse stop in their tracks and give each other a knowing look of excitement. They, of course, being the only ones to know about your feelings for Spencer.

"Really?!" You swelled. "Wait, are you being serious?!"

Spencer laughed.

"Wait, Spencer, really?! No way! Really?!"

His eyes could fall out of his head with the way he's looking at you.

"Spencer!" You tugged on his hand and started shaking it. "Are we really gonna go to Ardovino's?!? Finally?!?"

Spencer stays quiet as he grins and basks in your excitement. That smile. Those eyes. Your excited shrill. Your hands touching his.

"Spencer!!" You give him another shake.

It pulls him out of your eyes and back into the moment. "Yes, yes. Just let me get some actual clothes on. I'll pick you up at eight o'clock."

"Oh wait," With raised eyebrows, your tone and posture softens. "Now I feel bad. I don't want you to have to change."

"Well it's a nice place, right?" He shrugs. "Can't go in like this." He motions to his old champion hoodie.

"Wait, no, nevermind." You say. "It's okay, Spence. I don't wanna put you out like that. I know you're tired."

"Yeah, y/n, you're really putting me out." He mocks. "Going to dinner with a beautiful thing like you. How burdensome."

Beautiful?

You give him a quizzical look, but can't help the huge smile creeping on your face and the color rushing to your cheeks. Your suddenly extremely aware of your grip on his hand. It starts to feel very hot, almost burning.

"Relax." Spencer says, very softly, almost a whisper. "I wanna go with you. I'll be at your place at eight, okay?"

As he looks down at you with a smirk, there's something in his eyes that excites you. But also starts making the eye contact between the two of you intense.

You can barely utter out "Okay."

"Okay." He says with a smile, again in that soft tone. He gives your hand a squeeze before turning to leave.

Your eyes linger on the door as he exits the game stage. He left you with a smile you can't seem to shake.

Amanda and Chanse are gripping each others shoulders with their jaws on the floor as you slowly turn your body to face them.

Shayne is oblivious.

---

"Okay." You let out a breath as you give your outfit a onceover in the mirror.

"Now that's a first date fit." Chanse says eating popcorn from your couch.

"Chanse. I don't know how many times I have to say this- but this isn't a date. I basically begged him to take me to dinner."

"That's not what I saw. He couldn't wait to pick you up at eight." Chanse mimics Spencer in a provocative tone.

"Well it's just dinner, Chanse. Me and Spencer eat together all the time."

"Yeah, at the office or your guys' apartments. Not at a fancy, romantic pizzeria."

"It's not fancy or romantic."

"He called you beautiful."

You scoff. "I call you beautiful all the time. What? Is this a date? Are we dating now?"

"Yeah but he obviously likes you."

"You know you keep saying that, and then nothing happens. He's never made a move- or done literally anything to indicate he's into me."

"What are you talking about?! It's happened like a million times! You always just brush it off!"

"I don't brush him off!"

"Yes you do. You brush him off because you're too scared of rejection."

You roll your eyes. "Well, Chanse, normal people are plenty scared of rejection."

Chanse puts his hand to his chest, pretending to be offended. "Oh am I not normal?"

"No." You emphasize. "You're some superhuman freak. You can just walk up to anybody and start flirting."

"And you wanna know what the worst thing that happened was?"

You tilt your head at him and put your hands on your hips.

"They didn't reciprocate. And I just keep on living."

"Yeah, but if Spencer rejects me..." You trail off defeatedly. You search for the words, and suddenly the weight of all that you'd feel if Spencer were to reject you comes crashing down. "I couldn't just brush that off, Chanse. I like him. So much. It'd crush me."

"Well, I think living in this limbo of unknown feelings and 'what ifs?' for the rest of your life- would crush you even more."

Your phone buzzes with a text from Spencer.

On my way :)

"Shit, that's him." Your heart sinks. Suddenly this all becomes very real and the fact that you and Spencer are going to be having a candlelight dinner sends nerves throughout your entire body.

"You need to get out of here before he comes." You pull Chanse off the couch and take away the bowl of popcorn.

As you push him towards the door Chanse laughs. "If it's not a date, why can't I stay?"

You stop and he turns to face you.

"I mean it's just two friends getting together, right? Why don't I just tag along, too?" Chanse smirks.

You're ready to call his bluff.

"The more the merrier." You smile.

"Great."

Silence surrounds the staring contest between the two of you.

"It's not a date, Chanse."

"Then why'd you choose that underwear?"

You roll your eyes and start pushing him out the door again. "Goodbye."

Chanse manages a very rushed "Use protection!" before you slam the door on him.

---

In the car, on the way to your apartment, Spencer gets a call. It's Kiana.

He answers the phone from the bluetooth system on the steering wheel. "Hello?"

"Why did I just get a text from Chanse that you and y/n are going on a date?" Kiana questions.

"Date? I mean, we're going to dinner?"

"And you didn't tell me?! This is your chance Spence!"

Spencer rolls his eyes. Then an idea strikes him. "Wait, date? Is that the word Chanse used?"

"Well, no. He said you two are going to Ardovino's right now. Alone."

"Well yeah, Kiana, that's not a date."

"You can make it one."

Spencer furrows his eyebrows. "What does that even mean?"

"I mean, you want it to be a date, right? And I can bet you, she wants it to be a date, too."

"I don't think so."

"Spencer, y/n obviously likes you."

"Then why haven't they told me?"

"Why haven't you told them?!"

"You know why, Kiana. I can't risk that. If I put everything out there, and they don't feel the same way..." Spencer follows the trail of thought where he confesses his feelings. You rejecting him. You distancing yourself from him. No longer being friends. No longer being able to make you laugh. No more late night phone calls. No more you. You weren't something he was willing to lose. "It'd ruin everything."

"But if you go on like this, you'll lose y/n either way. They'll eventually meet someone who'll actually make a move."

For a while, there's a silence where only the cars on the road can be heard.

"There's always gonna be that what if in your head if you don't just go for it. And it'll be too late." Kiana says. "A nice dinner is the perfect place to tell her how you feel."

---

As Spencer shuffles up the steps to your apartment, Kiana's words couldn't get out of his head. What if you did meet someone else? The thought of anyone else being with you- hugging you, kissing you, making you laugh- stung.

He knocks on your door.

What if you did want this to be a date? What if this was his chance? What if he told you his feelings and you told him yours back? What if he kissed you and you kissed him back? What if-

All at once, Spencer's thoughts go quiet and his breath hitches. You open the door. You're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. His eyes are more than happy to take you all in. He's too preoccupied staring at you to even greet you.

"Hi." You sheepishly say after a few seconds of silence.

Spencer looked so handsome. And the smell of his cologne was intoxicating.

"H- hey." He let out with a lot of air and a huge smile. You can see him looking over all of you. "You look..." He meets your eyes. "You're gorgeous."

You smile and feel the warmth rush to your cheeks, as well as to the pit of your stomach. "Thanks, Spence." You step closer to him and playfully tug on the collar of his white polo shirt. "You look very handsome." You giggle.

A playful moment, quickly turns into tension you could cut with a knife. Your faces now, just inches apart. Your hand still on his collar. Eye contact unbroken.

You look down at his lips for a split second when you suddenly hear a car horn down the street. It makes you guys jump back and laugh.

"Well..." You break the silence. "I thought we could walk there. It's only like ten minutes down the street. If that was okay with you?"

"Sounds perfect." Spencer smiles. He offers out his arm, doing his gentleman voice. "M'lady?"

You laugh. "M'lord." You link arms with his.

The walk there is filled with a very comfortable silence. It's not lost on you how nice being this close to him feels. You have a tight grip on his bicep.

Spencer is more than happy. Such a beautiful person like you, wrapped around his arm. He keeps almost running into things with how many times he's looking at you.

As you walk in to the restaurant, the older southern hostess, Lynn, you've seen many, many times greets you by name. "Hey, y/n! Welcome!"

Spencer laughs. "Come here that often, huh?"

You smile and roll your eyes at him.

"So who's the handsome fella?" Asks Lynn.

"Oh, this is Spencer." You say, gesturing your hand toward him.

"Well, Spencer, it's nice to meet you." Lynn smiles. "I hope you know you are one lucky man to be out on a date with this one!"

As you open your mouth to correct her, Spencer agrees. "Well, more like the luckiest man alive."

Lynn laughs. "Aw, well, ain't that cute? Right this way you two."

You give Spencer a bewildered look. But, of course, a huge smile on your face. Was Chanse actually right? Was this a date?

He doesn't look back at you. Instead he links your arm with his and leads you as he's walking.

His heart beating out of his chest. His nerves feel like fire. He was so nervous, but also, relishing this moment.

Lynn lets you know your waitress is on the way and walks away. Spencer pulls out your chair and helps you in. He sits down and starts looking at the menu.

You see a cool, calm, collected, nonchalant Spencer turning through the pages. Yet, what you don't know is, he's too scared to make eye contact with you.

You pick up your menu trying to follow his lead. But can't think straight. You haven't stopped smiling. A few moments go by and you keep putting down your menu to say something, but then go back to reading it.

Finally, with a huge smile, and raised eyebrows you say, "A date?"

Spencer freezes and looks up at you. "Hmm?"

"You're the luckiest man alive to be on a date with me?"

"Uh.." Spencer shifts in his seat. "You know.. uh- well... yeah."

Your heart flips.

"I mean, look at you." He gestures at you like it's obvious. "If this was a date, I'd be the luckiest man alive."

If?

Before you can say anything the waitress comes.

---

Dinner was great. It was just like any other time between the two of you. Great conversation. Lots of laughter. Untold stories. Except you were admiring his lips throughout your meal. And when you'd look away, so was he.

After an awkward fight for the bill, he wins.

He opens the door for you on the way out. You guys stand outside and just look at each other. No words are spoken, but you can feel a tension. Then you both instinctively laugh at the same time.

"Well..."

"Well.."

You didn't want this night to end. You look at the place across the street you go to often, and an idea strikes.

"Up for dessert?" You ask. "That place has the best churros in LA."

"Hell yeah." He extends his arm out to you again, and you take it. You guys find a break in between cars to jog across the street.

"¡Hola, hermosa!" Rita, the woman who owns the small churro stand, and at this point, a close personal friend, greets you. "Nice to see you!"

"Hi, Rita." You smile.

"Been here a lot, too, huh?" Spencer laughs.

"Shut up."

"This you boyfriend?" Rita asks.

You and Spencer both look at each other. Both of you secretly wishing you could answer 'yes' to that question.

"That's what everyone seems to think." You chuckle.

"Let me get a picture!" She says motioning to the cork board full of polaroids of couple who have eaten here.

"Oh, Rita, it's okay. We're ju-" Before you can finish your sentence she is out there with her camera.

"Okay, c'mon, c'mon, get close." She motion at the two of you.

You look at Spencer. "I'm so sorry, is this okay?"

"It's totally fine." He laughs.

He put his arm around your waist.

A chill rushes through you.

"One. Two. Three."

The camera clicks.

"Okay now kiss!"

You laugh awkwardly. "Oh, it's okay-"

"C'mon! Kiss!" Rita insists. "C'mon, such a good photo!"

Spencer and you look at each other with awkward smiles, not knowing what to do. You did want to kiss him, of course, but not like this. Not for the first time.

"I'll give you a peck on the cheek." Spencer whispers. "If that's okay with you."

You look up at him, flustered. "Oh, yeah, yeah. That's good."

He plants a kiss on your cheek. A sweet and intimate moment that makes both of your stomachs flutter. Rita snaps the photo.

"Beautiful!" Rita exclaims. "I'll bring out your usual now, okay?"

You and Spencer sit and wait on the curb in front of the stand. Rita brings one large churro and a huge cup of horchata to you guys and hands it to Spencer.

As you go through your stuff to pull out your cash, Spencer moves for his wallet. "Oh no, I got it, y/n."

"No, no, no!" Rita smiles. "On the house for the happy couple." She points at Spencer. "Just treat y/n right."

"Yes ma'am." Spencer chuckles.

"Oh! And here you go. One for you." Rita hands you the polaroid of Spencer kissing you on the cheek. "See? Such a good photo."

Rita walks away, and you and Spencer sit in a moment of silence looking at the picture.

"Wow." He breaks it. "You usually eat all this by yourself?" He laughs.

You hit his arm and giggle. "No! I come here with Chance... sometimes."

Spencer lets air escape his nose. He looks over to you with an endearing smile. Something in his tone shifted "And she never thinks Chanse is your boyfriend?"

"Well..." You blush and bring the photo closer to show him. "I guess you and I just have that undeniable chemistry." You joke.

"Yeah I mean, I get it." He says, placing the food down at his side, and grabbing the photo from you. "That's one handsome couple."

You both chuckle. As the sound fades and it's just the two of you in silence, you stare deep into each others eyes. Spencer notices a spark in yours that seems to be new.

It seems like every sign was telling you this was a date. Other people were literally telling you this was a date. Looking into his eyes, your heart swelled up to your throat. You cleared it, breaking the silence.

You leaned your body against Spencer to reach across him to get the churro that was on his other side. "Well..." You gesture for him to take a bite as you hold it. "Tell me what you think."

---

You threw your trash away and said bye to Rita.

"Onward?" Spencer, once again, offers his arm.

"Onward." You smile taking it.

Now, on the opposite side of the street, you pass your favorite café. It's pretty empty and there is a small jazz band out front you've seen play there plenty of times.

"Hey!" Mr. Reeves, the old pianist, stops playing when he sees you. The band follows with greetings as well.

"Hello, Mr. Reeves. Hello, everyone. How are you?"

"Well, I'm much better now after seeing you!" Mr. Reeves offers a friendly smile.

"Jesus, you really get out a lot, huh?" Spencer whispers in your ear and nudges your side. You look up at him and roll your eyes.

"Does your boyfriend here wanna dance?" Mr. Reeves asks.

"Jesus, you really get mistaken for my boyfriend a lot, huh?" You both laugh.

"Well, son? Are you gonna ask this pretty young thing to dance or not?" Mr. Reeves asks. The rest of the band joins in, egging Spencer on.

After a moment, of looking at each other. Spencer gives you a playful shrug. "Why not?" Spencer unlinks his arm from yours and offers his hand. "Will you do me the honors?"

You look at him in amazement. Your heart beating out of your chest. This was really happening. With a smile so wide, you take his hand.

The band starts playing your favorite old-timey love song you've told them so much about.

Spencer has a hand around each side of your waist, with a firm grasp. You have your hand wrapped around the back of his neck. You hadn't been this close to him for this long, ever. Without saying anything and only the occasional break in eye contact, you sway side to side on the pavement.

Once you both were able to push past the nerves, it was pure bliss. Spencer had the person of his dreams in his hands. He still hadn't gotten over how beautiful you looked tonight- tripping over his words during conversations you had throughout the night. He knew he couldn't push down his feelings any longer. Everyone thinking you were a couple, kissing you on the cheek, dancing with you- if all of this was a possibility for the two of you going forward, it was worth the risk of anything. He had to let you know how he felt. He was in love.

And you knew in that moment, you felt the same way.

As the song ended, the band started clapping for you both.

"Thanks for that." Spencer places some cash in a hat the band had in front of them. "Seriously thank you." He whispers to Mr. Reeves. Spencer would put his entire bank account in that hat to thank them for giving him that moment with you.

"So..." You giggle.

"So." Spencer repeats with a warm smile. This time, he offers his hand for you to hold. You happily take it. "Just no more detours, okay?" You both laugh.

As he guides you up the steps to your front porch you don't let go of his hand. And he doesn't let go of yours. You lean your back against the door, and give him a big smile.

You can't keep it in anymore.

"Well, Spencer. I think you just might be the luckiest man alive."

"Oh really? Why's that?" He grabs your other hand now too.

"Dinner, dancing, kissing... I think that was a date."

"Well, since that was a date..." A smile grew on his face. "That was the best date I've ever been on."

Your heart is pounding out of your chest. His too.

"Me too." You whisper.

You stare into each others eyes. And a brand new kind of silence embraces you both. You let go of his hand and pull on his collar again, bringing him a few inches from your lips. His hands go to your waist.

You stare at each other again. This time, obvious glances to each others lips. Your faces slowly gravitate towards each other.

Your foreheads touch.

Then your noses.

Then your lips.

A peck at first, but then quickly becoming deeper. Your hands are tightly tugging his collar to pull him even closer into you. His hands are even tighter around your waist to pull you closer to him.

You pull away with your eyes closed and with a big smile. You take in some fresh air and open your eyes. Your heart stops when you open them, and he's already looking at you, like he's hungry. He places his forehead on yours again.

"Holy shit, I can't believe this is happening." You giggle. He does too.

"Me neither." You both close your eyes again. "I've wanted to do that for such a long time."

"Me too." You whisper.

"Can I kiss you again?" He asks.

You answer by kissing him. Deeper and harder than before. Nothing but smiles each time his and your lips part. His hand travels up your body, to the side of your chin and neck. With the other still firmly against your waist. Both you and Spencer's breathing gets heavier. A mmm escapes your lips. Which sends an excited chill through Spencer's body.

You both pull away not being able to say anything for a bit. Your chests rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breathes.

"Spencer." You say between breaths.

"Y/n."

"I'm gonna ask you something, okay? But just let me finish before you answer. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm gonna ask if you want to come inside." You say with a shaky voice. "But... I think I should tell you... I have feelings for you. I have... deep, strong, feelings." Spencer doesn't break the intense stare he is giving you. You ramble on. "And if something were to happen in there, it would mean a lot more to me than just one night. I'd want something more than just that. I'd want you. Like, in a relationship, or whatever." You swallow the lump in your throat. Your pace quickens. "And if you don't feel the same way, that's totally okay. I'll be happy looking back on this night as a fun, spontaneous thing, you know? I'll be okay. And I'd wanna still be friends." Tears start to build in your eyes and you can feel your throat get heavier. "But I can't go any further if you don't feel the same way. Because if that happens... It's more than just a fun, spontaneous thing for me. It's... everything. So when I ask you to come inside, you can only say yes if you feel the same. Okay?"

You let out a big sigh. "Do you wanna come in?"

"Y/n, I...." Spencer closely studies your face. He gently wipes a tear that had fallen down your cheek. He takes your hand and places it over his chest. You can feel his heart beating rapidly.

"I love you." He says. "I wanna be with you... even if nothing else happens. I just want you. I always have. There's nothing I want more than just you. I love you."

"I love you too."

You smile and let out a breath of relief. Your lips and bodies embrace each other once again. You open the door, and he follows you inside.

#smoshblr #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew fanfiction #spencer agnew fanfic #spencer agnew imagine #smosh rpf #smosh fanfiction

87 notes · View notes

ninyard · 2 days

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Hellooo i saw that you were asking for asks (that sounds funny) and I wanna know some of your hcs on Kevin and Allison being besties/ kevjean relationship

This is my chance to finally share some Allison/Kevin hcs so I'm gonna seize this opportunity with both hands and give you this total MESS of a brain dump

- Allison is the only fox that doesn't make fun of Kevin's eating habits. Kevin KNOWS his relationship with food is fucked up because of the nest and Allison knows it too, so she refuses to make bets or make fun of the way that he eats. Kevin only realised because she once tried to quietly tell Nicky to knock it off when he was pushing Kevin to have dessert or making fun of what he'd decided to have instead.

- Kevin also knows not to talk about the numbers or macros in front of her, too. They have a weird unspoken mutual respect RE: food and they both appreciate each others efforts on that front without ever actually mentioning it. they also have a gesture for each other that's code for "i want a snack do you have anything" and they'll throw each other protein bars if they're out/on a long bus journey etc.

- they are the BEST drinking buddies. Whenever the team starts drinking/partying/clubbing more together post-TKM, they are literally CHILDREN when they're drunk together. Kevin gets tired of the monsters being boring when they go out and there's only so much dancing he can do with just Nicky and Aaron alone. So Allison pulls him up to the bar one night to do a tequila shot, and they literally have the most unexpectedly fun night ever. Kevin loosens up a whole lot without the threat of Riko etc post tkm, and when I tell you he is such a fun drunk. now he doesn't really drink THAT much during the season but off-season? oh he's a party animal. I could write thousands of words about him and Allison getting drunk together and becoming literal best friends as soon as they have a drop of alcohol in their systems but here's some things I think they've done drunk

stole a shopping cart and sat in it as they pushed each other down the road in it (and fallen out of it and laughed so fucking hard) ((but were bruised up as fuck the next day because of it)

he's sat her on his shoulders - while dan sits on matt's - as the two girls try to push the other one off

he's really easily convinced to do things by her. another shot? sure. and another shot IMMEDIATELY after that? alrighty! karaoke? well, okay. jockeyback? stealing traffic cones? pulling pranks and fucking with the other foxes? acting like actual teenagers? okidokie!

she's probably the only person in the world who has successfully convinced kevin day to sing

he holds back her hair if she has to puke

she convinced him to let her do his makeup once. full glam. like a serious look, fully beat, full coverage look. there's a picture out there somewhere of it that she saves for blackmail.

fucked. make out sometimes. strip poker. they dance together :)

he never lets her walk alone anywhere when she's drunk. if she can't find one of the girls to accompany her to the bathroom at a party she'll take him.

she's taught him full dance routines

she was joking that there's no way the raven warmups could be that different to theirs, and bet him that she'd be able to do them without breaking a sweat (he won)

they've both ugly drunk cried in front of each other (but they never talk about that sober)

she's pretty light so he's bench pressed her before

- They know each others drink orders/favourite shots

- if Allison is out, say she's with her friends and not with the foxes, and she has to wait alone for a taxi or walk somewhere alone, she'll call him and he'll stay on the phone with her until she's safe

- They make fun of each other and bully each other like there's no tomorrow (affectionate). the whole "Allison hates Kevin" thing WAS true for a while, but once they get closer, she just pretends to hate him. he's like an annoying brother to her

- Allison is really easily frightened, and Kevin thinks it's funny to scare her. she's never safe walking around a corner or into a room if Kevin is there and in a good mood.

- they're not BEST FRIENDS. like they're not in each others pocket all the time and laughing and joking ALL THE TIME but she can read him like a book. she knows when he's having an off day, or thinking about something too much.

- She also knows when he's being serious and when not to joke around. She knows when he doesn't want cheering up or to joke about something and knows when to back off. The same with him - he knows when she's having a mood that requires being cheered up, or a mood that requires him to leave her the fuck alone.

- He's a big reason why she puts a whole lot more of herself into Exy post tkm. She's always been invested, but once they talk more, and they consider each other friends, she listens to him talking about Exy and it really clicks for her. his dedication. and also how fucking talented he really is. She doesn't do the night training with him but they'll occasionally go to the gym together or start practice a half an hour early to run some basic raven drills.

- They're iconic when they get together to do press after games. they bounce off each other like nothing else. they're just so funny. and he's also like andy murray in that he will ALWAYS defend her, dan, and renee's talent if interviewers start to focus more on him instead of the girls. he'll step in if an interviewer says something shitty or misogynistic. she LOVES directing objectifying and misogynistic questions his way.

- She calls him a bitch and makes fun of him for being a nepo baby. He calls her an asshole and makes fun of her for being a rich kid.

- Have gone to banquets as each others date.

that's just a few random thoughts off the top of my head but yes. Allison and Kevin. Literally the only Two Pretty Best Friends ever to exist.

#i know this might feel ooc for kevin but just think about it #first of all taking these as individual moments rather than a constant thing #they're not cuddling as besties and painting each others nails and talking about boys #or doing all of these things ALL THE TIME #like #maybe it's just me #but if Kevin loosened up a bit and let himself enjoy things a bit more #post-TKM #i really could see them being friends alright #hes gaining a lot of courage and the foxes are pretty united #so theyre going out more together #and he CAN drink to have fun #and Allison IS fun #and they have fun TOGETHER #okay! i have read some stuff recently about allison being hit or miss for some people #but i love her (even if it is an extension of her that ive made up in my head)#and i've pretty much based their entire hypothetical friendship off that part in tkm when they're in the cabins #and someone says she could sleep with kevin #and she makes a loud retching sound as if that's the grossest thing ever #(and unless you want to unleash the unhinged kevallison in me dont get me started on them hooking up fr)#allison reynolds #kevin day #aftg

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leclerc-s · 4 hours

Text

take me back to the city that i call my city, where everybody knows my name

series masterlist

oscar piastri i fear mark is mad at me.

isabella perez i could've told you he would be upset for the 'practical joke' you pulled.

yuki tsunoda ha! and now your mother wants me as her son!

charles leclerc i'm going to die at the hands of mark webber!!

daniel ricciardo-jones don't be silly daniel jones-ricciardo he's going to send someone after you. mark won't get his hands dirty like that. charles leclerc THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?!

ollie bearman does this make charles my grandpa?

lando norris that's wild 26 with a 19-year-old grandson

sebastian vettel this explains the angry 'your spawn stole my kid' text i got from mark

fernando alonso and this also explains the 'you were supposed to keep him out of trouble' text i got charles leclerc and that explains the 'give me my child back anti-christ' text i got

oscar piastri HE CALLED YOU ANTI-CHRIST?

lewis hamilton added one person

charles leclerc HE CALLED ME ANTI-CHRIST! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?!

mark webber i did no such thing

mark webber sebastian control your spawn.

charles leclerc

mark webber snitch

fernando alonso MULTI-21 SEB!! MULTI-21!!

sebastian vettel you just had to remind him didn't you?

lance stroll last time since a multi-21 inchident is down to 0 again.

lewis hamilton does this make seb satan?

sebastian vettel does this make you an instigator?

isabella perez it sure would be a shame if someone added jenson and nico to spice things up.

lewis hamilton don't you dare isabella juliana perez.

logan sargeant added two people

lewis hamilton logan hunter sargeant what did you do?

jenson button so this is the famous group chat.

charles leclerc WHAT IS AN ANTI-CHRIST??

nico rosberg lewis. lewis hamilton nico.

george russell i thought you two were on good terms?

dulce perez just because they're on 'good terms' doesn't mean they can't tease each other.

mick schumacher the family tree expands.

alex albon oh yes, because according to twitter logan is jenson and nico's son. zoya torres what the fuck do you two do on twitter? george russell i have a power point on the family tree!

nico rosberg i have so many questions

charles leclerc starting with, can daphne play long live tomorrow?

daphne jones-ricciardo can you get pole tomorrow? max jones-verstappen can ferrari not screw you over on sunday? is the better question.

jenson button yikes, you people do not hold back.

charles leclerc IF I GET POLE, will you please do a mashup of yoyok and long live?

daphne jones-ricciardo you've got a deal leclerc

mark webber you people are so weird.

nico rosberg agreed.

jenson button i've met zoya. i know how weird they can get.

zoya torres i know that's an insult but i don't care.

isabellaperez, rhysjones, freyavettel, and zoyatorres have posted new stories

my father-in-law is pole for monaco. everyone say congrats and cheer for a leclerc front-row lockout!! just know that i may be in the rb garage but i will be cheering on this silly little monegasque man. FATHER ON POLE IN MONACO!!! I REPEAT FATHER ON POLE IN MONACO!! LET'S GO!! WE'RE BREAKING CURSES THIS YEAR!!

liked by sukiwaterhouse, danieljonesricciardo, arthur_leclerc and others

nataliaruiz little jules pascale leclerc, named after two of the most important people in charlie's life.

tagged: charles_leclerc

view all comments

charles_leclerc would you look at that, you were right.

↳ nataliaruiz i'm always right charlie

↳ charles_leclerc well, there's that one time-

↳ maxjonesverstappen1 we swore to never speak of that charles!

user06 and suddenly daniel and charles both have another jules they love.

↳ user54 WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT!! NOW I'M CRYING!!

↳ user79 ALL I DO IS CRY ON THE INTERNET!!

zoyatorres the little jewel of our lives

↳ user88 IT WAS RIGHT THERE IN THE NICKNAME ARE WE STUPID?

sukiwaterhouse she gets her charms and looks from you. i don't know what she gets from the french man.

↳ charles_leclerc this is why your daughter looks more like robert than you.

↳ sukiwaterhouse i actually hate you.

↳ charles_leclerc the feeling is mutual

daphnejonesricciardo and what a beautiful little jewel she is

↳ charles_leclerc she's bejeweled one could say

↳ daphnejonesricciardo that's your worst joke yet

benruiz oh look at my beautiful little niece!

↳ nataliaruiz please tell dad to stop crying over her

↳ benruiz he said to leave him alone and let him cry over his only grandchild. she's getting so big.

danieljonesricciardo what a joy it is to be her godfather ❤️

↳ nataliaruiz and what a joy it is to have you as her godfather 🫶🏼

↳ charles_leclerc if i have to hear her cry over unca da, it's over.

↳ danieljonesricciardo i'm just that loveable charlie.

oscarpiastri i have the cutest baby sister

↳ zoyatorres see i would fight you on this but it's true

↳ freyavettel that is very much true (no on tell my siblings)

olliebearman the cutest leclerc!!

liked by charles_leclerc, benruiz, isabellaperez and others

nataliaruiz when we were little kids and anyone asked you, 'what's your biggest dream?' your answer was always the same, 'to become a formula 1 driver and win the monaco grand prix' then you became an f1 driver and your biggest dream was to win the monaco grand prix, to make your country proud, to make your papa proud. year after year, it was disappointment after disappointment, but something changed this year, this year you had hope, more than you've ever had before. this year you told me, 'i'm going to win this. i'm not taking anything less than a win." you finally did it, you broke the 'curse' that had been bestowed upon you. and i am so glad i got to witness you do it.

tagged: charles_leclerc

view all comments

charles_leclerc please don't make me cry again. i just stopped.

↳ natalia_leclerc it's a miracle i was able to post this through my tears.

user12 oh great, now i'm crying again.

benruiz listen, i may hate the little shit because he's dating my baby sister, but i'm still fucking proud of him. congrats charles, you deserved this.

↳ benruiz also, please tell my dad to stop crying. he hasn't stopped since you won. ↳ charles_leclerc let him be proud of me for once! ↳ benruiz he literally cries every time you win. shut up?

maejonesverstappen i'm still disappointed i didn't get to witness my best friend win his home race, but still so proud charlie.

↳ charles_leclerc you were there in spirit!!

↳ user98 these two being best friends is everything to me

user64 track menace charles makes his appearance!

user55 this post just reminds me that she's been there for everything. childhood best friends to lovers go hard here.

↳ user07 2018 charles would not believe you if you told him that not only did he end up with the girl he loves but he also won the monaco grand prix ↳ user55 manifestation works children! comment liked by charles_leclerc

oscarpiastri making the family proud 🥲

isabellaperez YEAH!! LIGHTNING MCQUEEN FINALLY WON THE PISTON CUP!!

↳ olliebearman the piston cup is the world championship, not monaco.

↳ isabellaperez LET ME BE PROUD EITHER WAY OLLIE!

rhysjones sorry to my mom and sisters but LET'S FUCKING GO!!!

↳ alex_albon disney child gone wild.

↳ maejonesverstappen rhys, watch your language!

↳ rhysjones says the one married to max emilian jones-verstappen.

rileykeough congrats charles!

↳ charles_leclerc thank you riley!!

sukiwaterhouse congrats, i guess?

↳ charles_leclerc thanks, i guess??

user71 the hand placement makes me feral.

↳ user84 right?? i wasn't aware lechair was that bold

user05 mom and dad on a night out.

↳ user26 imagine a baby pops up nine months from now?

↳ user05 that would be the funniest shit ever. then everyone will know those two really partied

isabella perez i know that i probably know the answer to my question, but how's pato doing?

gael perez completely gutted

oscar piastri we saw the race

fernando alonso oh patito i'm sorry.

pato o'ward shit happens. it's okay.

daphne jones-ricciardo you're allowed to be sad about this.

pato o'ward oh, i'm fucking devastated. it's a miracle i stopped crying.

charles leclerc FLY OUT TO MONACO! WE CAN CELEBRATE YOU EITHER WAY BECAUSE YOU DESERVED THAT FUCKING WIN.

natalia ruiz forgive him, he's drunk. pierre gasly he's fucking shit-faced.

rowan todd i wonder how he's going to see little jewel if he's drunk

charles leclerc NAT! WE HAVE TO GO! I HAVE TO SEE MY DAUGHTER!!

lando norris now he's quite literally crying in the club.

max jones-verstappen oh he's going to regret this so much

mae jones-verstappen about as much as you regret abu dhabi 2021

lewis hamilton i too regret abu dhabi 2021 esteban ocon oh we remember, 'FUCK MIKEY! FUCK THAT IDIOT! AND FUCK NICO TOO!'

nico rosberg what the fuck?

dulce perez if you hadn't won in 2016, lewis would already have his 8th.

jenson button oh my god, please just kiss and make up

mark webber maybe once nico stops thirsting over lewis on live television they can kiss.

nico rosberg i do not thirst. isabella perez sure, and charles isn't currently shitfaced.

pato o'ward why does anyone ever take you people as serious racers?

charles leclerc WE ARE PATITO!! carlos sainz WE ARE SO SERIOUS!! penelope trevino forgive him, he is also shit faced.

arthur leclerc mexicans everywhere are crying because of checo's dnf and pato being robbed.

gael perez i am crying. that's my boyfriend and uncle.

pato o'ward that is true, he hasn't stopped crying. rossi is concerned for him.

dulce perez make sure he drinks lots of water.

pato o'ward on it

daphne jones-ricciardo you people are so much to handle.

daniel jones-ricciardo WIFEY I MISS YOU!

sebastian vettel is he also drunk?

lewis hamilton days like today make me wish when seb was on the grid sebastian vettel days like this make me grateful that i am no longer on the grid.

mick schumacher oscar is the most boring person to party with.

oscar piastri I DON'T LIKE CLUBBING! ollie bearman LIVE A LITTLE !! GET FUCKED UP!! YOU WERE ON THE PODIUM IN MONACO!!

isabella perez and he is also fucked up.

jenson button oh how i miss being a driver.

fernando alonso because you were whore.

jenson button fuck you bitch. you were a whore too.

mark webber i hate all of you with a passion.

sebastian vettel that's a lie. mark webber correction, i hate you and anti-christ with a passion. freya vettel HE DOESN'T HATE ME!! A WIN IS A WIN!!

charles leclerc i fucking love you people!

daphne jones-ricciardo aww, love you too charlie ❤️ congrats on the win once again.

mae jones-verstappen sorry we couldn't be there but congrats and sorry again pato.

pato o'ward hey, i'll bide my time just like charles! clearly it worked for him.

charles leclerc YOUR TIME IS COMING PATO!! I PROMISE!!

¡taglist!

@burningcupcakefire @arkhammaid @applopie @sunflower-golden-vol6 @lorarri @bb-swift @thewannabewriter @mypage-myfandoms @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @six-call @justtprachisblog @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @cool-ultra-nerd @kami10471633 @1nt3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @arieltwvdtohamflash @brekkers-whore @natcha888 @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @georgeparisole @dan3avocado @nikfigueiredo @bella-182 @namgification @jensonsonlybutton @weekendlusting @trouble-sistar @lesliiieeeee @leclercsluv @33-81 @theseus-jpg @sarah-thatstings-ann @minmira95 @casperlikej @formulaonebuff @hopenshaw @hwalllllllelujah @doodlehunz @prongsvault

¡leclerc-s speaks! CHARLES LECLERC WON MONACO AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO COPE!! I'M STILL CRYING OVER IT!! long live and yoyok being the surprise songs the night before charles won monaco is like the win was fate for me. also, i can't handle another sad pato edit on tiktok, the pain hurts.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #the honest series #formula 1 #formula 1 fic #fanfic #fanfiction #f1 #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #f1 fic

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stop4death · 2 days

Text

now i'm covered in you

note: i need her. badly. also i love patrick and i do not condone cheating its just for the plot and also bc i wanted to reference ivy sorry!

pairing: stanford!tashi duncan x fem!stanford!reader

summary: when you and your best friend, tashi, decide to have a movie night in her dorm room, you can’t seem to pay attention. your boredom turns into unexpected fun when she suggests a game of truth or dare.

warnings: nsfw 18+ (MDNI!), smut, fluff, cheating (again, i love patrick and i do not condone cheating), oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), please lmk if i forgot anything

word count: 1.6k

posted: may 28th 2024

what would he do if he found us out?

Everything about your best friend is perfect to you. Her eyes. Her hair. Her lips. The way her face lights up whenever she sees you. The way her head falls back when you make her laugh just a little too hard at one of your stupid jokes. The only thing you don’t find perfect is the fact that she has a boyfriend. Tashi and Patrick have been going out since they met last summer, now you and Tashi are in the middle of the spring quarter of your first year at Stanford. You like Patrick (and his friend, Art, who coincidentally also goes to Stanford). He’s a good looking guy, and Tashi is happy with him. You just can’t help the soul crushing jealousy that consumes you every time he comes to visit her and you have to watch them be all lovey-dovey at your lunch table.

“Hello? Are you even watching?” Tashi giggles and you snap back to reality, where you’re sitting on the floor of your best friend's dorm room drinking cheap beer and watching a rom com on your laptop.

“Sorry.” you laugh softly, “I just can’t pay attention to a movie right now.”

It’s a Friday night, and the two of you decided you didn’t feel like going out. You settled on a movie night in Tashi’s dorm, but your mind keeps wandering off. The two of you are already a bit tipsy at this point. Tashi shuts your laptop and looks at you, pursing her lips.

“Let’s play a game or something.”

“Like what?” you ask, smiling at her.

“I don’t know… truth or dare?”

You laugh at the suggestion, thinking she’s joking.

“What are we in middle school again?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. I want you to stop zoning out.” she pokes your side playfully and grins.

“Okay, fine. Truth or dare?” you start off.

“Dare.”

“Okay… um… I dare you to…” you pause and look around, trying to think of something, “text Patrick right now and tell him you’re pregnant.” You laugh at how stupid it is, but it was the first thing that came to your mind. Tashi rolls her eyes at you and reaches for her cellphone on her nightstand. She types out a message to Patrick and sends it, and turns her phone around to you to prove that she actually did it. You laugh with your hand over your mouth, in disbelief that she actually did it, but Tashi has never been one to chicken out on a dare. She puts her phone down on the floor next to her, then she pushes your shoulder playfully and you pretend to fall backwards.

“I hate you.” she says, but she smiles as she says it. “Truth or dare?” she says it with a hint of vengeance in her voice, so you decide to go with truth for now.

“Truth.”

“Okay… um… well our first year of college is almost over and you haven’t gone on a date or shown interest in or even hooked up with anyone. Is there anyone you… have a crush on? In one of your classes or something?” she asks with a slight smirk on her face.

“Um… yeah.” you say as your cheeks go red and you look down at your hands. She gives you a knowing smirk, but she doesn’t press any further, knowing it’s her turn now.

“Truth.” she says, not waiting for you to ask her.

“Hmm… have you ever lied to me?” you ask nervously.

“Yes.” she says plainly. You furrow your eyebrows, but you don’t ask any follow ups, thinking you’ll ask her what about the next time she chooses truth. “Truth or dare?”

“Mm.. dare.” you hesitate, but you don’t want her asking who you have a crush on if you were to choose truth.

“I dare you to kiss me.” she says it so casually, and you’re sure you must’ve misheard her. Your mind must be playing tricks on you.

“What?”

“I dare you to kiss me.” she repeats, and your mouth falls open a little bit in shock.

“W-what about Patrick?” you ask hesitantly.

“It’s just a dare, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. He doesn’t have to know.”

She’s so nonchalant about it all, meanwhile you feel like your heart is going to explode out of your chest at any second. You hesitate for a moment, but then you lean closer to her almost instinctively, as if you’ve been possessed. You’ve waited years for this opportunity, and you weren’t going to let the thought of upsetting some boy get in the way of it. You place a hand on her cheek gently, and lean in further, pressing your lips against hers. They’re just as soft and sweet as you’d always imagined they’d be. You expect it to be over within seconds, but Tashi leans in further, placing a hand on the back of your neck and deepening the kiss. You can’t help but think about how wrong this is, but you really don’t care. You push the thoughts away and focus on the fact that you’re kissing your best friend right now. Tashi pushes you back on her floor, your head hitting one of the pillows the two of you had laid out for your movie night, and gets on top of you. You slide your hands down her sides and rest them on her hips as she continues to kiss you. She slides one hand under your t-shirt and squeezes one of your breasts, and you let out a soft moan into her lips.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly, and you nod.

“Yes. Yes.” you say through soft gasps. She kisses you again, sucking and biting on your bottom lip. She removes her hand from your shirt and slides it down to the waistband of your shorts. She rubs your hip gently before she slides her hand into your shorts. You moan softly at the feeling of her hand on your clothed heat.

“So wet.” she says quietly between kisses as she traces gentle circles around your clit through your underwear. She moves her hand out of your shorts and your hips buck upwards at the sudden lack of her touch. She smiles as she stops kissing you, and moves down. She pushes your legs apart and looks up at you, her head between your legs. She gently tugs at the waistband of your shorts, and pulls them down along with your underwear. You spread your legs apart further and she smirks at you.

“Look at you… dripping wet for me already. So desperate for my touch. You’ve wanted this for a long time, huh?”

Your breath hitches as you look down at her between your legs. She kisses your inner thigh and your entire body feels like it’s on fire. She continues to place kisses along your inner thigh, moving closer and closer to your heat. You moan as her tongue delves into your folds, lapping at your wetness.

“Fu- Fuck! Tashi!” you barely manage to choke out through moans as she sucks on your clit. You grip onto the blanket underneath you and arch your back. She moves one of her hands up and teases your entrance with her middle and ring fingers before slipping them into your tight pussy and thrusting them in and out. The combined sensation of her fingers inside you and her mouth on your clit drives you insane, pushing you closer to the edge. You can’t contain the loud moans that escape your lips, probably heard by her entire dorm floor.

“Tashi, fuck! I’m so close.” you gasp out, gripping the blanket even harder, your knuckles turning white. You look down at her between your legs again, and just the sight of her is enough to send you over the edge. Your best friend has never looked more perfect to you than in this moment, with her face buried in your folds. You moan her name loudly as you reach your climax, your back arching again as you see stars. Tashi lifts her head and slips her fingers out of you and your back relaxes. You just lay there on her floor, trying to catch your breath, and Tashi moves up to lay down next to you. She places a hand on your cheek and turns your head to face her, placing another kiss on your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on her mouth. She rests her head on her arm, just looking at you.

“You’re so perfect.” you say softly, and she smiles at you. You just stare at her, admiring her, thinking you must be in a dream you’re going to wake up from at any moment. Your peace is interrupted by the sound of Tashi’s phone ringing. She sits up and picks it up off the floor next to her and you can see the caller ID on the tiny screen reads “Patrick Zweig”. She declines the call, silences her phone, and tosses it up onto her bed, before laying back down next to you. You look at her with a bit of confusion on your face, knowing he must be calling about the text you dared her to send earlier.

“I’ll call him back later.” she says plainly, wrapping her arm around you and pulling you close. The thoughts of how wrong what the two of you just did was start flooding into your head, thinking about what Patrick would do if he found out what you just did with his girlfriend. These thoughts are immediately pushed away when Tashi kisses your cheek and pulls you even closer. As you lay there in your best friend's arms, the only thoughts that flood your brain now are how lucky you are to have her.

#challengers #tashi duncan #zendaya #smut #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan smut #tashi duncan x you #tashi duncan fanfic

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bad268 · 2 days

Note

maybe a kimi antonelli x reader oneshot where the reader is a journalist and kimi and her fall for each other?

love your stories!

The Exclusive (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Journalist! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (thank you love! I had fun with this <3 I used to be a journalism major so it was fun going back to my roots lol)

Warnings: Aged up Kimi

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1067

Summary: The exclusive interview with Kimi.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Right now, it was just a hobby. A little blog you started before college that then turned into a podcast and full-blown career. At least, that’s what it was looking like.

You started writing about the Formula 1 feeder series’ years ago because you wanted to give a platform to the smaller categories, and it blew up. It also blew your mind that these people who were around your age were already getting their feet in the door to the pinnacle of motorsport. You also had a knack for writing, so reporting on the drivers’ and the series’ themselves proved to be easy for you.

Soon enough, you started getting invited on behalf of different teams to interview their drivers. Mainly Prema, ART, Van Amersfoort, and MP Motorsport, but they were the biggest teams in each category, so it made sense.

The first time you went to the track was with Van Amersfoort in 2021. There was a race at your favorite track of Red Bull Ring, which you had mentioned on the blog at one point, so they invited you. You had heard of a new driver joining one of the teams, but since it was not Van Amersfoort, you did not plan to do a deep dive until after the race weekend.

You were running through the garages, looking for your iPad, so you could interview Oliver Bearman, the championship leader. Plus, you were already a guest in their garage. Might as well capitalize on it.

You finally found it, so you pulled out your microphone from your backpack as you walked down the pitlane. Most of the drivers were getting the track limits rundown from the stewards, so you knew Ollie would be free after the meeting.

Almost as if it were planned, you ran into someone while you were distracted. Looking up from where you dropped the microphone and a paper with the questions you had for Ollie, you’re met with a brown-eyed, curly-haired boy, and you're a goner.

You couldn’t help but stutter out an apology, but funny enough, he was doing the same. When you both finally stopped stuttering out apologies, he said, “My name’s Kimi.”

You told him your name, and the rest was history.

There was an unspoken rule that from that moment onward, mainly because you two became official not long after. You were only a guest of Prema. It was just a joke that Kimi made up, saying he would crash if you wore any other team’s merch on a race weekend. Sure, you did not believe it, but it’s not like you had anything against wearing your boyfriend’s team merch.

It also meant that you got exclusive Kimi Antonelli interviews whenever you wanted, and you would ask (manipulate) Kimi into messaging any driver you wanted to interview. There was one interview that boosted both of you into the ranks of motorsport.

“Kimi,” You said simply as soon as the podcast started.

“Y/n,” He repeated back as he looked at you over the microphone. You had recently started recording the podcasts to be posted to YouTube after being told to do it by Clement Novalak. He had a successful podcast, so you thought you better listen to his advice.

“2023 Formula 2 Champion has a nice ring to it, don’t you agree?”

“It does, yeah,” He laughed.

“Good, it would suck if you didn't,” You muttered into the microphone. “Anyways, I know this already because I’m cool, but I think my viewers should get the exclusive. Kimi, where will you be going next year?”

“I'm still racing,” He knew that was not what you were asking, but he’s been on enough of your podcasts to know that your fans love the banter.

“No shit, Sherlock,” You deadpanned with a dry laugh. “I mean what team will you drive.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” He teased, eyeing you from his place across from you.

“I already know, and if you don’t spill the beans, I’ll say it,” You threatened. “I’ve got your PR manager on speed dial, so don’t even try to threaten me with Sophie.”

“Fine, I guess I’m going to Mercedes,” Kimi sighed in mock hurt, but you knew it was all for show.

“How does it feel to be teammates with the George Russell and share a grid with the guy who introduced us again?”

“Ollie did not introduce us, don’t get the story messed up,” Kimi accused as he leaned forward on the couch, causing you to do the same. “You and your clumsiness is what got us to meet.”

“Oh, please! You were a stuttering mess, too. Do not put all the blame on me!”

“I never said I was blaming you!”

“It sounds like it!”

“Why are we arguing about how we met? We are both saying the same thing!”

“You’re right,” You said normally as you leaned back on the couch before whispering, “for once,” Into the microphone. You looked up at Kimi as he also sat back. “Anyways, now that we’ve settled you’re going to Mercedes, what track are you most excited for?”

“Monaco,” Kimi said immediately.

“How did I know you would say that?”

“Probably because I told you this a couple of days ago when you tested this question on me, and I answered Singapore, but you said that wasn’t good enough.”

“Hey, don’t expose me on my own podcast here!”

“Ok, my answer is Singapore,” He changed his answer as he raised his eyebrows at you, almost asking you to dispute his answer.

“I’ll cut this out,” Spoiler, no you did not. “But I don't think that’s the right answer.”

“What do you mean?” KImi gasped as he laughed in disbelief. “It’s my answer!”

“What is so special about Singapore? It's literally just hot, that’s it!”

“Well, yes, but-” Kimi tried but was cut off by your laughing. Eventually, you died down, and he continued, “The atmosphere is insane.”

“The atmosphere is also insane in Monza or Red Bull Ring but ok.”

“I’ve raced there.”

“Oh! I didn’t even think about that!”

“You thought I would prefer a track that I’ve already driven and won at?”

“I forgot the implications of my own question,” You giggled at yourself. “Anyways, I think that’s enough for today’s episode. The blog post will be up tomorrow, and the video will be up by Sunday. We’ll see you on the track!”

~~~~~

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pseudophan · 2 days

Note

for real ppl need to be so serious about what theyre putting in the tag 😭 its genuinely embarassing reading all the posts in that tag that dnp do NOT need to see 😔 also some ppl are just tagging like every post they make. babe if you want a notice try being funny

i am just actively avoiding the tag atp it was pissing me off lmaooo like there's a lot of good stuff in there but in between the good stuff is a lot of first of all just shit dnp do not need to see (jokes are fine, genuine theorising about things is a bit much) and also yeah people tagging everything they've ever posted like clearly i'm a fucking idiot for having standards and not submitting shit cause i don't feel like i have anything worthy of it cause people do NOT share my concerns 😭

like i don't want to be mean and i guess it's not That big of a deal but.. lets be real they're barely going to look through the tumblr tag anyway and it kinda sucks that the little time they will spend in there will just be a lot of spam and shit that shouldn't be for them idk

#answered

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allysunny · 14 hours

Text

Lover, Everything I Do, I Do It for the Love of You

Pairing: Yandere!Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Your marriage to Aaron seemed like a dream come true. But beneath his loving facade lies a dark obsession, which you find out too late. As Aaron's controlling nature turns more abusive, you're forced to confront the nightmare your life has become. How much longer will you be able to endure his twisted version of "love"?

Words: 13k words

Warnings: Yandere, controlling, obsessive and abusive behaviour. Probably OOC Aaron, but, well, it's kind of the point. I'm not joking here, this is terrifying. No happy endings here. Abusive relationship, emotional blackmail, emotional and physical abuse, gaslighting, Aaron is terrible in this one, I'm so sorry, physical violence, angst, lots of crying, mentions of pregnancy. If I forgot anything, do let me know!!!

A/N: Hey everyone!!! Oh my god, I have finally posted the yandere!hotch fic. I'm sorry it took me so long, I had this one stupid exam I had to study for - I studied like a bitch okay, please pray for me, I hope I get a good grade.

Anyways, here it is!!! I'm very proud of this one - I've had this specific scenario in my head for a while and I really wanted to write it out. I'm also aware of the fact that Aaron being abusive and controlling and posessive might be extremely OOC, but I just really wanted to explore a potential darker version of him.

I really hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

You were reading on your couch when the front door opened, causing you to look up in anticipation.

That’s how you usually passed the time, nowadays. Reading. You had other hobbies, sure. Things like baking and knitting and crocheting and gardening and pottery and probably dozens of others you could name. Things that kept you busy while you were home. Things that kept you from missing him too much when he was gone. Things that kept you from going insane. But he’d just arrived, so your book was quickly discarded on top of the couch, and your feet brought you to him, almost as if second nature – because it probably was. You’d always find your way to Aaron Hotchner.

“Welcome home!” you all but exclaiming, throwing your arms around his neck. He reciprocated the gesture, although opting to wrap his around your waist, as his head dropped to the crook of your neck.

“Hello, dear,” he whispered against your skin, shoulders dropping in relief. Aaron loved coming home to you. He loved coming to you – his home. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you ran your fingers through his hair, happy to hold him so close after such few long days. You missed him so much every time he was gone, so cherishing the moments when he was home was a must. “Thought about you all the time.”

“Really? Because I thought about you the whole time,” Aaron replied, pushing away from you to kiss the top of your forehead. He smelled like cologne and exhaustion, like the dangers of his work, a smell you were far too familiar with by now. “How about I take a quick shower and then you can tell me all about your week?”

You nodded excitedly, sending your husband off to clean himself while you got the kitchen ready for dinner. You usually ate at around seven, and it was nearly six, so if you wanted to spend some time in the couch talking to Aaron, you had to at least get everything ready. You heard the water running and smiled to yourself – how nice it was to have him home after so many days all by yourself. You prepared the ingredients and placed every tool exactly where it should be, so you could quickly get to making dinner.

In a few minutes, your husband was back, wearing a simple black shirt (that hugged his arms incredibly well, making your mouth water at the sight), and a pair of loose grey sweatpants. You loved seeing him like this – Not the fearless SSA Aaron Hotchner, nor the stoic Unit Chief, nor the commanding Agent Hotchner. He was simply Aaron, sweet, sweet Aaron who discarded his suits for comfortable sweats, who switched crime for a night of cooking and dancing in the kitchen with you, who would protect you and keep you safe all his life.

“Welcome back, handsome,” you smiled at him as he walked towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist, effectively trapping you against the kitchen counter.

“Thank you, beautiful.” Aaron raised his hand to caress your cheek and you leaned into his touch, sighing contentedly. “So, tell me. How was your day?”

You told him all about it.

How after he left, you cooked a massive breakfast spread for yourself, preparing different kinds of toasts, jams, sides, and drinks. After you were done, you sat outside, bathing in the soft morning sunlight, a toast in your hand, and your newest book acquisition in the other. You told him how you did some nice spring cleaning, dusting off the windows and the cabinets to keep the dust and cobwebs out. You told him about your lunch, which you gobbled up happily as you caught up on your favourite show, and how in the afternoon, you alternated between sewing and reading and painting, and the other thousand hobbies you had.

You loved Aaron. You really did. He was your husband, the love of your life, the only person you wanted to spend eternity with. You loved waking up to him and feeling his arms around you as you fell asleep. You’d jump in front of a train for him, take a bullet for him, and you would spend the rest of your lives together showing him just how much you did truly love him. He was your soulmate.

“Did you leave the house?” he asked softly, hand still caressing the soft skin of your cheek.

You loved Aaron. You really did.

“No.”

That’s why you lied.

Aaron was protective. He’d lost coworkers, friends, and his ex-wife to his gruesome job, and he worried so very much about you. He could be overprotective, though.

He searched your face for any kind of doubt, of untruthfulness, or deceit. You worried he would be able to read you like an open book – after all, you’d been married for a few years now. He probably could. But you prided yourself in being able to do some little profiling of your own, and schooled your features into a soft smile, the one you knew had him weak.

“Good.” His hand dropped to your neck, where he slowly rubbed circles with his thumb. “Wouldn’t want you in any danger.”

“I know,” you mumbled with a small shrug.

“I love you. All I want is for you to be safe.”

“I know. I love you too.”

After a while of gazing into your eyes, Aaron pulled away, but not before placing a chaste kiss on top of your head. “How about we get started on dinner? No need to rush this way.”

You nodded towards him and settled around the kitchen.

You moved around each other like second nature, passing tools and ingredients back and forth as you needed them. The soft humming of the radio Aaron had turned on buzzed in the background, making the atmosphere much more domestic. Sometimes you stole glances at him and smiled at his focused expression. The furrowed brows and thinly pressed lips, the image of composure and dedication. That’s who Aaron was, through and through. Dedicated.

Since you took your sweet time, dinner was ready at exactly seven o’clock. Punctual, just how Aaron liked it. You set the table and were sat down to eat before ten past seven. Precise, just how Aaron liked it.

As you ate, he told you about his day. The files on top of his desk he had to review, the case he had to go on, the intricacies of his job. Aaron never went into too much detail – he did not want to taint you with the ugliness of his job, wanted to keep you beautiful and untouched forever. You did not need to know all the ugly details he and his team had to deal with.

“Speaking of, JJ is organising a birthday party for Henry,” Aaron mentioned. “She has invited us.”

You were so happy you could burst with joy.

“Really?” You asked, putting down your fork to look at him with a bright smile on your face.

“Really. Would you like to go?”

“Yes!” It came out more eager than what you expected, so you tried to cough it out and try again. “Yeah, I’d really love that, Aaron. I miss the kids so much.”

“I thought you might. It’s settled then, we’re going.”

You ate the remainder of your food with a smile playing on your lips, and a small idea turning in your head. He seemed to be in a good mood. He took a relaxing shower, helped you make dinner, and had now told you the two of you were going to a birthday party. Surely, he was feeling happy, surely you could try and sweeten your night a bit more.

“You know, maybe it’s a good time to mention that Mrs. Robinson came by yesterday,” you said, trying to be as casual as possible.

Aaron immediately looked up, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Why did she come here? What did she want?”

“Gosh, Aaron, you act as if she’s a psychopathic serial killer,” you said with a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “She’s a sweet old lady.”

“Hm. So? Why did she stop by?”

“She wanted to know if I was interested in joining her book club.”

Aaron went back to eating his food, and you saw it as your chance to keep talking.

“They meet at the library every Thursday to discuss the books they’re reading. Some neighbourhood ladies are part of it, and she sees me reading in the garden so she thought I might be interested.”

Your husband kept eating, looking at the plate before him. You kept talking.

“I am. Interested, that is. I’d love to join her book club.”

“No.”

Your felt your stomach sinking but fought against it. Do not be emotional. Be rational. Be assertive. See this through.

“Why not?” you asked, bringing your glass of water to your lips. Be casual. It’s a request like any other. You’re not desperate.

“Because I don’t think it is a good idea.” He still refused to meet your eyes.

“You think it’s a bad idea for me to meet with a bunch of old ladies at the local library to discuss books?”

“I do. And I don’t want you doing it.”

“Aaron, come on. It’s just a book club, it’s not like anything is going to happen to me.” You pleaded, dreading the feeling of your throat tightening. You knew it meant the tears weren’t long due.

“Every week for God knows how long?” This time he raised his head, looking at you straight in the eyes. Unfortunately, you did not recognise your sweet husband in them. This was all Unit Chief, all SSA, all Agent. “If you create a pattern, you’ll be easier to track. I won’t have that happen to you.”

“I’ll be safe, I promise. I can take cabs instead of walking.”

“Abductions can occur better that way. Once you’re taken to a second location, your chances of survival decrease dramatically.”

“I’ll carry pepper spray then. Take self-defence classes.”

“Pepper spray is nothing to an experienced killer.”

“What if I take the bus?”

“You can’t expect me to agree to you going on a public transport where countless other strangers could also be.”

“I’ll get a ride with some of the ladies then.” You were running out of excuses, out of options, out of ways to convincing him, and the harshness of his voice and eyes were causing you to tear up quicker than expected.

“They might have ulterior motives.”

“They’re sweet old ladies, Aaron, I’ll be fine.” You were exasperated by now, voice shaky and wobbly. “It’s just a book club, it’s not like anything will happen to me – “

“I said no.” Aaron smacked his hands on the dinner table, causing you to flinch backwards. You looked at him, wide eyes in terror and tears streaming down your face. Aaron had never raised your voice at you, and while he was sometimes physical with the world around him – not you, though, never you – this was the first time in a while he took out his frustrations like this. You thought he had been doing well. You thought you had been doing well.

Turns out you were wrong.

“You will not be leaving this house any time soon, not for a book club, not for anything.” He looked at you with the stern gaze solely reserved for criminals, unsubs, for people who did bad things, for the bad people he caught. You never thought you’d be in the receiving end of this stare. It made your stomach churn. You hated it. “And I’m starting to think it’s a bad idea to go to Henry’s birthday party. I’ll tell JJ we’re otherwise engaged.”

Your eyes widened even more, if that was even possible, and you shook your head repeatedly.

“No – please, don’t. I miss them so much, I miss the team, I miss the kids, I – “ You stuttered pathetically, trying to keep the tears from falling, but failing miserably.

“You’re going to stay here, and you’re not going to go anywhere else. Understood?” He asked you, voice booming in the tiny kitchen, making you feel small and weak and utterly powerless – Aaron had you stuck to your chair without having even touched you.

“I want to go out – please, JJ invited us! I haven’t seen everyone in so long, I’m sorry, please let me go.”

Aaron said your name with a sternness and venom you had never recognised before in your shared time together. It made your surprised expression fall, leaving only sadness.

“I won’t tolerate any more defiance from you. If I were you, I’d watch my words carefully. You know I have never so much as even lifted a hand towards you, but I won’t hesitate to show you what happens when you disobey me. Is that clear?”

Pure, sheer terror was running through your veins. You never thought you’d see Aaron like this. You’d upset him once or twice when he first set the boundaries you now lived by, but he had never behaved the way he was behaving now. It terrified you, and all you wanted was your sweet Aaron back, the one that had cooked dinner with you earlier, the one who had tasted the food off your lips for a “quality check” and pinched your side playfully when you made a dirty joke. Not whoever this was.

You quickly stood up, placing your dishes in the dishwasher, and ran to your shared bedroom, where you slammed the door behind you (a terrible idea and you knew it, but you were far too upset to care) and collapsed on your bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

You wanted to go out. You wanted to go meet JJ and the team, wanted to talk to all of them again. Wanted to discuss books with Spencer and advise Penelope on the new nail polish you’d began using. Wanted to ask Rossi for wine recommendations, because your anniversary with Aaron was approaching and you wanted to order him something nice – order, of course. You never shopped by yourself in person.

In fact, you never shopped in person anymore.

Aaron’s rules had started out simple. You could understand why a man like him would want to protect you from the horrors of this world. But as the weeks turned into months, and the months turned into years, the rules had shifted, the boundaries reinforced, and you felt more caged than ever. Nowadays, you’re not allowed to leave the house. Period. You can go to your backyard, sunbathe in your garden, and spend some time there, but aside from that, you’re confined to the walls of your house.

Sometimes, Aaron offered you to take you places. He hadn’t, in a long time. Henry’s birthday party would be the first time in months you’d leave your house. Well, save for that secret escapade of yours, but that was not nearly enough to satiate your hunger for the outside world.

And now that was gone.

You wailed loudly, hugging your pillow, and wishing for things to be different. You missed going out. You missed talking to your friends over coffee or tea and strolling down the park when the weather was nice. You barely saw your friends nowadays. They were too busy with their lives, and often met up with each other to hang out. Your reply, unfortunately, had become the same.

Sorry girls, I’m busy.

It was disheartening and you hated it. But you also loved Aaron, which made everything harder.

Speaking of Aaron, you thought about your little secret outing of today. You put on some baggy clothes, wore a pair of sunglasses, and walked to the nearest park. You sat down on the grass, watched as people walked by, even pet a few dogs. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t really a luxurious outing, but it had been exactly what you needed. Some fresh air, some real walking, not the pacing you did around the house, worrying yourself and driving yourself insane. You thought no one had recognised you, which was great, because you had no idea what Aaron would do if he found out.

That’s why he couldn’t.

You stayed there, crying your heart out, clutching your pillow like a lifeline. All you’d asked Aaron was to go to a book club. Surely that did not warrant the level of protection he was intent on giving you, right? Surely, going out every Thursday to discuss books with half a dozen old ladies was not that bad, right?

After a while – was it seconds? Minutes? Hours? You couldn’t tell – you heard the bedroom door being opened and felt the bed dip by your side.

“Go away,” you mumbled, not interested in whatever kind of comfort he was about to give you. You wanted to cry, to scream, to yell. You wanted to walk outside and do all the things you had been forbidden to do. Instead, you curled away from him, eyes tightly closed.

“Honey…” Aaron mumbled, but not attempting to scoot closer. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I never wanted to yell at you like that or threaten you. I’m really sorry for my behaviour.” His hand slowly crept up to your shoulder, and he caressed your skin through the soft fabric of your shirt. You knew Aaron liked to have his hands on you. While in public (well, whenever you two went out in public at least), he hated PDA, behind closed doors he was a clingy mess, reaching to touch you at every moment. “You just have to understand that I care about you, and I want to keep you safe.”

“A book club isn’t going to hurt me,” you choked out, shaking your head against the covers.

“When you have a job like mine, see the things I see… it’s hard to draw the line between what could be safe and what couldn’t.” Aaron reached forward, brushing some strands of hair out of your face and sighing. “I’m sorry. I know I worry too much, but whenever I go to work and see all the terrible things that happen to innocent people… It’s not nice, darling. It makes me even more anxious.”

You turned around tentatively, not wanting to let him win this argument and your good graces back so quickly, but still willing to listen to whatever he had to say.

“Whenever I think of the possibility that one day, it could be your picture I’m looking at in my conference room… I don’t think I can describe the anguish it causes me.”

You hummed softly. Aaron dropped his hand to his side, and you hesitantly picked it back up. Goodness, you did not even want to think of that possibility. Him trying to solve your murder. Your murder. You being hurt and tortured and killed.

That was an outcome you never wanted to face. Just thinking of the pain it would cause Aaron makes your stomach do a very unpleasant flip.

“And after I told you about Henry’s birthday, I thought you’d be happy. I thought you’d like it, being able to leave for a while and hang out with my team – I know how much you love them.” A small smile graced Aaron’s lips, and it almost lifted your spirits. Almost. “But instead of that, you asked me for more. I just felt like you weren’t being grateful of what I offered you. Like you wanted more than what I could give you. And after the week I had… I think I just exploded. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

Oh.

“I wasn’t even sure if I was going to tell you about the birthday party… I wanted to keep you here, away from all harm. But I knew just how happy it would make you, so I overlooked my own fear. And it felt like you weren’t being appreciative of what I was giving you. I’m sorry, honey. I really am.”

Embarrassment crept up to your cheeks.

He was right.

You knew Aaron was protective. Knew he cared about you. Telling you about Henry’s birthday party must’ve taken a great deal of courage for him, and here you were, asking for even more. You felt foolish right now, you felt like an annoying spoiled brat. And it wasn’t nice at all.

“I’m sorry,” you replied, turning to him fully and scooting closer. He met you halfway and scooped you up in his arms, sitting you down on his lap. You rested your forehead against his chest and only the feel of his arms around you was enough for the waterworks to start again. “I just wanted to go out,” you sobbed into his chest, clutching his shirt, and refusing to meet his eye.

“I know, sweetheart,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair, and caressing you. “And if you hadn’t said anything about that silly book club, we could’ve gone out and had fun at Henry’s birthday party.”

“I really wanna go, though,” you shook your head and clutched his shirt tighter, “Please, let me go. We can have a good time together. Please, I’ll do anything you say, I’ll be good.”

Aaron pressed a soft kiss on top of your head, hugging you just a tad closer.

“I’m sorry, darling. We can’t go to the birthday party. You need to understand that your actions have consequences, alright? Next time, you won’t be so bratty and ungrateful, and maybe we’ll go.” The harshness of his words felt odd when he said them in such a gentle manner. You knew Aaron was capable of whispering kind words and loving promises, but also knew he could rip people to shreds with his words alone. You just didn’t expect to be at the receiving end of them.

“But I was good…” you sniffled.

“Now, now.” He lifted your chin up with his fingers, gazing into your eyes with that same old affection you were so used to, eyes scanning your face and landing on your red eyes and runny nose. “Is demanding for more time out after I’d just granted you some being good?”

You shook your head, truly embarrassed, but decided not to say anything.

“I don’t think you deserve to go out then.”

It was enough for you to tear up again, heartbreak evident in your eyes and the way loud ugly sobs were ripped from your throat. Aaron simply held you against him, shushing you, placing kisses in whatever spot he could reach. He comforted you silently, as he often did when you were distressed or anxious.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, hiding your face against his chest. “I’m sorry, I want to be good, I want to go out, please…”

You sounded so defeated, it broke Aaron’s heart. But at the end of the day, he was only doing his job: protecting you. If it made you cry and suffer a bit, then so be it. You could scream all you wanted, but at least you’d be safe.

“I’m sorry, darling. You need to know your actions have consequences. Tell you what, I’ll make it an even better day, alright?”

You looked up at him, sniffling.

“You will?”

“I will,” brushing a strand of hair aside from your face, Aaron whispered, “We can order some food, if you’d like. Your favourites. Then we can curl up on the couch and watch some movies. We’ll have a cosy day, just the two of us, hm? I’ll even get you that console you’ve told me about, the one you really wanted.”

It’s been a while since you’d been able to have a cosy day with Aaron. He was always so busy with work, and even when he was home, he’d lock himself inside his home office and work some more. The idea of spending a whole day curled up in his arms as you watched movies, played some games and ate your favourite food was extremely tempting. In fact, it was just what you needed.

“Really? Just the two of us?”

“Just the two of us,” he repeated, kissing the top of your head once more and tightening his hold on you. You figured you could do it. A cosy day with your sweet, sweet Aaron.

After all, he was all you needed, right?

Your cosy day together went extremely well, and it reminded you of why you’d fallen in love with this man. He’d started it by bringing you breakfast in bed, as well as fresh flowers and telling you just how pretty you were and how much he loved you. After you were done eating your share, Aaron decided to have his and spend nearly two hours in between your legs, drawing sweet, sweet noises from you and drinking them up.

After that, you showered together, you spent some time in the garden. Aaron helped you with your flowers and your small vegetable garden, and you even picked up some veggies for lunch – which Aaron so gladly helped you make. After that, you sat on the couch as your husband cleaned the kitchen, picking a movie to watch. You ended up settling on a rom-com – not really your husband’s favourite genre, but it’s not like he could say no to you after he’d promised a day all about you.

After the movie was done, you caught up on some of your buddy-reads. Even if Aaron did not allow you to join a book club, he still made sure to pick books up and read them with you. It was another way to connect with you, even if just for a while. He found himself texting you when on the jet, asking you if you’d made it to chapter 4 of whatever current reading the both of you were going through, and asking you not to spoil him. Today, you managed to finish the thriller you’d picked up a few weeks ago and shared your thoughts and theories over a nice cup of tea.

Then, Aaron prepared a nice bath for the both of you. You drank champagne and ate strawberries as you played with the bubbles and nuzzled into his neck, and you could swear it was the happiest you’d ever been. Later, he’d ordered from your favourite place, and you’d eaten on the couch, laughing at some silly comedy movie you’d been meaning to watch for some time now.

It was a perfect day of Aaron proving to you just how much he loved you, from making you breakfast in bed to even feeding you bite after bite after he jokingly told you his beautiful wife “wouldn’t have to lift a finger while he was home”. It ended up proving to be true, since he did not allow you to do anything.

Later that night, you felt foolish – being ungrateful and bratty, and instead of being mad at you, Aaron was acting like your servant, catering to your every need, and giving you everything you could possibly want. You were so lucky – how come you’d managed to find a man like him? Days like this made you reevaluate your actions towards your husband. It was unfair to treat him the way you did when he was nothing short of a prince or a king.

A king who kept you captive in his tower, a little voice in your head screamed.

You tried not to listen to it.

Aaron had lost people before. He wanted to protect you. To save you. Case closed.

A few weeks later, one Sunday morning, you were looking through your drawers in your bedroom, brow burrowed in confusion.

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” Aaron asked, walking inside, and leaning against the doorframe. You loved it when he did that, seemingly so carefree and reckless. You thought him to be the most handsome man in the world, and his good looks only increased whenever his brow wasn’t furrowed, or his face buried in work.

“Yeah, I – I just can’t find my phone anywhere,” you huffed, “I could’ve sworn I left it on top of my bedside table.”

“You won’t be finding it any time soon.” Aaron replied nonchalantly, which caused you to turn and raise a questioning eyebrow.

“What?”

“I took your phone from you, honey. I didn’t think you’d be needing it, so I took it away.”

The calmness with which he said these words left you speechless. You loved your phone. It was your connection to the outside world. It was how you texted your friends and documented sweet moments with Aaron. It was how you kept up with your family, and currently, it was how you were preparing for your anniversary, looking for gifts that might be of interest to your husband. To take that away from you was a breach of privacy.

“Why would you do that?” You crossed your arms, sitting down on your bed. Maybe if you spoke with him calmly, rationally, if you didn’t get emotional and desperate, he’d listen to you. It was normal for you to have a phone. No need to take it away.

“I read through your text messages.”

What?

“You did what?”

“You seem to chat an awful lot with Reid. Mind telling me why?”

You scoffed, offendedthat your husband not only went through your texts but was also coming up with some pretty serious – false – accusations.

“Aaron, what the hell are you talking about?” You asked him, trying your best to remain calm.

“In fact, you seem to text him more often than you text me.” A twitch of his jaw.

“That’s because you tell me not to contact you when you’re working.”

“So is Reid and that doesn’t seem to stop you.” A click of his jaw.

“We’re just two friends talking, Aaron. You had no right – “

“You had no right to go behind my back and talk to my coworkers twenty-four-seven. What did you expect me to think, huh?” Aaron approached you, brows furrowed and arms now at his side. You could see his fists were clenched, and it somehow scared you. “Maybe I’ve been too lenient, letting you contact whoever you wanted at any time you wanted. Should I have Garcia look into your search history?”

“You can’t do that!” You stood up, mortified. He wouldn’t do it, now would he? Aaron trusted you – trust was the bane of your relationship, as it was the bane of any relationship. And right now, he was basically telling you he had none for you, taking your privacy away and threatening to investigate your internet activity. You were doing nothing wrong – your usual movie and documentary-watching, book-reading, game-playing, whatever. Hell, you kept it PG and Safe for Work. It’s not like Aaron would be displeased with what he found. But it was still disrespectful, and it proved to you that your husband did not trust you.

“I can, and maybe I will. I’ve been giving you everything and this is how you repay me? By going behind my back? Talking to my coworkers? Am I not enough, is that it? Do you not love your husband anymore?”

You were crying by now, and hated yourself for turning soft, for turning sentimental when you promised you wouldn’t.

“I do love you, Aaron, you’re the only one I want,” you told him, approaching him slowly.

“Then why are you talking to Rossi, of all people, at one in the morning? What could possibly so important that you must call him when we’re away on cases at one in the morning?”

“It’s not that you think!”

“Then what is it, huh? Getting tired of your marriage, is it?”

You lifted your hand to cup Aaron’s face, as you often did when he was nervous or distressed and wanted to calm him down. This time, however, it didn’t go according to your plans. Aaron grabbed your wrist, pressing it uncomfortably until it hurt.

“Fuck – Ow, Aaron, you’re hurting me – “

“I don’t let you outside to keep you safe,” he nearly spat out, “To protect you. And this is what you do? Everything I do, I do it because I love you!”

“You’re hurting me, please let go, we can talk about this – “

“Why were you calling my coworkers so late in the night?” It wasn’t even a question at this point, it was a demand, with how he barked it, twisting your wrist as he yelled.

“Let me go!”

“Answer me!”

“Let me go!”

Aaron pulled you closer to him by your wrist, causing you to wince in pain. Tears were streaming down on your cheeks, and instead of immediately letting go upon noticing them, Aaron just held onto you tighter. “Answer me. Why have you been calling my coworkers so late?”

“I’m just asking for help!” you cried, shaking your head, unable to look your husband in the eyes. “I wanted to give you something nice for your anniversary, so I was asking around!”

This made Aaron stop dead in his tracks. His eyes widened and he loosened the grip on your wrist. Your anniversary. Right. As he watched you stumble back a few steps and caress the bruised skin of your arm, Aaron shook his head. Was he becoming a tyrant? He wasn’t, was he? It was completely normal for him to be worried. Who knew what you could do with a phone. Meet someone else and leave him. Get tricked and hurt. Get taken from him. None were possibilities he wanted to even think about – hence removing this type of contact with the outside world. You were better off where no one could reach you. Where he could protect you and take care of you. After all, your safety and happiness were the only thing Aaron cared about.

And yet here you were, sitting down on your shared bed, sobbing your heart out, clutching your wrist near your chest, far too scared to meet his eye.

He had to fix this. Quick.

“I – “ you hiccupped, looking at the floor, “I called Rossi because I wanted to get you a bottle of w-wine. Something special to c-commemorate a special date.” After you let go of your wrist, no longer that sore (but still red from Aaron’s grip), you hid your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with each sob that got ripped off your throat. “I called the others because I wanted you to have the night to yourself. They were supposed to take on your workload slowly, so you could go home on time on our day.”

Aaron was glued to his spot. He wanted to reach out to you, but he also knew you needed space. He’d behaved like a monster. He felt like a monster. But he wasn’t. Right? You can’t blame a man for wanting to protect his wife. The woman he loves. Everything he did, he did it out of love. Even if it hurt sometimes.

“I just wanted our anniversary to be special.” This seemed to be the breaking point. You fell back on the bed and curled into yourself in a foetal position, crying loudly. “And now the surprise is ruined, and you hate me, and I can’t even have my phone back.”

This seemed to break something inside Aaron as well. Not the bit about your phone – he couldn’t care less about that. The less you could contact the outside world, the better. No, the bit about him hating you. Because how could he ever hate you, the woman he loved above everything else? The woman that made his life worth it? The woman that made getting out of bed every day to catch serial killers worth it? The woman he was working so hard to protect? The woman who had taught him what love was?

“Darling…” he knelt next to the bed and attempted to lay a hand on your leg. You flinched away from him, and he winced. You’d never rejected his touch. Even when you were mad at him, you never found it in yourself to reject him. You both knew how fickle and unpredictable life could be and did not want to waste it in petty quarrels. No one knew what tomorrow may bring.

This seemed different, though.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, moving to sit on the bed next to you. You felt his weight on the mattress and curled into yourself even tighter.

“I just wanted to do something nice…”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

“And you yelled at me.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“And hurt me.”

The venom behind your words caused him to grimace. Venom did not taste nice on your tongue. But as much as he wanted to punish you for using that tone with him, he couldn’t. He had to coax you out of your shell, make you trust him again.

“I know. I’m sorry, darling.”

“Are you?”

“I am.”

You stayed in silence for a while. Your sobs eventually subsided, and your breathing evened out as you stared away from your husband. But it was him who broke the silence, not able to bear it any longer.

“May I hold you?”

“I don’t want you to touch me right now. I want you to go away.”

Aaron inhaled deeply. He had to remain calm.

“Darling, please let me hold you. I feel terrible. Please let me make it up to you.”

You pondered it. Right now, all you wanted was to be alone. The last thing you wanted was his hands on you – especially when they’d caused you so much pain just a few minutes ago.

“No. Go away.”

Aaron clenched his fist next to him. Why couldn’t you just understand he was doing this all for you? For your protection?

Still, he sighed and moved to stand up, accepting his defeat – for now. He’d have to win you over, but he couldn’t do that right now, when your head was still hot and your hatred for him probably ran deep.

“If you need me, I’ll be in the living room.”

After Aaron closed the door behind him, you felt into a deep slumber.

Next morning, you awoke to the smell of pancakes, and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on – something sweet. Making your way to the kitchen, you found your husband near the stove, a white apron wrapped around his body (most likely the one you’d gifted him a few years ago, the one with the Kiss the Cook print).

As your eyes roamed around the kitchen, they fell on the big bouquet of flowers sitting on top of the kitchen table, and the box of chocolates next to it. You cringed. Was he trying to bribe you? And then you examined said flowers and chocolate closer.

The flowers were the same as the ones you wore on your wedding bouquet. An unwilling smile made its way to your lips as you approached the delicate flowers and took in their scent. Fresh and as lovely as you remembered, the colourful flowers brought back memories of the happiest day of your life.

The chocolate box next to them was the same brand as the chocolates Aaron usually got for you whenever he was away on cases since they weren’t available in your state.

When had he gotten these?

“Good morning beautiful,” your husband said, turning to you and placing a plate full of pancakes on the table. He gave you a sheepish smile and leaned against the counter. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did,” you nodded, “What is all this?”

“My way of apologizing.” Aaron placed a glass of orange juice in front of your plate, as well as different jams and ingredients you could have your pancakes with. He had sliced bananas, butter, cheese and ham, jams, even strawberries. He’d really thought this through. “I behaved like an animal last night, and I want to make it up to you. I’m sorry, darling. I really am.”

You hummed and sat down. Fuck, those pancakes did smell good. Really good. You missed having Aaron cook for you. You could do it fine on your own, sure, but whenever he did it for you, it just filled your heart with immense warmth, because it just went to show just how much he loved you. How much he loved caring for you.

“You really hurt me last night, Aaron. You squeezed my wrist – you hurt me; do you understand?” You hoped your voice would convey just how angry you were with him. Not only had he looked through your phone and taken it from you, but he’d also squeezed your wrist and yelled. Aaron had once promised never to raise his voice or hand at you, and yesterday, he’d broken both those promises. “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

Aaron’s eye twitched. Can’t forgive him? No. Impossible. Undoable. You had to forgive him. You were his wife. His to protect, his to love, his to own. Still. He kept calm. He took a deep breath and knelt next do you, hands resting on your legs.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to remedy what I did. In fact,” Aaron leaned back and grabbed something off one of the chairs, giving it to you right away. At first you were sceptical. Was he trying to buy you? He should know this was not how relationships work. Sure, he was wealthy, but it didn’t mean he could fix everything wrong with your relationship just by buying you something –

“I thought it would look lovely on you when we went out today.” Aaron spoke as you lifted the piece of fabric off the paper back. It was a lovely yellow dress, that you figured would reach below your knees. The fabric was soft, and it took everything in you not to rub it against your face – hell, it felt like heaven. And it was very pretty too, with little flower details that resembled a watercolour painting covering the dress. It was beautiful. “I thought we could go out today. You mentioned wanting to go to the market near the square? I can start making amends by taking you there, by showing you off like you deserve to be shown off. I don’t want to keep you captive here, sweetheart. I’m so sorry for the way I behaved. I promise, it’ll never happen again.”

You were speechless. Aaron was taking you out.

Shit. You hadn’t gone out since that little secret outing of yours. And as far as he was concerned, you hadn’t gone out in months. Was this it? Was your husband finally seeing how wrong his ways were? Was he finally changing?

“I’ve been so unfair, locking you up here, darling.” He reached out to touch your face, and you willingly let him. “All I wanted was to protect you, and I ended up hurting you. I hope this shows you just how much I love you, and how much I regret my past actions.”

You let his words sink in.

You knew letting you go out was Aaron’s biggest fears. He wanted nothing bad to happen to you, was far too scared that you would get hurt.

And now, he was letting go of his own fears. He was swallowing his pride and doubts and apprehensions because he wanted to apologise. Because he wanted to prove to you that he was sorry and that he did care about you and never wanted to hurt you. He was willing to break his number one rule for you.

And was there a greater display of affection?

“You really hurt me, Aaron…” you repeated, unconsciously rubbing at your wrists. Aaron noticed it immediately – didn’t take a profiler to do that and covered your hands with his own.

“I know. I will never forgive myself for that. But I’ll work until the end of my days to get you to do it. I love you, honey. The last thing I do is to hurt you. All I care about is your happiness.”

You looked away, bottom lip in between your teeth. A whole day out. Aaron wanted to go out. You’d finally leave the house (again). With him. You’d have fun. You’d enjoy yourself. You’d wear a nice dress and spend the day with your lovely husband.

Was there anything more perfect than that?

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere you want, darling. I’ll take you out wherever you want. You can plan our whole day to your heart’s desire.”

A smile made its way to your lips. Not only were you getting to go out with your husband, but you were also permitted to plan it any way you want. And that was absolutely lovely. Your husband, the control-freak, the man obsessed with being on top of things, the one who freaked out whenever things got out of hand, was relishing control.

To you.

You smiled widely and wrapped your arms around Aaron’s neck, pulling him in for a tight hug. He reciprocated, of course, letting out a sigh of relief. You were back. You’d gone back to him. Just how he had wanted you to.

You buried your face in his neck, murmuring sweet “I love yous” and “Thank yous” that he responded to with a few kisses to your head and cheeks.

If allowing you to go out with him for a day was what took for you to forgive him, he’d do it. It was crushing him, of course, knowing that you’d be outside, for all to see. Knowing that anyone could easily hurt you made something turn and churn inside Aaron’s stomach, but he said nothing. He was willing to sacrifice one day for the sake of your marriage. After all, he’d be there next to you. He was a trainer FBI Agent, for crying out loud. If he couldn’t protect you, what kind of man would that make him out to be?

No, he thought, it is extremely necessary.

“I love you, Aaron,” You whispered against his skin, feeling safe in his warm embrace. Last night had clearly been a mistake. He was angry, he was jealous, he was insecure, of course. You’d probably feel that way too if you found out he was calling other women past your bedtime, wouldn’t you? He just didn’t know what to do with his anger and got too passionate that’s it.

These were the words you told yourself as you smiled and hugged the man before you. The man that very much resembled the one you fell in love with, the sweet Aaron who’d promised to love and cherish you through thick and thin. Last night had been a small bump on the road, that’s it. Every marriage has a few every now and then. If you could push past this, it meant that your marriage would only get stronger and stronger as the years went by.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Aaron replied, cupping your face to get a good look at you. His eyes roamed across your features, resting on the eyes he sought whenever he needed comfort, on the eyelashes he so often found himself swooning at whenever you batted them softly, on the lovely cheeks he loved to hold after a rough day, on the lips that tasted like home any time he pressed them against his.

Swallowing his pride and fears would be worth it to get your forgiveness.

You sat up straight once more and dug into your breakfast. As always, it was fantastic. Aaron was a great cook – and although you did most of the cooking because of his busy schedule, having him cook for you was something you loved.

“Alright, you think about what we’re going to do, sweetheart,” Aaron said as he stood up and kissed the top of your head. “I’m going to take a shower.”

You nodded enthusiastically and smiled to yourself, going through all the things you’d like to do today. There were a few places you wanted to visit, some activities you wanted to do, and you had to choose them carefully. Who knew the next time Aaron would let you go out? After a few minutes, you had a nice list on a sheet of paper beside you, and were brimming with excitement.

It was going to be the best day ever.

And to your credit, it really was.

You hadn’t been this happy in ages.

All thanks to Aaron.

Your anniversary was quickly approaching.

Well, “quickly” was an understatement.

It was in two days, and you were so excited you could combust. After all, it was the anniversary of the happiest day in your life. The day you tied the knot with Aaron, the day you promised you’d be his, and him yours, the day where you swore to him a life of love, loyalty, and companionship.

Why wouldn’t you want to celebrate that?

You’d spent the entire day on your living room, papers and notebooks spread out on the couch and the coffee table before you, as well as some pencils and pens. You needed to plan this out perfectly. You were thinking about taking Aaron out to his favourite restaurant. Granted, it’d meant he would have to let you go out, but you figured he wouldn’t be able to say no in such a happy day.

You’d planned his gifts too – a bottle of wine, one that he had mentioned drinking a few years ago before you’d met and loved (thank Rossi for helping you find that one out), a new watch with your initials engraved inside (thank heavens you’d placed the order before Aaron took away your phone), and you had a lovely, lovely lingerie piece hidden away in your closet that you couldn’t wait for him to get a look at. It was going to be the perfect night; you were sure of it.

Aaron’s team had been taking workload off his desk as they promised, which meant your husband had been coming home to you earlier and earlier. Not only it was great for you, who missed him terribly, but also fantastic for him. Heavens knew how much Aaron needed to get some rest and sleep. These past few days, the bags under his eyes seemed to have disappeared and he wasn’t constantly exhausted. So, all your hard work had been paying off.

You just needed your anniversary to work out as well as everything else had.

As soon as the click of the door’s lock reached your ears, you scrambled to put away your things, not wanting to ruin the surprised you’d so thoroughly planned. Sure, Aaron knew about the wine, but he had no idea about the watch, the plans, and the flimsy piece of fabric you were sure he’d love.

“Hello, darling,” you greeted him as usual, turning around and offering him a smile. “How was work?”

But the sight before you sent chills down your spine, as opposed to bring you comfort.

Aaron was standing by the doorstep, eyes fixed on the ground below him. His jaw was tightened, and you could make out how white his knuckles were as he held onto his briefcase. He looked distressed, and it worried you.

“Darling?” You asked, carefully placing your notebooks under a pillow, and standing up. “Is everything okay?” You slowly moved around the couch to take his briefcase and his jacket, as you sometimes did when he was particularly tired – he usually liked it whenever you took care of him.

However, it was impossible to pry the briefcase away from his iron grip. You hummed and looked at him, trying to, for once, be the profiler. Must’ve been a rough case. You knew how gruesome some of them could be, and how Aaron preferred to hug you close sometimes instead of speaking about what tormented him. Actions spoke louder than words, you supposed.

“Rough day?”

He did not reply, choosing to keep staring at the floor.

“Darling, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” you said, hand coming up cup his cheek. You rubbed your thumb over his jaw a few times, hoping to soothe him. It didn’t work – if anything, you felt his body tense up even more. “Aaron, I can’t read your mind. You don’t need to tell me all the details, but please say something. You’re worrying me.”

When he looked up and his eyes met yours, you nearly winced.

He looked like shit.

And that itself would be an understatement. His eyes were bloodshot, the eyebags you’d worked so hard to help remove were back and in full glory, his cheeks seemed hollowed, and his hair was messy, as if he’d ran his hands through it multiple times.

“Oh, honey…” you mumbled, hugging him without any further words. Whatever he’d gone through that day must have been ghastly because you were quite sure you’d never seen your husband like this.

And you were going to do everything in your power to help him out.

“How about you take a warm shower, okay?” You asked, placing a kiss on his jaw, hands rubbing circles on his back. “Wash the day off you, relax a bit. Dinner is in the oven, so it’s nearly ready. We can eat and then you can talk. Or not. Whatever you feel is best.” You murmured, burying your face in his neck. Some of the tension seemed to leave Aaron’s body, which you considered a small victory.

Wordlessly, Aaron kissed the top of your head, pried his body away from yours and moved to your bedroom. He was acting strange no doubt, but you knew he’d feel instantly better after a hot shower and some nice homemade food. You’d make sure to restore your husband’s spirits – after all, that’s what you promised. Good and bad. Sickness and health. Highs and lows.

You did good on your word and finished up dinner, taking it out of the oven and plating it up. You wondered what could possibly have your husband so shook up. Sure, he’d come before tired and exhausted, and had once or twice cried in your arms while you stroked his hair and held him tightly, but today? Today he just looked angry. And somewhat empty. Hell, he hadn’t even said “hello” or called you gorgeous. Something was up and you were going to get to the bottom of it.

When Aaron came out, his lips were pressed into a thin line. He looked better than a few minutes before, though. Surely the warm water had helped him relax a bit. Now, onto the cooking. Aaron loved your cooking. As mentioned before, he loved anything you did to take care of him.

So, you pulled up his chair and pressed a kiss on the top of his head while you fetched two glasses and poured the two of you some wine. Usually you’d drink water, but with the day you were sure Aaron had, some wine would be the perfect way to decompress. Aaron sat down, and while he looked better, clean, and wearing comfortable clothes, you still felt like his mood was dark. He refused to meet your eye, and his expression was blank.

You knew you had to tread carefully. One wrong move, and Aaron would shut up, hide, refuse to speak. No, you needed to slowly coax him out of your shell, slowly bring him to the space he knew he was safe in, the space he knew he could talk freely in.

“I had such a busy day today,” you started, cutting your food, and placing a forkful inside your mouth. You carefully watched the man before you, and smiled once he began eating. Good. He was eating – that meant whatever had happened today was salvageable. “I woke up, and I guess we must’ve had a pretty windy night, because some of the flowers I’d planted last week were ruined. Took me about two hours to fix everything up, and even then, I think we’ll have to order some more.”

Ah, right. Aaron had taken your phone from you, but he still allowed you to keep your computer. At first you thought it was a bit contradictory, letting you keep something you could still access people and websites with. But those questions were quickly answered when you figured out the only few websites you could access were store ones. He was clear about this; you only needed the internet to buy useful things. Food. Groceries. He’d even been nice enough (his words) to let you access a lingerie store. But other than that, there was nothing else you could do. You had no access to social media, and while he’d granted you a few entertainment websites and services, you could not comment anywhere nor interact with other people.

“Then I made a really nice omelette for lunch because I wasn’t really that hungry – that reminds me, we need to get eggs – and in the afternoon I finally managed to clear that one level we’ve been trying to play for days now,” you chuckled at the memory of Aaron picking up your controller, brows furrowed as he failed to clear the level you were so desperately trying to clear on your new game.

“And I tried something different with dinner – I’m using a different tomato sauce, so you’ve gotta let me know what you think. In my opinion, it’s far too sweet, but maybe you’ll think differently.”

Nothing. You got nothing out of him except for a few hums and nods. Shit. Work really must’ve been terrible today.

Well, time to pull out the big guns, your biggest effort. He wouldn’t possibly be able to stay silent after this one – not when it was such a happy topic, one you knew he too was excited for.

“You know, our anniversary is just a few days away,” you said, unable to hide the smile that spread across your lips. You couldn’t help it – Aaron made you happy. Your marriage made you happy. How were you expected not to cry when talking about a day filled with happiness and joy and the promise of endless love? “I have a few surprises for you already, but I was wondering if you had any plans of your own?

This seemed to get his attention, as he finally looked at you. and you congratulated yourself for knowing your husband so well.

“Plans?” He spoke for the first time that evening, not putting down his cutlery.

“You know, plans. I thought it would be nice if we went out, you know. It could be something simple, we’d go out for dinner and come home right away.” You knew Aaron had let you go out a while ago, and you didn’t want to push your luck nor his patience – but at the same time, you thought he was finally opening up to the idea that you’d be fine if you stepped outside of your home once in a while. He’d agreed to it once, why couldn’t he do it again? And for an extremely special occasion.

“How about we talk about what you did a couple weeks ago first?” He asked, voice cutting through the kitchen like ice. This took you aback. What was he talking about? And why was he interrupting your talk of anniversary plans to bring that up?

“What are you talking about?” You asked, putting down your fork and your glass. Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion, and an unsettling fear pooled in your stomach. Aaron had an incredible poker face, you knew this by the way his teammates spoke about him during interrogations, or how he never let his emotions show on his face.

But right now, the mask seemed to be cracking.

His jaw was set, and you could see the hint of a vein in his neck. His deep dark eyes bore into yours uncomfortably, and you shifted in your seat.

“I’m talking about how you sneaked out of the house a couple of weeks ago.”

You felt your stomach drop.

He knew. He knew you’d gotten out of the house.

Fuck.

How? No one had seen you – you’d made sure of that. None of your neighbours were there, and you’d worn a large hoodie and a pair of sunglasses, meaning you were kind of

Aaron’s voice was now rising, but he did not sound angry. He sounded awfully calm, like he was trying to keep everything under control. It wasn’t working – you were freaking the fuck out and were sure so was he.

“I didn’t go out, Aaron,” you said, doing your best to keep your voice from quivering. Was he just guessing? Maybe you could save this. “I never went out – I always stay home just like you tell me to.”

Wrong move.

“Don’t lie to me.” He banged his fist on the table, making you jump slightly. “Don’t lie to me,” he repeated, this time in a huskier tone. Usually, you’d get butterflies in your stomach whenever he spoke like this. Today, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Aaron,” you started, softly, “I’m sorry I did that, but you have to understand I’d been inside the house for about two months, I was just tired – “

“Tired?” Aaron retorted, raising an eyebrow. “Tired of what, exactly? Of staying home and doing nothing? Of reading your books and taking care of your flowers, while I’m the one out there, risking my life every single day, working overtime more times than I can count?”

“I stay home because you tell me to, not because I want to!” you exclaimed, putting down your fork and knife. You were fighting the tears in your eyes not to roll down your cheeks. The last thing you wanted right now was start crying – not when Aaron was acting to strangely, and you feared he was getting angrier by the second. You seemed to be doing quite a lot recently – holding back your tears. And you didn’t like it one bit. “And you don’t have to risk your life like that, you don’t have to work as much as you do. I’ve told you Aaron, you should take a break, maybe work less hours, focus on your health – “

“I’ve given you everything, haven’t I?” Aaron stood up, making his way to the living room. It didn’t take long, since the kitchen space was open, and he took long strides. “I’ve given you my love, my affection, all of my devotion, I’ve given you everything you could’ve possibly asked for, and only asked for one thing in return. Loyalty. Honesty. That you stay here and never leave, and you can’t even do that.”

You followed your husband right after, staying a few feet away from him as he paced back and forth, clenching his fists beside him.

“You can’t keep me here forever, Aaron, I need to go out.” You cried out once again, trying to make him see reason. Did he truly believe his reasoning to be correct? “I – I just – It’s not right! I can’t stay locked up forever!”

“You can, and you will,” he muttered through gritted teeth, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “I’m your husband, I know what’s best for you, and I’m telling you it’s best if you stay home.”

“I’m not your prisoner, Aaron!” You threw your hands up, desperate. Was there anything you could say to make him realise just how wrong keeping you locked up at home was? “I just needed some fresh air. I felt like I was suffocating here!”

But your words, instead of soothing, seemed to have the opposite effect. Aaron’s breathing became more laboured and his eyes darkened.

“Suffocating? You want fresh air, go to the garden.” He scoffed, “You have everything you need right here! What more could you possibly want?”

You were becoming angrier at this point.

“It’s not about me wanting things, Aaron, it’s about freedom. You can’t keep me here forever!”

Then, a loud slam echoed throughout the room as Aaron punched the wall nearest to him, leaving an ugly dent in the stone. You flinched back, eyes widening with fear – Aaron had never been this violent. He’d gripped you too tightly once, but you’d never seen a display quite like this. It wasn’t like him, not at all. Hell, you weren’t even sure you knew this man, because the Aaron you loved most certainly did not act like this. Once upon a time, the man you married would have never been this violent in front of you. Once upon a time, he would’ve been understanding and talked to you about this instead of getting angry and letting his anger out in unhealthy ways.

“You don’t get to decide that!” He bellowed, “I do what’s best for you!”

Still, you couldn’t back off now. Your anger had subsided for the most part, now replaced with dread, but there was still a spark inside of you that made you not want to give up just yet. After all, you did not deserve this, now did you? Surely this type of behaviour wasn’t normal. Was it?

“This isn’t love, Aaron.” Your voice was shaking far too much, as was your whole body. “This is control. I’m your wife, I’m not your prisoner.”

Aaron turned to face you and in two steps, was towering over you like a brick wall. You took a few steps back instinctively, fearing the way he looked at you, with so much hatred and hostility in your eyes, you thought his gaze alone could turn you to a pile of ashes.

For the first time in your life, you recognised what you felt.

You were scared of your husband.

It was the first time you admitted it to yourself, and the realisation that you feared the one person whom you used to love and trust the most in the whole entire world was gutting. Because if you lost Aaron, you had no one else. He’d isolated you from your friends, from your family, and made himself a part of your every waking moment, consuming your thoughts and your actions.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that.” He hissed.

You were scared for your life. You’d never seen Aaron like this, and it scared you to death. Still, you decided to take hold of whatever fight you still had in you. Because no matter what, you still loved the man before you. And if he loved you as he claimed he did, he would listen, he would understand, he would apologise and you could go back to your life together, like nothing had ever happened.

Well, maybe some counselling, but you were sure you could go back to your life together.

After all, you didn’t know what would become of your life without Aaron. He was all you’d learn to know, and without him, you’d be lost.

“I’m not afraid of you, Aaron.” A lie. “I just want my life back.” Where did you get all this courage from?

“What life?”

“The life we had! I can’t do this anymore,” Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you, for once, truly spoke whatever it was your heart desired. “I won’t stay locked up here like some prisoner in a tower, I want to go out, I want to do things my own way! I hate living like this! You don’t love me anymore; you just want to control me! And I’m done! You can’t do that – “

“You think you can just walk away from me?!”

Your little speech was interrupted, and before you knew it, you were on the floor, cheek stinging like crazy. When you brought your hands to your cheek, your lip, your chin – that’s when you saw it. The blood. Warm and gooey, running down your nose to your lips and dripping on the floor below you.

And then it dawned upon you.

Aaron had hit you.

Looking up at him, you noticed how he was clutching his hand, breathing heavily.

“Aaron?” you breathed out, hands now covered in blood, your cheek and nose hurting like hell. You knew he was strong. You used to love how strong he was. How he could drive creeps away from you with a single stare or a shove, how he could pick you up effortlessly, making you giggle like a lovesick teenager, how he could manhandle you so easily, you felt like you were melting. His strength used to be something good, something he used to protect you or give you pleasure.

Right now, he’d used it to cause you pain.

Once his eyes landed on you, they softened, and he shook his head slightly. His mind was going a mile per hour, and he couldn’t just believe what he’d done. Neither could you.

“Honey, I – “ he trailed off, the words dying on his tongue. He took some tentative steps towards you, but you scurried away, eager to get the hell away from him.

“Don’t.” You muttered, one hand still under your nose, trying to stop the blood from rushing down your face, and failing miserably. It didn’t seem to stop. How could he do this? How could the love of your life, the man you loved and cherished more than anything, do this to you? Why would he do it? Aaron had promised to love and cherish you forever. He promised to be patient and kind and sweet, and he swore he would never hurt you.

And lately, that’s all he’d been doing.

Was this the point of no return?

Were you too beyond repair?

Aaron just stared at you, eyes wide in fear and despair – but fear of what? He wasn’t the one on the floor, he was the one towering over you, with much more strength that you would ever be able to muster. He was the trained FBI agent, the one who could pin you to the ground and never let you go, the one who could hurt you with just one hand and never even leave a mark.

And you were married to him.

You were completely at Aaron’s mercy.

Instead of screaming or throwing something, anything at him, or running away, you did what you’d been meaning to do for a while. You let go. You cried – sobbed even – uncontrollably.

What had your life come to?

You had a nice career. You loved your job. You loved waking up and doing what made you happy and felt like you had a purpose in life. Then you’d met Aaron, and he’d swept you off your feet, and you were incredulous because how could it all get so much better? How could you get both the job and the man? How had you gotten so extremely lucky?

The answer was you couldn’t. You couldn’t get both the job and the man, because Aaron sat you down and told you about his past. You’d hurt for him. Very much. Knowing he had lost both his wife and son to a sadistic man who took pleasure in hurting others had made you hold him tightly night after night after night and promise you wouldn’t go anywhere.

That’s when he made you promise you wouldn’t go anywhere.

It started out rather innocent.

“You could stay home,” he mumbled against your neck, pressing kisses on the soft skin below your ear as you cooked dinner. “I make enough money for the both of us. I can take care of you.”

You’d chuckled, shaking your head.

“I love my job, Aaron. I really do. And I like working, so it’s fine. But you’re sweet to even consider that.”

“You shouldn’t have to work, though,” he pressed on. “I could take care of you.”

You’d said no the first few times, but eventually relented. You knew it would put Aaron at ease, and you thought he was worth it. Your relationship was worth it.

Your wedding day was the happiest of your life, and your honeymoon was spent with love and affection and you often looked back upon those memories whenever you felt down.

And now, you cried over them.

You cried because those days were gone. You no longer had the job that fulfilled you so much, you no longer had the husband who cared for you so earnestly you thought you didn’t deserve him, and not even the memories of your honeymoon made you happy – they just made you resent whatever your life had become. Trapped inside your own home, terrified of your husband.

What the hell had happened?

“Darling, I’m so sorry…” Aaron crouched down next to you, and this time, you made no efforts to move. You were too tired, too heartbroken to do something other than cry and mourn what you thought was your current life. Did Aaron even love you anymore? Did you want to leave him, or did you just want this misery to stop? And even if you did leave him, what was to become of you? Your bank accounts belonged to him – he’d convinced you it was better, since you were married and working towards a future together – you’d lost all contact with your friends after Aaron convinced you it was for the best and cut all ties with your family.

“I just want our old life back,” you sobbed, hiding your face in your hands.

You didn’t realise Aaron’s arms were wrapped tightly around you until he pressed you against his chest. It was comforting, to be in his arms, but you also felt like you were suffocating, like once you gave up, he’d consume you whole and you would never belong to anyone else but him – not even yourself.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just…” Aaron ran his fingers through your hair, making sure all his touch was focused on bringing you comfort. His touch was both feather-like and crushing at the same time, and you thought the combination was fitting, considering your last couple of weeks. You also thought it would kill you, how sweetly he was holding you, but how his iron grip would not let you go. Perhaps it was already doing it. Perhaps you were already dead. Maybe that’s why you didn’t want to fight. “I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you. You mean everything to me.”

You wanted to fight. You wanted to scream and yell and push him away and get the hell out of that house. You wanted this madness to be over. You wanted your independence back, your freedom, you wanted to go out and live a life of your own instead of living his.

But you were so tired.

Tired of fighting and arguing when you knew he wouldn’t listen. Tired of witnessing displays of violence that had increased over the weeks. Tired of being so miserable.

Was it your fault? Was it your own doing that you were so unhappy in your life?

“I can’t lose you…” Aaron kept on speaking, stroking your hair and holding you as if you were a precious jewel he wanted to protect – or a most wanted criminal he could not let escape. “I can’t stand to lose someone I love, not again… Please forgive me…”

Perhaps if you hadn’t gone out, none of this would’ve happened.

Maybe Aaron was right.

He did give you everything you could ever want, didn’t you? You asked for a book, and there it was days later. You weren’t one for material things, but if you expressed a desire for a pair of shoes or some jewellery, he’d buy that for you in a heartbeat.

“You mean everything to me, darling, you really do…”

Weakly, you moved your arms around your husband, fully embracing him. You sobbed loudly, your whole body shaking, wrapped tightly in his. It felt like home, it felt like where you were meant to be, but it also felt like prison.

“I’m so unhappy, Aaron… I can’t do this anymore…” you shook your head, burying your face in his chest, taking in his scent, trying to ground yourself. “I feel like I have nothing to live for. Can’t you understand it? I have nothing, all day, every day. And when you’re gone away on cases, I’m so lonely.”

Suddenly, an idea went off in Aaron’s head.

Of course. How come he hadn’t thought of it yet?

“I can’t do this anymore, Aaron, I’m so lonely and I feel trapped… If you truly love me, you’ll understand, won’t you?” How you were still fighting, you had no idea. What were you asking of him? Freedom? A bit of leeway? For him to put you out of your misery?

“Maybe… maybe what you need is something to keep you grounded,” he muttered, pulling back slightly to look you in the eye. He saw the way your eyebrows scrunched together and caressed your cheek with his hand. Instinctively, you leaned into it and Aaron smiled. He still had that effect on you.

“A baby.”

You stilled in his arms.

A what?

“Someone to love and take care of,” he continued, rubbing circles on your skin with his thumb. “It’ll give you a sense of purpose. You won’t be lonely anymore, and you’ll never feel the need to leave again.”

How it had taken so long for Aaron to realise this, he had no clue. You’d talked about kids, sure, but it was always a “future you” kind of thing. Right now, you were enjoying your life together, and children weren’t in the picture.

But as he pictured you, round and swollen with his child, he felt a tug in his heart and a strain in his pants. Yes. A child. You’d carry on his legacy and have a sense of fulfilment as you loved and cared for his child. And you would not be able to leave, since you’d be too much of a good mother to abandon your baby. And you wouldn’t be too cruel as to take the baby from their father.

It was exactly what you two needed – a baby, to cure your relationship, to heal what was so hurt and damaged right now. He could see it clear as day, you, lovingly caressing your pregnant belly as you sat in your garden, glowing more than the sun itself. He saw you smiling one of your most breathtaking smiles at him, reaching out for his hand so he could feel his son or daughter kick.

He could see you breastfeeding your baby in the living room, cooing at them and caressing their chubby cheeks. He could see you putting your child to sleep with so much adoration, it’d make his heart burst as he watched from the doorway.

Yes.

A baby, a little child with his eyes and your smile, or your nose and his chin.

It was everything you needed.

You still clung to Aaron, holding him tightly as if he were a lifeline. You looked into his eyes and knew exactly what you were picturing, saw exactly what he saw.

And for once, you were too tired to argue. Too afraid.

Your life did not belong to you anymore – it was Aaron’s, to mold and shape and do whatever he wanted with it. Not even your own body was yours anymore – it was now something for him to possess and bend and twist as he desired. He’d give you his child and you’d carry it because that was the only thing you could do. You did not belong to yourself anymore.

And as Aaron looked at you, eyes devoid of any spark, of any spirit, he caressed your cheek and kissed your forehead.

“Trust me, darling,” he whispered against your face. “Everything I do is for you. I love you more than anything.”

You nodded.

You were completely, utterly, irrevocably his.

“You just need to see that.”

A/N: And that's it!!! I really hope you guys have enjoyed it!

Again, I just really wanted to explore a scenario where Aaron was this extremely posessive and abusive partner - I don't really know why but it was stuck in my head and I had to write it down. Oops. Sorry.

I also tried something different with the layout - hopefully it looks fun! I want it to be easier to tell the Pairing, the Word Counts, the Warnings and the Author's Note from each other, so hopefully this will help make it look less bulky lol.

Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoyed it!

Have a wonderful day ahead, everyone! <3

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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heavenlymorals · 2 days

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Arthur Morgan's Depression

(Warning: Spoilers for RDR2 and mental health issues)

Arthur Morgan is depressed. Yes, I know the writers haven't exactly come out and said that he is depressed, but it does not take a genius to see that Arthur Morgan is a man who deals with many demons and monsters. Arthur Morgan has some sort of functional depression, and it is shown in many ways. In many missions, he seems downtrodden and sad, but he goes along with it anyway because what else can you do? He talks about himself in such a degrading manner in the mirror, and not just in a way that we all do sometimes, but in a way that invokes actual hatred of himself.

He thinks he's ugly when he's a conventionally attractive man. He thinks he's dumb when he's very witty and smart. He gets knocked down for his intelligence a lot by both Dutch and Hosea (we, as a fandom, need to stop pretending that Hosea is perfect because he really isn't). I know that dudes generally joke like that a lot, but those two aren't his “friends”; they are quite literally his father figures. It's different. His journal is filled with self-doubt, pain, and a general apathetic outlook on life.

But as I was playing “A Quiet Time,” one interaction between Lenny and Arthur stood out to me.

“Why ain't you never married?”

“'Cause no one will have me.”

In the context of this mission, I think this was written as an “oh damn” kinda joke, something out of left field to make the player laugh. But after thinking about it more, I realized something.

If you guys follow my posts, then you probably know that I love to interpret things from a sociocultural perspective—so let's do that.

Now, this is an obvious reference to Mary and how she rejected him in the end for Barry Linton to keep her family satisfied. It might also allude to Eliza or other female love interests that Arthur might've had at some point.

But it may also be a nod to the culture of 19th century America and what it entailed for men.

Arthur isn't married at 36 years old. Men were expected to be married generally by their twenties. He has no children or legacy—the only one he did have died years ago. He doesn't have property or a home—he's always on the move with the gang (given how defensive he got with that woman he picks up to go to Lagras, it's probably a point of insecurity). He has no respectable profession—he should've had an honest career by now.

He hopes that Dutch will get his shit together and have them put their outlaw ways behind them, but Dutch literally cannot, and Arthur is the one feeling the burn for it. He has missed so many milestones that he “should've” reached by this point, yet he is still doing the same thing he was doing since he was a young teen.

He can't bring himself to leave Dutch either, as he feels like he has a debt to pay to the man (“I gotta try! I owe him that, at least.”) that can never be paid.

And that has to fucking hurt. You already hate yourself on the outside by thinking you're hideous. You hate yourself on the inside because you think you're dumb. You feel unaccomplished, like a damn loser. And on top of all of that? You can't bring yourself to let go of all the factors that make you feel that way because “they're family” and “they need you.”

You're trapped, and everything feels awful. I'd be depressed too.

It might also be another reason why Arthur is jealous and angry at John. He has a wife, he has a child, he doesn't feel particularly obligated to the gang (hence leaving for a year), he has a chance to do better, and he just doesn't care. He's reached so many milestones that Arthur misses not because he wants them, but out of pure luck, and I'm sure Arthur feels bitter about it.

It's just sad, man.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #depression #mental health #story analysis #character analysis

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telekinetic-electronica · 2 days

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Theft King is Wrong about Indigo Park and Here's Why

Theft King is an infamous YouTuber mainly known for the Kane Carter drama and not always having the best takes. He mainly covers Five Nights at Freddy's, and recently seems to be covering a lot more of Poppy Playtime, due to chapter 3. Recently, Theft King made a video critiquing the newest indie mascot horror game, Indigo Park.

Suffice to say, it is not good. This post will be going over why it is not good, and debunking Theft King's own points.

"Indigo Park is the least original mascot horror game ever made. Between the tired, cliched premise of returning to an abandoned children's establishment, the enemy designs, the unnervingly cute, mascot character, and multiple sequences that appear to be directly lifted from Poppy Playtime. You'd just think this was another Garten of Banban-eqsue cash in. In a lot of ways, it kind of is. But it's more complicated than that."

Through your introduction to this video, it is quite obvious that you are biased. For starters, to call Indigo Park the LEAST original mascot horror game ever made is a big claim to make. Like, seriously, out of ALL the games out there, Indigo Park is? While, yes, the concept of finding out what happened to an abandoned children's establishment isn't original, it has a unique twist to it. We have Rambley to accompany us through out the park. It actually FEELS like a place that could exist in real life. It's also obvious Geese is a fan of mascot horror and got inspired from Five Nights at Freddy's and Poppy Playtime.

Also to compare Indigo Park to Garten of Banban is literally insane to me. You are comparing the dedicated, passion, and willingly to learn with Indigo with GARTEN OF BANBAN? The POSTER child of what NOT to do with mascot horror? Also, Theft King through out the entire video compares Indigo Park to Poppy Playtime, specifically chapter 3. When Indigo Park was in production BEFORE chapter 3 came out.

Before the recent Rambley plush, Indigo Park was for free and the money came of Geese's own pocket to fund this game. To say this a "cash grab" is very dismissing the hard work and passion Geese and the Indigo Park team put into the game.

"The game begins with a really slick cinematic depicting the establishment of Indigo Park. Alongside it's founder, Isaac Indigo. Isaac Indigo?! Hold on. That's not a name that humans have. This guy's definitely a space alien. I'm calling that now"

While the last part is definitely a joke on his end, there's a lot of reasons to explain why Indigo is Isaac's last name. For one, Indigo is a REAL last name. It's just uncommon. Second, there is thing called suspension of disbelief. It is when something fantastical happens that can't happen in real life, but you suspend your disbelief because it is a work of fiction. If you can suspend your disbelief to a murderous lion and parrot, I'm pretty sure you can suspend your disbelief to this old guy's name being Indigo. And third, there is such a thing called legally changing your name. Besides, why is this even here? This is just a nitpick.

"As the game begins we find the park's main gates sealed. And upon heading into the service station next door, we encounter Rambley. The single best part of Indigo Park. Rambley is an AI, raccoon mascot that serves as our guide. Appearing on countless, conveniently placed televisions through out the game. He's fantastic. His dialogue is well written, his voice actor is great and his animation is expressive and charming. He's the single best part of the game, but, Rambley is a crutch that Indigo Park leans far too heavily on. Though, we'll get there later."

While he does say he'll get to it later, I would like to still address this point right now. Rambley is a core part of the game. Rambley is the second protagonist, and is obviously going to be very important to the plot. He's going to be accompanying us through out however many chapters there are. Chapter 1, like many introductions, are we are getting to know the characters. Rambley is in a big chunk of chapter 1 is because besides, Ed, he's our secondary protagonist, and knows the in's-and-out's of the park, and knows crucial information. This will be expanded more when Theft King gets to this part. Rambley isn't a "crutch". The game is literally setting up the characters and scene. Like, y'know, how many first chapters do.

"And enter the doors to the park and enter the Critter Corner, where we're given a Fazwatch from FNAF: Security Breach. It's useless. It's just a plot device to justify why some doors don't open until they need to."

Theft King, have you ever been to an amusement park before? Many amusement parks have bands on to indicate you are someone entering, and not sneaking in. If you did an ounce of research, the Critter Cuff is a reference to Disney's Magic Bands. Do you only get your information from indie mascot horror? Do you not think stuff like this doesn't exist in real life? While, yes it can be a reason why some doors won't open. But you clearly weren't even paying attention to the own game you are playing.

(Disney Magic Band)

(Indigo Park Critter Cuff)

(FNAF Fazwatch) The Critter Cuff looks NOTHING like a Fazwatch and has difference uses. Gregory can use the Fazwatch to see the map of the Pizzaplex, get emails, communicate with Glamrock Freddy, among other things. All the Critter Cuff can do is be a pedometer, heart monitor, and mood ring. The Fazwatch and Critter Cuff doesn't even have the same functions.

The Critter Cuff also just doesn't acts like this. It's hinted the Critter Cuff can keep away the mascots. When Lloyd was about to attack Ed, it let out a frequency that made Lloyd back off. Pay attention to what's happening on the screen and story, Theft King.

"Proceeding through an awkwardly placed loading zone, we find ourselves in some sort of subway, tunnel movie theater? I don't know the area's design wasn't very coherent. Look at that Poppy Playtime ass floor. Although, something is going on with the resolution or something. I don't know."

...As he says when the ride for this area is a train. Trains are often located underground. Also, apparently, according to Theft King any colorful, floor patterns is a rip off of Poppy Playtime when the ride is a reference to Mickey and Minnie's Railway. As for the "movie posters", Theft King the ride is clearly meant to introduce the park goers to the characters and other rides to this world. Please, pay attention and think before assuming something.

"After the train ride, Rambley gives us cart blanche to go wherever we want. Though, it's at this point, I noticed the game scaling. You know, the size of everything relative to your character? It's really weird. We are very short, I have to be perfectly honest. [...] When was the last time you walked up to a kiosk, a stand and your chin was like touching the table?"

This is just a nitpick. While, yes, it can look a little jarring, but out of all of things you're critiquing is the fucking counter "being too big"? Theft King, do you have spatial awareness? The counter is at Ed's chest, not eye level. Besides, you're not even fully looking up.

Also, for some reason, he genders nail polish for some reason? Either saying it was nail polish or a bad "fingernail texture"? Which. Okay? Men can wear nail polish too, Theft King. It isn't a gendered thing.

"The next area is probably the most visually striking in the game. A large fountain square with a strange clock tower and Ferris wheel in the distance. It's pretty cool. But there's a lot of empty sky box visible and it's fairly obvious that there's absolutely nothing beyond these buildings that we can see the illusion that this is actually outside is completely broken. And as a result, this area feels more like a sound stage or movie set than an actual place. It just needed a lot more low resolution buildings and rides and stuff in the distance. Because it's obvious behind this clock tower, is just an endless void."

Theft King, once again, have you ever been to a theme park? It's the entrance to the ACTUAL park. You don't get to see everything right off the bat, it's just a taste of the actual theme park. If Geese and co. added more buildings and rides, it would look VERY cluttered and jankily put in together. It would also be way overstimulating, and ruin the atmosphere of the decayed, left-to-rot theme park with all of these lights and colors. It is a horror game, Theft King. Atmosphere, setting, and lighting are important here. It just seems like if you aren't being entertained for more than 2 seconds you're crying out it's "boring and just looks like a set piece."

Besides, do you think all of the budget is going to be spent on the buildings, just so it be can be aesthetically pleasing? A problem Theft King (and the majority of the indie mascot horror critics I see) really need to stop expecting brand new, horror indie games to be AAA quality. Geese funded chapter one from his own pocket money. Geese is the only programmer. Geese is still a beginner and still in college. The fact he is still a beginner, and pulled this off shows that he's a fast learner, willingly to learn, and talented. Give him some slack.

"[...] But we find that the door [Jetstream Junction's] is locked. This fountain square station is huge, but there's really only one destination. Lloyd's Mane Stage Theater. [...] Check out the LOD's on this box. There's no bar code, bard code. No bar code, bar code. Indigo Park is made in Unreal Engine 5, and it's really pretty at times. Though, certain effects are obviously pretty janky. Yeah, the flashlight looks kind of like ass. The flashlight looming shadows are pretty janky. You can see them kind of wobbling and flickering around. I turned on all of the fancy features and while the game looks really moody and atmospheric when lights aren't moving, the flashlight doesn't really look well with it. The shadows flicker and jiggle all over the place and it just looks really bad."

Okay, if it certain effects are janky, how are they janky? What could they improve on to not make it less janky? For the flashlight bit, you are holding a flashlight and how it's meant to be done is suppose to be more realistic, according to Geese. Also, this is just really nitpicky. If anything, it's a a subtle thing and you get used to the flashlight feature pretty quickly. It kind of just sounds like you're picking this game apart, if it was an AAA game. The game is not perfect, by any means. But tearing and shredding to bit little, tiny, things when this project has ONE coder, who spent all of us OWN money, is still a beginner, and IS STILL in college.

When someone is a beginner and showing a willingly to learn, you have to take a different approach. It'd be one thing if Geese was doing programming for years, but he's not. You have to redirect your criticism and maybe, I don't know, give suggestions? You haven't really gone into what he could do to improve, and give examples to help him out. This is like treating someone who's a beginner drawer and expecting Michelangelo perfect details. They're drawing is still good, there's noticeable mistakes, but there's room to improve and grow. Also, Theft King, you literally have your settings maxed out. Maybe trying lowering them.

"Earlier, Rambley asked us where we wanted to go first. Implying, that we had a choice. [...] We don't. We go where exactly where Rambley says, always. That's the name of the game. Rambley tells you to go somewhere and you do it. Honestly, until the theater just now, every area in this game has been walk in, talk to Rambley, and walk out."

Theft King, asking a small, indie team to program a BUNCH of stuff you can do within an entire SECTION of an area is... a lot to ask, don't you think? Like, yes. I will admit I will agree there should be a lot more interactable with the items around that Ed can explore, I think that's a good point to bring up. But those would just be side things to do. You still have to progress the main story of chapter one. You can be patient for one minute. They are clearly building up to something. Besides, it's an abandoned theme park, I doubt any of the items inside would work. It's "walk in and walk out" to set the atmosphere of what's about to come, and let your guard down. It's not that hard to put two and two together.

Also, as I said before, to put pressure on one programmer to program so many things all at once is just not a cool thing to do. It sounds like you have to be entertained 24/7. Be patient, and wait. They're building up to something. Just wait.

"[...] Like I said before, the whole game is just kind of just walking into an area, having Rambley talk to you for a bit, and tell you where to go next. We find ourselves in Mollie's Landing Pad, which is a play pen highly reminiscent of DogDays from Poppy Playtime Chapter 3 or The Daycare from FNAF: Security Breach. This section presents itself as a puzzle, but it's really not. It's another fetch quest. Embedded in the walls, are five-colored that each can be set to one of four symbols. And throughout the area, we find paintings of shapes that correspond to the code. Again, it's not really a puzzle. It's just a slightly, contrived justification to make you wonder through this area and experience all of the scripted sequences." Rambley "tells you where to go" is because it is establishing how his game mechanic works, expanding on his personality, and him finding out the horrors of the park and what happened to everything. It's setting up how things are going to go down. Rambley is an AI park, GUIDE. Rambley is LITERALLY doing his job, GUIDING us around the park. Pay attention to what's going on.

Last time I checked, play pins are a big part of children's entertainment. Your local Chuck E. Cheese has this exact same, ball pit. Poppy Playtime and FNAF doesn't owe the rights to a colorful, play pit. See, through out his review Theft King calls Indigo Park a rip off of Poppy Playtime Chapter 3, and of Security Breach. But never goes into detail as to WHY and HOW it is. Sure, he shows via visuals, but never expands fully on his point on itself. Also, "fetch quest"? Fetch quests are something you get and return to an NPC. This, by definition is a puzzle. What are we exactly fetching, here? We're solving a puzzle to open the door. Also, wow! Scripted horror events in tight closed spaces! What a twist! Sarcasm.

"Unfortunately, by this point, the game had all but telegraphed that I wasn't in any danger and thus, I wasn't really scared."

...You literally have shown insistences of being scared? Through out when you were walking through Lloyd's maze thing, and when Mollie was peeking around the corners in the slides. You HAVE shown you were scared, or at least startled. Thus, it did it's job of being a horror game. Theft King, something doesn't need to be happening 24/7 to do it's job. Sometimes horror works better in subtle ways than just blaring red, warning signs all over the place, or having a scary chase scene.

"After pressing a button, with no visible indication of what it does."

...Look down. The fact that you couldn't even pay attention to something as something simple as this, tells me you weren't even doing a fraction or even cared to actually pay attention to what was happening, gameplay or lore wise. That's how much care was put into "reviewing" this game.

"As the leader of the FNAF community and for the former, top five greatest FNAF player in the world, I shouldn't have died to that."

Why are you running directly towards Mollie? You only died because you ran straight into the obvious "RUN NOW" part of the game.

"Yeah, it's literally the DogDays sequence from Poppy Playtime. It's literally the same thing. I criticized the DogDays chase in Chapter 3 for being boring, so, naturally, this cheap, knockoff is... even more boring. Normally, in my videos, the chase sequence is like a free 30 to 60 seconds of watch time. I just let it play because it's exciting. However, as I edit this video, I realized I have to cut this chase down, it's so boring. And I think that says a lot. [...] Then we see ourselves being chased through vents, just like Poppy Playtime Chapter 1."

Theft King, being chased down closed, liminal spaces isn't something Poppy Playtime owns. There are MANY differences. For one, in the DogsDays chase, you have to avoid the smaller creatures trying to get you, on top of the possessed DogDays chasing you, which is quite fast in the decrepit area. In Indigo Park, you're still the Landing Pad, going down slides, and jumping on things to get away from Mollie. Which leads into the Ranglers' room area. The areas look ENTIRELY different, and so do the vents in Chapter 1 of Poppy Playtime and here.

Also, you're not suppose to wait 30-60 seconds. You're suppose to be actively running away from the monsters. Y'know, the whole point of a chase sequence, and y'know, playing the game. It's "boring" because Indigo Park lets your guard down, when the chase is STILL happening until you see Rambley again.

"That was when it hit me. Despite Indigo Park being the definition of a shallow, walking simulator that that is in many ways, even less original than Garten of BanBan, I was still enjoying it. But, only thanks to Rambley. Rambley carries this game. Without him and his great dialogue and acting, Indigio Park would be entirely forgettable. For all of BanBan's faults, the game has this at least has this unique, bizarre, liminal style to it. Even if it's completely incoherent. Indigo Park's environments are generic. They're boring. There are some cool rooms and set pieces, but this doesn't really feel like an abandoned theme park. Like I said before, it feels like a sound stage. This is the video game equivalent to those haunted house rides that shepherd you through a series of rooms as scripted sequences play predictably each time. Rambley is the only thing keeps you playing because he's great. But, the longer Indigo Park goes on, the more and more obvious it becomes that he's a massive crutch that it leans on to mask the lack of any real subsite gameplay, interesting environments, or even compelling narrative.

We know that something bad happened here and it caused the park to be evacuated and closed down but once we get inside, we just see that place is trashed. There isn't much in the environment that hints at what actually happened. And without those breadcrumbs of mystery, the only real reason to keep moving forward is because Rambley tells us to. And HE IS, quite entertaining. However, I am skeptical, that this trick will work twice. Rambley kept me going for the roughly 1 hour it takes to beat Indigo Park Chapter 1, but it had started getting old. Fellow YouTuber, UniqueGeese is crowdfunding for chapter 2 right now and I think that's awesome. But they're going have to do more to have to do more for the follow up game and because chapter 1 has ZERO gameplay with which to build on, it's not really clear what a more ambitious sequel would even look like. Poppy ran into the same problem. Prior to chapter 3, the gameplay was just like... puzzles, scripted sequences and freaking Simon Says. With the latest entry, they added real gameplay mechanics and some would argue that Poppy suffered as a result. By failing to establish any actual, gameplay in chapter 1, Indigo Park either needs to introduce something totally new in chapter 2 or continue with the shallow scripted, walking simulator approach but just turn up the spectacle and fidelity." Out of all the points in this video, this one made me sigh the most.

To even COMPARE Indigo Park to Garten of BanBan is a huge insult. Garten of BanBan pumps out game after game, merch after merch, to make a quick buck and splash because right now indie, mascot horror is still popular. This game took over a YEAR to make, and had love and time, and passion, and giving a fresh, twist on it and to even say BanBan offered something better is just... really gross, in my opinion.

For the environments bit, you can see clearly where nature takes it's course through out the land with bushes and grass, and the decay of food in one of the cafes taking place. It's setting up the atmosphere of being decayed, left to rot, and feels like something's in the shadows. It's to make you unnerved that happiness used to be here, but now it's gone.

And YES! The lore IS there! You actively have to PAY ATTENTION as to what's going on. The problem with this point is that Theft King expects the game to paint the entire picture of what happened. When part of Indigo Park is it's mystery. Mollie repeats words of the workers abusing her, or the fact that Lloyd used to be the face of the brand, or the hidden cage within the arcade game, and Mollie saying "Get back in your cage, bird." Something Salem says within game. Or showing us the mascots got corrupted by something, and implying this isn't their original selves, but the actual cartoony mascots. You just have to wait, it's giving intrigue, but not painting the entire picture because it's just chapter 1. You'll probably see more of what happened later on. Be patient. A big part of Indigo Park's horror is how TERRIBLE the mascots were treated, and the abuse they suffered via the workers and people attending the park. That is interlinked with what happened to the park, 8 years ago.

With this point, it just seems like if nothing is happening 24/7, you're just bored. The phrase "walking simulator" has been done to death. We're being introduced to the basic game mechanics. Of course chapter 2 is going to be better than chapter 1. Literally all I have to say for this entire nothing burger of critique is "pay attention and let the devs cook".

"We encounter another information kiosk. Which lets us hear the dialogue for the remaining secret items we found. The mask during the chase sequence reveals a secret audio tape with objectively worse voice acting within the entire game."

How are you a FNAFTuber and not know what Dayshift at Freddy's is? It's one of the most popular parody FNAF games out there. The voice acting is bad on purpose because a.) it's mocking the text-to-voice speech the game uses b.) it's a joke.

Then near the end he says how his critiques were fair, and then states he likes the game, and says it's fun? Even though he spent the entirety of the game saying it's a boring, cheap knock off of Poppy Playtime and FNAF? I'm getting mixed signals here. All of this review was not expanding on any of his points, or if he did, it was something already within the game, and he clearly wasn't paying attention and actually looking around for secrets. You're suppose to be looking for clues, not getting handed to you.

This review was just "meh it's bad", and doesn't give any helpful criticism on how said game can improve, and even just downright insults the game multiple times. For the majority of the review, he just narrates what's going on, with spliced clips of him playing this on a stream. If anything, this just pads out the entire review, and waiting to get to an actual part of where he has a point. It, frankly, gets annoying after awhile, until he basically just sums up what he thought about the game just all at the end. It seems like Theft King really only made this video was to get clicks and views.

Now, everyone on YouTube wants this, obviously. But he really just seems likes poking the bear and making fun of people getting mad at him. Even if his critiques were not good. At all. Indigo Park isn't the best game ever or even the best indie mascot game made ever. It was entirely made out of bad faith, just to get a quick buck. A big problem I have with the video is the only harping on the "lack of gameplay."

I think people forget the games "feels sameish to Poppy Playtime and FNAF" is because they are horror games, who are first person and exploration games. Yes, you can tell there is inspiration but it does NOT copy the games at all, and just does homages to them and pays respects to them. Geese is a fan of mascot horror, and clearly respects them. It's not a "walking simulator", it's doing it's job as an EXPLORATION horror game. People have been using "walking simulator" as a critique and just have beaten that horse to DEATH. Give an actual, substance criticism or move on. Not to mention, he literally says that "they copied Fnaf Jr's death screen" when it was made by the same artist.

Also, for the obvious gotcha,

For him claiming it's "unoriginal" and a "ripoff", is coming from the guy who's VTuber avatar is just a white recolor of CatNap.

Just wanna add:

Listen. I know it's Theft King and he just does this to piss people off at this point but to just shame, put down, and put baseless claims of Indigo Park being a rip off, when it's inspired, not a rip off, of a passion project from a team that put so much love and time into it, is just really gross and needs to be called out.

Thanks for reading!

#indigo park #indigo park analysis #indie horror #indie mascot horror #rambley raccoon #anti theft king #theft king rant #tl;dr this entire video sucked ass and it was so hard to keep it all like professional #i watched this shitty review so y'all didn't have to hate it here

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catboybiologist · 2 days

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Oh hey, if I'm taking a breather from grading rn anyways. Need some NSFW idea airing about transition stuff, so uh. NSFW medical talks here. Don't be weird about it.

So... I do have a decent amount of bottom dysphoria. I also have difficulty tucking that I hate (also a lot of personal shit with bulge and all my stuff down there so.... yeah).

Vaginoplasty is probably something I want someday, but.... with the cost, and the time of recovery, and me being a grad student, and the potential of complication.... yeah, its not happening anytime soon. Its just not realistic in the next 5 years, and I hate that.

Also, I joke about not wanting to sacrifice the utility of standing to pee, but that's only half a joke- its really goddamn convenient while hiking and camping.

So I'm kinda considering orchi. Problem is, I don't need the main effect of orchi, which is removing T production entirely. At least, I don't think I do- my T suppressed easily when I started HRT, but my E has struggled to stay up since then. I have some concern about whether its sufficient to suppress T long term, especially at the end of my injection cycle, but its not enough to warrant orchi on its own.

But I do think it'll reduce bottom dysphoria. Its certainly something to consider. I recently read this an article that pretty much confirmed a lot of my feelings on the matter, and idk, I think I might wanna explore the possibility a bit further.

Idk. Any perspective here? Suggestions?

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merp-blerp · 3 days

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A Gaylor Interpretation of "Champagne Problems" post TTPD

Overblown Analysis Under the Cut ↓

In my "I Look Through People's Windows" analysis, I mentioned that I wondered if the "As you boarded your train..." line had to do with "Champagne Problems" and its similar opening line, but figuring that out would mean doing a separate evaluation on it. Well, here you go! I promise I'll one day stop thinking about TTPD, okay? Scouts honor. 🤞😜

This one is mostly to quench my own intrigue, I'm aware it's a bit of a stretch.

"You booked the night train for a reason / So you could sit there in this hurt / Bustling crowds or silent sleepers / You're not sure which is worse"

While this might not be the lens Taylor and ✨William Bowery✨ wrote this song in, I wanted to try my hand at seeing this song through the eyes of being about Taylor's fandom(s). Based on my "ILTPW" analysis, gaylors are the ones boarding the train in her mind, sitting in their hurt from the fallout of the failed coming out. Taylor knows that the gaylors don't know what would be worse: if tons of other fans crowding them with "I told you so" type comments, "Bustling crowds", or people not even noticing/hearing the coming out attempts to sneer, "silent sleepers".

"Because I dropped your hand while dancing / Left you out there standing / Crestfallen on the landing / Champagne problems / Your mom's ring in your pocket / My picture in your wallet / Your heart was glass, I dropped it / Champagne problems"

Taylor feels like she abandoned her community by not coming out. She dropped their hand and left them disappointed. Champagne can symbolize celebration and eliteness, often associated with rich individuals, but has also been used to highlight the fakeness of its drinkers. Alexander Pushkin's novel, Eugene Onegin, quotes, "I am no longer up to champagne... (it is) sparkling, flighty, vivacious, wayward - and not to be trusted." Therefore the "Champagne problems" might be the issue of Taylor being a big star getting in the way of her being able to be out and human. Or just fakeness in general.

Rings have taken their spot in sapphic history, specifically signet pinky rings and thumb rings. Taylor has a very close relationship with her fans, them often joking, or even genuinely feeling as if Taylor's like a best friend, sister, or mother to them. "Your mom's ring in your pocket" could be Taylor illustrating gaylors as keeping Taylor's pinky or thumb ring, or her queerness, close in their pocket, as she isn't out and discussion of her possible queerness mostly stays in gaylor circles.

"My picture in your wallet" in this reading could be the money that fans spend on Taylor, whether it's albums, tours, merch, etc. If gaylors believe in Taylor, they might spend money on her, so she's in their wallet.

"You told your family for a reason / You couldn't keep it in / Your sister splashed out on the bottle / Now no one's celebrating / Dom Pérignon, you brought it / No crowd of friends applauded / Your hometown skeptics called it / Champagne problems / You had a speech, you're speechless / Love slipped beyond your reaches / And I couldn't give a reason / Champagne problems"

The "sister splash(ing) out on the bottle" through this lens to me could be fans adjacent to gaylors that aren't quite gaylors, like queer fans. Queer fans who quietly watched and noted Tay's flagging and waited to see if something would happen, only for nothing to transpire, so they moved forward with being fans. This would've included me at the time. "Splash out on the bottle" can mean to pay a lot of money for the bottle or to pop it open. I'm going to go with opening it in this situation. Through the lyrics, it seems like the "you" in this song brought the bottle of Dom Pérignon, and the "sister" opened it. Gaylors spread the word that Taylor could be coming out and casual queer fans opened the bottle to prepare to celebrate.

While gaylor discussion mostly stays in the community, gaylors have definitely attempted to discuss it in other swiftie, or "family", spaces. From our perspective, it's exciting to think about the queerness sprinkled in her songs, and while I admit that I wasn't fully here for it, I imagine the Lover era was particularly exciting. It looked like she was going to come out, flagging all too obvious for the fans to brush it off. You can't keep the excitement in. But a speech never happened and Taylor continued to beard, so in the public's eyes she's strictly straight somehow. She tried and arguably came out through visual means, but never got to say anything if she planned to (which I think she did because of "a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you" from "The Archer"), and socially, if you don't come out through words you aren't really out at all, flagging be damned. Either way, no one celebrated because no one heard. The gaylors might've geared up to celebrate, but no one could celebrate if Taylor remained unseen. Anti-gaylors, or "hometown skeptics" called the gaylor theories fake, or "Champagne problems", since no overt coming out happened. Any happy speech gaylors could say to Taylor congratulating her couldn't happen. The excitement for the love from fellow queers and allies coming Taylor's way through speeches of admiration after coming out slipped away beyond gaylor's reaches. And of course, Taylor couldn't tell gaylors directly why, as that would out her in an unwanted way.

"Your Midas touch on the Chevy door / November flush and your flannel cure"

The Midas line could be taken in so many ways. To focus on the Chevy for a moment, car imagery in Taylor's music often seems to be a mode of hiding, escaping/running away to hide, and by extension misbehaving or sinning. Take "Just a boy in a Chevy truck / That had a tendency of gettin' stuck / On backroads at night" illustrating Taylor and her lover driving out and pretending to get "stuck" on backroads so they can enjoy each other alone without naysayers. So if gaylors are the "you/your" of the song, them having a "Midas touch", aka a golden touch, could mean that gaylors acknowledged, or touched, Taylor's closet, and therefore made it golden, like daylight. A Midas touch turns things gold, so her closet/Chevy door wasn't golden like daylight before the "your" made it so. Their acknowledgment of her queerness made her feel seen, or at least less in the "20-year dark night" from "Daylight".

"November flush" to me is a reference to the "Grey November" from "Evermore". A person can flush from strong emotions, as well a sickness. "You're Losing Me" has many illusions of Taylor getting sick and dying from being unseen, her face becoming grey/colorless as she dies. But when you flush, color returns to your face. If Taylor was "down since July", or beginning to die from being unheard, she could be saying that she could be saved by a cure. The cure she seems to get is a "flannel cure". I've heard really interesting interpretations about this part of the line referencing a Victorian superstition about flannel having healing properties. This possibly means that several cures for her pain were tried, but nothing could be as helpful as being seen, the "flannel cure" being fake. However I can't find a source for this Victorian flannel fact that isn't someone talking about this song, so I'd take that with a grain of salt. (But I could've just overlooked it, so if someone has a source I'd love to see it.) Alternatively, flannels, in the modern age at least, are often associated with masculinity and men, but also sapphic flagging. Maybe the "flannel cure" was gaylors acknowledging her sapphicness. Or, if you take the cure as being false, it could be the bearding/closeting/men, fake because it didn't cure her queerness, or make her straight. It just made it more overt to those who can see it, as gaylors can often see through stunts with beards. I think it could be interesting to look at this phrase differently too. Was the flannel the cure or was the flannel cured? Is it that closeting was a fake cure or that gaylors had the cure for the pain of closeting by seeing her?

"'This dorm was once a madhouse' / I made a joke, 'Well, it's made for me'"

In TTPD, Taylor makes many references to the music industry being like an asylum or madhouse. In this line, Taylor jokes that the dorm, or industry, was once an asylum, made for someone like her. Maybe it's made for her 'cause a lot of people in the industry will have covert or public mental breakdowns that they don't get proper support for. Or it could be because she felt like music was a profession she was always meant to do since she was a tween. Or because she's queer, and while they're are many queer people in the industry, many have also been closeted by the industry since it began and still are. Maybe the joke says "once", as in past tense, because Taylor believed that once she was out the industry would stop being a madhouse for her, but she never got her proper cure, so going into TTPD, it's still an asylum.

"How evergreen, our group of friends / Don't think we'll say that word again"

There's probably debate on which word will never be said again. For this analysis, I'm going to go with "evergreen". Taylor seemed to have viewed her fans as friends just as they did her. Look at songs like "Long Live". She asked the fans to stand by her forever, like how evergreen trees keep their leaves in all weather, or forever. But after the failed coming out and so many fans denying her visibility, she can't say she and the gaylors's friendship with those types of fans is "evergreen" any longer. "Something counterfeit's dead" (from "loml").

"And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls / That we once walked through / One for the money, two for the show / I never was ready so I watch you go"

Some of Taylor's fans will come up with rather invasive theories about what her lyrics are about. Theories about her cheating, having secret children, having secret abortions, committing vehicular manslaughter, probably etc. In the Lover house her first 10 eras become literal halls (except for Midnights, which is depicted in the sky, and I personally like to say TTPD is the white porch with the lights). The phrase "Deck the halls" means to decorate the halls. She laments that ex "evergreen" "friends" will have the nerve to decorate the eras that she and the people who saw her once walked through with creepy theories.

The phrase "One for the money, two for the show," is cut short/replaced without the numbers three and four. The full phrase has multiple renditions, but it's generally a form of counting before an action is done, often ending with something like "Three to get ready, and four to go." If Taylor doesn't get to finish the countdown, it seems to mean that she didn't get to do her action: come out. She was never fully ready to do the action because obstacles like the master heist kept her from being able to do it the way she wanted. So she fears/watches gaylors board their trains away from her.

"Sometimes you just don't know the answer / 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you"

To me, as of currently, "How Did It End?" from TTPD is also in part about the failed coming out. In that song, Taylor admits that she still doesn't know exactly how the coming out didn't happen. Sure, she knows in a clinical sense, but sometimes you don't know emotionally. I find it noticeable that the someone in this line is on their knees, not knee. Traditionally, when one proposes, they get on only one knee. When a person is on both knees, that usually indicates deep desperation. Maybe the someone's are fans, likely of all kinds, desperately questioning why all the signs led to nowhere instead of a speech declaring her place in the queer community. How did it end?

"'She would've made such a lovely bride / What a shame she's fucked in the head,' they said"

Queer people throughout history and currently in some places are often seen by homophobes as having something wrong with them, whether it's just for taunting purposes or some genuinely believing queerness is a mental disorder. Homophobes often believe queer people are "fucked in the head".

When "they" say that "she", in this interpretation, Taylor, would've made such a lovely bride, they likely don't mean just a bride who gets married to anyone, but specifically a bride who marries a man. Certain types of homophobes won't call brides marrying non-men "lovely", sometimes not seeing them as legitimate brides at all. Heteronormative TS fans will often picture Taylor as being a "lovely bride" in the future, aka a straight bride because to them Taylor fits that hetero-girl image. If she were straight her hetero wedding would be seen as picture-perfect and idyllic. Too bad she might not be able to be that bride for them because she could be queer. While, again, I wasn't fully there during Lover, it's not hard to imagine homophobes saying things like this at the mere prospect of her being queer.

"But you'll find the real thing instead / She'll patch up your tapestry that I shred / And hold your hand while dancing / Never leave you standing / Crestfallen on the landing / With champagne problems / Your mom's ring in your pocket / Her picture in your wallet / You won't remember all my / Champagne problems / You won't remember all my / Champagne problems"

Taylor reminds queer fans that they can find "the real thing", or proudly out queer people, instead of her, someone who can't seem to leave the closet. That person won't fail them. Taylor's, or "your mom's", signet/thumb ring might stay in gaylors' pockets, as in they could still keep her potential queerness in the knowledge, but a new, out person should be the ones to have their money and time in Tay's eyes. One common critique towards gaylors is that we need to enjoy "actual" queer figures, these critique-ers not seeming to realize that many of us already do love many out queer figures, but that not meaning we can't acknowledge a potentially closeted one. Even still, Taylor seems to fear that her queer fans deserve better. "You should find another guiding light" (from "Dear Reader").

But as someone in the fandom, it's safe to say that gaylors won't be going away, even if most who were there from the beginning are gone now, new ones discover what this community truly is every day.

Thank you for reading!

#gaylor #gaylor swift #friends of dorothea #friend of dorothea #lgbetty #lgbettys #gaylor theory #song analysis

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loversatthegreatdivide · 3 days

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Heavily Lies the Heart - Part 4

Masterlist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 1.8k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: (eventual) canon death Summary: Two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance. Can they find purpose in each other, or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: Hello darlings. Sorry this wasn't posted as fast as the others; I'm seeing Hozier today and the pending excitement has had my ADHD going bananas. I also just want to say I love love....that's all.

Beatrice flung herself onto the bed, smiling as she stared up at the ornate ceiling above. Her mind was abound with memories of the past few nights, and as she remembered she could hardly believing it had all been real.

She clutched the smudged handkerchief tightly to her chest, feeling her heartbeat thumping quickly below. For perhaps the hundredth time that week, she thought back to his face in that moment. A slight flush to his cheeks as he so deliberately avoided her gaze. Benedict was undoubtedly a handsome man, but in that moment she found him utterly adorable. He always seemed so effortlessly charming; she presumed embarrassment was a feeling he was rather unfamiliar with. It was gratifying then, seeing him be the one flustered when he could make her heart race with just a look.

And he did make her heart race.

After that first visit, she had gone out to see him twice more--each night more wonderful than the last. She would come to his window and he, now knowing to expect a possible visit, would be waiting. On her second visit, Benedict joked that he felt very much like the Juliet to Beatrice's Romeo. She had laughed, but silently wished for their story to end up much happier than Shakespeare's had.

Each visit fell into the same pattern: He would come down, they would say their hellos, and then the pair would set off down the street arm in arm. They spent the time getting to know each other more and more, and if Beatrice had been taken with Benedict on their first meeting, she was all but consumed with him by the end of their fourth. She hung on his every word, lived for every laugh. He would smile at her, and the whole world disappeared.

Throughout the day Beatrice felt like a caged animal, waiting for nightfall when she could escape and be with him once again.

She rolled over, taking a pillow from the head of the bed to rest herself on. She looked at the handkerchief in her hands, her fingers running across the lace border as she lost herself fully to her deepest thoughts.

She was aware that she knew less than most about love. It was not only romantic love Beatrice had little experience with--the love one might experience with a dear friend, or even close family was overall foreign to her.

She knew her father loved her, but he was rarely around to show it. He spent most of his time out with his friends--or more often, with his mistress. The only way he seemed to be able to show love for his daughters was by restricting their freedoms in a misguided attempt to protect them.

Then of course, there was Charlotte. Beatrice loved her elder sister, but it was undeniable they had little in common. Charlotte had always been a tomboy with a rebellious streak, in contrast to Beatrice's more artistic, quiet demeanor. Charlotte did whatever she pleased regardless of the expectations place upon her, and considered her younger sister quite the bore. This led the sisters to care for one another, but to spend little time together.

Then, there was her mother.

Caroline had spent little time with her daughters, having lived separately from Beatrice her entire life. Then of course the time Beatrice did have with her mother was shared with Charlotte, whom Caroline clearly favored. She had taken no pains to see her daughters as they grew, before one day deciding to quit the country and move abroad. Beatrice had not heard from her since.

She had little in the way of friends, and of course no cousins to spend her time with. She tried making friends with the staff she sae frequently, but whenever they became too friendly her father would promptly fire and replace them.

Her only genuinely close relationships were her grandparents. Even then it was hard to say that she had a typical relationship with either of them, her grandmother having a rather hard time with sentimentality and her grandfather's illness making it difficult to have a consistent relationship.

Considering everything, she rationally understood her feelings of affection could be completely misdiagnosed.

Even so, Beatrice had no choice but to believe her feelings for Benedict were nothing less than love. Surely friendship could not fill one with such longing? Such a desire to be near another person so deeply one may perish from the sheer torture of anticipation? Surely one would not feel their heart skip at the mere sight of a person they did not truly love?

Beatrice knew she was naive. She knew that she was inexperienced and prone to daydreaming. Despite it all, she was certain the constant ache in her chest was the symptom of being truly and completely lovesick. And as much as she knew it could only end in heartbreak, she couldn't help foolishly hoping for something more.

If they could even survive the night.

---

Benedict looked himself over in the mirror for the dozenth time in as many minutes. He pulled on his waistcoat, wondering if perhaps he should change it again, before making a disgusted noise as he turned away.

He felt utterly ridiculous.

How many ladies had he courted in his life? How many more had been declined in disinterest? And yet here he stood, completely enthralled by a woman he could hardly wrap his head around. He felt he had begun to know her quite well, yet still so much remained a mystery to him.

He ran both hands through his thick, dark hair as his eyes fell to one of the many portraits he had attempted to paint since they had met. Despite multiple attempts, he found he simply could not do her beauty justice. Benedict looked into the eyes of the painting staring back at him, and sighed.

He thought about the last few nights. The talks they had, the jokes they made, the looks they shared; all of it seared into his heart like a brand. Upon each parting, he yearned so fiercely to see her again that he thought certain he would never feel another emotion in his life.

They had spoken only a handful of times, but when he had watched her walk away that previous night he was overwhelmed with the urge to chase after her, to hold her tightly and never be parted again. More than any other parting she had seemed apprehensive--perhaps even worried--and it made his heart ache.

It was in that moment he knew he had grossly misjudged his feelings. He had never been simply curious; from their very first meeting he had already begun to fall for her.

Benedict turned back to the mirror, the hesitation clear on his face.

And what was he to do about it? Was he now supposed to court her? Marry her? He had always thought the whole business of the marriage mart hardly worth the trouble; was he now to change his whole point of view for a woman with whom he would very likely have no chance with?

After all, as much as they had shared, Beatrice had held fast to the secret of her lineage. Given her effect on the men of the ton, and her absolute belief that he would put distance between them should he learn the truth, Benedict could only assume she must be from some truly great house. If that were the case, could he even measure up? Beatrice had already told him any future marriage would likely be arranged by her father; as a second son with no title of his own, how could Benedict possibly compete?

He sighed, smoothing his ruffled hair. He stood up a bit taller, giving himself a reassuring nod before moving away to grab his coat and head downstairs.

He had no idea what obstacles he may face if he choice to pursue Beatrice formally, but he wanted to try. How could he do anything less than everything possible when it was Beatrice he was fighting for?

---

Benedict stood with his brother by the drink table, nervously sipping his lemonade as he searched the crowd. He had insisted that his family not arrive fashionably late as they seemed want to do. It had looked suspicious to his family, but he did not care. If things went well tonight, perhaps he may finally have something to tell them.

"Are you well brother?" Colin asked, eyeing his elder brother as Benedict's eyes moved across the crowd, "Are you looking for someone?"

"What? Of course not," Benedict replied, his face still turned from Colin.

"No of course not; you're simply admiring all the eager young ladies looking for a dance."

"Yes exactly, I--" Benedict stopped, finally looking at his brother as he scowled, "Oh yes, ha ha," he said sarcastically.

"It is obvious you are searching for someone; do you honestly not wish to tell me?" Colin questioned, looking somewhat surprised.

Benedict sighed, "It is...complicated. But you are correct brother, I am looking for someone."

"And this someone--it is a woman, yes?" Colin asked.

"Isn't is always?" Benedict mumbled, "When we last spoke, she had seemed rather...well, she was not herself. I am beginning to wonder if she will show up at all."

Colin clapped a hand to his brother's shoulder, "Worry not Benedict, I am sure she will be here."

Benedict opened his mouth to give some snarky reply, but was cut off as the sound of trumpets heralded the arrival of royalty. Benedict thought Beatrice truly must be late, to be arriving after the queen.

"Her Royal Majesty, Queen Charlotte," the steward called out.

The queen entered in all her splendor, with every head in the room turned to take her in. She made her way towards the dias at the far end of the room, which had already been set up with chairs. Benedict turned his attention back to the crowd, hoping the stillness of the room might make it easier to spot the woman he searched for.

His head snapped back almost immediately, not expecting a second announcement.

"Her Royal Highness, Princess Beatrice Amelia Sophia of Wales."

Benedict felt his heart stop, barely comprehending what he saw.

There she was, looking just as she had the night of the ball; the same nervous smile on her face, the same style of hair and dress. She moved towards the far side of the room as her eyes subtly looked through the crowd. Her dress sparkled in the light as she took her seat neside the queen--beside her grandmother.

As she sat on the small stage, she continued to search through the crowd. He was certain she was looking for him, and from her face it was clear she worried what she would see.

Finally, her eyes found his, and the world went silent.

----------

Tags: @empressnatsume @sarahskywalker-amidala @may-and-lay @lovelyxjanett @asterizee @g4ns3y @bubblegumcat229

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #heavy lies the heart #my writing #loversatthegreatdivide

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cy-cyborg · 12 hours

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I'm getting a little tierd of the idea because amputees get more representation in media, it means rep for our disability is better and we "have enough"

People are right, we do have way more rep than really any other disability, im not going to deny that, and ive joked before about how often people write amputees without even realising it. So you would think, by sheer numbers, we should have at least some good representation, but by-and-large that is not the case. Legitimatly, the closest example I can think of to point to of good amputee rep is Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood and even that uses multiple tropes I hate (the miracle cure/quest for the miracle cure, the almost perfect prosthetic replacement/forgetting the chatacter is an amputee until it breaks or needs repairs, refusal to call prosthetics, "prosthetics" (automail), the amputee who can't do anything without a prosthetic) and they call Ed a slur for another disability (m*dget) CONSTANTLY. I love fmab deeply, it legitimatly helped me feel seen and represented as a childhood amputee in a way no other show has even come close to, and when it gets it right, it gets it really right, but it's also very far from great and should not be the best example I can think of. Especially nearly 15 years after it released...

A big part of the reason why I don't read many books anymore is because of the sheer amount of books with downright offensively bad amputee rep, some of which were touted as good by people with other disabilities and were recommended to me as good examples. others times, I wasn't even looking for books with amputee/disability rep, it just popped up. It has ruined one of my childhood hobbies for me. Ive tried to get back into reading again as an adult but it hasn't gotten better in that time i was away. I was kicked out of 3 different scifi writing groups on facebook and reddit for asking people to remember "cybernetic enhancement" users are amputees - a real group of people, and maybe debating weather or not we're less human isnt great, and for pointing out seeing those discussions every day was making me feel pretty unwelcome in that space (yes i know, "real" cyberpunk isnt trying to say that, i had to turn notifications off on my post about the topic, it doesnt change the fact that newer creators in the genre dont seem to get that bit, that ive seen cyberpunk writers in these spaces say that debating weather people who loose more parts of their body were less human was, in fact, their intent but they hadnt even considered the fact this made their chatacters amputees, it doesnt change the fact that these tropes, intentionally or not, help make those spaces hostile for disabled fans/creators, especially amputees).

But yeah, I should be thankful I get more rep than other disabilities, no matter the quality, right?

It doesn't just stop at being me being made uncomfortable, though. The sheer, overwhelming amount of amputee chatacters with "perfect prosthetics" has had a noticeable impact on how we are perceived irl. In my lifetime, the general idea people have about multi-limbed amputees in particular has gone from "literally the worst thing that can happen to a person and the worst disability to have" to "is it even a disability? The prosthetic fixes it". These are both wildly untrue and harmful ideas about my disability that were both perpetuated by media, but now that the second one is taking root, it's causing real problems. I have not been shy in talking about how I have to fight to maintain my NDIS funding every time I get something done with my prosthetics, and had to get my prosthetist to sign off, twice, that my fancy prosthetic knee that costs the same as a higher-end new car ($125,000 AUD) is not, in fact a cure and I still need help with other things. It took me nearly 2 years to get a new wheelchair because they didn't understand why I needed it if I had the prosthetics - which to be honest, is not comfortable for me to wear, let alone use all day every day. Guys this isn't just assholes on the street or on twitter saying dumb shit, it's the people in the government body who decide how much funding I get to help with my disability who beleive it. People who have very real control over my life. It's not entirely the media's fault, but when the sheer, overwhelming majority of representation for people like me confirms that belief, it's hard to ignore the possibility that these portrayals are contributing to it, you know?

Which makes it so frustrating when I come on here and see other disability writing advice blogs saying to not write amputees because they have so much representation already. We do, I can acknowledge that, but the vast, vast majority of it is shit, and no one, not even other disabled people, are listening to us about it. And what makes it even worse, is the people they're advising to not writing amputees are the creators who care enough to be doing the research. They're the ones willing to listen, to ask questions. They could be the start of the positive change. But instead they're advised to not even bother with us.

And don't get me wrong, other disabilities ARE under-represented. There are so many disabilities, including some I have myself, that I've never seen represented as anything other than the butt of a joke. There does need to be more reprentation of disabilities other than amputation and limb differences. 100%! but can you please talk about that without saying "amputees have enough"

This isn't even touching on how amputees/people with limb differences who dont/cant use prosthetics, or even folks who use prosthetics sometimes but not others, are almost never represented unless it's for pitty-porn, or how the non-fictional media's (news outlets, etc) portrayal of amputees in particular is used to justify hurting very real, very vunderable people but this rant is long enough and honestly, ive got enough thoughts to make whole other posts on those subjects. That second one in particular deserves its own (more thought-out) spotlight and shouldn't be a footnote in a frustrated rant post lol.

#writing disability with cy cyborg (unfiltered)#disability #disabled #writing #writeblr #writing disability #disability representation #amputee #amputee representation #rant #long post

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howlinchickhowl · 6 hours

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Ristretto - mini update

Hey! So, uh. I've been working on the next chapter of Ristretto for a good long while now. I'm finding it challenging because it's a lot of spice and that's one of the things I find hardest to write well. The next chapter, May, the lusty month of may, is planned as basically a five + 1 of fucking, and I have completed one section! So I have decided what I am doing for this chapter is mini updates by section here on tumblr, and then whenever I have all the sections complete I will update on ao3. In all honesty I just feel like I need the boost of actually posting something right now.

If you remember this fic and want to read the updates separately as they come, great! If you would rather wait and read them all in one go as one whole chapter, also great!

If you have no idea what Ristretto is, it's my coffeeshop AU I have been writing forever and a day and you can read from the beginning here.

And now without further ado!

Chapter 9(a) - rated E

May

By the time Ian closes the store, Mickey has taken to the break room for a nap, and Ian completes all of his nightly cleaning duties to the sounds of him snoring deep and rhythmic. When he’s done Ian shakes him awake and is treated to a full ten minutes of Mickey yawning and squinting like a sleepy baby while they gather their shit and lock up. They walk to the L and it seems to dawn on Mickey just when they’re getting on the train that he doesn’t actually know what Ian has planned, or where they’re going.

He gripes when Ian refuses to tell him, makes a few guesses but doesn’t get anywhere close. When they get to their stop he looks confused, wary, like maybe Ian’s playing some sort of trick on him. But he follows all the same.

They get off at 47th and cut back across the 90 towards the maze of streets they both sort of call home. Ian leads them through Fuller Park, past the train depot, and the little league field.

“I peed on first base here once.” Mickey tells him, with a childish sort of pride, hooking his fingers into the chain-link fence and stopping to stare out at the spot in question.

“Why?” Ian stops beside him, watching his face as he looks, remembers. Mickey shrugs, like he doesn’t know why, but there is a faraway look in his eyes that suggests that this is not really the case.

“Bet you were a little terror.” Ian jokes, bumping Mickey’s shoulder with his own.

“I was a Milkovich.” Mickey smiles, licks his teeth, kind of feral, and pushes off from the fence. “We got far to go?” He asks, and Ian shakes his head no, pushing off as well and steering them across the little patch of green adjacent to the field so they can hang a right onto Normal.

A couple of blocks and a couple of turns later and they’re there. A road of empty homes, a tiny ghost town in the middle of the night. It’s eerie, actually, Ian thinks as they walk. They reach their destination, two doors down from Lip’s new place, a little square box of a home with faded gray walls, an overgrown front yard, and, crucially, a shitty back door with a broken lock.

Ian leads them through the little wilderness of the yard around to the back, jiggles the handle a little in the way that he has figured out gives him the quickest access, and ushers Mickey inside.

The electricity is out but Ian is prepared, he reaches over to the counter and flips on the camping lantern he had set there for this exact purpose. It’s not bright but it gives off just enough light for Mickey to see the selection of snacks Ian has set out next to the sink, the array of candles he has prepared on most of the other surfaces, ready to light, and through the open door into the next room where he has set up a little nest for them.

Mickey’s back is to him and he hasn’t spoken yet, and it’s making Ian kind of nervous. Was this a weird thing to do? Was it too much? Maybe he should have talked to him about it before? The seconds tick by and neither of them speaks and Ian’s heart starts to pound like that time he and Lip had boosted a car and ended up in front of a cop car at a red light, holding their breaths and hoping like hell that the car hadn’t been reported stolen yet.

Sucking in a deep breath he moves past Mickey and starts to light the candles, just to give himself something to do.

“It’s not much, I don’t know, I thought…”

He trails off, holds his lighter to the wick of a dusty teddy bear shaped candle Debbie had been throwing away and chances a glance at Mickey, nervous, but unable to stop himself from trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

Mickey’s eyes roam around the room, taking in the sight as the newly lit candles cast warm flickering shadows over his impassive face. They land at last on Ian’s, reflections of the flames dancing against the black of his pupils.

“It’s private.” Ian shrugs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow, drags his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment and nods.

“Private, huh?” He asks, stepping closer so their bodies brush against each other. Ian reaches around past him to light another candle, no noise but their breathing and the soft swish of his sleeve against Mickey’s.

He lights the candle, and the one next to it, placing them gently back in place on the counter, and when he turns his head towards Mickey he is right there. Their faces are inches apart, so close he could count the individual freckles on Mickey’s eyelids, could extend his tongue and lick the tip of his nose.

Their eyes lock onto each other’s and his breath is suddenly coming in shallow little huffs that blow the stray hairs hanging over Mickey’s forehead up.

“Tell me Gallagher,” Mickey’s voice is hushed, a low rumble of a thing that gets Ian’s nerves tingling as Mickey squares up to him, getting his body even closer and laying assured hands on Ian’s belt buckle. “What do we need somewhere private for?”

His eyebrows tick up again, suggestive, knowing, and his fingers find stronger purchase on Ian’s belt, the backs of his first knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of Ian’s stomach while his thumbs trace the outline of the buckle. Ian sucks in a sharp breath, Mickey draws in his own, long and slow and he waits.

Ian moves first, slamming his face into Mickey’s with enough force to push him back into the counter and latching his lips onto Mickey’s with almost desperate fervor, and after that it’s pointless trying to say who is kissing or grabbing or undressing whom.

Tongues and lips and teeth all slide and catch and drag, Ian pulls Mickey’s jacket down his shoulders, Mickey gets Ian’s pants open and shoved down over the swell of his ass. They move as one frenzied unit, pulling and grabbing and pushing and shoving, until Ian’s pants are around his ankles and they are tripping and stumbling and laughing into each other’s mouths trying to stay upright.

Mickey grabs a fistful of Ian’s shirt and yanks it up in an entirely ineffective attempt to get it off him, growling when he is unsuccessful.

“Fuckin’, take your fuckin’ shirt off asshole.’ Mickey yanks again and Ian pulls away just enough to get his shirt over his head, tossing it blindly and praying it doesn’t land on a lit candle and start a fire. He should be more careful, he knows, but he can’t focus on anything but Mickey right now, Mickey who is looking him up and down and licking his lips like Ian is a big juicy steak he’s looking to devour.

“Fuck, yeah.” Mickey breathes, getting both his hands on Ian’s traps and sliding them, firmly, down over his chest until just his fingertips are brushing over Ian’s abs. He rests there, and the muscles in Ian’s stomach jerk under his touch.

“This is the most of you I’ve seen all at once.” Mickey tells him, breathless, giddy, running his eyes up over Ian’s chest and shoulders and then down to where his hands are resting, plucking gently at the elastic waistband of his underwear, index finger rubbing idly over the little thatch of coarse red hairs that line it.

Ian leans in to drop a kiss on his open mouth, slack and wet and eager against Ian’s own. He moves over to leave kisses against his cheek, his jaw, nosing up behind his ear into his hairline and breathing in the scent of his skin, intoxicating and so intense just there that Ian can hardly bear it.

“You want to see more?” He asks, pushing the flat of his tongue against the skin of Mickey’s neck and dragging, slowly, as Mickey shivers against him.

“Wanna see it all.” Mickey’s voice catches as Ian flicks at his earlobe with the tip of his tongue, and he shoves his whole hands down into Ian’s shorts, palms flattening over his hips and fingers digging into the flesh of his ass in retaliation. The movement pulls them right in close, and Ian’s cock ends up shoved right up along the length of Mickey’s where’s it’s hard in his jeans.

It’s like a whole series of flashbulbs go off in Ian’s brain, one after the other. Flash. Flash. Flash. His whole brain lighting up with the contact, a full-body shudder running through him, forcing his breath right out of his chest in short little vocal puffs that he can’t contain. He shoves his forehead into Mickey’s shoulder and breathes there, letting the soft, musty scent of Mickey’s skin soothe him until he has a better hold of himself.

Mickey’s fingers twitch, urgent, and it is that impatience helps Ian focus, helps him find it in himself to drag his mouth up Mickey’s neck, take his earlobe between his teeth in a sharp tug and then whisper.

“Take them off then.”

That’s all the permission Mickey needs, he shoves Ian’s shorts down and the two of them are off again, hands and tongues and lips everywhere at once. Ian gets distracted running his hands all over Mickey’s back and shoulders and waist, feeling the warmth of his skin seeping into his palms and getting lost in the sensation so much that he barely notices Mickey huffing and puffing about having to take off his own pants, since Ian isn’t gonna do it for him.

They laugh together when he can’t get enough room to open his fly button. Ian leans his hips back to make some space and gets with the program enough to help Mickey get his jeans and underwear down until there is a matching pool of fabric restricting his ankles as much as Ian’s. And then they laugh again.

“Should probably take our shoes off.” Ian murmurs, pressing kisses to Mickey’s lips, pressing the whole length of his body along the whole length of Mickey’s and trying not to hyperventilate at how good it feels to feel him.

“Later.” Mickey grunts, shoving his hand between them and grabbing hold of Ian, firm in the way he’s come to learn that Ian likes best. He slides his tongue sloppily into Ian’s mouth in time with his thumb rubbing over the head and it’s almost enough to make Ian’s knees buckle.

“Mickey.” He tries to say, muffled against Mickey’s lips, hindered by his seeking tongue and his clever little hand starting to stroke.

“Mickey!” He succeeds this time, firmly, grabbing whole handfuls of Mickey’s ass and pulling him tight to Ian’s body, trapping his hand between them and halting his movement with a grunt. Mickey’s answering huff is petulant and it’s pure instinct that has Ian pulling him in even harder, letting his fingers pull at Mickey’s ass-cheeks so that they part, exposing him to the open air, letting him feel it until his panting breaths turn vocal and he stops trying to move.

Mickey’s eyes catch on his, they’re dark with want, pupils blown wide enough that Ian can barely make out the blue in them. Up to now their encounters have been marked with both an overwhelming intensity of desire and a level of humor Ian never knew could be a part of sex. Sex has never really been fun in this way, before. Fun in the way where you get your rocks off and it feels really fucking good and someone thinks you’re hot and that feels amazing or you’re super high or out of your head and everything you do is fun. But fun like this, stupid fun where you’re held captive by your pants and your lover won’t let you do anything about it kind of fun, that’s a new thing. That’s a Mickey thing. It’s the best thing Ian’s ever had.

But now it feels like they are teetering on the edge of something else, something new. Not wholly new to Ian, he’s dangled his feet in these waters a couple of times before, and the heat in Mickey’s eyes suggests that it’s not his first dip in this particular pool either, but new for them, together, and just the thought that they might be on the same page, compatible in this as well, it’s a whole new thrill.

“I had a plan.” He tells Mickey, low and serious, letting his thumb rub over the swell of one ass cheek, feeling the fuzz of the surprisingly light colored hairs that grow there. “Got a mattress all set up in the next room, comfy pillows, soft sheets.”

“Not a fuckin’ princess Gallagher.” Mickey grumbles, and Ian clenches his fingers harder, pulling his cheeks further apart. He can’t see, but from the sharp grunt that Mickey lets out he can tell the tension is starting to stretch his hole open ever so slightly.

“No.” He says, easing up just a little. “Just thought you might appreciate getting fucked without getting carpet burn on your ass.”

Mickey’s mouth turns up in a smile that is somehow equal parts flirty, filthy, and sweet, and his tongue flicks out over his lips slow, tantalizing.

“Awful thoughtful of you.” He tilts his head up into the space below Ian’s chin and Ian shivers as the flat of his warm, wet, tongue slides over the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, I’m nice like that.” His focus is split, the sharp spikes of Mickey’s stubble following the path of his tongue like tiny electric shocks against the sensitive skin of his throat, but he manages to loosen his grip and slide the fingers on his right hand all the way into Mickey’s crack and stroke them up and down a couple of times, fingertips catching gently against his rim as they move.

“Hmm.” Mickey sucks in a slow breath, and Ian can feel all the muscles in his ass twitch, uncontrollably. He likes that. “Other ways too.”

“You think I’m nice?” Mickey’s teeth join the party, scraping over the hinge in Ian’s jaw, adding a new sensation to the wet and sharp in a way that makes Ian’s knees threaten to give out. Ian rewards him by allowing the tip of his middle finger to sink in, breeching the tight circle of muscle just enough that it clenches around him. Just enough that he can now officially say he’s been inside Mickey Milkovich.

A soft vocal puff of breath blows out against Ian’s neck, wet with saliva and just a little itchy where Mickey’s been working it over with his lips and tongue and teeth.

“What’s that?” Ian inclines his head, pushing their temples together. He pushes his finger a little deeper and then pulls it back almost immediately, Mickey’s body moving with him, unconsciously trying to keep him in. Mickey grunts. Ian pushes at his cheek with his nose, lays soft kisses on his cheek, against the corner of his lips. “Say you think I’m nice, Mick.”

He gets at Mickey’s lips, hot and wet, slides his own over them, breathes a hot breath into his mouth, swallows the breath that Mickey gives him back. He lets his finger push back in, as far as it will easily go.

“Mickey.”

Mickey kisses him, one sweaty hand coming up to grip at his shoulder and the other grabbing him at the hip. He kisses him dirty, lips and tongue dragging hot over Ian’s own, slow and wet and it’s so fucking hot Ian makes a sound he’s never heard outside of porn, like a grunt and a moan had a filthy high-pitched baby and it gets Mickey grinning against his mouth until he’s basically kissing teeth.

“Nice guy, huh?” His lips pluck at Ian’s again, nose bashing nose as he draws his head back so their eyes can meet. “That what you think you are?”

“What else?” Ian shrugs, drawing his finger, still resting just inside of Mickey’s ass, in tight little circles, just the tip really, swirling around, feeling his walls, the heat, the jolt of Mickey’s muscles as they pulse at the contact. He could just stay there forever, just rubbing at him, feeling him, but at the same time he’s desperate to get a rhythm going, add more fingers, taste him, get something else inside him, he wants everything all at once and it’s like he’s just feeling too many things, he can’t take it.

He buries his face in Mickey’s neck and clenches his hands, one holding steadfastly to Mickey’s ass-cheek, one spread so that he can keep his finger inside, but still clenching against the sheer strength of what he’s feeling.

It’s a lot, he thinks, as Mickey gasps against his ear, he must be pulling at him pretty hard, dragging him from the inside. He tries to relax, tries to think about releasing his muscles and slowing his breathing, think about things that calm him down. Soft music, going for a run, the sound of Mickey’s voice lately.

“Mick.” He about manages to grind out against the flushed pink skin of Mickey’s shoulder. “What else?”

“What, if you ain’t nice?” Mickey’s voice is soft, kind of high right there against the shell of his ear, soft lips mouthing at his earlobe as small warm hands run up and down his sides in slow, firm strokes. It must be clear to Mickey that Ian is on the brink of falling the fuck to pieces. He manages a juddery kind of nod, face still buried in Mickey’s skin, hands still fighting to tense, and he feels Mickey’s chest rise and fall in a deep breath, feels him relax his body against Ian’s.

The kisses that follow are gentle, soothing, along his hairline, down his forehead, over his cheeks and jaw, and punctuated with that sweet, husky voice, not quite whispering, but not quite talking aloud either, talking him down with each pointed breath.

“Well you’re really fuckin’ hot. So there’s that.” Kiss. “Funny. When you’re not trying to make a dumb pun joke.” Kiss. “Strong.” Kiss. “I like that you’re strong.”

He can feel it working, feel himself settling back into his skin, his heart slowing back to a regular (if aroused) rate. He manages to press a kiss into the ball of Mickey’s shoulder and is rewarded with a questioning “hmm?”

He gulps in a breath and focuses on relaxing his hands, soothing his thumb over Mickey’s almost certainly bruised ass-cheek, retracting his finger in a long, slow, slide that has Mickey’s breaths coming in short sharp vocalisations, almost giggles, like the sensation is more than his body can bear.

He drags his face up to Mickey’s for a kiss, and as he melts into that mouth it’s like he’s fully back inside his body again. He can feel every place where his skin is sticking to Mickey’s, pulling in little painful drags as they move against each other. He is aware once more, of Mickey’s dick, resting, a little twitchily, beside his own, pressed between them both and dribbling into his pubic hair. Ian enjoys how wet he gets, can’t help but reach between them to feel along the sticky length of him and give a couple of short tugs, coating his fingers in pre-come and sucking in the little huffy breaths that Mickey puffs out as he does.

“What else?” He asks, dragging his hand back around and sliding his finger back inside, crooking his knuckle to stretch out the rim a little before diving properly in.

“Fuck.” Mickey breathes against him, and Ian swallows it, his words, his breath, the intoxicating smell of him swirling inside Ian’s mouth and resting against his palate.

“What else?”

“Jesus Christ you uh.” Ian licks at his lips as he is trying to form the thoughts, a little more sensation, wants to see if he can get Mickey to shake out of his skin just the way Ian almost just had. “You kiss good.”

He licks him again, closes his lips over Mickeys in a reward of a kiss, rubbing at his rim with the tip of his ring finger, testing the waters to see if they’re there yet. Mickey’s moan is loud, fills Ian’s mouth with its neediness as he throws his arms around Ian’s shoulders and presses himself as close to Ian’s body as he can get. Second finger it is. On the next draw back, he pushes two in. Mickey’s whole body shudders against him.

“Mickey.” He loves the feel of Mickey’s entire weight hanging off him, pressed against him, clinging to him like he’s a life-raft and Mickey’s adrift at sea. “What else.”

Mickey whines, and it is such a sweet sound. Ian buries his fingers as far as they will go and swallows the noises his lover makes.

“Christ, Ian, I don’t know, if I say you’re nice will you stick your fuckin’ dick in me?”

If he’d thought laughter would break the horny spell he’s under, he would have been wrong. He’s so turned on he’s not quite sure what to do any more. He’s laughing straight into Mickey’s mouth and buzzing with desire and fighting the instinctual thrust of his hips all at the same time, so many sensations warring for attention he hardly knows how he’s still standing up, except that Mickey’s body is supporting his as much as Ian’s own is supporting Mickey’s. And God does he want to stick his dick in Mickey, more than anything he thinks he’s ever wanted. There’s only one thing stopping him.

He pulls his mouth from Mickey’s and unceremoniously drags his fingers out of his ass, grabbing a cheek in both hands and squeezing.

“Not without lube.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, leaning back in, but Ian stops him short with a hard smack and pushes him away.

It’s only when he makes for the little nest he’s set up in the next room that he remembers his pants are still around his ankles and he’s still wearing his boots. It’s Mickey’s turn to laugh as he very narrowly escapes tripping over his own feet.

“Shut up and get your shit off.” Is all Ian says, working on freeing his feet and admiring the lines of Mickey’s body as he hops about pulling his own boots off and shaking his legs out of his pants until at last he’s standing in nothing but his socks, a mile and a half of pale skin lit only by the soft glow of the candles and making Ian’s breath catch in his throat.

He has to kiss him again. His pants have barely hit the floor and he’s got Mickey gripped by the hips and is smashing their lips together even as Mickey’s shit-eating grin gives way to open-mouthed laughter.

He keeps kissing him as he uses his body to move them through to where he has stashed the lube, keeps kissing him as he backs him toward the mattress he has topped with piles of blankets and pillows gathered from every corner of the Gallagher household (and washed on a super high heat to remove any trace of Frank that might have been lingering), keeps kissing him, though not with a whole lot of finesse as he lowers them both down horizontal and reaches blindly around the side of the mattress for his little kit of supplies, and Mickey just keeps kissing him back.

Back when Mickey had first come around the Tamp and Grind, refusing to order his drink the way he wanted and barely looking Ian in the eyes some days, he would never have imagined, in a million years, that Mickey loved kissing as much as he does. But he really fucking does. He’s almost always the first one to lean in, and never the first one to pull away, he leads with his lips, a total kiss slut, and Ian loves it, loves that he is maybe the only person to know it. He kisses him and kisses him and gets hold of the lube and kisses him and vows that he will never deny Mickey a kiss when he wants it. He deserves all the kisses.

Although maybe he needs to take a breath, his thoughts are getting a little loopy.

He gets the lube on his fingers and fumbles around beneath them, sliding two straight back in to Mickey’s hole without much pre-amble and smiles when Mickey gasps beneath him.

“Yeah?” He asks, not really pulling his face back from Mickey’s, their mouths still connected though not quite in a kiss.

“Fuckin’ warn a guy” Mickey murmurs, lipping at Ian’s bottom lip a little, not quite a kiss, not anything really but some contact.

“How’s this for a warning?” He brings his ring finger into play, running it along Mickey’s rim to position it in the sort of ridge formed by his other two fingers and pushing, just a little, before pulling back again.

Mickey sucks in a deep breath, blowing it back out warm over Ian’s mouth as the finger slides in next to the others. There are so many sensations, warm breath on his face, soft hairs against his cheek threatening to tickle, sticky skin pulling against his own wherever they move, and the sucking heat surrounding his fingers, Ian revels in in, how completely physically consumed he is by this man, how absolutely lost he is to anything outside of his body and Mickey’s body right now.

He twists his fingers and pulls out a little before pushing back in, trying to give him a little stretch on every move, he grins at Mickey, thinking about why he needs the stretch, and Mickey’s returning grin is filthy and harsh.

“You gonna fuck me Gallagher?” He grunts as Ian makes his two main fingers into a scissor inside of him.

“Uh-huh.” Another kiss, another thrust, and now Mickey’s hand is worming in between them to grab at Ian’s dick, firm and sure in a way that makes Ian jolt.

“Think you got what it takes?” He starts up a stroke, nice and light, not letting his hand catch where Ian is sticky from pre-come, and Ian gives him a couple of thrusts in time with his fingers and fuck it feels really fucking good.

“Fuckin’ know I do. You’re desperate for it.”

Mickey licks his grinning lips, thumbing at the head of Ian’s dick.

“That right?” He squeezes a little, and Ian jerks.

“Fuckin’ greedy for it, you think you can take it?” He needs a condom, where did he leave them? He knows it was close by. He throws his arm out over their heads, feeling blindly as he sucks on Mickey’s lips. He comes up triumphant, waving it between their faces with a grin which Mickey returns, eyebrow cocking up toward his hairline.

“Only one way to find out man.” Mickey says, and all at once they are moving together, getting the packet open, getting Ian suited up and ready, and then both of their hands are there, covering him together, guiding him together, until he is finally sinking into the sucking heat of Mickey’s body and the both of them stop breathing for a minute as he slides all the way in.

It’s like time stops still. Like the whole world shrinks down to just him and Mickey and the points of contact between them, the heat that surrounds his cock and the light hairs tickling his elbow where it is bracketing Mickey’s arm, the short bursts of air that are passing between them as they kind of gape open-mouthed at each other, adjusting, feeling.

He thinks he could stay there like that forever, just locked inside Mickey for the rest of time, and be perfectly content with his lot in life. Mickey, though, he senses, is about to get restless.

He opens his mouth, no doubt to give Ian some patented Milkovich sass, so Ian takes his moment, right before Mickey speaks, and strikes, pulling out almost all the way in one swift movement, before grinding his way back in, pushing even further when he bottoms out so that Mickey’s hips tilt up off the mattress and a short grunt comes punching out of Mickey’s mouth.

He seems to like that move, so Ian goes with it, adjusting his weight so that he is able to grab hold of a seductively thick thigh in each hand and push upwards, holding Mickey’s weight so he can pull out again and grind back in, using every ounce of muscle control he’s worked so hard for to tilt his hips at just the right angle and push himself forward at just the right pace to get Mickey’s knees to twitch and his thighs to clench around him.

He goes at it like that for as long as he can, sweating and gasping and rolling his hips, rewarded for each thrust with a soft breathy ‘uhn’ from Mickey and the occasional half-hearted bite to his jaw or his ear or, at one point, his nose, though he does wonder if that was just bad aim. He doesn’t know how long he manages, maybe a minute, maybe less, before he starts to get that tight feeling in the base of his spine and his toes start to tingle and clench. His movements grow less smooth, less sure, jerking forcefully instead of gliding with purpose and he hopes he’s done enough to get Mickey there as well because this is apparently going to be a short performance.

‘Mick,’ he manages to gasp, eyes zeroing in for a second on a sweaty lock of hair that’s dangling out of place, ‘Mick, I’m—’, the force of his breaths blows the hair away again and Mickey’s face, flushed and glistening with sweat, comes back into focus.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Mickey says, hushed and dark and right there with him, thank fuck. Glassy eyes lock onto Ian’s for just a second before Mickey’s reaching down between them to get a hold of his own cock and the sensation forces them closed, head tipping back, hips jolting upward with a force that nearly knocks Ian sideways. He pulls back, bringing Mickey with him so that he’s resting back on his knees, Mickey splayed basically in his lap. He does his best to grip Mickey’s hips despite the sweat and his waning co-ordination, juddering through the last thirty seconds of thrusts as Mickey urgently strips his cock, bringing himself to the edge and throwing himself off it seconds after Ian shudders and jolts and grinds to a seizing halt. He empties into the condom with great heaving groans, laughing as Mickey’s face twists up in bemusement at the noises he makes. A whole body shiver runs all the way through him and he leans into it, shaking his shoulders and head like a dog, spraying sweat everywhere and arching his back into a stretch.

It’s only when Mickey grunts and gives him a half-hearted kick against his right side that he realizes all of this movement is probably a bit much for the man he’s still inside of thirty seconds after he’s blown his load.

‘Fuck.’ He breathes, running his hands over Mickey’s hips in a way that he hopes is at least a little soothing. ‘Sorry.’

Mickey’s whole body seems to go limp, legs flopping down, head tipping back onto the mattress as his breathing slows. There is a small bruise starting to come through just beneath his clavicle, a dark blue just beginning to bloom, and Ian is struck with the overwhelming urge to taste it.

He tips forward, softening cock slipping out with the movement and earning another grunt out of Mickey, whose hands are covering his face now but who adjusts his body to the shifting weight of Ian leaning down over him. He brings his arms down around Ian to run light fingers over his back as Ian mouths gently at the darkening mark. They catch their breaths with soft touches and light kisses, Ian can hear the slowing thud of Mickey’s heart beneath his skin and he tries to match his own against it, breathing slow into his chest, contemplating what it might feel like if they were to somehow become one single being.

Mickey’s fingers in his hair tug him back to reality, and his brain suddenly starts whirring in a different direction, one that plants the seed of worry as he goes back over the last half hour, cataloguing everything he could have done different, better.

“Sorry.” He says again, propping his chin up on Mickey’s chest so he can look up at him. “That was—I can do better than that.”

Mickey waves a dismissive hand between them before planting it back in his hair.

“Nah,” He says, twisting a damp curl just starting to form around his middle finger, “you’re a fucking stud Gallagher.”

It’s dumb, and it pulls a groaning laugh out of Ian, but it’s enough to quiet his doubting mind and he buries his face in between Mickey’s pecs as the both of them give in to a few giggles.

“I can do better, though.” He says eventually, “I got a bit overwhelmed but usually I don’t just lose my shit like that.”

Mickey pulls at his hair, forcing him to look back up and meet Mickey’s eyes, cool and sharp, assessing Ian as they look him over.

“Alright,” He says at length, dropping his head back and giving Ian a couple of gentle pats on the shoulder, “well give me a minute to get the feeling back in my legs and you can prove it to me.”

...

part b coming soon??

#fic #my fic #gallavich #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #ristretto #wip #about ristretto #update

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