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xlostinthedreamfics · 2 months ago

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Nobody New: Mingi Oneshot

Pairing: Song Mingi x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Playlist: Nobody New - The Marias

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut

Summary: After 2 years of living in a new city, you decide to sign up for a pottery class to step out of your comfort zone and hopefully make some friends, only to find your ex-boyfriend Mingi has signed up for the same pottery class.

Note: First post and it’s a mingi one! So excited to post more of my stories, hope you all enjoy :)

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You took a long sip of your coffee and stared down at your friend sitting across from you. “It’s a pottery class, what are you so afraid of?” Your friend Wooyoung chuckled, nudging your leg from under the table. “I get that, but you know I suck at making friends.” You huffed, frowning at your friend who couldn’t do anything but roll his eyes.

“We became friends, hello?” He swirled his coffee cup in a circle before taking a drink. “You came up to me at work, though, it’s different. You initiated it!” You slouched your shoulders but then took a deep breath. “You’re right, it’s just a pottery class. If I don’t make friends, at least I could make some cool art.”

“God, I hope so. You need a hobby, bad!” Wooyoung smirked, his smile dropping immediately to a face of pain as you pinched his arm. “Ow! Doom scrolling in the corner of your room every night is not a hobby; you need to go out and meet people.”

Wooyoung was right; he is always right, unfortunately. You couldn’t deny your friend’s statement any longer; you didn’t leave your house unless it was to come out with Wooyoung or go to work. It’s been two years since you moved from your hometown, and instead of being social, you were spending all your energy at work, in the corner of coffee shops on your laptop, or beginning constant apartment improvement projects that just became stale. But you need to be the main character in your story right now. Although you weren’t the most textbook creative person, you still wanted to engulf yourself in the arts: painting, pottery, poetry, and music. You decided to take your chance and go with pottery, maybe it could inspire you toward other hobbies.

The pottery shop by your house was starting classes for beginners, and Wooyoung pushed you to sign up and try it out. He claimed he wasn’t tired of being your only friend, but since Wooyoung moved to a new apartment, he needed a one-of-a-kind, custom set of mugs, plates, or bowls. You chuckled at the thought of showing up at Wooyoung’s place with the most botched, mismatched set of dishware. You could already see his face of annoyance.

Ding. The shop looked almost full, with about 4 rows of 5 stations lined up. There was some room in the last row, where you decided to take your seat. “Welcome in!” The instructor smiled at you, handing you a beige apron to protect your clothes from the clay splatter. “You may need this too; you don’t want your hair to get caught.” She took a few hair ties out of her pocket, handing one over to you before moving on to the rest of the people coming in.

You tied the apron around your waist and then your hair into a ponytail. The last thing you needed was some horror story about your hair getting caught in the pottery wheel on your first day of class. You looked around as more people took up the seats, and another girl who seemed around your age took the seat next to you. “Hi,” the girl smiled at you, tying the apron around her waist and securing her hair.

You smiled but didn’t say anything, maybe as the class went on, you would feel more bold and make conversation. You reached for your phone in your jean pocket, texting Wooyoung that you, in fact, made it to the pottery class as you promised. All he responded with was, “Can't wait to see what you make me!” You chuckled before sliding your phone back into your pocket.

“Welcome, everyone! I think we’re going to get started now! Just want to make sure everyone has an apron?” The instructor looked at each person, nodding, before continuing. “Perfect! Welcome to Clay & Co. This is the beginner class and will be a total of 6 sessions. I want us to go around and introduce ourselves one by one, your name, what brought you in, and what you are hoping to create! Let’s start up front.” You felt your stomach drop; you hated introductions, icebreakers, and anything that caused everyone’s attention to you. Most of the answers so far were similar to yours, “trying something new, wanting to learn a new hobby”, at least you can say the same and no one would bat a lash.

“Hello, I’m Mingi-”

Your heart felt still, as you gazed towards the second row at the man introducing himself. The pounding of your heart sounded louder than his voice, the beating muffling your hearing. There was no chance that you were in the same pottery class as your ex-boyfriend. Your ex-boyfriend from two years ago, who you thought you left behind in your hometown, who you took these last two years to try and get over. You automatically hid your face, refusing to make eye contact. Why the fuck is here? How could this be happening to me right now?

“I just moved to the city and have always wanted to try a more hands-on hobby and maybe make some new friends. I’m hoping to make something useful.” He joked. The rest of the group chuckled at his last statement, catching that smile of his in the corner of your eye, causing your stomach to do a flip. The fact that you had to get up in a few turns to introduce yourself made your mouth dry. Your face felt flushed, a drop of sweat visible on your brow. You hadn’t seen him since you broke up and truly thought you’d never see him again. It’s also not as unlikely to see him since it wasn’t a far driving distance from where you grew up.

You did everything you could to avoid him after the breakup: blocked him on every social media platform, blocked his phone number, and put all the stuff he gave you in a box that was still in your apartment. As soon as you got a clear view of his face, it felt like every single moment you had with him was running through your brain like a flip book. He looked so good, his shoulders wide, his black hair framing his face, his deep, deep voice that seemed to make everyone pay attention. You were staring at him for too long; you didn’t realize they were already beginning introductions in your row.

The girl next to you got up to introduce herself, “Hello, I’m Evie-” Fuck, that meant that you were next, you continued to stare down at your now sweaty palms. When Evie sat back down, the room was quiet again, awaiting your turn. You had to get up; you couldn’t be stuck in this chair forever. All you had to do was not look at him. Because that was already working so well. You pulled yourself up to your feet, your knees seeming to wobble a bit as you made direct eye contact with the instructor.

“Hi, my name is Y/N. I wanted to try a new hobby and learn something new. I’m hoping I can make something for my friend as an apartment-warming gift.” You felt your cheeks so hot as you sat back down, noticing Mingi’s gaze linger on you before he turned around. “Awesome! So glad to have everyone, let’s get started then.”

The rest of the class was a little easier than those introductions. You were too focused on getting comfortable with your pottery wheel and not being too heavy on the pedal. You even had a conversation with Evie about how much harder this seemed to be, but the clay on your hands was also somewhat soothing. The stinging realization that Mingi was a few feet away from you caused the lump in your throat to form again. It was the longest 2 hours of your life. All you could think of was how ready you were to get the fuck out of there and tell Wooyoung.

“Okay, class, we’re going to wrap up for today. Make sure to come in on Thursday for our second session, at 6 pm!” The instructor yelled out, making sure everyone was cleaning up their station well before heading out. You quickly cleaned up, storing away the tools and apron in the designated area. You washed your hands at the sink hastily, finally letting your hair down, feeling more secure as it covered your flushed face. You went back to your station to grab your bag, said bye to Evie, and headed out the door.

Ding. The air hit you immediately; it wasn’t even cold out, but the breeze felt nice against your warm cheeks. You only lived a few blocks down, and in just a few steps, you would be in your safe space, where you could process what just happened. Ding.

“Y/N!” The familiar voice called out, your face growing hot again, and the palms of your hands beginning to sweat almost immediately. There wasn’t any bad blood between you and Mingi; you were friends for a long time before you got together, and the break-up was mutual since you were both in two different places in your lives. But it didn’t hurt any less to see him now. Would it be wrong to just ignore Mingi and pretend you never heard him to avoid this confrontation? You could just stop going to that pottery class. You felt his footsteps picking up speed as he called out to you again.

“Wait up.” You stopped in your tracks, turning around quickly to see Mingi making his way towards you, towering over you now; you forgot how tall he was. He hesitated to continue speaking, almost as if he was trying to figure out what to say. “Hey.” That was all he mustered out of his mouth as he reached for you, but pulled back as soon as he realized.

“Hi.” You wanted to laugh, the uncomfortable air right now felt dense, and running away didn’t seem like a bad option. “It's, I, hey.” Mingi looked flustered, smiling awkwardly at you. “What are you doing here?” You blurted out, taken aback by your own boldness.

“Right.” He laughed awkwardly, “Do you think we can talk, maybe get something to eat? Pottery, strangely enough, made me hungry.” You gazed at him, amazed at how the distance in time somehow felt non-existent, as if you could retroactively feel how you did two years ago, but the heavy feeling in your chest lingered. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Mingi.”

“Please.” His soft hand landed on yours, leaving your skin with a burning sensation as if he ignited all the memories in an instant. Your reaction was to pull away quickly, regretting that decision as a frown appeared on his face. You sighed at the uneasiness of seeing him visibly upset; maybe just a catch-up would be okay. “Okay.” Was all you could answer as a small smile gleamed on his face now. He pulled out his phone, pulling up a spot on his maps app, “There’s a sushi spot close by that I’ve been wanting to check out.”

“Sushi Scene?” you asked him. Mingi looked up at you, “You’ve been there?”

“It’s my favorite spot, let’s go.” You answered, walking past him toward the direction of the pottery shop. The thoughts raced through your mind as he caught up next to you, still following the directions on his map. This isn’t what you had imagined to happen on this Tuesday afternoon. You assumed you would enjoy your pottery class, get home, and relax before your work day tomorrow, where you would tell Wooyoung all about it. But now you were walking to go have dinner with your ex-boyfriend, whom you never got closure from, completely healed from, and who you still found undeniably attractive.

Before small talk could even begin during the walk to the restaurant, you were already coming up on it. You headed inside first, not even allowing time for Mingi to get the door for you, which is something he always made sure to do. You could hear a noise of annoyance behind you, letting a small chuckle escape your lips. “Table for 2.” You gestured at the host, she nodded and grabbed the menus, directing you to follow her to a booth towards the back; each of you taking a side of the booth. You took a deep breath, focusing your attention on the menu instead of Mingi, who was gazing at you. You couldn’t help but look up and catch his eyes, nervously glancing back down at the menu. “Should we-”

“Get 2 different rolls each and share?” Mingi answered instantly, smiling nervously at you, knowing it’s what you would always do, order something different and share. “Sure.” You surrendered, placing the menu down and clasping your hands together in front of you. You wished you were sitting next to Mingi so you wouldn’t have to face him. It felt surreal to have him in front of you right now, the quick memories of him flashing through your brain; his kisses, his laugh, his touch…

“Ready to order?” The waitress startled you, you nodded, each of you ordering your rolls and handing her the menus. “I know this must be weird, seeing each other,” Mingi cleared his throat, continuing, “I moved here recently because of work. I didn’t think I’d run into you since this city is so big. It just ended up being fate, I guess.” The thing about Mingi is that he’s a logical person, but funny enough, he is a big believer in fate and things happening the way they’re meant to. “I tried calling, you know?” The lump in your throat appeared again, the discomfort of this conversation becoming hard to swallow.

“But it just went to voicemail every time.” He bit down on his bottom lip nervously, eyeing me up, waiting for me to respond, but continued anyway. “I know that was a few years ago now, so we don’t have to talk about it. Just wanted to see how you have been. What brought you to sign up for that pottery class? You hate art.” He chuckled, fidgeting with the bracelets on his wrist.

“I don’t hate art! I’m just not good at it,” You smirked, rolling your eyes at him. “My friend Wooyoung told me I should go make friends. I’ve been living here for two years and have somehow managed only to make one friend, him.” You laughed at yourself, locking your eyes with Mingi’s, the familiarity of it all seeping through with just a stare.

“I never got your call because I had blocked you.” You nervously took a sip of your water, not making eye contact with Mingi. You both never had a conversation after the breakup, and there wasn't much to talk about. You were moving away, and Mingi was always busy at his new job, two very different wavelengths, and that’s okay. “That’s understandable, I guess.” Mingi laughed, leaning in closer, his chin resting on the palm of his hand.

“I never stopped thinking about you.” His eyes seemed to pierce through you, watching you move uncomfortably in your seat. He knew how that look made you feel, how it could eat at you without saying anything, so many times that he could shut your thinking up with this look. His face fell back into a coy smile, rubbing the back of your hand softly before leaning back against the booth. You felt your heart ablaze, the feelings returning as if they never left. You couldn’t help but imagine jumping over this table and kissing him in front of everyone in this sushi restaurant. “Food is here!” The waitress walked up to their table, causing you to snap back into reality. “Thank you.” You smiled at her and then at Mingi, his eyes fixed on you as he handed a pair of chopsticks your way.

The rest of the time was spent chowing down on the delicious rolls, rating them one by one, pretending to be some Michelin star critic, knowing neither of you was qualified to even write a Yelp review. The awkwardness of seeing your ex was soon filled with memories of your once-close relationship. The conversation led to you both talking about your current daily activities, your jobs, your current obsessions, guilty pleasures, and your favorite coffee and food spots so Mingi could get some ideas. It all felt normal, as if you never left your hometown, as if you’d never left Mingi. After dinner, Mingi insisted on driving you home, even though it was about a fifteen-minute walk for you. He picked up the check and led you both out of the restaurant towards his car, which was parked right in front of the pottery shop.

“Still got your Honda, I see?” You smiled as you walked up to his black Honda Accord. “Of course, it’s my baby.” Mingi opened the door for you, heading over to his side hastily. “I’m driving her until it breaks apart.” Mingi snickered, handing you his phone to put in your address. “While you’re at it, play that song that you were telling me about,” Mingi smirked at you, pulling off towards your place. You smiled, going through his music streaming app to find your favorite song. “Okay, this group is my current obsession. When you listen to this, think of floating peacefully in the water, the sun setting so the sky is the perfect color of purple and pink, and it’s summertime.”

“Am I in the middle of the ocean, floating? How long do I have before the sun sets completely and it's dark? Do I at least have a life jacket?” You moaned annoyingly, “Mingi, please. Don’t think about it too much.” You pushed his leg playfully, turning the volume up a bit. You watched as his face went through five different emotions, and you couldn’t tell if he liked it or hated it. “Okay, what else you got?” He smirked, knowing that it would annoy the shit out of you. “You got something better?” You glared, slumping into the seat.

“I’m messing with you.” He placed his hand on your thigh, quickly glancing over at you, “I like it.” He left his hand on your thigh, and you were hoping he would. You stared down at his hand, noticing the nice rings wrapped around his fingers in detail. You traced your finger over each one, an excuse for your hand to be closer to his. “Remember when you clowned me for wearing too many rings?” Mingi scoffed, watching you continue to trace through each ring. “I didn’t clown you, it just hurt when we would hold hands.” You chuckled, boldly interlacing your fingers with his, “It's not too bad now.” You looked over at him, his face painted with a bit of surprise.

Before you knew it, he was pulling up to your apartment, the thought of being away from him causing your heart to ache already. He noticed your hesitancy, squeezing your hand softly, causing you to lock eyes with him again. He glanced down at your lips and then back at you, moving his body closer. “Do you want to come upstairs?” You blurted out, his face just a few inches from yours. He bit down on his lip, your favorite habit of his, and nodded as he turned off the car. You walked him up the stairs to your place, thanking yourself for deciding to not get a roommate. You weren’t exactly sure what was going to happen, what you wanted to happen, but all you knew was that you wanted him, you missed him, you needed him more than you had before.

“This is my place.” You smiled at him as you ushered behind Mingi, closing the door. “It’s nice, I like it. You have a great view.” He walked towards the window in the living room, peeking out at the street below. “Do you want anything to drink?” Mingi turned around, walking to you in the kitchen, shaking his head. “I’m okay right now. I could use something else, though.“ He scooted closer to you, your back crashing against the counter. You stared up at Mingi, who had caged you into his embrace, an arm on either side of you. “Mingi.” You nervously watched as he backed off, “I’m sorry, did I read everything wrong? That is my bad.” He pursed his lips.

“I was just going to say,” His eyes fixated on you again, “I never stopped thinking about you either.” You smirked, your hand reaching out for him. He smiled, grabbing onto your waist as he pushed you against the counter again. “You couldn’t forget about me?” He looked at you with a smug look, snuggling his nose against your neck as he inhaled you. He pressed a small kiss to the crook of your neck, leading up to your jaw toward your lips. He stopped at the corner of your mouth, peering down at you as you spoke. “How could I forget you?”

Mingi took your arms, wrapping them around his neck as he hoisted you up onto the counter. Your legs quickly wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you. He cupped your face with his large hand as he placed his finger under your chin. “I’ve thought about this moment so much. If I were ever able to kiss you again.” His lips crashed against yours, your core aching for him almost immediately. His tongue slid along your bottom lip as it entered your mouth, your tongues gliding against each other’s. His hand wrapped around the sides of your neck as he squeezed gently, causing a moan to escape your lips.

His body rubbed against yours, feeling yourself become slicker for him. You bit down on his lip, tugging on it slightly as he groaned under his breath. “Fuck.” He whined, his hands drifting under your shirt, the feeling of his cold rings giving you goosebumps. You threw your arms up, allowing him to remove your shirt with ease. His lips descended onto your chest, kissing down until he met your breasts. You felt his hands on your back, instantly unclasping your bra. Although it has been a few years since you both had sex, everything felt so natural, so normal. He knew the ways to tease you just right, to make you feel good, to drive you insane.

He threw the bra to the side, his head hovering over your breasts, taking a bulb into his mouth. You gasped at his touch, his tongue swirling around your nipple. You could feel your legs squeezing onto him even tighter, “Mingi.” You held the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair as he sucked, nibbled, and circled your sensitive bulbs. You slid your hands down his back, tugging at his shirt for him to take it off. He obliged, slipping it off and tossing it to the side, returning to you quickly. His mouth was on yours again as he unbuttoned your pants, gliding them off, your skin feeling the coldness of the marble counter from under you.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” The return of the nickname never felt so good. At this moment, you were his and he was yours. He skated his hands up and down your thighs, glancing at the wetness seeping through your underwear. “Want me to tell you what I want?” Mingi asked, you eased your breathing, nodding up at him. He tilted your chin up, kissing you before trailing his fingers down your neck, down your chest, and abdomen to your aching center. His index and middle finger pressed against the front of your panties, his mouth dropping open as he felt the soaked cloth against his skin. You moaned softly, feeling him pull your panties to the side, slipping his middle finger inside of you with ease.

“Fuck.” You moaned a bit louder this time, your hand gripping his other arm as you held your body still. He smirked as he slipped the second finger in, curling his fingers upward slowly. The sensation drove you insane. His lips found your neck as he continued, “Mingi, please.” He bit down on your neck slightly, causing you to hiss with pain. “Please, what?” He whispered faintly, kissing up your neck to your ear.

“You want more?” His low tone vibrated against your ear as he moved his fingers deeper into you, watching you squirm. He had a good pace, but you wanted more, you wanted him, you needed to be completely stuffed by Mingi. “I need you.” You muttered out through your moans, hearing the noises from your wet slick as he removed his fingers. He unwrapped your legs from around him and took a step back, slowly unbuttoning his pants and removing them. His bulge sprang up from out of his briefs. Your mouth fell open, your pussy pulsating at the remembrance of how amazing he fit into you. You reached for him, wanting to bring him close to you. He couldn’t help but chuckle at your eagerness as he moved closer, lining himself up to you but not pushing in. He teased you instead, sliding his hard cock in between your slit, the tip of him brushing along your clit.

Your breathing grew heavy, your moans getting louder at every meeting of his tip against your clit. His cock slipped between your folds, his hands gripping your thighs as he focused on you. “I need to feel you.” You pleaded, gripping onto his hand. He interlaced your fingers with his as he slid his tip into your entrance, plunging in. You could scream if the walls of your apartment weren’t so thin. He fit so perfectly, stretched you out in the best way. Mingi wrapped his arms around your waist to hold you down as he bobbed himself in and out of you. His pace grew faster, his moans matching yours. “Fuck, I missed you so much.” He leaned down to your breasts, gliding his tongue around your nipple as he continued to pump into you.

You felt your legs wrapping tighter around him, causing him to sink deeper into you. He moved slower to tease you before moving his hips faster against you. “I’m so close, Mingi.” You threw your head back, your arms behind you holding you up. Mingi kept his pace steady, his fingers finding your clit, creating small circles with his thumb. You moaned loudly, feeling like you were about to come apart at the seams. “I’m close too, baby.” Mingi groaned against you. His eyes were focused on you, watching as your chest heaved, how your legs shook, and your walls clenched onto him as you came.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You moaned out, glancing at a panting Mingi who was almost to the edge. “Fill me up, baby.” You looked at him, his gaze intensifying as he slammed harder into you, his hot release filling you up instantly. You fell back slightly on the counter, Mingi lying on your stomach as he slowed down his breathing, pulling out of you completely. He got up, helping you back up against him, kissing you softly.

“I missed you.” You whispered against his lips, a huge smile spreading on his face. “Does this mean you will sit next to me at our next pottery class?” He laughed as you smacked his arm, “Fine.”

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art · 1 year ago

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Creator Spotlight: @themetalhiro

Hi, I’m Metal! I’m a freelance artist from good ol’ New Jersey. My favorite things to work with are a lot of bright colors, exaggerated poses, and candid scenarios. I try to farm sensible chuckles whenever I can, so I’m also big into comics. I love making them about my life, and the media I’m into, and one day I’d like to publish my own series! Thank you to everyone who has gotten me this far!!

Check out Metal's interview below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

I guess so! It’s funny, I don’t remember a single time in my life that I wasn’t drawing as a hobby… somewhere in middle school (a little late, I know.) I put the pieces together that animated movies were made by artists, and that it wasn’t just for fun, they were paid to do it. The moment I discovered people could be paid to make art, I decided I would do that, too. Now I’m here!

How has your style developed over the years?

I think the best way to answer this would be with an example! Over the last few years, I have made more of an effort to draw more intentionally, which sounds silly. Now, I put more thought into my poses and step out of my comfort zone with shape language and composition. I had a phase where I drew everyone with a huge, perfectly circular head and no nose. That definitely did not lend much variety...

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

Ack! I’m so terrible at history! I’d love to give a well-thought-out answer about fine artists of old, but I don't think we’d have much in common… Most artists I admire and who have driven me forward creatively are the people behind comics I’ve read. Andrew Hussie, Bryan Lee O’Malley, Eiichiro Oda... these guys have inspired me greatly and had a heavy influence in developing my art style and sense of humor. I’d love to ask them questions about their processes and upcoming projects. I think it would make for an entertaining night!

Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

Outside of pure aesthetics like searing bright colors, layered clothing, and loud noises…. the best and most inspiring moments in my life were those surrounded by friends and loved ones! I cherish the hell out of memories of hanging around in fun locations, trying weird food together, and impromptu midnight walks... so I try my best to capture that atmosphere and my own memories in my work when I can, even if I’m imposing fictional characters on top of them. That’s always the core of it.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

I would never permanently refuse a medium, but every time I pick up clay, I’m like a baby using its hands for the first time. Absolutely dreadful. If one day I could make and paint a figurine like the ones I admire in videos, that would be awesome... But for now, I’m not counting on it.

How do you want to evolve as a creator?

I’ve had an absolute blast drawing fanart over the years, and it’s certainly played a massive role in my growth as an artist. But my dream has always been to publish my own stories for y'all to enjoy! I have lots of worlds I want to introduce to you before I’m old and gray. I want to get faster, work harder, and get better at drawing interesting settings so I can get the wheels turning as soon as possible. I also want to stop avoiding the color blue like a coward.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out creating art that you know now?

Pay your taxes quarterly. Tablets will break at the exact moment you need them most, so have a spare. Wear your blue light glasses. You’re going to need to wear a brace on every joint on the right side of your body. It can be lonely sitting at your desk all day. The car on the side of the road that costs $1000 cash….. don’t trust it!!!

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@cranity—They use absolutely beautiful colors and weighty line work. Everything looks so sharp and clean! I wanna put it all up on my wall!

@vewn—Their ability to crank out quality short films and illustrations packed with detail is incredible. The off-kilter perspective they use really sells disorientation and catches your attention like nothing else.

@nelnal—They have absolutely banger character designs again and again, I can’t believe one person’s mind can come up with so many creative ideas!

@jinx88kc—They have a beautiful and recognizable style, and the way they incorporate animation into their illustrations sometimes is SO cool!

Thanks for stopping by, Metal! For more of Metal’s work, follow their Tumblr, @themetalhiro! If you haven't seen their Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here!

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #themetalhiro

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artisticdivasworld · 1 year ago

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DIY Art Supplies: Getting by on very little as a beginning artist

I’ve been on this kick lately about making my own art supplies. I mean, we all know how pricey those art store trips can get, right? Plus, there’s something incredibly satisfying about using tools and materials you’ve crafted yourself. It’s like adding an extra layer of creativity to the whole process. Let me share a few of my favorite DIY art supplies with you because I don’t think we have…

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pyrrhiccomedy · 1 year ago

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I am genuinely so proud of my wife for becoming a crafts person over the last few years.

Like, I was always a crafts person. I was an arts and crafts kid. My parents sent me to classes or summer camps or after-school clubs pretty much continuously from when I was about 5 years old, and over the years I did metalsmithing, stained glass, polymer clay sculpting, loom weaving, oil painting, charcoal drawing, clothes-making & tailoring, carpentry, woodcarving, macrame, miniatures, beading, jewelry-making, basket weaving, leatherworking, paper-making, bookbinding, papier mache, decoupage, sand sculpting, and probably more that I'm forgetting. There was never a day in my life while I was growing up when my entire bedroom floor wasn't taken up by 2-5 different ongoing art projects. As an adult, it's given me the firm confidence that I can walk up to pretty much any crafting skill, and get the hang of it, and enjoy doing it.

My wife never had that. She wrote, but that was really her only artistic outlet. Art & craftsmanship were just not any of her business. She always expressed admiration for my gumption when it came to making things with my hands, usually with a "bigger idiots than me have done it" attitude, but she was certain she'd be bad at it if she tried it, and that she wouldn't have fun. As evidence, she would offer every time in her life when she had attempted to learn a craft, and didn't have fun, and all the Arts And Crafts kids picked it up a lot faster than her.

Which like - yeah! Learning how to do a new craft is a skill all on its own! Fine motor control is a skill developed over time! So is spatial reasoning, and materials intuition! She wasn't just 'trying to learn wreath-making,' or whatever, she was trying to learn how to learn how to make something with her hands AND wreath-making, at the same time, so of course it would take her longer than the kids who already had the first part, and of course it would be more frustrating for her. I knew she wasn't uniquely bad at crafts: she just didn't know how to approach picking them up, because she was never encouraged to learn.

And then the pandemic hit.

And while we were all trapped inside and going insane in new and exciting ways to all of us, she tentatively decided to pick up embroidery. She probably wouldn't stick with it, she explained: she'd probably be bad at it. It probably wouldn't be fun. But she thought embroidery was pretty, and literally what else did she have going on?

And then she did stick with it. For over a year. And she got pretty good at it! She embellished a baseball hat for her sister with cactuses and wildflowers from where they grew up which came out adorable. She made an embroidered portrait of one of our friends' cat that they still have displayed in their entryway. And she discovered - and remarked on it often, with mild surprise - that she was having fun. She'd say a lot of stuff like "this stitch was so frustrating at first, but now that I get it I really like doing it," or "I kept getting this tangled but I've figured it out now. I just needed to relax."

Then she took up pottery. We did that as a couple for about a year, too. Now she's a knitter.

And it's just been so great, to see her eyes light up when she sees a sweater she likes, and hear her say, "I could make that!" She's slowly let go of the perfectionism that I think holds a lot of people back from doing crafts: that dismay when you make a mistake which leads to discarding a whole project, or starting something over. More and more she's taking on the veteran crafter attitude of "oops lol, whatever I'll just keep going." She's picking things up faster. She's taking pleasure in learning incremental steps. She's started to see crafting as something that relaxes and engages her, instead of as something inherently frustrating. I've gotten to watch her learn to find joy in making something with her hands. I always knew she was creative and artistic and capable of learning how to do anything. It's been so much fun to watch her start to take that on as part of how she sees herself.

We have this running joke about how she will prematurely declare herself to be in an era. Like, she'll go swimming twice and announce that she's now in her "swimming era," and then never go swimming again. Or she'll make one smoothie, buy a bunch of fruit, and declare that we are now in a "smoothie era," and then a week later we have to throw out a bunch of fruit that's gone bad.

The other day (while she was knitting, and I was sitting on the couch next to her doing crochet), she went, "I feel like I've gotten - like, I'm a bit crafty these days, I think. Like, I've done a couple of different crafts, and gotten pretty good at them. I think this is now, kind of, you know...something that I can say that I do."

I supplied that I would even go so far as to say that she was in her "crafting era."

Her eyes widened. "It's an era?"

I pointed out that it was something she'd been doing pretty much continuously for the last three and a half years. That feels like the start of an era to me.

"Yes," she decided. "It's an era. This is my crafts era. I'm a crafts person now."

She's planning to make me a sweater with a duck on it for fall.

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citrustan · 6 months ago

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slipping through my fingers [5] (myg)

title: the storm-ish 1.0

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: dilf!yoongi, exes and co-parents au, angst!, fluff, smut

summary: you meet yoongi's fiancée for the first time and... don't care to get a good read on her. yoongi keeps upsetting surprising you.

warnings: [other parts should be read before this one] this one's frustrating, there's not much improvement regarding oc and yoongi, it gets worse actually. aand it's a teensy tinsy bit unedited bec j don't have access to my laptop rn.

"Here's the dining area!" Taehyung fakes excitement as he leads the party further into your home, "I set the table."

You crouch down, catching your daughter in a tight hug, “Hi, baby,” you whisper into Nao’s hair.

For a second, you could pretend everything was normal. Just you and your kid. No pink hair highlights.

But then you stood up and saw Yoongi standing awkwardly behind Naomi.

“Hey...” Yoongi greeted you softly. His eyes briefly met yours before flicking back to Nao, “Hyejin wanted to meet you, and, uh… she brought dinner.”

You forced a small, tight-lipped smile.

Dinner. She brought dinner. As if that made any of this easier. Still, you nodded once, knowing you had no choice but to go through with this.

Hyejin had walked into your kitchen by now, snooping around with curious eyes. She wants to know you so bad. Picking up a random iron skillet from the drying rack, she observes the room intensely.

She eyes the colour scheme you picked out for your whole house. It's plain but not bland, she notes. White. A little... woody. Vintage. Yet very colourful and so full of personality.

A lot of well-executed DIY projects, most likely done with your daughter--- a windchime, stained glass paintings, miniature clay figurines, jars of seashells, hanging jellyfish lamps, personalized ceramic plates and mugs with designs painted and characters sculpted onto them.

Hyejin finds you fascinating.

She noticed a bunch of crocheted tapestries. Similar to the ones in Yoongi's room. She had always found it an odd design choice in his home. But, it makes perfect sense in yours. And obviously, she finally understood where he got it from.

And she can't wait to finally get to know the woman who had her soon to be husband wrapped around her finger for years.

Yoongi never told her why you broke up but she intends to get that information out of the two of you today.

Suddenly snapping out of it, you speak stiffly, “Oh, um, thank you,” gesturing at the bags of food place on the coffee table.

Your eyes dart towards Hyejin, who was already gliding back to you sporting a bright, effortless smile.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, _____,” Hyejin smiled warmly, "Your home is lovely. You really are a true creative."

Whatever that means.

“I hope it’s okay I tagged along. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now. Yoongi never talks about you."

Oh!

That definitely didn't hurt.

You smile, not knowing what to say. Simply nodding, “Thank you. And sure, it’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine.

You still felt disrespected.

Taehyung’s brows raised slightly, but he didn’t comment either. Instead, he offered you a supportive smile from behind Hyejin and mouthed, 'You’ll be okay.'

You can only hope you would.

Yoongi knew how fragile you were, and how hard it was for you to see them together, but he had let this happen anyway.

Yet, you understood Hyejin too.

It isn't really her fault. You'd have felt better about it had this been your decision.

"Mimi, go wash up for dinner." Yoongi instructs his daughter.

Then Hyejin chimes in, "But remember not to get your hair wet! _____, do you have a shower cap she can borrow?"

Your mouth drops open a little and your ears start to heat up.

Who does this woman think she is? She's talking to you as if you're not Nao's MOTHER.

What the hell does she mean 'Do you have a shower cap she can borrow?'

That's your kid, not hers.

Not realising you were glaring at Hyejin, you forced out yet another smile. This time it was glaringly obvious.

"She has one. She knows where to find it. Don't you, Nao?" You smiled down at her fakely.

Your daughter grabbed at your dress, "Yeah. But it's okay if I don't use it. My school doesn't allow colourful hair. We'd get into trouble." She directed the last half to Yoongi's fiancée.

Oh, thank goodness it wasn't permanent dye. You breathe a sigh of relief.

Hyejin's smile drops a little but she recovers almost instantly. "Oh, wouldn't you want to twin with me though?"

Is this lady emotionally manipulating your kid?

You don't give Nao a chance to respond because you knew she'd never want to hurt anyone's feelings and you hate that she's pushed in a corner now. "Wash your hair, honey," you smile down at her sweetly, "Use mommy's shampoo if you need to."

Yoongi finally decides to intervene. "Or we could let Mimi make her own choice. She knows the consequences, and is smart enough to decide what's better for her."

And unsurprisingly, ever the diplomat (which is odd because he's literally a lawyer by trade), he won't take sides.

Sadly, he's wrong this time.

Your squint your eyes at him as if you can't understand him, "What consequences? There's a consequence. Just the one. And she already stated it. We'll get in trouble with her school."

Your anger is a bit misdirected when you demand your daughter to clean up, "Go wash your hair, Naomi. I don't want to see even hint of colour that's not natural."

Nao's eyes widen before she runs off pouting. She knew you hadn't meant to scold her but it still upset her.

This is exactly what you were worried about.

You look at Taehyung pleadingly, prompting him to check on Nao. He immediately complies and chases after her.

You weren't ready to deal with Yoongi's new life now because you knew you wouldn't be able to digest it. You did not want Nao taking the heat for something that isn't her fault. But you suppose that's inevitable because you still haven't learnt to process your feelings and emotions about Yoongi.

Also, in all honesty, you could've dealt with the school. It wasn't that serious of an issue. They aren't too strict on the appearance discipline, especially hair.

You're on a roll now though.

"And what the hell are you doing altering my daughter's appearance without consulting me anyway?" You don't know who you squeaked it at but it was definitely warranted for.

"She's my daughter too, _____." Yoongi speaks cooly yet firmly.

"Exactly. She's yours and mine. And I need to be part of every decision making process," you scoff frustrated, "I mean, how would you feel if Taehyung and I decided to chop her hair off? What if the three of us get... I don't know, bowl cuts?" You're on the verge of yelling.

Yoongi looks bewildered, "You wouldn't do that."

You record the time. This is the moment you think Yoongi finally understands you.

"That's the point, Yoongi!" You exclaim. "Of course I wouldn't because I'm not fucking stupid!" You place emphasis on 'stupid', "-and I respect you!"

The jab wasn't subtle.

"What are you implying? That Hyejin is? That I am? That we don't respect you?"

"Oh, am I wrong?" You raise a brow.

"It's just some hair dye."

"That's not the issue here," you suddenly point at his fiancée, "And why are you calling my kid Nao?"

Hyejin's eyes widen at the sudden attention. She looks to Yoongi for help.

Taehyung reemerges from Nao's room when he hears arguing.

He observes Yoongi's stance and his explosion radar goes off, "O-okay, why don't we just-" but before he could even try to diffuse the situation, Yoongi loses it on you.

"God, _____, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

A sharp pang hit your chest, it felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

He's never yelled at you before. He's yelled with you, around you, maybe even about you but never at you.

Moreover, he did not deserve to scream at you.

You wish you could just pout and run away into your room like your daughter had.

Instead you stand your ground and stare at Yoongi's face, challengingly.

Hyejin just stood back, a little bewildered. She's surprised Yoongi had it in him to scream this loudly. And he's the least angry, most stable person she knows. Though, she doesn't know how to feel about him treating you like this.

On one hand, she's elated that he's speaking in her defence. And on the other, she's worried she'd be on your bad side after this. And that you'd keep Nao from her. If she didn't have a relationship with Nao, she can't possibly continue being with Yoongi.

For a while, nobody said anything. Taehyung was too afraid to even breathe let alone say anything.

The two of you were like a pressure cooker.

And let's not get into what Yoongi said--- 'What's wrong with you?'

You'd like to know. Clearly, something must be wrong because you don't know why he'd marry a woman after months of dating but not you even after years of being together and even having a child with.

You watch as Yoongi's fiancée grasps his hand to calm him down.

There have been very few moments when you've wished you had one of your classic cream pies to smash in someone's face.

Now is one such instance.

And then it happens.

Your vision begins to blur.

Not wasting any time, you wrap your arms around yourself in a soothing manner and storm off into your room, refusing to break down in front of a stranger.

You wanted to make a good impression so badly but it was just too soon.

Yoongi swiftly shook Hyejin off of him to follow you but was pulled back by a strong arm. Taehyung.

He glares at the taller man before yanking his arm back, continuing after you.

Before you could slam and lock your door like a petulant child, Yoongi blocks it with his foot, "Stop."

"I don't want to talk to you." You assert.

"Then don't. Just listen to me." He suggests. More like demands. His face was stoic as ever with maybe a hint of discomfort and remorse now.

"Please?"

Outside, in the living room, Heyjin and Taehyung awkwardly lingered.

Taehyung breaks the silence, "You just had to do this now, didn't you?"

Hyejin doesn't reply but gives him a pointed look.

As much as she trusts Yoongi, she doesn't trust you and Yoongi locked in a room together. She noticed way too much passion for two people who've broken up.

Unfortunately having crossed way too many boundaries already, she can't help but just wait.

₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ rose blood by mazzy star ₊˚.🎧 ✩｡

note: fuck tumblr for posting my half-baked chapter im literally so fucking annoyed i had to redo all the changes but it's whatever!

exhales

and i am still sorry for the delay! please let me know what you think; love it, hate it, can't stand it, can't live without it? tell me! bec i wanna hear all about it

(anf did you catch a subtle Gilmore girls reference 😋)

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obsessivevoidkitten · 2 years ago

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Between A Rock And A Hard Place

Male Yandere Human-like Golem x Gender Neutral Human Reader (CW: Noncon, huge dick, golem man, magic, fatal violence towards bandits, spit used as lube, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 1.8k (Sorry this took forever, was originally going to be a drabble and then kinda got away from me, hope you all enjoy huge dick golem man.)

The small town that you lived in, Somnheim, had been victim to a swathe of horrible luck. Raided by bandits, packs of beasts killing livestock, and enemy soldiers scavenging what they could. Finally the town had enough and sent for a practitioner of the magic arts to aid them in the defense of their village.

This was you.

They didn’t have much but they offered a home and food for your services. You figured you could help them and have a quiet place to conduct your research away from the prying eyes of the council, who liked to hold newer mages under their thumb. It would also just be something nice you could do for your fellow humans, and these folks clearly needed the help.

You didn’t want to stay in this place forever though, so your solution would have to be one that would last long after you were gone.

Given your expertise in summoning and animating the logical choice was a good, old fashioned, golem. A pentagram, some select incense, clay flesh molded to a slate skeleton and imbued with an amethyst heart carrying an artificial soul, some runes carved in, and a scroll inserted that would have him follow his purpose and give him personality.

Then just add in a spell that turned the humanoid clay man into something more human so as not to frighten the villagers too badly and make him able to experience a near human existence.

The ritual was a complete success. Of course it was. You were you after all, young but talented and more importantly utterly dedicated to your craft.

Somnheim now had a mighty protector. An artificial man over 9 feet tall, with huge bulging muscles, shaggy brown hair, stoic brown eyes that gave nothing away, and glowing green runes on his arms and legs. The spell that made him human-like was more than just visual, it gave him nearly all the functions of a human male, he’d be as durable and strong as the hardest metal, never age, and of course he was certainly infertile.

Not one for creative names, you named him Slate.

Eventually bandits came by and decided they would stock up in Somnheim before going on to bigger and better loot.

They did not live to regret that decision.

Slate simply rolled a massive boulder down the hill they approached from and flattened all but a couple. Those he took care of quickly with magically precise throws of average sized stones.

Over the months any threat he couldn’t flatten with a boulder or smack with a stone he would pop open with his mighty fists.

By the end of his first year as the village’s guardian he was beloved by every single townsperson. Even the tiny children, who would climb on him and put flowers in his shaggy hair as he smiled and watched, had no fear of him.

You had enjoyed your time there, but eventually it was time for a change of scenery. You wanted to do more field research and you had saved enough money up with side projects to be able to fund a trip to the other side of the country near The Great Forest.

The villagers were grateful and sad to see you go, but they were much more interested in Slate than you.

But when you packed your bags to leave behind your wattle and daub dwelling once and for all you found yourself blocked by Slate.

He uttered one word in that deep, almost monotone, voice of his.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? I have to leave.” You tried to squeeze past him but he was not having it.

“I must protect the village… Your presence here makes the village safer… I might need repairs… or reinforcements… And you also tasked me with keeping you safe…”

You fudged the wording. You, breather of life into stone, weaver of clay, and creator of souls, messed up the wording.

He picked you up like a box of luggage and sat you on a chair in your makeshift study before going over to the heaviest bookshelf, picking it up, and placing it in front of the only door so you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll move it when I need to leave… then I will put a rock outside to keep you here…”

And that became your life. A literal prisoner in your own home.

Your magical abilities were useless in this situation, you were not a battlemage that could explode a wall, you couldn’t teleport, you bent earth.

Of course you tried to tunnel your way out by making a hole under your bed, but Slate had walked in and caught you red handed. He had confiscated and locked away all your magical supplies and texts unless you needed them to repair him you were not getting them back.

Slate was tentative enough of your physical needs, bringing you food and water and taking you outside like some sort of pet for sunlight, fresh air, and exercise. You had tried to run away but of course he had inhuman speed. And the villagers refused to help. What if Slate refused to save them if they did that?

It was a fair concern, he was made to protect the village and not villagers, he may even see them as a threat if they assisted you. You were on your own.

Though you were healthy enough physically your mental condition was deteriorating rapidly. How could you not be? Being trapped in the same building, even with trips outside, was awful. The villagers only looked at you with pity if they looked at you at all, and no one would even talk to you anymore.

It got to the point where you barely eat, refused to go outside, and spent all your time laying in bed.

Slate was failing the magical directives that governed his personality and behavior. You were clearly not safe, he was convinced that you would die if this continued, and honestly you likely would… eventually…

But the golem was not incapable of learning. He observed the other humans to find out what he could add to your life to bring you back to your usual self.

One night, when he was sitting in front of the house watching the humans passing by and holding hands, he came to the conclusion that humans had families, they lived together in their dwellings and they loved each other. They coupled together and mated.

Up until this point Slate had only been directed by simple emotion and the unyielding parchment that had imbued him with his goals. But now his task demanded something more of him, it demanded a much more complex emotion. The magic in him allowed this evolution, and now he was much more dangerous because he loved you. But it wasn’t just love he felt for the first time, it was lust.

Slate’s expression became one of someone thinking about the one who they adored infinitely, an expression of a man thinking about the person he wanted to have writhing in pleasure beneath him, even his normally green runes and brown eyes took on an amorous pink glow.

When you heard the boulder blocking the door shift and then heard the bookshelf take its place as what was blocking your way out as Slate came lumbering in with his heavy steps you didn’t even glance up.

Not until he stood in front of you and you noticed his strange pink glow replacing his green one did you stir.

You sat up in bed and when you saw the strange way his normally near emotionless eyes were staring at you, and glowing, you scooted away.

“I know what you need now! I am so sorry for not realizing sooner…” He said in a surprisingly soothing tone, a stark departure from his normally deep monotone.

“What do yo-”

Your words were forgotten as he took off his shirt and pants revealing a sweaty body and a frighteningly large cock.

“You need a partner to be happy, like the other humans, and you need to mate!”

He sounded very eager.

“No! Uh… I don’t need to… mate. I need to lea-” he put a large finger over your lips and shushed you before gripping your pants and peeling them and your underwear away from you carefully.

There was no dissuading him from his chosen course of action, he would make you happy and keep you safe no matter what!

It’s what you needed.

Slate leaned forward and spit all over your hole, thoroughly lubing it with his spit, before pressing his big cock into your hole.

It was so large that you let out a whimper of pain at first, but he was somehow knowledgeable enough about sex to know he needed to let you adjust to the size rather than just ramming himself in.

You gasped and writhed but he held you still with his massive hands running up and down your sides as he slowly pulled you down on his prick.

Slate was in complete heaven, he had never really known much pleasure of any kind, let alone the type that came with burying his cock in someone he was now completely obsessed with.

He had no idea his dick could be used for this at all, but now that he did he would certainly be doing this everyday, maybe even a couple times a day! The perfect blend of heat and softness was amazing.

As he began to thrust slowly, with a blissed out expression as he stared up at nothing with drool coming out of his mouth, you couldn’t help but moan in pleasure as his cock caressed your depths perfectly.

Hearing your breathy moans snapped him back to reality. You were finally happy again~

The treatment was working! That settled it, he would do this every single day no matter what!

Carefully gripping your sides a bit more firmly he moved your entire body back and forth on his cock. You couldn’t help it, your whole body twitched with the force of a massive orgasm. The sensation of your body spasming around his previously virgin dick caused him to slam in deep and cum hard.

He pulled you close, holding your head into his muscular chest as he panted, his dick still firmly impaling your limp body. You hadn’t been eating much and this serious fucking had taken a lot out of you.

Slate cleaned the two of you up, bathing you gently before taking advantage of your compliant state by spoon feeding you some dinner he had brought from a town person.

Mating with you made you so pleasured and too tired to resist him when he took care of you, he almost couldn’t wait until you had enough energy to do it again, his cock strained in his pants with anticipation.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #monster boyfriend #gender neutral reader #yandere boyfriend #male yandere x gn reader #yandere terato #my ocs #yandere x reader #male yandere #My OC Slate

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nousrose · 3 months ago

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The restlessness in the human heart will never be finally stilled by any person, project, or place. The longing is eternal. This is what constantly qualifies and enlarges our circles of belonging. There is a constant and vital tension between longing and belonging. Without the shelter of belonging, our longings would lack direction, focus, and context; they would be aimless and haunted, constantly tugging the heart in a myriad of opposing directions. Without belonging, our longing would be demented. As memory gathers and anchors time, so does belonging shelter longing. Belonging without longing would be empty and dead, a cold frame around emptiness. One often notices this in relationships where the longing has died; they have become arrangements, and there is no longer any shared or vital presence. When longing dies, creativity ceases. The arduous task of being a human is to balance longing and belonging so that they work with and against each other to ensure that all the potential and gifts that sleep in the clay of the heart may be awakened and realized in this one life.

Eternal Echoes

John O'Donohue

#john o'donohue #spirituality

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temporarywelcome · 6 months ago

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Leash - Spencer Reid

Words: 2.6k

Summary: Spencer caught his girlfriend cleaning up after a terrible act.

CONTENT WARNINGS: blood, swearing, unsub!reader

A/N: lol I wrote this for a creative writing project and gave Spencer a different name so if there's a typo I missed that's mb

____

The signs his girlfriend was a serial killer were there.

They were clear, bright as day, he was a profiler for God’s sake of course he saw the signs. Yet he ignored them, practically had a hand over his eyes to block out the issue. Just pretending he didn’t see it. Pretending he didn’t know.

A part of him tried to rationalize the situation. There was no way his lovely girlfriend was the one doing these heinous crimes. The same lovely girlfriend who listened to his nerdy rambles without getting bored. The same girlfriend who was always ready to comfort him after a traumatizing case, stroking his hair and rubbing his back and telling him everything was going to be okay. The same girl who constantly spoke about the future she saw with him.

No, she couldn’t be a serial killer.

But the blood on her hands said otherwise.

Spencer was supposed to be on a case, but it ended abruptly. The killer had chosen a victim that was able to outsmart him. Less of a victim story, more of a survivor. So Spencer found himself and his team back on an airplane home, FBI duties over. He had planned on surprising his lover at their shared apartment, flowers in hand as he quietly unlocked the door.

Closing the door, he silently padded through the halls, passing all the photographs on the walls of them together. The photographs Y/N had taken the time to print and put up, many of them being her idea to take. She was so loving. So sweet. No, she was no killer.

No killer would have surprised him with that dinner date at the beach. No killer would have bought him a new telescope for his birthday. No killer would be the woman photographed throughout these walls with that beautiful smile and big heart.

Hearing the sound of the faucet in the bedroom, Spencer entered, seeing the bathroom door open. He was expecting to see her hastily doing her hair, working diligently with products laid out throughout the entirety of the marble counters. Or doing her intensive skincare routine after a face mask, scrubbing the colorful clay from her face.

Yes, he expected something simple and mundane like that.

So when he stepped through the open doorway and saw the tub, he was in shock. The water was running, it was the tub, not the sink, but the water in the tub was tinted red. His mind immediately tried to rationalize it, she was doing some crazy project. She was dyeing a dress red, right? Yes! Something like that! That must be it!

But no, she was seated on her knees, hands hovering over the water. Red hands. Bloodied hands. No no no, Spencer, not blood! Red dye! Yes yes yes.

No amount of gaslighting could explain the butcher knife balanced on the edge of the tub. The mysterious red (Jesus Christ, Spencer, it was blood, stop trying to play yourself!) that stained the front of her purple shirt.

“Spencer,” she breathed out. They were staring at each other for a good thirty seconds before she spoke. He stared. She stared back.

He finally spoke, “Who’s blood is that?”

She looked down at her bloodied hands, bottom lip between her teeth, “Um,”

“Who’s blood is that?” he repeated. He should be drawing his gun right now, releasing it from its spot on his belt. But it stayed in its holster, his hands at his sides.

“I don’t know,”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” he felt his palms begin to sweat, eyes darting around the bathroom anxiously.

“I don’t know,” Y/N repeated, dunking her hands into the water, beginning to scrub at them. How could she be so calm right now?

Because she did nothing wrong, of course (of course she did something wrong, there’s so much blood)!

His eyes went to the floor, checkered tiles. Black and white, now with red splatters. Festive. “Did you kill somebody?” Stupid freaking question. He was a supposed genius, asking his girlfriend who practically painted the walls with blood if she killed somebody.

“Yes,”

“Were they trying to hurt you?”

“No,”

How the hell was she so calm? Telling her FBI boyfriend she killed someone for no necessary reason? It then occurred to him she was so calm because she knew. She knew he wasn’t going to do shit. He was still standing with his feet planted, hands at his sides, flower bouquet forgotten on the floor. No gun drawn. No cuffs out. Nothing.

“Why did you do it then?!” he was starting to get frustrated, thin fingers trembling, He brought a hand up, biting his thumbnail in nervousness. His heart was beginning to beat so fast he feared a heart attack coming.

“I don’t know,” Y/N started scrubbing at her hands faster, sniffling.

His poor heart was telling him to fall to his knees and bring her into his arms, tell her everything was going to be okay as he wiped her tears away. His brain, his rationality kept him unmoving. She was a murderer. His job was to literally catch people like her when the police couldn’t.

“...how many?”

She stopped the scrubbing to look up at him, “What?”

“How many fucking people have you killed, Y/N?!” his voice rose, quivering as he felt his throat tighten. Tight, scratchy, sore, like when you wake up in the morning and realize you have a cold or fever.

“This is a third,” she replied.

Three. She really was a serial killer.

“You killed three people,” Spencer whispered slowly, finally sinking to his knees, “Oh my God,”

“You don’t believe in God,” she pointed out simply.

She was right. He didn’t. He was a man of science, he always was. But he was in distress, was he not allowed to say whatever came to his mind? To be fair, he felt there were more important things to discuss than his religious beliefs. Or, well, lack of.

“Does that even matter?” he snapped, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging at the strands in stress. And like always, almost as if it were a reflex, Y/N reached out, pink-tinted hands gripping his.

“Don’t pull your hair,” she said in that stern but loving voice he was so used to, the voice he was honestly craving and needed to hear right now. “I hate seeing you hurt yourself,”

‘I hate seeing you hurt yourself,’ said the killer in front of him. How odd. How ironic and strange.

Yet he still allowed her to bring his hands to his sides, still gripping them. Yet he still leaned forward and rested his head on her shoulder, breathing in her scent. Her usual assortment of mixed fruits blended into her favorite body spray, with a little mix of blood, which kind of ruined the comfort he was trying to get.

Everything was kind of ruined.

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” she whispered, releasing his hands so she could wrap her arms around him, rubbing his back in that soothing motion that always made him melt. Oh God did he just want to melt into her and forget this was fucking happening. Forget all she has done. “I love you, and nothing is going to change that. Nothing,”

It didn’t sound like she was lying. He was a profiler, he knew how to catch a liar. However, he didn’t catch when she killed two other people. He didn’t catch that. He didn’t see the signs. So what are the chances she was lying about loving him?

He never paid attention to how she always was so emotionless with anyone but him. He never paid attention to how she refused to get any pets, and when he brought a stray cat home one day thinking she would love it, it mysteriously vanished. He never paid attention to how possessive she was of him, the amount of times he had to pull her off of girls giving him advances.

He saw none of the signs. So what did he really know?

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what broke Spencer Reid’s heart into a million tiny pieces.

“Hey, look at me,” Y/N pulled away, gripping his chin and forcing him to look into her eyes, “I never even knew what love felt like till I met you. Do you really think I’m going to throw it all away? Throw away everything I’ve built with you?”

“Y-You’re a liar,” he stuttered out, eyes darting over her shoulder, refusing to meet her gaze, “You’re lying to me so I’d let you go,”

“I’m not lying to you,” she sighed, cupping his cheeks, “Arrest me, I don’t care. I just want you to know the truth. You’re the only thing that seems right in my life,”

“Stop it,” Mustering up the courage, he finally pushed her away, a harsh shove to her shoulders sending them both in opposite directions on the ground, “Stop lying to me!”

Y/N yelped as she fell onto her back, giving him a glare, “Spencer what the hell?!”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m crazy? You killed three people, I’m allowed to act crazy!” his hands balled into fists at his sides, digging into the flesh of his palms in an attempt to calm himself down. Why did it feel so hot in there? He was sweating so hard. It felt like he was going to collapse of heatstroke. He scrambled to his feet, taking deep breaths to calm his breathing.

“Baby…” she stood up as well, “It’s going to be okay-”

“No it’s not!” How could she say something like that? She really thought that after ending three lives, everything was going to be okay? They were screwed.

“Fine,” she groaned, “Let me rephrase that. You’re going to be okay,”

“No, I’m not!” Spencer shook his head, and with that, the first tear fell. Crap. “How am I going to be okay knowing my freaking girlfriend just became a serial killer?!”

“Because you’re going to arrest me, and I’m going to go to prison, and you’re going to move on with your life and find someone better and get married and have a bunch of nerdy, genius babies and live a happy life.” she held out her arms, “Do it.”

“Do what…?” he already knew what. But the thought of it was terrifying to him. It’s what he should do, but he wasn’t sure he had the courage.

“Cut the bullshit. You know what? Arrest me. Grab the cuffs,”

Just grab the handcuffs and be done with it. Arrest her. Let her go.

Let her go.

Yes, figuratively. Let her go from your mind, your life.

Let her go…

Yes, be done with her. Handcuff her and let her go… to prison.

“Get out of here,”

What?

She blinked, looking at him with her arms still outstretched to him, trying to figure out if she had heard wrong. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Spencer turned on his heel, walking out and into the bedroom. Opening the closet, he began yanking her clothes off of their hangers and tossing them onto the bed, “Get out,”

“Um, no,” she followed after him, pressing her wrists together and raising them to his face, “Cuff me!”

“Get the hell out,” he grabbed a suitcase from the top shelf, bringing it down and placing it on the bed.

“Why aren’t you arresting me?” Y/N stayed hot at his heels, right behind him through every step he took, “Why aren’t you arresting me?”

“Because you’re going to leave,” Spencer unzipped the suitcase, beginning to fold her clothes messily and tossing them inside in his hurry, “And never come back,”

“...really?”

“Yes.”

“But-”

“-Y/N,” he stopped his movements, looking at her, “You need to leave,”

“Why aren’t you arresting me?!” she was getting frustrated now, scared he was now playing some game with her. She knew Spencer though, this was not in his personality. Toying with her. Letting a serial killer go, however, was also not in his personality.

Biting his bottom lip, he replied with: “Because I love you,”

Letting her go was a mistake.

He knew that it was going to be a mistake when he had let her go. Yet he still did it. He still had let her go, sent her off with a passionate kiss, then proceeded to cry himself to sleep that night. And every night for the first ten days.

After that, he still felt terrible, but forced himself to move on with his life in the best way he could.

Which was hard when every month or so, opening up the P.O. box in the lobby of his apartment complex, he would find letters. Anonymous letters typed out in what he knew was typewriter from the smudges.

He didn’t need to be an FBI agent to understand who this anonymous person was.

Letters expressing how much this sender missed him, how they thought of him everyday. How he would always be the love of their life, how they would ever forget about him. The sender was confident they would not be caught, describing which city they were in at that moment, what they were up to.

Spencer never wrote back. This anonymous writer didn’t care. Y/N didn’t care.

He knew where she was, but never went to her. He noticed the trail of bodies in the media every time he would research any crimes in the areas she was at. He never went to stop her.

Wouldn’t that make him just as bad as her? Just as much of a killer? Allowing her to continue this? Allowing her to end these lives?

To him, yes, that made him just as bad.

Yet he never stopped her.

He created a new profile on Y/N practically every day, trying to make sense of her behavior. Much of it made sense. The urge to kill, not being able to stop herself. The remorse in how she laid out the bodies. A common occurence. Her being a woman threw off the profile slightly, considering usually female serial killers didn’t act on impulse, going for more calculated and purposeful murders. Other than htat, the profile was solid.

Well, except for one other thing.

Him.

Maybe he only thought this way because he wanted it to be true. Maybe he was being delusional and lovesick. But it seemed like she genuinely loved him, genuinely did think of him as the love of her life.

She shouldn’t be capable of such emotions.

Yet she wrote to him every week, told him way more than someone on the run should. Yet she would sometimes send little packages for him.

Yet as there was a knock on the door and he looked through the peephole, she was there. There with her usual smile and a box of whatever goodies she came up with. How dare she show up here after her whole spiel about him moving on and finding someone better? How dare she show up to the home of an FBI agent when she had killed over twelve people at this point?

Perhaps it was because she was lonely, always moving, always alone. And she knew he would never let her get caught. She was always his priority.

He had tried so hard to let her go, when in reality he was handcuffed to her, bound to her like a dog on a leash.

Reaching out, his fingers wrapped around the doorknob, twisting it open.

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