#ugly clown tag

[leggalese]

I'm fully convinced that Feen wasn't a precious angel and was a massive brat in his own way. If he didn't get his favorite part in a play or if his artwork would get lambasted by a teacher he'd throw the most diva fit and insist how unfair the world is. He also most likely thought his peers were less talented than him and would freely butt in to critique their work only to cry foul if the same would be done to him. He was born petty.

On the right is an imagined scenario of him and Miles being study buddies. Everyone would have such a miserable time together <3.

[deadrlngers]

oc deep dive

i was tagged by @devilbrakers and @ruvviks thank you both soso much <3

tagging (no pressure): @marictheirins @mojaves @lucaanis @faarkas @kibellah @risingsh0t @pawnguild @baelavelaryon @ncytiri @tethrras @aezyrraesh and anyone else that would like to do this!!

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Abandonment. Her own mother left her when she was nothing but a child so it got ingrained into her system that something about her isn’t right or enough, or both, to make people stick around in the long run.

Forgetting or in general losing her memory. This is mainly a repercussion of what she went through with the relic and Johnny. Basically the idea of missing pieces and bits of her life terrifies her. That leads to the fear of losing her identity, losing herself basically. Who am i? Who was i before this? Am i still myself? etc etc

The ocean. She’s not exactly scared of water (she actually has no problem with swimming or pools for example) but very large bodies of water that she can’t see the end of unsettle her. Also needles don’t really make her feel...relaxed.

Do they have any pet peeves?

Vesper HATES being bossed around, she’s the one bossing around others and she likes to keep it that way lmao

Slow drivers make her road rage explode which is already hanging by a thin thread in a city like night city. Loud chewing/people who eat with their mouth open irk her, it might even make her too disgusted to keep on eating herself.

Being touched by strangers and people she doesn’t know well. Being lied to grinds her balls into dust, especially when the other person knows she’s aware of their lies but they keep on playing the part (this is basically Fenix, sorry).

People that are too passive and don’t take action and sit on the possibilities for too long; she hates waiting around and prefers action to inaction.

Dare i say rich people? But more in the sense of...she’s annoyed by very big displays of wealth. She grew up almost into poverty so she’s very prejudiced towards anyone that instead grew up wealthy (<her own brother for example AND step-siblings). When she hears people mindlessly talk about money Vesper is very quick to judge them as “out of touch with reality”.

What are three items you can find in their bedroom?

Cigarettes, empty packs included because she forgets to throw them away and sometimes she stores things inside the packs like lighters and other small objects (and forgets about them too...)

At least one gun near her nightstand, just to be safe.

Lots of polaroids, mostly taken by someone else and gifted to her. Some date back to her teenage years, some are with old friends no longer in her life, others see her and Fenix back when they first dated. She cares about one that portrays her and Daniel during a dinner most of all: since they grew up separated, that's the very first photo she has with her brother.

What do they notice first in a person?

Demeanor and...their ego, if it makes sense. If their self-esteem or sense of self-importance is sky high she will notice immediately (and already settle on disliking them). Vesper likes confidence, she’s attracted to it, but overdoing it breaks the spell.

Then their intentions–are they here to talk? Attack? Flirt? Ask questions? Basically she’s already scanning for hints that will tell her why they decided to approach her. Body language is a big one as well. Then eyes and smell, if they are close enough.

A beautiful, charming smile catches her eye immediately.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Physically: 9. She wasn’t called the iron maiden for nothing during her boxing days. She can take one hell of a hard beating and still stay on her feet. It doesn’t help that she gets very careless with it at times and she pushes her body to the limit even when she’s already bleeding and in pain (the infamous Akira vs Vesper fight during Hanako’s kidnapping is a good example; Akira is a special trained soldier and has very expensive cyberware that specifically focuses on enhancing their physical strength. Suffice to say Fenix was K.O after a few hits while Vesper stood her ground and even inflicted a few serious hits to Akira. They might be enemies but Akira developed a sense of respect for Vesper after that).

Mentally: 8. Composed, resolved, focused–she doesn’t give a fuck about what you will say to her, quite honestly. Good luck trying to get through her. Vesper is pretty confident, the most you might get out of her is a scoff or a mocking smirk. Bark like a dog you are below me moron type of deal. Plus she went through some Shit her whole life, she’s kind of used to it by now. Also she firmly believes that she needs to be the real strength to her loved ones, too many people look up to her and she can’t allow any weakness.

Emotionally: 4. She tries to hold it together, thinks she’s not showing how upset or hurt she is but it’s very visible on her face. Her main issue is rage–and her first emotional reaction–so she tends to lash out very quickly. She tries to keep in control with the people she loves (and often fails when pushed too far) but she’s a complete tornado with the rest of the world. It’s hard to break through her shell and she doesn’t allow many to get to the core, her heart. Giving someone that much power over her emotions is something that scares her. If hurt by a loved one she will feel that deeply and for a long time…and she isn’t very fair with the making up afterwards.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? (Or freeze or fawn?)

In a hostile situation it’s fight, no doubt. She doesn’t shy away from a fight and prefers a physical resolution to mediation.

In any other situation i think maybe freeze, start a verbal fight most likely. She’s not really the type to fawn. More than freeze she shuts down completely and grows this incredibly thick second skin that doesn’t break under any pressure or hit, she will simply go silent and unresponsive.

What animal represents them best?

This is a difficult one for me but i’m going with an otter! A bit uncommon maybe but otters are fairly peaceful animals, some more solitary, but they can be aggressive when necessary and some tend to be territorial which is exactly how i perceive Vesper. Not a danger if you don’t bother her, but show yourself as a threat and she can get very hostile. Also i read somewhere otters love to cuddle, idk if it’s true but it would fit. Also Fenix has her contact saved as otter girl and sends her photos of otters and says “you” so i’m picking them.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Intimidating. She’s 1.84m with wide shoulders and muscular arms, plus her expression (even when relaxed!) doesn’t look very friendly or approachable. Standoffish, stoic, distant, maybe a touch apathetic. Basically if you approach her you will feel like you are doing the mortal sin of bothering her and for that you will be sentenced to death. This idea can be quickly proved wrong, just please don’t bring to her stupid, time-wasting inquiries.

Interesting but reserved. And a presence that exudes safety also. If you are into the stoic type who doesn’t express much at first you will be naturally attracted to uncovering more of her.

Appearance wise people notice her physical presence, then the few scars on her face and the star tattoo right below her right eye. Also when she was younger she used to have gold fangs that naturally caught people’s eye. It’s not uncommon to see Vesper sporting a few bruises here and there so she’s either perceived as a troublemaker or the “too cool for me to approach” type. Depends on the stranger.

It’s very unlikely that she’d smile at a stranger but her smile would be described as beautiful. The little star tattoo makes the smile look all more warm when it reaches her eyes, the sensation is akin to looking at a twinkling star!!

Do they have any hobbies?

Partying (she’s surprisingly the right company you’d want to have fun with), dancing and specifically ballroom dance (latin mainly; bachata, cha cha cha etc etc), playing her bass guitar, listening to music, tinkering around with her motorbike and boxing. Even if she left that life behind her, Vesper still keeps exercising–both for its usefulness on her line of work and because it’s a great outlet for stress and anger.

Daniel is trying very hard to drag her into gaming, still a work in progress.

[cheesebrackers]

Idk what yall expect from me anymo I don’t really know what 2 post on tumblr rn. I got icp album yuri tho

Because I woke up and decided Fred fury is a butch

Yeah

[artfulacrostic]

memes for The Bad Batch 3x08, "Bad Territory"

*spoilers*

[ammonti]

I am once again asking you to draw Clownpierce. But put him in a dress. Thanks.

he loves being a pretty princess, that's why he locked branzy in that tower with him. for so many tea parties. anyway

GO VOTE FOLLY AT @transmcytshowdown

[bryverros]

YAP MY LIEGE WHAT ARE THE HAPPENINGS IN THY KINGDOM

im going to be real immature on main so turn a blind eye guys

so. my beloved firefighter show. first, a brief introduction to the massive fandom drama. we have buck, eddie and tommy. buck and eddie are best friends since season 2 episode 1 (we are on season 8), tommy becomes an important(?) character in season 7.

- buck and tommy are canonically in a relationship. i want them broken up asap. its not even personal. i just dont think they work, even all the buckandeddie theories aside. and if they do break up, i will call it a win and clap my hands jollily. their fanbase is honestly making me feel stupid because theyre acting like bucktommy is this soulmates endgame couple and i tried seeing it. but i just dont.

exhibit 1. eddie appears in practically every single bucktommy scene. and when he didnt appear directly, he sure as hell was mentioned. a lot. which??? weird??? considering the fact that bucktommy are supposed to be in a relationship and very in love. like maybe i dont know shit about dating but im pretty sure that its objectively weird to include the best friend in all scenes the couple has. so far, in s8, buck and tommy had one (1) scene. and it had eddie in it.

then there’s the whole weird thing on how buck and tommy got together in the first place and one might argue that buck was trying to get eddie’s attention, not tommy’s. so like yeah eddie sure is haunting their narrative a lot and for seemingly no reason which kind of stops me from feeling attached to the ship. which i tried initially before i started praying on their breakup.

- in the scenes buck and tommy (+eddie. cant forget that he was there) did have. sigh. their dynamics is just weird. first of all, tommy is older than buck. like, he was in the flashbacks of the older coworkers (he was kind of racist and kind of homophobic and misogynistic in those too, but ok ill let that pass, people change blah blah). and he called buck kid before they got together. which. sigh. im generally against age gaps i dont fw that stuff and theyre not letting me forget that they do have an age gap. but fine, ill put the age gap aside. theyre both adults so yk. surely it wont be THAT bad. alas. it is. moving to the next exhibit

exhibit 2. the bachelor party. so buck is really excited to organise this themed party for their his brother in law (a dude tommy was kind of racist towards in the flashback btw). the theme is. 80s. buck and eddie do matching costumes (suggested by eddie. very enthusiastically)! matching each others freak! yay! what does tommy do. he arrives in a henley. and as a person who kind of relates to buck in a way that i get excited about things. tommy’s low effort uninterestingness wouldve kind of been hurtful to me? like the way he casually kind of discarded that excitement buck had about this party was giving “im not interested in your interests babe 🫶” and from personal experience! not nice! and buck already had like a shit ton of self esteem issues and like yeah im projecting but please please break up w tommy you deserve better buck please

- name. so evan buckley has been going by buck. everyone calls him buck except his parents (bad. he doesnt like that) and his sister. sometimes. tommy calls him evan all the fucking time. which feels. condescending. i do not like it in the slightest. break up bucktommy. for me. please.

now! onto the clowning part.

ok look. buck and eddie. theyre so special. their friendship is so special. and if they go canon. that would be absolutely historical. like a queer non established from the beginning romance? that has 6+ years of shared history? they were friends before they were lovers and they could be THE friends to lovers in my eyes. and look if they dont go romantic, i really wont be that sad? their friendship kind of remains regardless so like while i do think it would be bold and take some good writing to have them go down the romantic line. i also do really cherish their friendship. but i am strongly gaslit that they will go romantic. to the point where i fear that im clowning about it.

- the actor playing buck recently said that he wants some slowburn for buck. some will they wont they kind of relationship. that the audience will have to yearn for. like my man your character is in a relationship and that relationship came together in, let me check… 2 episodes? slowburn? bucktommy? i have a VERY hard time believing that. there were a whole bunch of other quotes that could be interpreted as bucktommy breakup (yay 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶). like you dont see any other member of the cast speaking about their love interest the same way this man does about tommy.

- the episodes 5 and 6 are centred on buck and eddie respectively. episode 5 will have tommy “weirded out by something about buck” (surprise surprise). episode 6 is called confessions. eddie has a lot of potential queer coding (eddie: “i just hate having to date. it feels like i have to perform”; someone else about eddies relationship: “just make sure youre following your heart. not christopher’s [his son]” ahh stuff). and episode 6 is centred on him. it also is coming out on nov 7th, 2 days after the infamous destiel election day. so having eddies coming out in that episode would be the funniest thing ever. and the marketing for these episodes is driving me insane. like. will they. wont they. will they. wont they. i feel like im clowning so hard but i also feel like i cant be wrong about this stuff yk? too many coincidences?

so yeah. episode 5 is coming out today. wish me luck (bucktommy breakup ⁉️)

[yume-fanfare]

bad tshirt idea

[sheriffclownkins]

THE JOKER COULD NEVER

[poisonousquinzel]

Batman & The Joker: The Deadly Duo (2023) #5

"yeah...maybe missed a few baths too."

I hate this mother fucker so much.

"maybe missed a few baths" yeah no shit. she wasn't staying in a high end hotel with a fucking jacuzzi you self absorbed jackass.

She's literally been in a damned hole in the ground, being held hostage and barely eating but oohhhhh how shocking that she didn't have time to "make herself physically appealing and presentable"

Also, why the fuck are we still at this point??? Why's she with him 😭 the day DC stops letting these people make stories where it reverts her back to the center point of her trauma is the day I'll know mild peace.

[typinggently]

I think the one thing that would stand in the way of Sam/fem!Dean is that Sammy does usually go for petite girls and Dean would be like. 5'7-5'9. That woman would be 180cm+ tall.

[hungry-monkey]

media dump because this stupid motherfucker is finally fully borned

[bats-n-fantrolls]

gegnes !

[shalayce]

Drew myself as an ugly clown bc that’s just how I’m feeling

[lucygraysboy]

it’s now or never, billy tells himself, rolling onto his side as his forearms begin to go numb. he either cuts all ties to his past and lucy gray now or she’ll keep coming back, doing what she’s done earlier today, bombarding his phone with strange messages that feel more like invisible knives, cutting into his heart, haunting him. he can’t say what’s possessed him to type all those cold, cruel words when he could have just blocked her number, but there’s no taking them back now, not when she’s already viewed them. awaiting her response, he contemplates his choices and can’t say that he’s proud of them, but once again reassures himself that it had to be done. she doesn’t want him. she’s been playing mind games with him, giving him nothing but mixed signals basically ever since they both hit puberty. he can’t be hung up on her, waste away his life because she’s not done messing with his heart just yet. and so he doesn’t think about the consequences of his actions, about how his texts might affect his childhood sweetheart the other, because he won’t be there to pick up the pieces of her broken heart or witness the aftermath first-hand. 

when his phone lights up again, he presses play almost automatically. it’s like ripping off the band-aid. he knows there’s nothing pleasant awaiting him, quite the opposite, but postponing this moment won’t make it hurt any less. tears well up in his pale blue eyes the second lucy gray’s voice fills the air, part of him feeling like she’s right beside him or talking to him from the other room, his chest constricting violently. he’s dead to her. good. but then why doesn’t it feel good? isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time? as more words keep pouring out, he realizes that he’s not the only one crying, that she sounds so different because she must be fighting back tears. it hits him at once, all the memories of her bambi eyes, so big and innocent, glistening with sadness. when she begins to belittle her looks, he sits up and cradles his head in his hands, fingers sinking into his dark curls, pulling, tugging until his scalp’s gone numb. none of this is true. not a single word. he wants to scream and cry and get on the first plane back home just to beg her for forgiveness, but… he can’t turn back now. he’s made his bed, now he has to lie in it. 

by the time she gets to the part about their mothers, how his own would be ashamed of him, how he doesn’t have the right to insult hers, he’s overcome with fear and heartbreak and anger, and barely listening. he throws his phone at the wall out of sheer helplessness, her voice stopping abruptly mid-sentence. he will not remember much from this moment in the morning, his emotions too strong, his grief all-consuming — he’d felt this way before only once when he learned about his mother’s death. now it’s lucy gray. she’s the one passing away and he can’t save her… or maybe he’s the one holding the knife that’s cutting her heart out. either way, the pain of losing her, really losing her, is so great that even his lungs constrict, and suddenly it seems he’ll never be able to breathe again. he races to the bathroom and doesn’t even lock the door, climbing into the shower with his underwear still on. originally, he only intends to cry, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking back and forth, letting the cold water wash away his tears, but then he spots the scissors just sitting there on the counter. he crawls out and picks them up, and soon his dark curls are falling into the sink, one ringlet after another as he begins to chop off his hair. billy’s dead. he’s dead to her. and she’s always loved his locks so… it somehow makes sense. the water keeps running, muffling out any desolate sounds that might leave his mouth. he uses the razor to shave off what’s left of his beautiful hair, and then, once he’s exhausted both physically and emotionally, his body finally sinks to the floor and somehow more tears fill his eyes… he stays on the bathroom floor until charlie finds him in the morning.

she expected some smart ass reply again, but not another shock. not another knife to her chest. ripping out what's measly left of her heart. for a moment she just continued to stare at the screen like it wasn't real– this was just a nightmare she'd wake up from, her heart lurching, panging, feeling the actual painful vibrations those detrimental words took a toll on her beat against her ribcage. forget typing, she pressed voice record,

‘i dont know but you’ve gone too far now billy bonney, you’re dead to me now’ she hiccuped, her throat constricting, ‘like you're one to attack my looks. don't get so high above your raisin'. like you haven’t always been that dorky lil boy in school? but you know what,’ she bit her lower lip to keep it from wobbling, sucking in a breath, ‘i always thought you were the most handsome one there.’ her nose sniffed, ‘not anymore... not ever.' voice cracking, a hard cry tearing from her throat. wailing as she clutched her shirt at the hurt that caused, 'you’re the ugliest person on the inside. usin' me like an object, while thinkin' i'm ugly. maybe i am...but you got nothin' but the devil in you for sayin' shit like that to me. and yeah, your mother WOULD be a damn shamed of you at what you've turned into.' it's not an attack, it's the truth. she knows his mother as well as he does, it wasn't like she didn't spend endless days with her too. lucy gray loved his mama as much as he did, her cries become even more out of control because she can't just go over and tell her how he's acting anymore. can't just go over and tell her to help her make this better.

because she's gone, neither of them have her anymore. he's selfish even more if he thinks she didn't see her as her second mom she could confide in. a mom she mourns everyday, too. 'and don't call MY mama names, she'd be even more ashamed of you,' she gritted her teeth in a streak of anger, jabbing the bed with her finger, 'she's been nothin' but KIND to you all these years and loved you like her own ALL these years. you can hate me all you want to cause jesse told you to, but she did nothin' to you. but it don't fuckin' matter anyway,' chest heaving, coughing up the words her throat was so terribly tight as the tears continued to explode out of her eyes, 'you're dead to me, billy bonney.' she hit stop on the voice record then sent. DEAD. he was dead to her as she finished screaming and crying into the mattress. she might as well hit block on his contact number because she didn't want to provoke anymore evil things he might say to her, but she couldn't dare move right now, not when she could do nothing but wear herself exhausted with the violent emotions he'd turned over in her head all from one line.

[abysswalkerastraea1]

Art with a psycho girly partner? 🥺

Beguiling Perniciousness 🎀

I love this ask! 💗

Your eyes briefly swept over the decapitated body and the viscous fluid oozing out of it; you didn't bat an eye. You were bubbly, but there was something downright malicious simmering below the surface; He knew you'd cross paths again as he watched your amiable self skip down the road and fade into the distance.

6k words

Girly reader who is obsessed with Art 🎀

Do I even need to say that it's smut it's all I ever write

You played the part well, he'd give you that. Art had first caught sight of you in the old costume shop in Miles County, lurking towards the back where all the nauseating pinks and creams amalgamated to create it's own fantasy-like microcosm, full of various princess and fairy costumes and similar varieties.

He didn't particularly pay you much mind initially, his focus solely on the girl he often terrorised, grinning eerily at her with a sense of foreboding. He remained cruelly amused even as the adolescent with the ironic angel wings dashed out of the shop, eager to flee his suffocating presence.

His mind had slipped the possibility that you had remained within the shop, excitedly trying on pretty tiaras and adorning yourself with sparkly jewellery, all the while remaining oblivious to the grotesque murder of the store assistant, his head cut clean from his neck. Blood pooled upon the floor, draining from the ugly orifice. His head had been tossed haphazardly to the side.

He had heard your bubbly self round the corner, humming happily with an armful of items and clothes, before bumping into his side hastily. Art peered down at your mildly shocked expression, gauging the way your round cheeks appled out into a smile.

Blood lightly covered his form, and specs of it had been transferred onto you. You didn't react, as happy as ever, giggling at your mistake. "Pardon me! I'm sorry, I'm in a world of my own.", your curls bounced as you gazed around the shop, bypassing the crude, decapitated head, and instead focusing on the locked door at the entrance of the shop.

"Oh! I didn't realise they shut so early. That's okay, I've got everything I need.", you whirled past him, almost skipping over to the door and unlocking it. The dresses and other items in your hands still had the tags on them, unscanned and unpaid for. As soon as you stepped a foot out the door, the alarm rang.

Even still, you remained as unperturbed as ever, glancing back at the clown. "You won't tell, will you?", you had indicated to your stolen goods, flashing him a dazzling smile. "You look like someone who knows how to keep a secret.", your eyes briefly swept over the decapitated body and the viscous fluid oozing out of it; you didn't bat an eye.

In fact, your smile rivalled Arts as he nodded slowly that, yes, he could definitely keep a secret. His head tilted inquisitively, searching your expression for a semblance of fear or shock, but he genuinely found none. As you offered him a cheerful goodbye and skipped off down the road, Art bet most people thought you were ditzy and dumb.

Staring at your receding form in the distance, Arts keen eyes knew the aura of darkness when he saw it. You were bubbly, but there was something downright malicious simmering below the surface. He didn't bother seeking you out, you were bound to cross paths.

That had been a year ago. A few weeks after your initial meeting, Art had paused his laborious work of crafting within the dilapidated house due to the sound of male shouting tinged with irritation.

"You've brought me out here for what? You said I could fuck you, so why the fuck are you leading me into the middle of nowhere? Got your boyfriend out here or something?"

The tone was downright condescending and full of unrighteous anger; he believed you owed him something. Art stood amongst the shadows of the lowering sun, arms crossed languidly as he watched, recognising your melodious voice instantly.

"You don't have to be so crude about it, I just want to have a romantic walk in the forest." You pouted, eyelashes fluttering at him as a small smile tugged at your lips, a pretty sheen of lipgloss staining them rosy.

The man gave you a disgusted grimace, checking his phone repetitively. He seemed aggravated, pawing at your skirt covered hips and backing you into a nearby tree. He outright ignored everything sweet you had to say, barely sparing you a glance as he scrutinised your form hugging jumper appreciatively.

Still, you prattled on and on, rambling kindly about how beautiful the forest became in the autumn, how refreshingly cold it was and that it was the perfect weather for a nice walk-

"You've got such a slutty body. Shut your mouth for me, yeah?" Hands began smoothing the already short skirt up your thighs, bunching the fabric, before they were slapped away. You ducked past him, skipping over to your bag that you had dropped earlier on and started searching for something.

"I just need to grab a condom. I'm a good girl, you know." You twirled a lock of hair with a sly smirk, digging through the multitude of items within your handbag. You pouted your lips in mild irritation, hand swiftly seeking what you needed, before you nodded to yourself happily, hand clutching what you desired.

Standing straight, you twirled around and offered the man a wink, to which he scoffed. Barely a second later, his kneecap was blown off as a resounding bang echoed throughout the thicket.

He screamed and fell to the floor in a heap, blood pouring grotesquely over the leaves that blanketed the damp ground. You held the gun out in front of you, aiming steadily. You shot the other knee, face stoic, and rolled your eyes at the blood curdling scream he released.

Art remained in the shadows, arms folded with intrigue as he chuckled to himself, eyebrows low. He watched the man roll back and forth upon the ground, crying out for help and for mercy. Peering back at you, he cocked his head at the way you giggled with a delicate hand covering your mouth, gun held high.

"You're so silly for thinking I'd ever let you touch me. At least take a girl out for dinner first, you know?"

With a playful wave goodbye, you shot him in the head, watching the way his body collapsed backwards, twitching. All fell silent. You sighed contentedly at the peace, smoothing your skirt back into place pristinely.

A rustle of leaves drew your attention, a tall, monochromatic man standing eerily still, lurking behind a tree at you. He was grinning. You waved at him amicably; he returned the gesture.

"Oh, I'd recognise you anywhere! From the costume shop, right?"

Art nodded slowly, stepping out from behind the tree and taking measured steps towards you. You still held the gun in your hand, but it was pointed at the floor.

As the clown approached, you found your neck craning upwards, his body swallowing you in it's shadow. He was lithe and lumbersome, grinning down at you.

"Think you could keep another secret, Mr tall and handsome?" You giggled, face a light pink from his close proximity and intense stare; he was alluring. In fact, you found yourself downright infatuated with him. You could sense the danger oozing off of him in waves, and although a bolt of caution shot through you, you couldn't deny the peculiar attraction you felt to his unique and theatrical self.

Art declined his head down at you, pointing softly to himself, humbly, as though to say 'who, me?', before comically twisting to look behind him, seeking out the other person you were surely complimenting.

It made you giggle again, smiling sweetly up at him as you shook your head at his playfulness. "Sorry, I shouldn't be so bold. You're the miles county killer, aren't you? It makes me nervous being in the presence of someone way above my calibre."

Your eyes fluttered around cutely, before returning up at him with a beautiful sparkle. Art waved off your compliment dramatically, grin sharpening at your girlish giggle. To anyone else, his rigid closeness and predatory stare down would immediately raise flags. But you seemed happy enough, cheeks a cute pink.

"It's so difficult though, being efficient, secretive and untraceable just like you. If I had half of your strength, it would make my life so much easier. It really takes it out of me having to lug these bodies around. And also-"

Art didn't take notice of when you both had begun to walk slowly through the shadowed forest, only that he didn't mind hearing your rambling. He watched you gesture dramatically as you told your stories of having to lure horrible men into the woods before shooting them, and cocked an eyebrow as you suddenly changed subject and fawned over the falling leaves, excitedly proclaiming your love for the various reds, oranges and yellows.

Art nodded thoughtfully at most things you said, even if the gesture was slightly mocking in its sincerity. Even still, he quite liked your voice, and he found himself laughing at some of the tales you told. You were delicate, short of stature compared to him; It would be incredibly easy to reach over and snap your neck. Art found that he didn't want to.

He wasn't restraining himself out of kindness, and he wasn't even actively attempting to be polite. He simply wanted to act this way, here and now, as spontaneous as always. It was humorous, for once he was the one listening calmly, and you were the one grinning far too widely at him.

That was some time ago. Since your first real introduction, you had seen Art here and there, pleasantly surprised when he'd turn up just as you were about to clean up the mess you made of a body, only to drag it with ease to whichever location you desired and burn it.

From there on, sightings of him became even more frequent, moreso to the point that one day you heard a crash in your kitchen, running down with gun in hand, only to bare witness to Art standing menacingly with a horrific smile, blood coating his form and a scissors and pliers held intimidatingly.

Upon seeing you, confusion entered his eyes, his hands lowering. You had never seen the clown appear bashful at his own mistake, raising his hands and shrugging as though to say 'oops'.

It made you giggle, hand to mouth. You pointed towards the window, indicating to the house nearby. "Art, weren't you supposed to be killing my neighbour tonight? You've trespassed the wrong house!" You snickered, bounding over to him excitedly and staring up at him with the most innocent, adoring expression; it made him want to lift the pliers and rip your stunning eyes out and keep them forever.

Art had the decency to realise his mistake, scratching the back of his head awkwardly before rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. He remembered you saying you lived close to his next victim, but he didn't realise you were adjacent. Mistakes for him were so rare.

Art scoffed at himself, shaking his head and throwing his hands up in the air as though saying 'ive made a real mess of this'. His theatrics made you laugh, increasing drastically as you watched the way he perched his hands on his hips in exasperation.

"I'm really glad you're here. I've never shown you around my home before, so..if you've got time..." You trailed off softly, lifting your hands and crossing your fingers with hope as you danced side to side, awaiting his response.

Art deliberated upon that, taking his time as he watched you dance, before shrugging once with a grin. Sure, why not. He could spare a minute or two before he absolutely maimed your neighbour.

He felt your smaller form bolt over to his side and lock arms with him, and he let you. You pulled him along, showing him each room swiftly before dragging him up to your bedroom and pushing him in.

"You look soo dangerous in my room! I love it!"

You had a point. Perusing the room, he found it to be incredibly girly. You had a lot of pinks, fairy lights everywhere and a few teddies here and there. His monochromatic self standing eerily still within your room feels like he's siphoning the pretty colours out of it.

Regardless, you utterly beamed at him, more than happy. You bordered on manic, he thought, body shaking in excitement and fists clenched so hard. Your bright grin stretched wide, eyes round and watchful, focusing solely on him and his reaction.

After what felt like ages, Art lifted a finger up to his neck and mimicked a cutting motion, head tilted to the side and tongue poking out like a comical cartoon character that had been killed. This room was far too bright for him, sickeningly sweet and adorable, but your high pitched giggles of glee at his honest opinion had him chuckling silently too, eyebrows low as he watched you dazzle.

That had been one of your biggest turning points with the clown, and from that day you saw him almost daily. In fact, he walked into your home whenever he felt like it. You'd find him lounging on your chair by the TV at random times in the night, or eating at your kitchen table serenely.

What you cherished the most was when he took you to his dilapidated hideout, dark and dingy and cold, fully juxtaposing your little home; you were now the only beacon of light and colour in this place.

He did enjoy terrifying you now and again, especially in his hideout, his tall form no longer behind you, silently waiting for the moment to make you scream. Each time it made you incredibly excited, anxiety building up inside of you giddily.

When you'd least expect it, Art would be there, coming at you with a hatchet and swinging it downwards playfully. He'd listen to your high pitched squeals and relish in the way you'd flinch and cover yourself protectively. He'd laugh and point at you, shaking his head; it got you every time.

"You're so scary! But honestly, you're so attractive when you do that. Surely some of your victims admit that? The women? Maybe some men?" You swayed your shoulders bashfully, cheeks turning pink like they so often did in his presence.

Art paused at that, a mild look of bewilderment shaping his face at your proclamation, before a sinister smirk darkened the expression considerably. You blinked owlishly as the clown began to take measured, predatory steps towards you, backing you into a damp wall.

He was so tall, caging you against his body, and all you could do was stare up at him with wide eyes, gnawing your pretty lips in anticipation of his next move. He chuckled silently at your reddening cheeks and the way you reached your hands up to cup them delicately. Finally, as an answer, he shook his head slowly.

You seemed mortified. "Did you cut their eyes out first or something? You're handsome to me! Tall, intimidating, dark, incredibly strong--", you began counting on your hand all of Arts best qualities, all the while the clown crossed his arms and nodded patiently, egging you on to continue with a wave of his hand.

"--Honestly, I've always thought this, but I didn't want to be too bold, and I'm feeling really shy with you backing me up against the wall but I also love it, and--and I'm rambling because I'm nervous."

Your admittance seemed to be the biggest factor that contributed to how the two of you were now: You completely smitten with him, and him accepting the fact that he would never kill you. You were sweet and you made the best hot chocolate, and you did make the killings more fun so he'd keep you around.

You were incredibly bubbly, always smiling at him beautifully and helping him cut up body parts with your constant giggles that rivalled his own. He had unintentionally made you cry once, and a foreign emotion had struck him.

Art thought it would be incredibly amusing to offer you a badly wrapped gift with a human body part inside it. He did it mostly to shock you and hear your shrieks of surprise that would eventually melt into laughter, and he didn't particularly put much thought into what body part he would gift you with.

Upon opening the box, you were stunned into silence at seeing the rotten, maggot infested heart staring back at you. You didn't cry out or scream, and you didn't giggle or smile. Instead, your large eyes filled to the brim with tears, lips quivering before the fat droplets spilled over and a sob was wrenched from you.

"Oh my God.", you held a hand to your mouth, mascara streaking your cheeks messily. "Is that a heart? For..for me?", you spoke in utter disbelief, words whispered and shaking. Art cocked his head at your peculiar display of sadness, but nodded nonetheless. He had never seen you cry before.

"That's the most romantic thing that anyone has ever done for me.", you rushed out in a broken sob, sniffling and wiping your tears profusely. Art blinked, face depicting confusion, lips tilted downward. His mind blanked as he awaited your explanation, amusement doused temporarily.

"Id always appreciate anything you gift me, but a heart? Of course I'll be your girlfriend!" You shrieked out with a sob, box dropping to the floor as you jumped and lunged at the clown, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

He felt your tears soak his neck, his hands lifted up in mild shock, face deadpan, frozen as you wrapped your body around his own, perched upon his lap. Art rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in amusement and exasperation, mimicking your emotional sobs over your shoulder with a dramatic pout, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes.

He eventually threw his hands up in defeat, chuckling to himself. He did not foresee a reaction like this coming when you opened that box. He was more than content to play along, and eventually wrapped his strong hands around your body, charcoal eyes swirling with evil. He rather enjoyed your spontaneity.

Following the initiation into an apparent 'relationship', Art received a few gifts from you too. He himself received a human heart in a black, satin box. It was relatively fresh, and he couldn't help but sigh dreamily and flutter his eyelashes at the romantic gesture. His theatrics were over the top and evidently condescending, but it flew over your pretty head.

He was mildly impressed. You often used guns to kill your victims, lacking the strength and speed to ever out maneuver anyone bigger than yourself. Your hands were never that dirty either, you were not acquainted with using sharp weapons on the human body, so to be gifted a heart of all things, carved with effort from somebody's chest - it made Art nod in genuine approval.

The rest was history.

Art felt unnaturally domesticated within your presence, but he really didn't mind. You had a lot of uses, and he couldn't deny the possession he held for you. If claiming you as his own meant that you were in a 'relationship', then so be it.

He remained nonchalant to your girlish romanticism. He found it to be amusing and peculiarly cute, and even when he'd coo at you mockingly like a little dog, you loved it. In fact, a lot of his condescension did not perturb you. You were overjoyed at him mocking your kissy faces, pouting petulantly, mirroring your own actions.

Art couldn't deny enjoying the tender moments too. He had come to the conclusion long ago that he would never kill you - you were the only exception - and would display surprising levels of intimacy if only to hear your high pitched giggles and tease you for your pinkening cheeks.

Like right now, how he had his large palm delicately stroking your soft hair, brushing strands out of your face. His hand reached down to cup the side of your face, thumb tenderly rubbing circles upon your cheekbone.

You sighed dreamily, the exhale leaving your nose as you bobbed your head up and down his thick length. You sat perched on your knees between his wide thighs on the living room floor, sticky lipgloss leaving a messy residue on his shaft, your lips glistening with saliva.

You had been doing this for a while, languidly pleasuring him, and he let you. He allowed you to sink to your knees and fondle him until he was half hard before your loving mouth engulfed him. All the while, he watched whatever movie you had on TV.

Even when his dick was fully hard, splitting your jaw apart, he barely looked at you. He was focused on the movie, a masked killer hunting a woman down, and hardly spared you a glance even as you worked him faster, slurping and sucking him messily.

It made you unbearably wet, craving his attention, craving even a semblance of pleasure in his expression, or a buck of his hips to indicate that he was enjoying it. Instead, he stroked your cheek delicately, lazily, as though you were a pet that was doing a satisfactory job and nothing more.

Your brows knit together frustratedly, and you took him deep into your throat, saliva pooling down your chin as you choked and moaned quietly at the pulsating between your thighs. You were so wet it was beginning to coat them.

Granted, you had foregone the underwear, instead wearing an incredibly short skirt that had your plump ass cheeks hanging out. You were needy today, you depended on his attention, but he refused to spare you even a thought and it made childish tears well up in your eyes.

Your knees spread below you, skirt rising up higher upon your hips. If he had spared even a moments gaze upon you, he'd see the way your tight, puckered hole swallowed a pretty buttplug, embellished with a sparkling pink diamond on the end.

The pressure was pleasant, and you used your inner muscles to squeeze the toy, wiggling desperately as you did. You closed your eyes as you began sucking him lewdly now, the sounds becoming sloppy and loud as you reached a hand between your legs to play with your aching clitoris.

You were dripping whorishly upon the floor, moaning around his huge cock as you rubbed circles around the pulsating nub before slipping your fingers over it directly, hips bucking in relieved pleasure.

Arousal surged through you as you felt his hips lift the slightest, seeking the back of your throat, and your eyes flew open to witness the serenely blissful expression on his face, only to widen your eyes.

His gaze had been unknowingly on you for a while now, lacking it's usual grin and instead staring sternly, eyebrows low and shadowing his dark eyes. There was a lecherous blackness in his gaze, drinking in the way your cheeks reddened considerably, eyelashes fluttering bashfully against your cheeks.

You had his full, undivided attention now, and it only served to make you increase your efforts tenfold, bobbing your head up to the very tip to suckle the sensitive nerves, lapping up his salty precum with your hot tongue, before sinking back down as far as you could go, lifting a hand to fondle his swollen balls, encouraging them to unload inside your wanting mouth.

Arts intimidating stoicism faltered momentarily at your ministrations, head leaning back into the cushioned chair as his mouth opened in a silent, pleasured exhale, his sharp and angular jawline emphasised greatly from this angle.

That subtle, minor expression of bliss shot bolts of unfiltered arousal through you. You moaned around his cock, redoubling your efforts even as your jaw ached. You suckled your way to the tip, releasing his solid length with a pop; your hand took over, jerking him steadily.

"Mm, I get so wet whenever I give you a blowjob. If you had spared half a second to look at me, you'd notice.", your voice came out in a quiet, childish whine, lips pouted dramatically.

Art lolled his head to the side and stared down at you, eyebrow cocked in a silent question. He scrutinised your little pout and the way your eyes sparkled with unshed tears and a slow, sharp smirk etched it's way onto his face.

Aw, did you crave attention? Are you his little attention whore? Art snickered at the thought, but found that this must surely be the answer; you craved his affections, and he chuckled as your lips quivered.

Art stroked your face tenderly and pouted right back at you, nodding and mockingly agreeing with your little outburst. It really was awful of him, wasn't it? He'd have to rectify that.

Before you knew it, you found yourself bent over the arm of the chair, legs kicked apart as he toyed with the little plug in your ass, wiggling it back and forth. You had a glorious ass, round and fat and smooth, and even he wasn't immune to its juiciness.

He jiggled your cheeks playfully, watching the skin mold to his hand and ripple outwards under the pressure. One day, he'd fuck your tight little rim raw, and the thought had him rock hard as he pushed his cock against your sodden pussy and glided in halfway with a teasing smirk.

"Nng, don't tease me. P-put it all in, stretch me out-", you begged pathetically, pushing your luscious ass back against him.

Art pulled out slowly to the tip, rubbing along your folds for a moment, before catching the tip against your hole. With a playful wiggle of his eyebrows, he sunk in as deep as he could, parting your velvety walls. The stretch was always considerable, always tinged with pain. It made you shudder beautifully, back arching.

"Yes, yes--Love this feeling, love you--", you rambled in a high pitched, girlish tenor, moaning as he filled you to the brim and more.

Arts face split into a nasty, smug grin behind you, shoulders shaking with laughter. It was pretty clear that you loved him, he thought. Each time his cock found your sodden hole you'd proclaim this proudly, delirious and euphoric.

Gripping your waist, Art smoothed his calloused hands down to your hips and back up rhythmically, hearing you sigh in delight.  He fucked you the way he knew you loved, hard and deep, and had no issue acting so intimately, so romantically, as you'd say.

You were his, and he enjoyed your feminine noises of pleasure. He felt that you were the only instance where he would ever act this way. With you, he didn't merely act on a whim anymore, dangerously spontaneous. Of course, that did happen on occasion, but in moments like these, when he was paired up with someone so bizarrely loving, so warm and bubbly and intimate, he found that reciprocating wasn't all that hard anymore.

He revelled in your little adoring sighs as he smoothed his way up your womanly figure, and the way you'd nuzzle into his palm every time he'd trail a strong hand down your jaw and onto your neck to hold possessively.

You were as unhinged as him, but you were also..gentle. He didn't particularly want to hurt you too much anymore. He did want to fuck you into a crying mess, however.

Art pressed a thumb to the dazzling diamond sticking out between your cheeks, applying pressure so it sunk in deeper, all the while fucking you hard and filling you so full.

He had a feeling that you were hinting at something with the way this delectable little toy jutted out of you. You were so pure on times, he imagined you found it hard to admit. That was fine, he'd get it out of you one way or another. If you wanted your ass played with so much, all you had to do was ask.

He wiggled the toy back and forth, pulling on it slightly and feeling the way your tight hole suctioned it back in. You whined at the feeling, your ass and pussy deliciously full, and stared back at him with dazzling, loving eyes.

"Ahh-Art--Feels so good-!", you gasped, moaning sweetly to him, so high pitched and whiny that he couldn't help but coo down at you in faux affection. His cock pummelled into you rhythmically, the wet slap of skin permeating the air. His heavy balls slapped sinfully against your pulsing little clitoris causing your legs to quiver and shake.

Art gripped the base of the toy more firmly, wiggling it side to side once again, before pulling it out from your tight rim. You whined noisily at the feeling, shuddering as you felt his fingers dip down between your legs to gather lubrication, before prodding at your hole once more and sinking in to the knuckles.

You cried out, back arching and legs widening further at the feeling of his thick fingers rhythmically filling your ass. It felt dirty and forbidden, something you had never done before, but each and every time he gave your virgin hole attention, whether it be a delicate stroke of his thumb or his tongue lavishing the area, it had you so wet and sticky that you could barely handle it.

Art grinned salaciously as his digits pumped into you deeply, all the while his rigid cock slipped into your pussy relentlessly, stretching you in ways that you should be used to by now, but you never were. He was so long and thick and it made your mind whirl with pleasure.

"S-so dirty putting your fingers in there I--ahh-- I shouldn't like it but I do!", you rambled adorably, your tongue loosening as he fucked you harder, snapping his hips against your bouncing cheeks.

Art snickered and shook his head at your innocence; A finger in your ass was probably one of the least dirtiest things he had touched. Another digit entered your passage, his hot length ravaging your pliant form. You cried out in broken whimpers, rambling little, soft compliments about his sheer size and how you needed him to fuck you, how you loved him.

You became dumb once his cock was near you, he found. He quite liked it, revelled in your incoherent stammering, or the way your eyes would be glued to his massive length.

Art grinned cruelly down at you, a sudden darkness enveloping his irises as he gripped painful handfuls of your hips, his fingers no doubt bruising the tender area, before he pushed your body forward so your upper half fell down with a yelp, your ass fully on display for him and fucked you so mind numbingly rough that tears streaked down your cheeks, your high pitched sobs and cries to slow down were music to his ears. In the next breath, you'd beg him to never stop.

Your thighs quivered and shook as his balls slapped hard against your clitoris, his cock fucking into you so sinfully you were outright weeping. You shrieked when your orgasm peaked, splattering down your quaking thighs as you gasped and fisted the blankets desperately.

Art grit his teeth in concentration, feeling that overwhelming urge to unload himself within you. He placed a rough hand against your head and forced you downwards, his head tilting back and lips parting in bliss as his cock filled your crammed little hole with ropes of hot cum. His hips stuttered as each powerful rope shot out, your pulsating walls milking him and lapping up as much as it could before the excess spilled messily out of your pussy, around his girth and down his balls.

You were panting shallowly as he finished, unceremoniously dropped as his hands and body removed themselves from you. Cum dribbled out of your used hole, and you flushed darkly as Art righted your bunched up skirt, smoothing it back down over your ass and putting his cock back inside his costume as though he hadn't just decimated your body and mind brutally.

You pushed yourself up on weak arms, turning to face the cheeky grin of the clown who looked as pristine as ever, not at all out of breath and sweaty like you were. Art indicated to the forgotten movie on the screen, nodding over to the settee so that you could both take a seat and finish it, but upon taking a step forward your legs felt so shaky you thought you were about to collapse.

You stumbled forward and gripped his costume tightly, gravity making the thick, warm cum inside of you dribble down your thighs messily. Art outright laughed at your unstable legs, cooing down at you and winking at you slyly. He shrugged nonchalantly, raising his hands as though to say 'oops'.

You giggled up at him bashfully, feeling him lead you to the settee before you promptly flopped backwards onto it and spread your legs out over his lap. Art didn't mind, from how short your skirt was he got a good eyeful of your glistening, puffy pussy. It made him scoff darkly to himself, shaking his head.

"Oh, Halloweens on. This used to be my favourite film, I had a massive crush on Michael Myers for the longest time-".

Ah, there it was - your silly ramblings had started again, and Art cocked an eyebrow at your admittance, peering at the character on the screen who seemed to be choking a stupid teenage girl.

"--And I guess I do like Jason too but, I don't know, he never appealed to me as much as Michael--"

Art nodded along to your cute outburst, watching the way your eyes sparkled passionately. He smoothed a hand up your calf, smirking.

"--But Jason is so much faster than Michael, which is kind of attractive, you know, the whole predator/prey thing, and--"

Art raised both brows now, grin positively evil. You wanted to be chased, did you? Hunted down and captured like a victim? Interesting. He began to chuckle to himself, arms folded and turning in his seat so he could give you his undivided attention.

You felt your cheeks pinken at his look and realized you had probably admitted too much. From the way he wiggled his eyebrows, stare turning predatory, you knew he was plotting something.

"What? It can't be that surprising that I'd..kind of like to be on the receiving end one day. We hunt so many people, it must be hot being hunted," you sighed dreamily, hand reaching over to his and stroking it tenderly. It was rough and calloused.

"Especially by you. That would be..", you paused, biting your lip in a sultry display. You imagined the scene: Him undoubtedly capturing you and having his way with you. You could feel heat blooming in your abdomen. "-Exhilarating. I-Ive thought about it a few times.", you shrugged softly, embarrassed. You struggled to meet his gaze, but when you finally did, it made your breath hitch.

Long gone was that teasing grin, instead replaced by a stern austerity, eyebrows low and shadowing his dark, smouldering eyes. He chuckled once, demonstrated by the way his shoulders lifted in amusement, but his face remained downright terrifying and blank.

You fluttered your eyes to your lap, crimson faced and fidgeting, rubbing soothing circles into his veiny, strong hand.

"Do you...like that idea? I-if not that's okay. It's weird. I shouldn't have said anything.", you trailed off vulnerably, uncertain. You struggled to decipher his moods when he wasn't smiling, and it scared you.

A firm hand gripped your chin, tugging it upwards to meet his fiery gaze forcefully. He was so close, suddenly leaning halfway over your body and with a deliberate, slow nod, he wanted to make it clear that he would very much enjoy that.

You bit your lip in nervousness despite his clear agreement, studying his expression cautiously, but a smile soon graced your lips as Art wiggled your chin fondly back and forth, offering a small smirk; He liked that idea.

Soon, your face brightened up, and you practically jumped at him and snuggled against his chest, his thigh between your own. "You make me so happy.", you whispered, sighing in delight as you watched Michael kill another teenage girl.

Art shrugged playfully, patting your head. You probably should have never admitted that fantasy to him. He'll chase you like you wanted, give you a little head start, but after that he'd treat you like a real victim. You'll be so terrified that you're shaking, having second thoughts about the ordeal.

Then he'd fuck you into the dirt like a whore, knife held too close to your neck, borderline cutting into your flesh. He wouldn't go too far - Some light cutting, some choking, a gun to your head. It was all relatively toned down.

Even still, no matter how much you begged and screamed and pleaded, you'd still hold that adoring infatuation for him. It made him tilt his head back fully, unhinge his jaw and laugh so violently it actually scared you.

You knew what he was. You knew the dark, unfathomable pit of evil inside of him would swallow you whole too, making you his victim one way or another.

You knew he wouldn't kill you, but that doesn't mean that he'd never torment you. These were facts that you simply accepted; you loved him, you didn't know if he was capable of such an emotion, but him keeping you alive and treating you tenderly now and again was enough for you.

It made your heart sing and your insides pulse with need. Leaning your head fully against his chest, you curled up against him as he almost naturally enveloped you in his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into him and savoured the moment.

You couldn't wait for the future ahead. You couldn't wait to maim more people with him and make love to him in their blood. You couldn't wait to become his next victim.

The thought made you wet all over again.

[almostempty]

the meet ugly (javier peña x f!reader) 

WC: 1.6k | Other fics | Rating: it’s ? fluff? No smut

last one for today, sry for spamming anyone, it was an all-or-nothing scenario in my mind 

Summary: your bad day gets worse when a trash bag spills on you. your neighbor javi tries to help but you both get stuck trapped with him and a dumpster. 

Note: this was for the meet-cute, but i had to do something nobody asked for aka make it gross ??? it’s my clown blood idk 

Tags/warnings: au modern javi lives in your apartment complex, description of cold leftovers from your garbage spilling on you, it’s just flirty peña idk it was an exercise for me to write something short and without smut, i’m assuming that dumpsters locked behind fences are relatable enough for all, no y/n, reader is able-bodied, all mistakes are mine just pretend like you didn't see them, i think that's all ty <3

 

You groan as you wrestle with the trash bags, their weight pulling on your arms while you trudge down the cracked concrete stairs. The holly bush at the bottom catches on your shorts again, its spiky branches scraping across your leg. Mocking you. You bite back a curse. The day has been a disaster from start to finish, and now you’re hauling half your apartment’s trash to the dumpster, trying not to lose your temper.

Why does this apartment complex even have holly bushes? It’s like someone got paid just to make everything as inconvenient as possible. Whoever designed this must have never experienced the luxury of hauling garbage bags between two overgrown defensive security bushes. 

You’re still fuming about it, whoever designed this hellscape of an apartment complex, when you reach the gate for the dumpster. One of the trash bags, full of leftovers you’d rather not think about, digs painfully into your fingers. You adjust your grip, unaware the straining plastic is a ticking time bomb. 

You trudge toward the dumpster enclosure, spotting your hot neighbor rounding the corner of his SUV, cigarette between his fingers. Of course, he would be out here to witness your personal walk of garbage shame.

He glances up, and you catch the moment his dark eyes land on you. His gaze sweeps over the bags, then to your face, a smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say anything, but his look is enough to make your face hot. 

Damn him.

"Rough day?" he asks as you approach the dumpster, his deep voice laced with amusement.

"You could say that," you mutter, already feeling defensive. He’s really the last person you want to see while you’re sweaty and cranky. 

With a huff, you push the gate open and step into the dumpster enclosure, tossing the first couple of bags into the bin. The smell is overwhelming, but you just want to be done with it. You lift the last bag, but just as you hoist it up, the thin plastic rips apart, and cold, week-old pad thai leftovers land on your chest, feet, and everywhere but the dumpster. 

You freeze, mortified. Of course.

Before you can even process what just happened, you hear boots scuff against the pavement. Javier’s already hustling over, cigarette still between his fingers, that damn smirk still in place. 

"Need a hand?"

"I’ve got it," you snap, despite the fact that you aren’t moving. Unsure what’s going to make the situation any worse. 

It’s hard to focus on the mess when he’s standing so close. His presence makes your embarrassment worse. Like, you could climb into the dumpster yourself and wait until the garbage truck picks you up on Thursday and takes you away. 

"You sure about that?" He doesn’t move to help—just watches you with a look that’s far too amused for your liking.

"I’m sure," you grumble, tossing the ruined bag into the dumpster. "I don’t need your help." You commit to the mess, peeling cold noodles off of your chest and tossing them into the bin. You frown deeply, fishing out the leftovers that made it down your shirt. The smell and the texture make you nearly gag. 

Javier steps closer, chuckling under his breath. "Right. Because you’ve got everything under control."

You glare at him, wiping your hands on your already-ruined shorts. “I think you’re a little late to be a hero. I’m already wearing the leftovers.”

"Never said I was a hero," he replies smoothly, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Just trying to be neighborly."

As you turn to face him, the gate behind him swings shut with a loud clang. He tries to shove it open, but it doesn’t budge. His expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a flicker of realization in his eyes.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “We’re stuck?” 

He tugs at the gate one more time before turning back to you, that smirk still in place. "Looks like it."

You stare at him, your frustration mounting. "You aren’t even going to apologize? How are you calm about this?” 

Javier shrugs, leaning back against the gate and taking a long drag of his cigarette before acknowledging your question. He’s like the opposite of an anti-smoking campaign. You want to be the cigarette. 

"Not my fault the gate’s a piece of shit. And I’m not in a hurry."

"You closed it," you counter, flustered and looking for someone to blame.

But even as you glare at him, you can’t help but notice how infuriatingly attractive he looks, the way his leather jacket pulls tight over his shoulders, the way his dark eyes glint with amusement.

Javier catches your gaze and quirks an eyebrow. "You’re staring."

You roll your eyes, heat flooding your face. "I’m not."

"You are." His voice is low, teasing, and the way he looks at you—like he knows exactly what he’s doing—is making it harder to keep your composure.

You step back, trying to regain control of the situation and you catch him laughing to himself. 

“I really don’t see what could be funny about any of this,” you wave your arms, gesturing to your ruined clothes and the small space you’re both trapped in. 

“Could be worse ways to spend the evening,” he drawls, taking a step towards you. 

You pick another piece of rice noodle out from between your tits. “Yeah, like if the dumpster was on fire?” 

You’re too aware of him. Of how his voice gets lower and rougher when he’s this close.

He chuckles, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. "I’ve been in worse places. With worse company."

You swallow hard. The way his eyes flicker over your face, how his smirk never fully fades–it’s maddening. He knows what he’s doing to you. It feels like a sick joke. 

"Yeah?" you mutter, your voice sounding breathier than you’d like. "And what makes me such good company?"

Javi’s eyes darken, and he takes another step forward, close enough now that you could smell the leather of his jacket, the faint tobacco on his skin if it weren’t for the foul stench of all of half the apartment complex’s trash in the container behind you.  

"You’re more fun to argue with."

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. “Don’t fuck with me, Javier. I’m already having a day from hell.” 

He gives you a pouty look that makes you want to scream. “Why would I be fucking with you?” he asks quietly, almost sounding hurt. 

You snort, incredulous. “I’m wearing last week's lunch and the only clothes that weren’t in the laundry. Don’t act like you’re flirting with me.”

He steps closer until there’s barely any space left between you. His voice drops, smooth and dangerous. "What if I am?"

For a moment, you forget where you are. 

“What if I think you look good? Even with a garnish?” he asks and pulls a piece of cilantro off of your cheek. 

All you can focus on is how close he is, the way he waits like he’s daring you to make a move. There’s no way he’s serious. He rarely says more than a curt hello, even though you walk to your cars in the parking lot at almost the same time every morning as you head out for work. Sometimes, he’ll wave if you pass him on your walk to the corner store. 

You only knew his name because of the time he caught you trying to drag a dresser you’d scored at an estate sale up the stairs to your apartment on your own. He’d helped you carry it, despite your protesting, all the way into your bedroom.

“I’d say you’re literally stuck in here with me for the foreseeable future, so of course you’d say that.” 

He sighs heavily, muttering under his breath at you, “Tan terca.” And in a move that makes your jaw drop, he turns away from you, stalking towards the fence with a fluid arrogance. Like an oversized cat in a leather jacket, he leaps at the chain link fence like he’s done it a hundred times. He hoists himself up, swinging over the top and dropping onto his feet on the other side. 

He’s grinning at you when he unlatches the gate and swings it open, but you snap storming towards him. “How long were you gonna wait to let us out?” 

He shrugs, “I thought Randy would’ve been out for a smoke before we had to wait long. Don’t exactly enjoy having to climb over a fence.” 

“Right.” You slip out of the gate with a thanks, but when he says your name, you feel like your whole body is drawn towards him.  

He eyes you, leaning in just close enough to make your pulse race again. “And if I were to flirt with you now?” 

“I’d question your judgment,” you point to yourself, “I’m still in desperate need of a shower.” 

His eyes lift, looking just past you, before he grins. 

“Oh my god,” you cut him off before he says a word, “were you about to tell me I could use your shower?” 

Everything about his mockingly sheepish look says you are right. You shake your head at him in disbelief, but you can’t stop the smile that spreads on your face. It takes all of your strength to walk away but head towards your own apartment. 

You make it to the top of the stairs before the sinking feeling hits. You deny it until you check the door for yourself. Of course. After everything that went wrong today, it only makes sense that you would lock yourself out of your own apartment. 

You berate yourself all the way to his door. It swings open after the first knock, and he gives you a look that has your cheeks burning. His eyes gleam, and you just know he’s going to enjoy this before his smoky voice even reaches your ears. 

“Changed your mind?” 

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