#they are really contradict with each other

[regiawrites]

And There Will Be No Tenderness - S.R

Warning(s): Sub!Spencer, Fem!Dom!Reader, Brief Overstimulation, Riding, General Idiocy Word Count: 6134 Summary: Y/N and Reid never see eye-to-eye, but one kiss changes everything.

Garcia hustled into the conference room as quickly as she could with the height of her hot pink pumps, fiddling with the remote as she moved. "Good morning, my lovelies," She greeted the team. "Sorry for the hurry, but this one's a bad one."

"When are they good ones?" Rossi asked dryly as he flipped open the manilla folder in his hands.

"An excellent point," she granted, "but this one is particularly bad." 

She clicked the remote and a series of gruesome images appeared on the screen, so gruesome, in fact, that even Hotch's face twitched. Four women, clearly dead, were covered in blood, bruises, and an array of other injuries, although no two seemed similar.

"These unfortunate four are Kerry Whittingham, Jasmyn Willis, Carly Smythe and Louise Fresca," Garcia said, gesturing to each of the women as she did so. "All of these women have been missing for between 6 and 11 months, all reported missing by their families within a week of them vanishing."

"How have they been linked together?" Morgan asked. "They all have different causes of death." 

"Yeah," Y/N agreed. "Kerry Whittingham was evisceration, but it says here that Carly Smythe's cause of death was drowning. What's the connection?" 

"That is where things get really bad," Garcia said with a grimace before clicking the remote again. 

Four images of matching symbols appeared, each woman having the same mark burned into their wrists.

"Are those brands?" Y/N asked, horrified, making brief eye contact with JJ who mirrored her expression. 

"Human trafficking, maybe?" Emily suggested and Garcia nodded. 

"The local police department thinks so, yeah." 

"So, they're being sold-" Y/N started, but was cut off by Reid scoffing 'Obviously'. She shot him a glare but spared him no response as she continued. "-and showing up dead. Are there any signs of sexual abuse?" 

"Only on Jasmyn Willis," Garcia answered.

"So, they're not being sold to be sex slaves," Y/N guessed. "They're being sold to be killed."

"Or they're just being sold to whoever's interested," Reid contradicted, as he always did. "I doubt a human trafficker cares." 

"But they WOULD," Y/N argued with a roll of her eyes. "If they were being traded for sex, the trafficker would be more concerned with keeping them alive." 

"Y/L/N's right," Hotch said, and Y/N shot Reid a smug smile that he ignored. "A trafficker would want to keep the women alive so they could continue to bring in money. They're likely being kidnapped and traded with the sole purpose of being tortured and killed." 

"What like some kind of sick eBay for serial killers?" Rossi asked, face twisted in disgust.

"That's one way of looking at it," Hotch sighed as he stood. "Wheels up in 20."

As the team filed out of the room, Y/N glared at Reid as they walked towards the bullpen. "Stop contradicting me at every chance you get, asshole!" she snapped at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"You know," he started, "research suggests that those who frequently use curse words are less intelligent than those that don't."

"Oh, shut up, Reid."

"Most likely due to a lack of adequate vocabulary," he continued.

"Shut up, Reid."

"I'm just saying, maybe you'd be less insecure about me 'contradicting' you if you-"

"If you're about to imply I'm an idiot, I will hit you," she told him, glaring up at him as they reached their desks. She leaned down to grab her go-bag from beneath her desk.

"You're also very quick to resort to threats of physical violence, which further suggests you have a lack of trust in your own intellect," he said, grabbing his own go-bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Don't profile me, Reid," she said, voice flat and unamused, before she turned and headed out. 

Trailing after her, Reid said, "I'm not profiling you; I'm making an observation about a coworker." 

"And your observation is that I'm stupid?" 

"I don't think you're stupid," he said with a shrug, and Y/N narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

"You don't?"

"You're a qualified profiler, you can't be stupid," he said. "I do, however, think you're reckless, untrusting of yourself and quick to jump to conclusions." 

"I'm not untrusting of myself," she argued, though she couldn't say she wasn't reckless. She was notorious for thinking with her heart and acting on impulse.

"If you weren't, my contradictions wouldn't bother you." 

"That is so not how that works!" she snapped. "How would you feel if every time you said anything, someone was like 'uhm, actually'?" As she said 'uhm, actually', her voice slipped into a high-pitched, nasally lilt, and she mimed pushing glasses up the bridge of her nose.

They reached the elevator, and continued to bicker as they stepped inside.

And for the whole elevator ride down. 

And for the whole walk to the jet. 

Mercifully, the pair sat at opposite ends of the jet, and didn't talk to each other for the flight, so the team had some peace.

 ***

Within a few hours, the team was set up in the conference room of a police station in Pasadena, Captain Ray Jenkins sitting among them. He was a tall, portly man with a thick moustache and a heavy brow.

"So, the suspect you have in custody had DNA matching two of the victims in the back of his van?" Y/N asked Jenkins.

"Yes, and he also had Carly Smythe's engagement ring in his glove box," he told them, showing them a picture of a diamond ring. "He's remaining silent, though." 

"I'd like to talk to him," she said, and Jenkins nodded. From somewhere beside her, Reid snorted, and she turned to glare at him. "What?" 

"I'm shocked you want to talk to him, is all," he commented with a tight-lipped smile. 

"Why would I not want to talk to a suspect?" she demanded, and he shrugged. 

"Talking involves patience. And tact."

"Oh, 'tact' says the most awkward person I've ever met," Y/N snapped. "I've had to watch you talk to women before, you don't have much tact then." 

Reid turned to face her straight on and level her with a glare, but Hotch held a hand up. "Don't start," was his only warning, effectively shutting them both up. "Y/L/N, you talk to the suspect." 

***

Kyle Hannigan was skinny.

That was the first thing Y/N had noticed about him as he sat across from her in the interrogation room. 

Skinny and short.

There was no way this man kidnapped those women, at least not on his own. 

"You didn't kill those women, Kyle," Y/N said, leaning on the desk between them, flipping through the pictures. 

"That's what I've been saying all this time," he huffed back, testy. As irritated as he sounded, he looked unnerved as his eyes flicked to-and-from the photographs of the mutilated women.

"You don't even know who killed them, do you, Kyle?" she pushed.

"No!" 

"I don't even think you touched them," she said, fighting back a smile when he raised a questioning brow at her. "I mean look at you-" she gestured to him, "-you're short, you're skinny. Jasmyn Willis was 5'9 and a weightlifter, she could have fought you off blindfolded." Kyle's jaw ticked at the insult, but he remained silent. "You're just the delivery driver." 

He stared at her, dark eyes looking up through his brows.

"So, if you're just the delivery driver, who got those women into the van, Kyle?" she asked. "And more importantly, who's running the operation?" 

He continued to stare at her, silent. 

"You know, whoever's above you in the food chain is absolutely going to let you go to prison for this," she told him. "Hell, they probably want you to take the fall. You gain nothing by protecting these people." 

"It'll be my word against his, and no one will believe me over him," he said, low and slow, leaning towards her with a glare. "So, what's the point?" She, too, leaned forward and matched his fiery glare with a cool, flat stare.

"Your word against who's, Kyle?" 

His eyes flicked towards the one-way mirror behind her, then back down to her, and she didn't miss the desperation in his eyes. 

He wanted to tell her.

He looked up at the CCTV camera positioned in the corner of the room.

"Who?" 

He continued to stare at her before raising his right hand, forming it into a claw shape and tapping it to his shoulder.

"That's all you're getting out of me," he said, before folding his arms over his chest.

***

"A claw shape that he tapped to his shoulder?" JJ asked. "What does that mean?" 

"It's ASL," Reid said matter-of-factly, pulling out his phone. 

"And what's it ASL for?" Jenkins asked him, and Reid shrugged. "I thought you were a genius."

"That doesn't mean I'm all-knowing," Reid said, simply. He began typing something into his phone.

"Great load of good that is, then," Jenkins grunted. "What do we do now?" 

"Our tech analyst is looking through his cell phone history to see if there's any suspicious activity that could be an accomplice," Hotch informed him, but Y/N didn't pay much attention to Jenkin's reply as her phone vibrated. 

She unlocked it and, surprised to see a text from Reid, she looked up to give him a questioning look, but he was pointedly not looking at her. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, she tapped on the notification and had to force her face to remain neutral.

Reid: It's ASL for Captain.

And that was how Reid and Y/N found themselves snooping around Jenkin's office, looking for incriminating evidence. After forwarding Reid's text to Hotch and Garcia, she slipped into his office, followed by Reid.

"This is not how we're supposed to do this!" Reid hissed at her as she rifled through one of his drawers while he kept watch. "Nothing you find like this will be admissible in court."

"Yeah, yeah," she grunted, closing the drawer as quietly as she could before opening the next one down. 

"We're going to get caught." 

"Not if you do a good job keeping watch, we won't," she said, reaching for a drawer with a lock on it. She pulled and it didn't budge. "Shit, it's locked," she mumbled, looking around the desk for a paperclip, which she found in a small plastic cup, and bent it into an L-shape. 

"What are you doing?" Reid whispered, panicked and stepped away from the door.

"Keep watch!" she hissed back, wiggling the paperclip around and managing to twist the mechanism, unlocking the drawer. "Aha!"

"Why am I not surprised you can do that?" Reid asked, not looking at her. She glared at the back of his head.

"Because I'm a cornucopia runneth over of useful skills," she snarked as she started digging through the drawer. 

"Sure, that's why," he said, but she paid no mind as she started flicking through a folder she found. 

"Holy shit, Reid, I got something," she said, and he spun around to look at her.

"What, really?" he asked, walking over to her and she tilted the folder so he could see it. "Is that-?"

"Carly Smythe, yeah." 

From Y/N's hands, Carly Smythe's bruised, but very alive, face stared back at them from in front of a dirty wall. She was only wearing a white tank top in the picture, and her hair was flat and greasy, eyes hardened as she glared at the camera.

This picture wasn't a part of the investigation.

The picture was stapled to another sheet of paper, one with messy writing scrawled over it. 

Carly

24

140lbs

5'6

Brown eyes

Brown hair

No Tattoos

Limited known sexual history

Sweet voice

$10k min

$33k to Poseidon

"Oh my God," Reid muttered. 

"She isn't the only one either," Y/N said, flipping through the rest of the pages, through profiles of several women, including the four known victims. "We have to get this to Hotch." 

Before Reid could say anything, they heard Jenkins' voice coming from somewhere outside. Y/N's heart dropped.

"You were supposed to keep watch!" she whispered accusatorily at Reid, who sputtered out a response she didn't listen to as she lifted her shirt and shoved the folder into her pants, covering it when her shirt fell back down.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, eye flicking Wilding between her and the door as Jenkins' voice got closer. 

"Smuggling this out of here," she said, like it should have been obvious.

"And what excuse are you going to give him for us being in here?" he demanded, holding his hands up in distress.

"Kiss me," she commanded, and he choked.

"Excuse me?"

"Kiss me!"

And he did.

As the door handle turned, he surged forward and their mouths connected, lips crashing together. 

Reid grabbed Y/N's hips, pulling her body towards his as his tongue glided over hers, taking her by surprise as he took complete control of the kiss. She slid her hands into his hair, tugging it at the roots.

He whined into her mouth, and all higher thought ceased in Y/N's mind.

Pulling his hair harder, she kissed back with a punishing harshness, vaguely registering her ass hitting the desk as Reid pushed her against it, sliding his hands from her hips up to her waist, around her back and pulling her back against him. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth and tugged on it, making him whimper in a way that had her whole body heating up in response. 

"Ahem." 

Gasping, they tore away from each other and spun towards the door to see Jenkins smirking at them. "I don't think that's an appropriate workplace activity, Agents," he commented, and Y/N grinned in faux sheepishness. 

"Sorry, it’s all new," she said, pushing Reid away from her less harshly that she ordinarily would. "We can't keep our hands off of each other." 

"I won't tell your Captain, don't worry, sweetheart," he said, a look in his eye as he turned his gaze to her that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Both Y/N and Reid managed to get out of the room, and the folder shoved into the front of Y/N's pants felt like it weighed a tonne.

It took less than 24 hours before Jenkins was on the other side of police custody, coughing up information about his clientele.

Six days later, four other men had been arrested for the murders of the women, and had several other murders linked to them.

Three weeks later, the Team had busted a huge ring of human trafficking. 

One month later, Y/N was still thinking about that kiss. 

Each member of The BAU had been rewarded (read: forced to take) a two-week period of leave after the events of the bust. Morgan had been shot, Rossi had a joint dislocated and, all-in-all, it was an incredibly stressful time.

Five days in and Y/N was going stir-crazy from both the boredom and the haunting thoughts of Reid’s mouth on hers. Every so often her mind would wonder to the plush look of his lips, or the intense furrow of his brow, or- when she was particularly out of control- the whine he’d made against her lips when she pulled his hair.

By day seven, she’d exhausted her Netflix subscription and had purchased Disney plus.

By day nine she’d nearly finished The Golden Girls and was out-of-her-mind bored.

As Dorothy made a snide comment, Y/N’s phone notification went off, and she practically jumped on it in all her enthusiasm. Her enthusiasm promptly dissipated when she realised the text was from Reid, and she rolled her eyes.

Reid: Are you busy?

You: No why?

Reid: I’m bored.

You: Okay and?

Reid: Are you telling me you’re not?

You: Well obviously but I didn’t text you to complain about it

Reid: Can I come over? Everyone else is busy. I’ll buy you pizza.

You: I can buy my own pizza

Reid: It tastes better when it’s free, no?

You: Fine you can come but if you don’t have the pizza I’m not letting you in

Reid: Deal. I’ll be there in an hour.

Oh, God, Reid was coming over.

She tidied up her living area, even rearranging the throw pillows on her couch before looking down at the ratty T-shirt she was wearing and had been wearing for a least three days. She debated leaving it on, but your skin tingled unpleasantly at the thought of Reid seeing it and she reluctantly decided to change.

But she couldn’t change into clean clothes without showering.

And if she was showering anyway, she may as well shave.

But if she shaves without exfoliating, she gets ingrown hairs.

That dangerous train of logic is what compelled her to take an ‘everything shower’, listening to music while she pampered her skin and ridded herself of all body hair. For Reid of all people too, to add insult to injury. He probably wouldn’t even appreciate it, not that she’d give him the chance to appreciate your silky-smooth legs, but still. Some acknowledgements of her immense efforts wouldn’t go amiss.

She stepped out of the shower and slathered herself in vanilla-scented lotion, before dressing into a simple pyjama set consisting of loose (but very short), plaid shorts and a black tank top. The doorbell rang just as she slid her feet into her slippers. Checking the clock, she rolled her eyes when she realised it had been almost exactly one hour since his last text, the punctual motherfucker.

She shuffled to the door and looked through the peephole to make sure it was actually Reid, snorting at the way the lens disfigured his face in a bizarre perspective, before letting him in. “Reid,” she greeted, as neutrally as she could when she wanted to tear into the pizza box that he was holding. It wasn’t lost on her that it was from her favourite local place.

“Y/L/N,” he responded in much the same tone, stepping in and slipping his shoes off and revealing a mismatched pair of truly bizarre socks, setting them on the shoe-rack beside the door. He’d known her for long enough to know she absolutely did not tolerate shoes inside her home, and she tried not to feel fond.

“That pepperoni?” she asked, jerking her head towards the pizza box.

“Obviously,” he said, shooting her a distinct look of irritation, like she’d asked a stupid question. “Hey, I don’t know your life,” she snapped. “You could be one of those freaks that like Hawaiian.”

“You know, it’s widely considered fact that the components of balanced flavour are ‘salt, acid and sugar’, so by that logic, a Hawaiian Pizza would-“

“Oh my God, you’ve been here less than five minutes and you’re already doing the thing,” she groaned, taking the pizza box from him and walking to the living area.

“What thing?” he asked, following behind her.

“The ‘uhm, actually’ thing!” she says, plopping down onto the couch and setting the box on the coffee table. He rolled his eyes again and sat down next to you, not deigning to respond.

Silence settled over the two of them.

Dying for anything to relieve the awkwardness, Y/N leaned over to grab a slice of pizza, aware of Reid’s eyes on her. She turned to shoot him a questioning look, but he didn’t meet her gaze and pointedly stared at the TV.

Fuck, his jaw was sharp, and his neck was an elegant arch.

An echo of his desperate whine ricocheted in her head for a moment as she stared at him.

Such a sweet noise from such sweet lips, pillowy and plush against hers. If a kiss was all it took to wring noises like that from him, she couldn’t help but be curious what noises he’d make if she put her hands places that weren’t his hair...

When he swallowed and cleared his throat, she snapped out of her stupor and chewed on her slice, turning back to the TV.

Half an hour later, neither of them had said anything. At some point, Y/N had taken the half-eaten pizza into the kitchen, and bought back a bottle of water for Spencer, who nodded in gratitude, but the awkward silence remained.

They snuck glances at each other, but it became apparent they didn’t know how to be civil with one another.

“So,” Y/N started clumsily. “You done anything interesting on your leave? “I- uh-“ he cleared his throat “-Re-read some of my favourite works in their original languages, I wanted to see if they held any nuances that got lost in their translation.” “Interesting,” Y/N said. “I imagine that killed time for about a day.”

“Yeah, it didn’t take long,” Reid laughed quietly. “I’ve spent the rest of the time writing to my mother and watching Doctor Who.” “It’s a good show. Tennant is the superior Doctor.” “Naturally,” Reid agreed, shockingly enough. “Although I’m partial to Eccleston for nostalgic reasons.”

“Who’s your favourite sidekick?” “Donna Noble,” he replied. “I think she had the most character, and her personality complimented The Doctor well.” “I thought Martha was cool, too,” Y/N said. “Even though she was obviously just a rebound for The Doctor to try to get over Rose.” “Some of my favourite episodes are from when Martha was on the show,” he told her and she smiled, smally at him.

“Really?” “Yeah! ‘The Waters of Mars’ was incredible!” Y/N felt her heart flutter at the way his eyes lit up and his mouth broke into a wide grin, deciding to ignore it. “Oh, God, that’s the one where the water’s poisoned and makes the people at the station into- like- zombies, right?” Y/N asked, twisting around in her seat to face him properly. “That freaked me out. Like the one in the library.”

“Where River Song is first introduced?”

The conversation flowed with an ease that was unfamiliar to them after that, and it turned out they had a lot more in common than either of them thought.

It wasn’t long before they were sifting through Y/N’s streaming service subscription, settling on a horror movie they were both fond of.

The Fly.

“You know, even with the clunky visual effects, this movie is still incredible,” Reid commented quietly, not looking away from the screen.

“Probably because it’s a romantic tragedy more than a horror movie,” Y/N said. “It doesn’t need to rely on visuals, the story-telling does most of the heavy lifting.” She turned to him. “Although the ‘clunky visual effects’ are better than some CGI I’ve seen recently.” Reid laughed at that and nodded. “Yeah, I can’t argue with that,” he said.

This was too weird, and it was making Y/N itch. It was making Y/N come closer to giving in to the urge to press her mouth to his.

“Shocking,” she said, drily, trying to shift their dynamic to what it normally was. “You usually contradict me every chance you get.” Reid stopped laughing and cast her a side-ways glance.

“I’m simply correcting you,” he said.

“My asshole you are,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “And don’t start with the whole ‘people who curse are less intelligent’ shit, or I will throw you out, pizza and all.” “And to think we managed to have several civil conversations,” he groaned, taking a sip of his water and rolling his eyes. “Well, it was nice while it lasted.” “I’m being perfectly civil,” Y/N said, knowing full-well that she wasn’t. “Just admit that you get off on proving to everyone that you’re smarter than them.” “You have no idea what I get off on,” he snapped, turning to her. When their eyes met, time stilled for a moment.

She’d never noticed before how his deep, brown eyes flashed gold in the light.

“What do you get off on then?”

The question had escaped her lips without her permission, and she abruptly snapped it closed as they looked at each other with wide eyes.

“What?” he asked wearing a look of pure shock, like he didn’t even believe he’d heard her correctly.

“Nothing!” she practically squawked, looking away from him and ignoring the feeling of her cheeks heating up.

“Did you just ask me what I get off on?” he choked out, looking incredulously at you as you awkwardly looked at him, looking away again immediately.

“Pfffft, no,” you lied, stupid as he’d clearly heard her.

“You totally did!”

“Okay, so maybe I did,” she admitted. “It kinda just slipped out, I don’t actually wanna know.” “Don’t you?” he asked, voice dropping into a husky tone she didn’t know he was capable of.

She gaped at him, not even knowing what to say. “I-“

“I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me since we kissed,” he told her, leaning forward. “Your eyes keeping dropping to my lips, and your pupils dilate when they do.” He leaned in closer to her. “You also keep absentmindedly biting, licking and playing with your lower lip when you look at me.” “…So?” she asked, not denying it. They both know he was too good a profiler to lie to, especially about something he’d observed himself.

“So, you can’t stop thinking about it,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “And you want to do it again.” When she didn’t say anything, he moved closer to her, so close, in fact, that they could feel each other’s breath puffing onto their faces.

“Do you want to know why I really asked you if I could come over tonight?” he asked, lips so close to hers it was agony.

“Why?” she asked breathlessly.

“Because I want that, too.” She gave in.

With both of her hands on his cheeks, she dragged him the extra inch forward and slotted her mouth against his, swallowing down a keen that threatened to bubble out at the contact. His long, deft fingers gripped her waist and pulled her closer to him, and she followed his pull as elegantly as she could to land in his lap.

Immediately, and like she’d been wishing she could do for a long month, she sunk her fingers back into those brown curls and tugged. The soft noise he made against her lips was hardly the high-pitched whine that had haunted her, but it was enough to make her double her efforts, pressing her body against his and kissing him with poorly hidden aggression. He matched her sudden ferocity, sliding his hands around to her ass and squeezing hard enough to have her breath stuttering out of her chest. When he chuckled against her mouth, she bit down on his lower lip, just a quick tug in between her teeth, but it was enough to make him gasp, and she took that as her opportunity to pull his head back by his hair and look down at him.

Eyes blown out, cheeks flushed pink and his lower lip already kiss-swollen, he already looked like a mess.

“God, I want to fucking ruin you,” she hissed, grinding down over his hips and grinning wickedly at the firmness she felt against her. He whined, his eyes flicking upwards momentarily before he refocused on her face. “Please do,” he gasped, rocking his hips up against her, gripping her ass again.

“Already begging?” she teased. He glared at her, but it was hollow, before he reached up to grab the back of her neck and drag her to his lips again.

When their lips crushed against each other’s, Y/N’s hands immediately started to rip at Reid’s shirt, almost ripping the buttons off in her haste to get it off him. He whined into her mouth at her aggression, reluctantly taking his hands off her to slide the sleeves of his button up off his arms, leaving his chest bare to her. She raked her nails down his chest, trails of pink following her fingertips, and he arched into her with a sweet keen. She pinched his nipple with one hand, and he gasped. Taking his surprise as an opportunity, she slid her mouth across his jaw to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, pausing to bite and suck at the sensitive juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“Oh!” Reid moaned, thrusting his hips against her particularly hard at the overwhelming sensation. “Oh, God, Y/N, please.”

“Please what?” she taunted, continuing to leave marks on his neck, and continuing to tease his chest. She ground her hips against him far more firmly, speeding up her steady rhythm. “I don’t- I- Oh!” he struggled, breaking off into a whimper before he could get the words out.

“If I knew that this was all it took to get you to shut up, I’d have done it sooner,” she said, laughing cruelly when he glared at her. Still choking out a chain of whimpers and whines, he slid his hands up her tank top, cupping her breasts, long, deft fingers pinching her nipples harshly in retaliation. She squeaked, shocked, turning to him with her own glare. He gave her a paradoxically shy little smirk, proud of himself, and it infuriated her.

When she pushed herself backwards, down his legs and away from the bulge in his pants, he whined in protest. She pulled his zipper open, shoving the soft fabric of his boxers to pull his cock out, hot and heavy in her palm; it was bigger that she thought it would be, definitely bigger than average, and delightfully thick.  “Oh, God, what are you going to do with me?” he asked, voice breathless and desperate as he tried to buck into her hand, whining when her weight on his lap meant he couldn’t drive up enough to get any real friction.

“I’m gonna use you,” she told him, stroking his cock deliberately slow, squeezing around his sensitive head.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Until you can’t even think anymore.”

Nodding enthusiastically and gripping her hips, he tried to drag her back towards him, but she tsk’d. She placed a hand on his chest to push him onto the couch and used the leverage to stand up. Slowly, she began to push the waistband of her shorts down, the way he stared at the movement as though hypnotised flooded her brain with a heady feeling of power. “Reid?” she cooed, and it looked like it took a tremendous amount of effort for him to drag his eyes from her hips to her face.

“Ye-yeah?” he stuttered out, almost absentmindedly reaching for his cock and fisting himself in a loose grip. She bit her lip as she watched the tentative movement. “Do you have any condoms?” she asked, hoping to God he said yes. The hope was foiled when he looked at her with an expression of panic.

“No, shit, no, I don’t,” he huffed, and she could see him calling himself an idiot in his own head.

“Fuck it, I’m clean and on birth control,” she said. “Are you-?”

“Yes, I’m clean, Y/N,” he said, a pleading look on his face. “God, I’ve been thinking about this for a whole month, please don’t make me wait.” Ordinarily, she’d tease him, but seeing as she had felt exactly the same way, she finished sliding her shorts down her legs, leaving them on the floor as she straddled him once again. She pushed her hips down on his, grinding her wet pussy over the throbbing heat of his cock and they both gasped. “Please, don’t tease,” he begged, looking up at her with the saddest puppy dog eyes. “Just fuck me, oh my God, please.”

“Eager,” she teased and slapped her ass in retaliation, making her yelp and jolt forward, making her wetness slide over his cock once again. She started grinding down deliberately hard to get back at him.

He threw his head back and gasped, and she took that as a chance to start sucking and nibbling on the column of his throat.

It didn’t take long before he was whining in that sweet, sweet way that made her head spin. “Please!” he whimpered desperately, pushing his hips up to meet her movements, and she relented. Pulling away from his neck, she lifted herself up before sinking down on his cock.

“Fuck!” “Oh, God!”

He was fully inside of her, stretching her out in a dull ache as her adjusted to him. “Fuck, you’re so big,” she mumble, gently starting to rock as the ache lessened. He didn’t respond, and the glazed look in his eyes made her question if he’d even heard her. He grabbed her ass, kneading the firm flesh in a way she thoroughly appreciated.

Slowly, she started bouncing, and he screwed his eyes shut, whimpering quietly at the almost overwhelming feeling of her hot, wet pussy squeezing him. “You feel like heaven,” he whispered, jaw going slack as she started moving faster.

It didn’t take long before they we both panting, flushed and desperate as the moved against each other. At some point, Reid had wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in the crook of her neck, licking and sucking and biting wherever he could reach.

Y/N sunk her hands into his hair, gripping it tightly to keep him there as the brutal pace she had set brought her closer to the edge. The way he was practically sobbing into her neck told her he was close, too.

“Reid,” she panted, pulling his head away from her neck by his hair. He looked up at her, flushed cheeks and mouth hanging open, eyebrows hitched and eyes watery. He looked so fucked out she couldn’t help the pride that rushed through her. “Are you close, baby?” she asked him with a cruel smirk, and he nodded pathetically, crying out when she gripped his hair tighter to cease the movement.

“Please,” he begged. “I’m so close!” “Don’t you dare cum before I do,” she hissed, leaning back a little so the hand that wasn’t in his hair could rub her clit.

“I’m trying, I’m trying, but you feel so good! Ah, ah, please cum, please cum, please cum!”

His begging, desperate and needy, pushed her over the edge, her fingers on her clit and his cock filling her up as she toppled over the precipice of her orgasm. She cried out his name as her walls shuddered around him, dragging him over too. He cried out, louder than he had before as his orgasm wreaked havoc on his body, his legs shaking and tears finally dropping onto his cheeks. He babbled an incoherent stream of pleas as oversensitivity kicked in, crying that it was too much as she rode her own orgasm.

Her bouncing slowed to a still and she fell against him, both breathing heavily and flushed.

It took several minutes for both to catch their breath, and for coherent thought to be functional again.

Y/N hurried into the bathroom to clean herself up and tried to not spiral into panic; not only had she has sex with a coworker and totally violated the fraternisation policies at the bureau she’d had sex with Reid. Worse, she realised she didn’t regret it. She should, but she doesn’t, and she has never believed in being guilty about things that don’t warrant guilt.

She supposed it was harmless, really. Honestly, if they had this new way of working out their animosity towards each other, they’d probably be more pleasant to be around.

So, really, fucking him was for the good of the team.

Yeah, I’m totally doing it for the team, she told herself as she finished cleaning herself up.

When she left the bathroom and returned to the living room, his shirt was back on his body and his cock was tucked back into his pants. He was sitting there looking so awkward it was painful, and he didn’t look at her when she sat beside him.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly, and she sighed. “No, we shouldn’t have,” she agreed. He nodded, eyes not moving from his hands where they were folded in his lap. “So, what now?” he asked.

“I have condoms in my dresser,” she offered, laughing when his head shot up and he looked at her so incredulous it would have been offensive if it wasn’t so funny. “You don’t want to do it again?” “No, no, I do,” he rushed out with pinkening cheeks. “I just didn’t think that you’d want to! “Well, I do,” she said matter-of-factly before standing up and walking towards the bedroom. When he didn’t immediately follow, she turned around with a raised eyebrow. “Are you coming or not?” she asked.

Reid had quite possibly never moved so fast in his life as he followed her giggles to her bedroom.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.171 Happy birthday to ya

When it got closer to party time, Sophia and I moved the couch to the backyard for more seating options. Our parties always end up fragmented with some sims eating in the house and others on the patio. My goal is to keep everyone together, so hopefully this will help. We also moved the picnic blanket and put the portable crib outside to accommodate the little ones. Because we're friendly again, I invited Yasmine and her girls, but she declined. She doesn't know the other guests and didn't want anyone asking questions about Stacey. I completely understood but feel bad for her. This spellcaster business has really trapped her and the girls in their home.

Apart from my baby aging up, I'm most excited about having Dub and his family in our home for the first time. Between the deaths and parenthood, it's been super hard for us to connect lately. I guess I was naïve enough to believe it would be easier being in the same city, but life keeps proving it doesn't matter where we are. Life is going to life, and that's that. I suppose I'll have to be more intentional about hanging with him too.

"You got it smelling good out here, bro," a voice says from behind me.

That Henford accent is unmistakable, and I was so glad to hear it. I turned around and embraced him.

"Wassup, man! Did you find us okay? Welcome! Finally!"

"Right? Took you long enough!"

"Don't even play, man. You know how life is sometimes."

"Sure do. This house is nice! And the view!"

"Thanks. If you're able to stick around later, I'll give you the tour. Hey, where's Maia? Is she coming?"

"Yeah, she's running a little late. She's just finishing up a project for a client."

"Ahhh. See? San Sequoia has been good to you already. I'm glad her business is picking up."

There's no way Dub showed up alone, so I looked around for Tambara, knowing she couldn't be too far behind. I spotted her toddling across the yard, trying her best to catch up with her daddy.

"She's getting to be extremely independent these days," Dub said when he realized I was watching her. "She won't even let us pick her up anymore. I don't mind that so much, but waiting for her really slows me down."

"She'll get faster," I said, thinking about Desiree's determination. "Just give her time."

Tami and Desi look nothing alike, but I see glimpses of the immediate future in her proud face and wobbly gait. I want Desi to grow up and change the world, but I can't part with my little girl. At the same time, I'm anxious to see her continue to grow. I love watching her smash these milestones like the boss baby she is. Ugh. Fatherhood is just a melting pot of contradictions. How can I be happy and sad, proud and scared at the same time?

Tami finally made her way over to us, so I waved.

"Hey there! Do you remember me? I'm Luca. That's a pretty dress."

Her face lit up, and I knew it didn't matter if she remembered me or not. I was currently her new bestie. Flattery works at all ages, hee hee.

"What do you say when someone gives you a compliment?" Dub asked.

"I know," she shouted.

Me and Dub had a good laugh. She's so precocious, and I love it. Kids really do say the darndest things, and I can't wait to hear what Desi will have to say. Hopefully that's not a be careful what you wish for situation, heh.

"That's right, Tam," I said. "You better know it."

"How are you holding up?" Dub asked, wiping the smile off my face.

"I'm good. As good as I can be, rather. It gets a little better every day."

"I'm glad to hear it. I can't even think about what that's going to be like."

"It might sound morbid, but you should start thinking about it, man. It's the shock that's hard to get over."

"You play dollies with me," Tambara shouts.

That was probably supposed to be a question, but she's too excited about her new, big friend and it's too cute.

"Oh, no," Dub says to me. "You start that and she'll never let you go."

She's adorable, looking just like both of them. I hope she and Desi will like each other. It'll be a shame to have them fighting or snubbing each other when we hang out.

"You can play with Desiree later, okay?" he says.

"Speaking of... We should probably get this show on the road soon. Let me finish these ribs."

(makeovers and family photos below!)

Dub and fam by @mysimsloveaffair

[dearweirdme]

https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/760787222147547136/httpswwwtumblrcomdearweirdme7606164166353879?source=share

Hi, Korean American anon here so I'm familiar with shipping culture in South Korea (though I don't think what I'm about to say is exclusive to South Korean culture)

I'm catching up but OP is very right about the strange contradiction and it's usually that some shippers feel safe shipping m/m relationships because at heart, they don't believe that their idols can be homosexual/bisexual. Their idols are perfect and, in their opinion, anything outside of heterosexuality is flawed and abnormal...so it's a low risk form of denial over the fact that they might have to one day deal with seeing their faves in a hetero relationship.

So shipping them with a male or group member is a safer way of exploring that fantasy romantic side of their idol, seeing how cute they can be, what they'd look like as their boyfriend etc without any of the risk of having to face their idol being in a real relationship (which according to them is a hetero one) because their homophobia (concious or subconcious) won't allow them to really consider the possibility that their fave might be gay or bi and they also know that companies and artists themselves might be less willing to expose same sex relationships.

So TLDR; it's a low risk deniability and form of mental escapism from facing the reality that they nightshade to watch their idol go through a relationship.

Now in Korea, its the same thing but with a little bit of an added element to it....because fans know that Korean entertainment companies and artists are far more indulgent than western counterparts when it comes to pleasong fans and delivering what they want and protecting them from having to acknowledge that their idols are human beings with their own lives. So with Korean idols and fans, there's also an element of control.

They know that if they ship group members or idols together, companies will often jump on it and use it to foster the parasocial element that is heightend and more greatly exploited in KPOP. That means idols and companies will go to far greater lengths to hide their real relationships and so fans won't have to be exposed to something they don't want to see or acknowledge.

They can make their faves dance to the beat of their drum by shipping them with each other because they genuinely don't believe anything will ever come of it

And the fact is that these fans would react the same way if their idol dated opposite or sex---because shipping them with the same sex is their way of essentially shipping them with nobody (if that makes sense)

Now obviously, I 'ship' Tàekook or I wouldn't be here but it's the fact that Hybe not only haven't exploited their biggest ship for fan engagement and fan interaction but seem to have gone to lengths to cover it that makes me more suspicious as to the reality of it.

But ultimately, homophobics shipping their m/m faves is really just them trying to exert whatever control they can while also holding a belief that they'll never have to face the reality of their ship coming to life.

Hi Korean-American anon!

So good to see you around! As always thanks for your input!

You're responding to this ask:

One of the reason's why I always found the explanation of less Taekook focus from BH being because Tae and Jk weren't close anymore such nonsense, is because it makes no sense from a business perspective. BH could literally make them do content together because people enjoyed it so much. Taekook is the biggest ship, has been for years.. and yet they make none to little use of it.

I've read people (the other side) say Tae and Jk are less interesting to watch... freaking bs.. which is basically proven by AYS where all Jm and Jk do is just eat and talk about how much they love to eat. Tae and Jk are also hilarious, cute, and comforting together. I grant everyone that an AYS from Jk and Tae would gather the same attention as AYS from Jk and Jm.

[anas-tasiaa]

It's me, Saeran.

" I'm going to destroy your pathetic

make-believe world. "

[i-am-a-fan]

I got sad and made some dumb doodles to cheer myself up.

Based very loosely off of this post

[faewaren]

Handy infographics for wangxian feat. whoever you want to put in there. Rubbing my polyamorous hands all over them.

I THINK this must be the three most common ones. Who else do people put in there?

I am not a photoshop professional. This is obvious. However I must spread my agendas.

[coquelicoq]

what i love about the Famous Actor Natori Shuuichi of it all is that...it's not just that he's famous and therefore widely recognizable wherever he goes. like yes that is very funny because he was an exorcist before he became a famous actor, which means he CHOSE, on purpose, a day job that would make it harder to hide his double life/secret identity from the hordes of his adoring public, but it's more than that. it's not just that he's famous, it's that he's famous specifically for being an ACTOR, aka a person whose job it is to dissimulate, to make believe, to inhabit roles and emotions other than his own. like he decided he was going to become as visible as possible (which again was literally not necessary! he could have gone into any other career for his day job!!) but in such a way that everyone would see him but no one would see him - they would just see his various made-up personas, including the Famous Actor Natori Shuuichi persona. i can't decide if he's a genius or if he just made so many absurd decisions that they canceled each other out and circled back around to working out. he's either playing 9-dimensional chess or he's eating the pieces. too soon to say.

[movedtodykedvonte]

The fact that Jevil is a jester but has an active refusal to make others laugh and simply lives for his own merriment and amusement compared to the fact Spamton canonically hates clowns and jesters yet has a burning desire to be loved and adored with/through the express purpose of catering to others.

[thanatika]

people on that child support post are talking as if patho classic daniil is great with kids and it's pathologic 2 daniil that people are getting this negative idea of him from, which got me thinking...

daniil's main characterization of how he treats kids in patho 2 comes from artemy's POV of him, which is biased against daniil due to daniil making a really dickish first impression, and is also based off of unreliable narrator accounts:

first by some kids outside of rubin's house who lead artemy to believe that daniil refused to treat poisoned children when it was actually just dying dogs, which can be followed by artemy confronting daniil himself where he continues to misunderstand the situation and assumes daniil is calling children animals, until he finally visits the kids' warehouse and learns it was just the soul-and-a-halves' pets. which, obviously it would be a nice thing to save pets from dying, but he really ISN'T a veterinarian and there's a deadly plague starting. he's doing triage.

and then another early incident with the kid in the warehouse dying of sand pest, where notkin passes along a message telling artemy not to bother trying to save him that makes him sound very dismissive ("Don't waste your time on Patches, it's over for him"). reading between the lines though, it's pretty clear that he came to that conclusion not because he doesn't want to save people from the sand pest, but because this is a seemingly incurable disease with no medical cure, and at that point he probably hasn't had the chance to test the schmowders on himself so would have no reason to believe in their effectiveness, and assesses that loading patches up with drugs will just kill him. which, he's literally correct! whether you treat him with tinctures, pills, or a whole schmowder, patches dies that night. obviously trying to treat him or at least ease his suffering is a morally good dead, but you can also see the implied basis of daniil's actions, that every second is precious in the early stages of trying to prevent a widespread outbreak, so you shouldn't waste time on a patient who ultimately can't be saved. (which fits in really well not only with his arc in both games where he comes to the conclusion that the whole town is unsalvageable, but with the bigger emphasis on time management and manipulation that his remake has been described as having. hell, maybe from daniil's POV he knows for certain that patches will die due to whatever time manipulation that's going on with him, and that spending the time on that patient allows for a larger disaster to happen elsewhere). so, the situation is framed by notkin (understandably, because he's just a kid and that's his friend dying) and artemy (because he's honestly pretty petty about daniil) as just "the bachelor is an asshole and abandoned these kids" when it's more of a genuine ethical quandary.

he's also pretty rude and dismissive in how he talks about grace to artemy later on, but again, it's pretty clear that he's not just being a hater to a 15 year old for no reason, the point he's making is that she shouldn't be left in charge of a graveyard filled with potentially bio-hazardous corpses.

all that to say, the main canon info about how he treats children in patho 2 basically comes from the fact that a lot of kids end up disliking him, because he's extremely pragmatic to the point of being heartless, but still ultimately pretty understandable in what he's trying to do (stop a plague).

meanwhile when we do get to see his POV in the marble nest, i would say the way he treats children is pretty much consistent with how he talks to them in pathologic classic -- if anything, he's a bit nicer to them? he has some fed-up, yelling sort of dialogue options to the kids, but pretty much all of those are based on being upset that they're out breaking quarantine and putting themselves at risk of death. meanwhile other dialogue options make him come off very much willing to humor them and talk to them on their level. and when another adult is much harsher about the kids being irresponsible, he defends them, with no dialogue option to agree with corporal punishment:

meanwhile in pathologic classic, i do think that on the whole daniil is pretty nice to kids and willing to go out of his way to protect or help them (to the point of risking death, such as the late game sidequest where he can agree to go take on several soldiers to keep the father of two children from being wrongly executed). but he does also have some really unkind and spiteful dialogue options, like some of what he says to clara both in his own route and hers, and on the topic of corporal punishment...

[vexahlla]

I had to go back to this scene in case I was remembering wrong and he actually said "I love you"—he doesn't! what he says is much more interesting.

ed is still convinced at this point that oswald is fully selfish. he figures that if he's going to be used anyway, there's comfort in knowing with certainty HOW and WHY. he's operating from "love is weakness": his love for penguin makes him weak. it's clear what lee is using him for and he can work from that. he can actually become stronger, he's repeating his past mistakes from season 3 and betraying penguin made him stronger. there's the potential here—maybe even inevitability—that if he does the same thing, get someone he looks up to to approve of him and then flip that on its head, he can prove himself again.

it's interesting that he's "the riddler" here, especially with the broader context of penguin giving up his revenge for ed and giving his trust to him. riddler is thinking logically: penguin is a master manipulator. giving up his revenge MUST be a tactic, but how? what does he want from him? what will he take? therefor riddler MUST betray before he's betrayed. he's blind to emotional truths and so can't wrap his head around the real reason, that's why what eventually gets oswald's devotion through to him is something physical, something tangible. REAL PROOF. something much more like ed's own willingness to be tortured without giving him up, even to die for that. it's why he questions oswald whenever he spares his life or does something out of character for the sake of ed: ed's trying to figure him out from a logical point of view—like a puzzle—there must be something he's missing, it must be a trap. the love he's offering can't possibly be real.

that was PENGUIN'S revenge, that was the clear-cut motivation he had before he gave it all up for ed!

another thing about ed's repression is that he over complicates and over compensates! he is always compelled to leave hidden messages that implicate himself, like when he left kristen the "nygma" clue. a lot of it is his ego: who but him could ever figure it out? who could match his intellect? but he's also LOOKING for that someone! but it's more than that, it's PARANOIA. when jim knew nothing of his crimes, nygma overthought everything and that's what led to his downfall.

i think the clue here is that he's focusing on penguin's initial revenge. and the overthinking is leading him into a self-destructive relationship with lee.

he loves "it": the change in her that resembles penguin.

from what we've seen before with how oswald dodges ed's leading questions of why he keeps ed safe—and with how he brings up "friends" and "brothers"—he's def not comfortable enough to say "i love you" first anymore. ed would have to be the vulnerable one, and at the end of the series he's faced all truths about himself: he's the riddler, he's a villain, he loves oswald. he's moved past the traumatizing night where he said "i love you" to someone for the first time, when he was actively killing her. he understands now that killing her was JUST AS MUCH HIM as mourning her, and it's the same as what he experienced with oswald. the two personalities—if they were not one and the same the whole time as ed manifesting his own battle between repression and truth—are at least fully integrated with each other at the end of the series.

[askblueandviolet]

Are you two dating?

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💙💜

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[showtoonzfan]

As every Adam Neylan written HB episode passes, I keep having to remind myself that he is also the co writer for Hazbin, and I legit wanna die every time.

[team7-headquarter]

I'm kinda curious about the period of time when Minato was Hokage, because there's so much you could say about Konoha depending on it. It could be that I don't remember what the manga says about it too, but anyway.

We know that before Minato was Hokage, the discrimination towards jinchuurikis was high. We know it from Kushina's story. After Minato, the jinchuurikis discrimination was not exactly as bad as it could have been (and the bar is soooo low) in physical terms, but the level of sheer isolation was ridiculous. Sure, Kushina had guards and she lived in a tower with a perimeter drawn around it, one that she couldn't surpass. The difference is that Kushina knew why she was being isolated, there was someone willing to teach her about it right from the start, a family member even if distant, someone with the same experience.

All Naruto knew is that he was unwanted. He had no family, no one was willing to guide him. No, not even Iruka. I'm talking about before in the manga, before Iruka realized how much Naruto needed him and did something about it.

If that was before and after, how was it during the time Minato was Hokage?

Did Minato push for Kushina to become Hokage? Was the idea rejected? Did he get angry? It was her dream after all. Or did they realize it would be impossible so they pushed Minato to go for it? Were they sad about the idea of Kushina having to live her dream through Minato, because they wouldn't let her go for it? When did Kushina give up and change her goal in life?

Did Minato tell anyone about his plan on how to get rid of the jinchuuriki discrimination? Did he talk about it with Kushina? We know that they planned Naruto's birth and tried to make it as safe as possible. When the time to seal Kurama within Naruto came, they both knew how Konoha would treat Naruto. Minato wanted Naruto to be viewed as the son of a hero, but his wishes were thrown aside as soon as his body was cold enough.

With no law to protect the jinchuuriki of the kyubi, I wonder how bold the people of Konoha were in their discrimination against Kushina while Minato was Hokage. Times were different, Minato was highly respected and feared, but how many times did he have to tell someone to mind their words? How many times did he catch Kushina avoiding a certain restaurant or a street? Did he ever feel a slight of resentment against his home for the way they treated his wife? His pregnant wife?

Were there rumors of the child being a monster for being the son of a jinchuuriki? It could be that some Konoha parents telling their kids to not play with the little Uzumaki/Namikaze was a thing before Naruto was even born?

From what I've seen, Konoha has no gentleness for kids of prestigious lineages. Being a child of a powerful shinobi makes your life worse, in fact. A million times over: it happened to Sasuke, to Neji, it happened to Kakashi in the generation before them, it happened to Itachi in the in-between.

I don't think that being the son of the hokage would have saved Naruto for being mistreated by the village. Not when his mother was a jinchuuriki.

It just makes me wonder, you know?

In the time he had, how did Minato try to change things to protect his family?

Was it a matter of needing more time? Or there wasn't a plan at all?

[astarab1aze]

➥ Loux Garo

fuck around, find out / drabble warning for violence, vaguely direct gore, probably poor handling of this exact situation

"Naw, y'see..." Loux said, leaning into knuckles itching for a fight, fangs bared, a sneer on his lips. Staring down the proverbial barrel of a gun, surrounded by the weres he stole from - all of them, seething, from the -bull to the -wolf, and the dragonkin in between. And he could only flash his darkest storm, his sharpest grin, hand under his haori, fingering his spoils. "I ain't jus steal from ya, ma chicos y chiquitas..."

In point of fact, he'd done a fair bit more than just steal from them - he robbed them utterly blind, and had stood there for twenty minutes rubbing their faces in it.

The bull, with hair black as night and truly impressive longhorns, stepped forward, fists balled tightly. Loux could see the rage in their eyes, beady black things, glaring down at him- No doubt on the verge of making a grab for him. Funny. They always acted it was some cardinal sin, that a trinket or two and a handful of cash be taken, but maybe if they hid their shit better, the fox wouldn't have been so keen on investigating... No personal accountability, for shame! How could he not teach them so basic a lesson? They left it all out in the open in front of a known criminal.

"'Course not, 'cause you're a rat - and rats ain't good for no fuckin' thing else."

Stormy gray met furious black in defiance with a nonchalant tilt of his head, champagne blond falling out of his eyes. He knew what was to come, could sense it in them all, could feel it spiking in the air. In the thundering beats of their hearts, the cracking of their knuckles, flexing of muscle under cloth and fur, in the grinding of their teeth, the sweat upon their brow - and he was quietly, happily goading them into the fight they so wanted, the justice they demanded. He didn't even have to do anything but stand there, feigning a scratch at his ribs, rolling his eyes the while.

It would just be easier if they could get a fucking move on already. If they wanted to beat him to death, now was their chance. He would get his, in the end. There wasn't any way he was going to get out of this anyway, so may as well let them do as they pleased.

"He's just a kid," the antelope whispered, short hair, glassy green eyes, but it didn't seem they'd meant to. Oh? What's this, apprehension?

"So what, ya think we should just let him go because o' that? Ya think he gives a damn about the fuckin' rules? Look at him, grinnin' like it's nothin'. He knows he's wrong - he just doesn't fuckin' care! Ya wanna let him have it or d'ya want yer fuckin' money back?" the wolf barked, growling as he spoke from behind Loux, claws shattering the hardwood and brick of the Packhouse bunkroom. Splintering, clattering to the floor.

Was he supposed to be intimidated? As if. He was a lackey of Deadeye once - try harder.

He glanced between the bull, the antelope, the gator, and the exit, gray temporarily affixing to woodgrain, mind tumbling over a handful of exit plans once all was said and done. He could've shifted into the form of a fly and left right then, but he wanted this, this confrontation, something reckless and dark gnawing at the back of his mind, snipping at his heartstrings. Counting on this, wanting this to happen, for someone to catch him in the act and show him how fucked up and worthless he really was. Maybe it was baser, more idiotic than even that, instinctive drive to go down and take everyone else with him pushing him ever further down the path he'd chosen. Was he trying to get himself killed? Or did he know his best and only chances were on every gamble he'd ever taken? He'd survived all this time on his own, after all, and how else but adapting to the ugliness of the people and world around him? Steal to make deals and pay for meals, kill or be killed, dog eat dog, the whole shpiel. This was their chance, their turn to prove true what seemed as natural law. There would always be killers and thieves, so there must always be someone to stop them, be it the common man or folk who didn't mind beating the shit out of a kid.

"Do you want to go to jail?! Are you crazy?" the antelope yelped, drawing Loux's attention back to center. "I'm not going down with you! Especially not since--"

"Since what, coward? Since he's Loux Garo? Ya think we didn't know that? It's even more reason to just get rid of him now!" Wolf again, heavy paws thumping into the wood beneath them, scraping his claws into it. Whatever. "We'd be doin' everyone and his mom a fuckin' favor. We'd be heroes, for fuck's sake."

Loux wondered if they were even paying attention to him anymore, if it would be easy to slip through. See, part of him was keen on vanishing into the night, but it was quiet, overshadowed by impulsivity and boredom, pinky digging into his ear to show as much. A little surprising though, that they've decidedly jumped to the idea of killing him.

"Kid's not jus' a thief, he's a fuckin' murderer! A terrorist! Hate to say it, but I think yer right..." Gator, hissing in agreement, heavy tail grinding against the floor. "Killin' 'im leaves a bad taste in m' mouf though, maybe we shouldn't. We'd 'ave blood on our 'ands--"

"And who out of us doesn't, huh?!" bellowed the bull, and Loux decided he'd just about had enough of their utterly pointless, circular conversation.

He stepped forward, gaze never again returning to the bull's face, and he raised a hand, two fingers in the air with his thumb tucked in. "Iffin ya feel like doin' it, go ahead. Get it o'er wit, ain't got all day t' wait till y'all can figger out 'ow to get away wit assaultin' anybody, me included." Then he curled them, and a spark would catch flame in the bull's hair, crackling in the dim light and giving off its own. "How's 'bout a lil provocation?"

And he laughed, madly, taking pleasure in the sudden terror bleeding in between all seven of his would-be killers, swiftly turning on his heel and with an arrogant flourish, doing much the same to the wolf. Again, swinging around to the antelope and delighting in the way that she screamed. Starting fires in fur and flesh, little ones, small ones, enough to cause panic, enough to goad into action. The bull and the wolf each howled and growled, anthromorphic hands rushing to put out every flame, and they would succeed, of course they would, even as their skin burned. A flurry of gasps, too slow on the uptake, and though his smile was wide, his hands ready to set them all ablaze, they would have their graceless retribution.

The twinkle and chill of ice shot through the air too soon after, frigid shards shattering on impact with brick, lodging into wood - and freezing everything around them like a volley of blighted arrows. Oh, not good. As smoke then clouded the room, he felt himself tumble a step forward, barely able to keep standing, in place of the bull, hands frantically flutter to his chest, then under the right-side of his ribcage. He hadn't felt it at first, distracted by his own provocation, hot fingers melting into the ice burrowing in. His eyes went wide and he hazarded a pitiful gasp, an even worse laugh, diaphragm catching on the pressure, his nerves not quite registering the pain just yet. Shaking on his feet, blood curdling in his veins, gut viciously churning, sudden anxiety clutching at his heart. The heat of his blood poured from his chest, mixing with water, and all around him batted away the smoke, rushed closer, watched him fall to his knees as the agony of it took root at last.

"We...we have no choice now, do we?" Voices blurring together. "He set us on fire!" Too many at once. "Yeah, but-" Shouting. "He's still just a kid!" His heart was slowing, fire wouldn't come to his call, the magic dying inside before he could ever hope to make use of it. "Hey, he ain't gettin' back up." Fuck. "Oh yeah! We shoulda opened wit that ice cast - 'e's weak to it." Wheezing, eyes burning with smoky tears he couldn't weep, trembling on the floor in a heap, willing the spike of ice to hurry up and melt so he could pull it free-- "C'mon, this'll be easy."

He tried to lift his head and wear his best smile, crooked and vile as ever, knowing well and good that no matter how youthful his appearance, calling him a child didn't truly make it so. A fist dove into the mess of his hair, smelling thickly of singed hair, tangled in and yanked him backward, winding him in the process. He sputtered and coughed on every breath, robbed of his power in an instant, arrogance swept clean from his face. Blood pooling on the hardwood between his knees, spilling between the cracks, sticky on his skin. Feeling around the spike, coming to the realization that with this, he very well could die.

But even in the end, he would provoke, he would incite, he would demand it.

"Took y'all long 'nough to figger tha' out..." he croaked, "Gon-gonna finish the job or leave a girl waitin'? Got shitta do afta this--"

"Shut the fuck up!" Hoof to the spine, another forcing the spike out of him - bruising, cruel all the same. He couldn't begin to quantify the pain he was feeling now, layer upon layer of carefully woven protective thread shorn through. Ribs cracking, dislodged, out of place, shockwaves spidering up and down his spine- and he couldn't move, more and more blood pouring out of him like a faucet, neck near to snapping, everything everywhere all of it--

"F-fuck you," choking on the sounds he made.

There was a pause, brief, thoughtful, pregnant with consideration, next steps. Everything came in bits and pieces, words picked and plucked from what he could manage, throbbing pain echoing through him sharply, drowning much of it out. He couldn't think- Exit strategy, how to get away--

And for what felt like hours, all seven of them took their turns. Hoof stomping him into hardwood, cutting him open with shards of ice, wood, and glass, holding him up by his hair and throwing enhanced fists into open wounds, holding him down and doing the same to his face, kicking him, breaking his bones, shattering his will, taking ample advantage of the time it took for him to recover from contact with ice. Succumbing to their own impulses, appealing to their own sense of justice. He was helpless, teeth tumbling out of his mouth, nose twisted and broken, lips split, shoulder and right hip dislocated, jaw fractured, ice forming in his hair, back bent and nothing, nothing, nothing but sheer unfathomable agony and despair taking him. No means to protect himself, robbed of the opportunity by happenstance, by accident, and led as a lamb to inevitable slaughter - one he deserved, one he thought he'd commanded of them. Thought he wanted, punishment to fit his crimes. Writhing before them, victim again to a pause followed by merciless strikes, impacts spattering his blood across the floor, iron on his tongue, vision blurred, hearing lost to dull ringing and throbbing hums. Head snapping sideways with the next blow, flesh around his eye swollen to bursting--

"How's 'e still conscious?"

"Dunno, best keep goin' then."

And again, again they went, ripping clumps of hair from his scalp, tearing through his haori and qipao, clawing at the stitching to each and every one of his infinite pockets. Arms pinned painfully behind his back, wrist broken, fingers gnarled, head hanging in the air with the stench of blood and defeat to accompany him. There was nothing he could do, brain on fire, crippled by the damage done to his body, no exit strategy to be had, no winning, no getting out of this, it's time, it's now, finally, no--

If he couldn't get to the finish line, if he couldn't find the sanguine star and revive them, then this...this was the next best thing. This was his only other option. People like him...they didn't deserve their chance to fix things, didn't have the right, hands too soiled, putrid and rotten to the core. Torn in half on whether to live or die, inklings of coveted confidence and strength lost, lost, never his to keep. He thought of his mother then, his father too, and his sisters, Letha and Silvere, Antonetta, Beau and Jackie, everyone, everyone he'd ever wronged, who suffered his existence, the fruits of his agonies, his hate, his anger. And he wondered if this would be a fitting end for him in their eyes, if this was what they wanted for him too. Let justice be served, let him die so none else could fall alongside him. Let there be no more blood to wash his hands, stop him now.

On the verge of losing consciousness, Loux was beginning to succumb to it all, the furthest reaches of him aching to numb and crumble away. So in tune with his body, yet somehow torn away from it completely, a ghost in the same position. But a final blow to his already ruined stomach had been the end of it, new blood gushing from impaling wounds, and he lay there, limply, overwhelmed, near to falling apart at a moment's notice. He should've been dead minutes ago, yet somehow...somehow, he wasn't. Somehow, his eyes were still open, staring blearily into his reflection, seeing nothing more and nothing less than what he hated most of all - beaten, gored, broken to pieces, as was right and true. Breaths short, shaky, and few, skipping, catching in his throat as radiant warmth was born anew inside him, tendrils of cool fire weakly stretching into even his most damaged of nerves.

Time, lapsed.

As the seven heaved and hoed, moving away from him, satisfied in their work- He had no strength to speak of, but he wouldn't let them leave so easily, not as magic returned to him, even if only little by little.

He willed another spark, begged it to catch flame and burn, burn until there was nothing left, roar and twist and grow far into the night sky until naught but red could be seen, blending into bloody violet with the abyss. For he was nothing, nothing if not vengeful, nothing if not a sore winner, nothing if not an opportunist, even in the end, even when his deserved fate had come for him - maybe there was weaseling his way out. Changing with the wind, coaxing his bloid to boil and serve as fuel on the fire, as tangerine flickered across his face, iron cooking before his very eyes.

Bigger, taller, greater, hotter, eat and scorch away bedframes, wall art, blankets, curtains, wardrobes, and shitty knock-off decor, thick black smoke billowing into the room, ash flying as chars burst and crumbled. Slow at first, then all at once consuming. Cosmic threads blanketing his seven adversaries in universal flame, such that attached to spirit and bone, cutting jaggedly through flesh, boiling and pustulating, popping, cracking, exploding on fat deposits, bursts spreading the wildfire. He watched, coldly, through the blurr of his storm, eyes nearly swollen shut, as the bulls both thrashed in the hall, horns getting stuck in the wood, choking on the smoke, panicking, screaming, roaring. Hellflame claws searing through them, the scent of his blood intermingling with their roasting meat, skin sloughing then steadily charring, the antelope and the wolf and the gator all to follow. Aching eyes flit toward the rest, the final pair, timid creatures too afraid to use their voices, bolting in their panic to get away. Frightened rabbit, flightless songbird, flame snaking between bodies turned blackened skeletons crusted with ash, like whips to coil around their ankles and drag them back in.

He killed them all, running the final two through with arrow-sharpened bolts born of the flames now catching on the cieling above, and he listened in trepidation and cold indifference as they screamed and pleaded for their lives. Prayed to their worthless gods in the hopes They might save them. His fire spread yet further, claiming the support beams above and funneling into the hallway, where it would continue on its path, neither smoke nor tongue to damage him further, contrarily cauterizing open wounds, wrapping him in arms of orange light - his, however dim. Stinging, burning, he winced all the same, laying in the mess he'd made, the bed he ought to sleep in.

He killed them, he killed again, and again, enveloping the Packhouse in his unending, devouring flame. Merciless, overkill, as it kept burning, a haven for his kind no longer - a haven for none at all - but a blackmark, a lie the people of Salem's Crossing would tell their children, and an omnipresent threat. Ever to blame, ever at fault, and such was true. He instigated, he fucked around, and they tore him limb from limb, and while he hadn't counted on his stroke of luck, that magic should return to him so quickly, he would've been a fool to have let all this stand. A false victory for them all, for many would die after dealing just punishment, killing all with smoke or raw kindles, fire, structural damage--

In time, he knew the Packhouse would collapse, and he wondered if he'd die after all. His head hurt, he couldn't breathe, couldn't move. If he could increase his heat... Palms sweating, he coughed, ribs rattling, aching-- Lashline sparking, puffs of smoke to mingle with the clouds, his flame growing ever further, filling into every square inch of every surface, orange and black eaten by rolling waves of violent red.

[enobariasdistrict2]

enemies to lovers isn't "he's generally an unpleasant person to be around, he constantly puts other people down and disrespects/condescends/ostracizes them, he's cruel and a bully... but his one redeeming quality is that he looks attractive" like. bestie that's not a redemption arc!! or a redeeming quality!!! a person can and should control their behaviors, but how they look literally has no bearing on their worth as a person!

like... this trope is about an initial misunderstanding and miscommunication that leads to mild conflict and resentment of each other,but eventually they move past this rocky start by revealing to each other their humanity and good qualities, and communicating what happened the first time they met so that they can clear up that situation, and slowly becoming good friends who enjoy spending time with each other and eventually become really close, and the realization that one accidental mishap/slip in behavior/aashole mistake isn't what defines a person and sometimes your first interpretation of them is sometimes wrong!! an entire opinion of someone should be formed based on their behaviors, values, actions, and morals, and quality time spent with this person, not because they have nice cheekbones.

[3416]

thinkin abt this. and thinking about mitch realizing that he'd never get the full suburban nuclear family hockey best friend life with auston.... thinking about the little adjustments of expectations they've made about each other and their futures together....... thinking about where they are now and might be later on.