#i got carried away responding to this...whoops

[orchidyoonkook]

YOONS, MY DARLING FRIEND, YOU HAVE OUTDONE YOURSELF YET AGAIN.

VIOLET I WILL CRY, THAT IS A THREAT. I LOVE YOU.

First of all, it was my absolute pleasure and honor to act as a soundboard in any small way for the genius that is this story. Thank you for bringing me into your beautiful creative process, it was so incredibly fun for me. 🥰

i REFUSE to let you downplay your help by saying "small way" THANKYEW VERY MUCH. You were an enourmous help and I will forever thank you for your friendship, kind words of encouragement, and general overall existence. It was so incredibly fun to have you along for the ride. I suspect it won't be the last time, be you willing.

Secondly, to anyone this may reach, I cannot recommend this story enough. The things Yoons does like an absolute certified pro:

*sobbing into my palms already*

• World building: The club scene in this oneshot is an entire reality of its own. The vibes VIBE so incredibly richly, giving the events and interactions between characters a context with intoxicating and transportive ambiance.

I love that everyone seems to love the club scene. I really took my time with that to try and nail the world building so I am THRILLED it's worked to my wanting for the readers. *happy dances*

• Rapport between characters: Whether it's tension-building banter, or heartwarmingly affectionate ribbing, the dynamics between characters here is something that seems to predate our little peek into their world, making our witness of the intense developments between Tae and PG so incredibly delicious. 🤤💕

They flowed so easily for me. It was like I was literally just writing down what I was witnessing in front of me. They felt so natural and real so I'm so so so happy this is how it comes across to you too!!

• Literary rhetoric: I'm talking chewy, delectable alliteration, gorgeously layered analogies, foreshadowing and allusion that has you kicking and screaming - you know, the stuff that gets you Pulitzer Prizes and all that. Here. For for us. For free.

Funny enough I was actually just talking to Remmy about this topic and how I wanted to integrate these things into the story. So I'm gunna pull what I wrote to them and place it here:

"One of my goals with this fic was to write with the essence and vibe of who Tae is. That goes down to like. The metaphors. The descriptions. Everything. I wanted it to feel like the reader (you) had him wrapped around them as they read."

Again I threaten tears at the mention of Pulitzers and kind words 😭😭♥♥♥

• Lads, lasses, and non-binary sexy asses: THE MOTHER EFFING SMUT. I won't go into detail here beyond saying it's as moving as it is filthy, as prosy as it is sinful. This is erotic art. As heavy as I can possibly state on 'erotic'. 🥵🔥

Guys, Gals and Non-Binary Pals I tried so hard with this one. I wanna get better at writing smut because for me, smut isnt just smut, it's the pinnacle of human connection. And I want so badly to do it justice. Therefore, once again, to have my hopes for this scene confirmed and encouraged brings me such warmth. SUCH. Warmth. And immense gratitude.

• Characterization: Taehyung, guys. He is so freaking in-character here that I was hiding behind my hands for most of my read, just trying to rein in my delulu to the point of retaining my sanity.

VI. VI I WAS TALKING TO REMMY ABOUT THIS TOO, HOLY SHIT. Tae isn't one of the boys's heads who I can easily get into. I'm gunna pull another quote from my convo with Remmy.

"I really wanted to nail his character and essence cuz he was always someone who's floated parallel to me. But we could never intersect. So I tried hard with this one cuz it was the first where the male lead didn’t come to me naturally no really had to work at it."

Basically, Tae is someone who I understand on a surface level, but he has a piece of art inside him I've never quite managed to grasp nor understand so it makes it hard for me to get him *jussssst* right. As artist of many varieties myself, I feel almost like an outsider when in comparisson to him, not in a negative way, he just seems to have the spirit of what I consider to be the true nature of an artist. The risks, the controlled chaos, his love of...what I see as very strange artworks that are just so him though.

It's incredibly reassuring as a fic writer, who's taking the personality traits of a person and trying to expand into a seperate universe with their likeness, to know that I succeeded in that task.

As always, this is beautiful story-telling wrapped up in a bow as BTS fan fiction, and I will continue to not understand how we get this lovely work for nothing more than the promise a of a few feeble words expressing our adoration for this work and its author.

FEEBLE. FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEBLE!!!!???????????? VIOLET ANN ELIZABETH SIREN. (i am making up middle names) Dont you DARE downplay the incredible fuel yours and others words give creatives. I shouldn't have to say this to you considering you're a creative yourself and we've had the conversation of how much reviews like this mean to us. I will put your ass in time out. Don't tempt me.

Scolding aside: I'm crying. You've gone and done it now. Tears on cheeks, tissues nearby. CRYING.

You continue to amaze me, user orchidyoonkook. 💜

I. LOVE. YOU.

PG | KTH

Title: PG 

Pairing: Older Brother's Best Friend!Kim Taehyung x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Touches of Fluff

Summary: You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up.

But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually.

Warnings: nicknames! a disgusting amount, language, assholes being assholes but being put in their place, brotherly love, sibling antics, tae is a swimmer and knows judo, also a Dan is--for the lack of better phrasing--a high belt level in judo. think of it like a black belt, OC cant keep it in her pants and neither can tae, mutual pining, lots of great gatsby references because I'm tyring to be that bitch (I am joking), tae has tats, OC's brother is an overprotective idiot but we love him anyway, slight physical abuse not by tae or reader or fourteen--basically someone grips an arm too harshly, some panic but no panic attack,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 11,521

Release Date: September 15, 2024. 12:00PM

A/N 1: The biggest most huge thank you to @violetsiren90 for being my sounding board, tech support and beta. She's a real one and y'all are sleeping on her work if you haven't alread read it. Go check her out!

A/N 2: My access to the adobe suite was aha....revoked. So! this is my first time making a banner and divider without photoshop. Therfore, the banner and the divider are a bit different than what I'm used to having XD. Tumblr is also absolutely destroying the qualty which is sooooo great. It looks wonky and blurry to me on desktop but fine on mobile so it is what it is. If i ever get adobe access again I'll probably come back and update the graphics.

Explicit Warnings: *ahem* nicknames, teasing, kissing, biting, marking (several ways), hand and finger kink (duh), voice kinklet (duhhhh), hair 'pulling' (m rec), semi public if you squint, hella foreplay, tae has a big dick, penetrative sex, oral (m+f rec), fingering, handjob?, multiple orgasms, body worship, switch like activities but mostly dominant tae, posessiveness, confessions, reader takes what she wants but so does tae, exhibitionism if you squint, slight cum play/eating, implied squirting, choking, cream pie. Pretty sure thats all of them. i never reailse how many i need to put until the list is done and wow *chuckes while blushing*

“Oi, can you fucking not? My sister’s right fucking there,” your older brother, Fourteen—nicknamed for his forever mental age—ridiculously and unneededly overprotective as always, says.

It is especially unneeded and ridiculous as he’s saying it to Tae, when all he’s doing is taking off his shirt to go for a swim in your pool. Like he’s been doing since you were tweens.

Well.

Since you were a tween and they were nearing the legal drinking age. But that’s besides the point. 

Best friend to your knuckle head of an older brother, you honest to god have no idea how they became friends. 

Taehyung is poetry and jazz and button up cotton shirts. Old book smell and expensive cologne, ringed fingers and whiskey, neat. The kind of vibe someone would get from being raised by a very successful lawyer for a father and a top ranking university professor of literature for a mother, while Fourteen is… your older brother. 

Maybe it’s a younger sister thing to not understand how her older brother has any friends. Considering you grew up with him, know all of his weird and gross habits, have a lovely dash of sibling bullying thrown in that you two share equally, and more. Yet, by some miracle, he and Tae manage to balance one another out. 

Tae—fucking somehow—makes your brother into a more presentable human being. He showers more than twice a week and wears deodorant every day now—even puts the seat down after peeing, a habit you’ve been screaming at him to stop doing since you could use the toilet. While Fourteen gives Tae a rougher edge he previously never seemed to be able to grasp, despite trying his best too. 

For example, the several delicate tattoos he now has all over his body, your favourite of which is an old timey record player on the inside of his forearm. They were something he’d been wanting to do for years, but only finally bit the bullet on and did once Fourteen took him when they were twenty two. 

Since then the collection’s only grown, much to your inner glee and mental dismay. 

And don’t even get you started on the delicate, thin rimmed glasses he occasionally wears—golden and the perfect shape for his face—or the ear piercings that just really fucking cement the tortured poet look that makes your heart clench every. single. time. you look at him. 

Similarly to what it’s doing right now, though no one ever knows due to your truly oscar worthy talent for acting completely oblivious to the beautiful shirtless man about to dive in. Call it over a decades worth of practice, and the fact that it’s also nothing you hadn’t gloriously taken in all teenagehood long. 

Every time you could get it. 

Which was a lot because Tae was on the high school swim team. 

For four years. 

And then the university swim team.

For another four. 

Teenage you was a lucky bitch. Now you’re only blessed with this sight when he comes over to swim laps or attempt to drown Fourteen. Which, admittedly, was still often. But not nearly as much as back then. 

The sight in question however, is curled black hair that frames eyes so warm you swear the sun’s relocated to his irises, and a jawline that makes the Statue of David’s pathetic in comparison. It’s fingers that make your mouth water from the way they flip book pages and thighs that make you think thoughts and things you never thought you would. 

It’s the scribbled text: ‘To err is human; to forgive, divine’ tattooed across his ribs, and a lean torso, muscled but not outrageously so. Just enough to have you forcing yourself not to stare at the delicate lines of his abdomen every time he comes over for a swim. 

Thank god for sunglasses. 

“Nah, I’m sure PG can handle it, Dumbass. I’ve only been using your pool every summer for the last 15 years give or take,” Tae says with a quirked brow and a half smile directed at you. 

Behind your sunnies, you heat up a touch, and internally sigh. Have you mentioned his smile yet? 

Because oh yeah, his fucking smile. 

Tae’s a nickname kind of person, hence why even you call your brother ‘Fourteen’. Taehyung’s called him Fourteen for so long now that calling your brother by his birth name just feels wrong. 

This being said, PG is Tae’s nickname for you. 

It stands for the TV rating ‘Parental Guidance’ because you’re younger by enough that when you were still under the age of 18, they—see: your brother and Tae because they’ve been joined at the hip since they met—were usually assigned babysitting duty. Very much the ‘take your sister with you’ sibling, but they never complained. Not once.

As much as you and Fourteen bully one another, you’re actually quite close when you aren’t verbally sparring—which is where his annoying overprotectiveness comes in. Even when it comes to Taehyung. 

“Yeah, Dumbass,” you copy, earning a smirk from Tae as he leans down to take his shoes off. “It’s just Tae.”

“It’s not about that YN, it’s about respect. You’re my little sister, and Fuckass over here,” you brother jabs a thumb in Tae’s direction, which earns you a second hidden smirk from the Fuckass in question, “Still doesn’t know how to respect that fact even after a decade and a half apparently.”

You shrug as Fourteen finishes his point and narrows his eyes at his best friend. Tae gives him a shit eating grin that screams ‘what are you going to do about it’ and your brother gives him a two fingered salute before shaking his head and taking off his own shirt. 

You take that as your cue to put your head back down because you don’t need to see that. 

Currently in very comfortable linen shorts and tank, you’re sitting on a padded pool lounger, rereading The Great Gatsby for the hundredth time. It’s one of the classics that never gets old for you, has the benefit of being a shorter read—therefore perfect for the poolside—and happens to be the copy Tae’d gotten you for Christmas a couple years ago. Pure coincidence, you tell yourself. Nothing more. 

With the beautiful addition of your very darkly glassed sunnies, it also makes the perfect decoy as you watch Tae over the top of the open book without risk of being caught. 

You firmly follow the rule of a little looking can’t hurt. 

You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up—see: current shirt stripping debacle. It’s not the first nor the last time he’ll do something like it, and you’re pretty sure you and Tae have an unspoken agreement at this point to push as many of Fourteen’s buttons as you can together, just to see how far he’ll let it go before freaking out.

But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually. 

Despite the flames that rage and roar on in your heart. 

Despite the green light on the dock across the way tackling your brother under the water. 

You hold on. And only in these little moments of in between do you allow yourself to look. Pockets of time where a peek won’t be seen or recorded, and a moment of self indulgence keeps your sanity from trying to escape its tightly locked box.

You look and look and look until the green light is covered in fog once more, and the lid of the box seals tight.  

Another day, another glorious abuse of best friend privileges, Taehyung thinks to himself as he continues his butterfly down the imaginary lanes in Fourteen’s pool. 

He tries to come over at least three times a week. Four or five if he’s able, the more he’s over the higher chance he has to see you, not just Fourteen. But he’s rarely able to these days. 

Though the wind appears to have shifted in his favour today. You’re sitting on the lounge chairs again, reading away in the afternoon sun. 

It’s his favourite view. And it’s sweetened by the fact that you’re in the shorts he loves and reading a book he gave you. Something he’s done since before he could remember, really. 

Christmases and birthdays, he’s always given you a book. Usually a classic, sometimes something else. If it caught his eye or reminded him of you, he’d grab it and save it until the next Christmas or the next birthday, whichever came first. And you’ve always loved them, so he’s never stopped. 

They’re gifts that seem harmless to Fourteen, and for the most part they are. But these last few have been…different. Had deeper thought put into them. The titles, the story lines, the prose. He swears you notice it, but maybe that’s just his own wishful thinking. 

And he sure as fuck can’t be doing any of that. 

This cold water isn’t doing its job well enough.

Finishing his set, Tae swims over to rest before starting on his front stroke. Forearms hold him up on the edge of the pool, his chin balancing on stacked knuckles while his breath catches. 

He also uses this little break as an excuse to talk to you. He only ever freely can when Fourteen isn’t around, and right now his best friend is inside grabbing drinks, towels and probably relieving himself–which, knowing Fourteen—could take anywhere from thirty seconds to thirty minutes. So he has to take advantage of every moment he gets. 

“Got any new recommendations for me PG?” 

Books are an easy starting point when it comes to you. Fourteen may be a graphic novel at best kind of guy, but your brain can’t seem to inhale enough books to satiate it. And just the thought makes his temples rush with heat. 

He should dunk his head again.

You lower your Fitzgerald by one inch and raise an eyebrow to counter it. Just like your brother, you’re always one to give him a hard time. Make him work for every millimeter of ground conquered. And he’s pretty sure you have a smirk hiding behind the pages, though he can’t be certain due to the sunglasses hiding your eyes. 

“Maybe,” you say. “What do I get in return?” 

Answering that question about fifty different ways in his head, Tae decides none can be said out loud. He seriously needs to fucking reel himself in. Fourteen could return at any moment and the last thing Tae needs to have is a problem between his legs because you never make it easy for him. 

But rather than listening to his very rational thoughts and very logical brain, he instead decides to say fuck it, and croons in the voice that used to fluster you as a teenager. 

“What do you want in return, PG?” Hoping to soften you up, even the playing field a bit. 

And it works like a charm. 

Your body releases its tension on an exhale, your page is marked, book set to the side, and your legs extend and stretch before crossing at the ankle. It makes him wonder if your little girlhood crush on him still exists somewhere in the back of your mind. Probably not.

Scratch that. 

Definitely not.  

“What if I wanted a new nickname?” you ask.

Both his eyebrows raise in surprise. “What’s wrong with PG?”

“It makes me feel like I’m eleven,” you explain. And then hit him with a dose of his own medicine as you croon, “I’m not eleven anymore, Tae.”

No you sure as hell are not. And it kills him in a way that has him wanting to die over and over again. 

He could consider it. But he doesn’t think he’ll change it, not when PG can stand for so many wonderful things. Things you would never think he’d let it when addressing you. Things that would have Fourteen trying for drowning attempt number two thousand four hundred sixty three, and succeeding. 

“I’ll think about it—Fair?”

You ponder before agreeing. “Fair.”

“Now about those recommendations…” He reminds you, and that’s all it takes to get you going.

Fourteen comes out about ten minutes later, but by then, Tae has a new list of books to grab from the store, two laps under him with eight more to go, and you’re reading again—one bare leg bent at the knee he’s trying very hard to ignore when he comes up for air. 

By the time he’s due for another breather, you’re talking to your brother about plans for the weekend. 

“I’m going out early on Friday for Rei’s birthday, remember? And I’ll probably crash at her place after,” you say. 

Fourteen is sitting on the second lounge chair across from you, most likely playing a game on his phone if Tae had to guess. But at your reminder, your brother looks up.

“Fuck that’s right. Okay so no dinner then, I’ll just grab something on my way in.”

“Sounds good. What about tonight?”

Fourteen gives it about two seconds of thought. “How about Don’s?”

Your face lights up at the suggestion. “Fuck yes! I’ve been craving their milkshakes for like a week. Hey Tae!” you call to him. “Don’s for dinner? There’s a chocolate shake with your name on it if you’re down.”

Tae pushes himself out of the water onto the pavement and doesn’t miss the sly once over you give him while Fourteen chucks a towel at his chest, covering your eyes with his other hand. 

He catches the projectile before it can knock him back into the pool, and uses it to dry his hair.

“Dude! Seriously? Go find a fucking shirt or something, no one wants to see that.”

You swat your sibling’s hand away and give him a look that screams ‘grow up’ while Tae drapes the towel over her shoulders, a hand gripping at each end. 

“I’m only down if Dumbass is paying,” he says, smirking at your brother. 

“—What—”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” you agree, holding out your hand in his direction. 

“—Hey wait a seco—”

Tae grabs and shakes just to watch the steam flee Fourteen’s ears at the contact. He meets your eyes conspiratorially, and you both nod before rushing Fourteen. 

“—You fuckers!—” is all he gets out before Tae and you are grabbing an arm and a leg each and throwing Fourteen’s fully clothed ass in the pool. 

He curses the both of you out several times as he treads, drenched and dripping, up the stairs and out of the water. Tae throws him the towel. 

“You’ll pay for that, Asshole,” Fourteen tells Tae, and Tae grins. 

“Oh, I’m counting on it. Worth it though.”

“And you!” Fourteen says, eyes on you. “What the fuck dude? The betrayal to your darling, one and only brother hurts. I’m wounded,” he lays it on thick, walking up directly beside you. 

You're a hairsbreadth too late to realize when he shakes his hair out directly over top of you and you shriek, pulling your knees up, protecting the book under your shirt and behind your legs at all costs.

“Fourteen! The book! I will kill you if you damage it!”

Fourteen chuckles. “Payback’s a bitch Little Sister.”

You sneer at him, checking your prized possession for injury. Not a scratch. 

“And sopping wet is your colour, Jackass.”

“Big words for someone who can just as easily be thrown in the pool.”

You pause. Eyeing him directly. 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

Your brother looks at Tae with an evil plot in his eyes and you screech as they both nod once. You drop your book behind you as they yank you up by your arms and fling you into the pool, too much momentum from them and not enough resistance from you leaving you matching your darling, one and only brother.

As you come up for air, two colossal splashes ricochet from the left and right. Tae and Fourteen having both cannonballed in on either side of you. You choke on splattered water for a second before you’re attacking them with splashes, merciless in your pursuit for revenge. 

“You both suck!” you half giggle half yell. 

“Yet you love us anyway!” your brother falsely—correctly—claims. 

You roll your eyes before trudging out, heavier and dripping with your soaked clothes.

And it's not until weekend plans are cast aside for current memories, Taehyung treating you all to dinner, and you treating everyone to milkshakes, that all is forgiven. 

It turns out Rei’s dad knows the manager of the most exclusive club in the city—Youth—and managed to call in a favour. So now you, her, and your other bestie, Lea, are all on the dancefloor to celebrate her birthday. 

Rei’s first request for the night besides not paying for a single drink, was to dress up in the hottest, sluttiest outfits the club's dress code would allow for. 

This, for you, meant a black, square necked, low cut, and thin strapped satin slip dress that hugged you in all the right ways, matching heels adored with ankle strap bows and a sultry makeup look. Lea chose a dark blue shimmery number with a high leg split, vibrant graphic eyeliner, and wedges, while the birthday girl found the skimpiest forest green mini dress you’ve ever seen paired with heels that wrap ribbons up her legs, and a subtle dewy look on her lids. 

She’s glowing, and needless to say, they both look hot and so do you. 

Rei’s second request for the night was to dance until you either collapsed or threw up, whichever came first. A goal you were all making a steady descent towards as the night progressed. 

That is, until your blood runs cold at the sight of your cheating ex boyfriend making his way through the crowd in a direct beeline towards you. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You’re alone right now. Rei and Lea are taking a bathroom break. 

You insisted you’d be fine for ten minutes. It was just ten minutes. What could possibly go wrong in ten minutes?

But apparently god just loves to play jokes because here you are, three shots in, not emotionally prepared enough to be near him, let alone speak to him, and by yourself in this huge crowd of strangers while he’s making very good time on his route to you. 

Fuck! You do not want to deal with him right now or—fucking ever, actually. 

He’d cheated on you four times that he admitted too throughout your two and a half year relationship, all while faking being blindingly happy directly to your face. He’d lied to you and hurt you and made you wonder what you did wrong for him to do that to you. It took all of your third year of university and more therapy sessions than you care to admit to realize you were never the problem, and that he was a piece of shit. 

So, with quickly shrinking fifteen feet between you two, you try your best to hide from him in the crowd, only to run directly into him when you duck past a fellow club goer. 

Son of a b—

“Heyyy Y/N, how’ve you been?” he says like he didn’t destroy your entire sense of self worth for a couple quick fucks. 

You want to down three more shots just to be able to puke all over him. Intentionally, you haven’t seen him in years and just the reek of his stale ass cologne has you close. 

“Fuck off Micah, don’t you have somewhere you need to be sticking your dick—like a garbage disposal?” You snark, doing your damndest to not let him get close. But the throng of bodies surrounding you have other ideas and you’re thrown against your least favourite person in existence.

Delusional as ever, Micah sleezes, “Doesn’t seem like you want me to leave just yet, Kitten,” and you shove him off you as hard as you can while bile rises at the horrible name you used to beg him not to call you. 

You need to get off the dance floor.

Now.

Before you can, Micah grabs your arm and he pulls you back into him, hard.

Tae watches you out of the corner of his eye, wondering why in the hell you came to this club, of all the clubs out there. 

The club he was at. Wearing that and truly testing the limits of his self control.

Music blasts through speakers that move the ocean on the dancefloor. Bodies sway like waves, some crashing into one another with teeth and tongues and passion, others pushing with the current, grinding and gripping and grabbing at anything they can get their hands on. The louder and faster the notes whirl over their swells, the harsher the storm rages on, people flowing in and out of the eye when needed. 

He’s sitting at a booth on a dais high enough to watch you in the hurricane whilst being out of eyesight, notably with one or two faces he barely recognizes enough to most likely be your friends. 

They appear to be currents. They drag you into deeper waters and you let them, helpless to their siren call. Leading you to your place amongst the sea life, and reveling in the way the melodies wash over you again and again with every song that plays. 

His eyes follow you as you dance, curious if Fourteen knows you’re here before flinging the thought out of his head as quickly as it entered. You’re grown now, don’t need protection anymore. A lesson he learned the day you returned from university after graduating. 

No longer his best friend's kid sister who they kept an eye on, but a woman who was and still is growing into herself beautifully. A woman who is steadfast, strong and more often than not, correct in her opinions. A woman who is well read and equally if not more so well spoken when she deigns to acknowledge his existence. A woman who knows how and when to turn all of that off in order to team up with him in a roast battle for the books against her brother. 

He thinks of that day as the beginning of his downfall. 

He can humbly admit that his intelligence, demeanor and education are things that have been nurtured into existence by his parents and carefully maintained by himself with practice and both mental and physical exercise. He takes care of himself, inside and out. Exercises regularly, eats well, has good hygiene. He’s level headed and patient. Respectful and responsible. Controlled and competent. 

He prides himself on these things. Actively works towards keeping them maintained. 

And yet. 

Somehow when it comes to you, he is little more than a single brain celled idiot. 

All of the things he uses to measure his self worth evaporate whenever you enter his field of vision and he becomes fucking ravenous. And all of his focus goes into controlling himself.

He’d never noticed before, never thought of you in the way he does now. How when your currents break from formation and head towards the bathrooms, their outgoing force creates a riptide that some fuckhead with a stupid haircut uses to sweep in and dance with you. 

But you push him away. 

He doesn’t get the memo, and the mophead tries his best to yank you out to sea again.

Magma flows through Taehyung's veins, thunder cracks in his ears and all he can think about is storming through the crowd to steal you from said fuckhead by claiming you for himself.

But he won’t. 

Can’t.

All because of his darling best friend. 

Fourteen doesn’t know about his feelings for you of course. And Tae rather likes being alive and in one piece, two things he most definitely would not remain should he act on any of these feelings.

You are wholly off limits, forbidden. A little too young, a little too immediately related to his best friend, a little too perfectly his fucking type. It kills him every time he can’t even look at you without Fourteen going into what he calls ‘asshole mode’. 

So you remain in his very close periphery. Untouchable to the fingertips he aches to caress you with as you dangle your existence in front of him. Your wicked tongue, your delicious intelligence, your sexy fucking legs—fuck!

He has to stop thinking about you like this.

But that only makes him want you more. 

It’s like the gods handcrafted you for him. Every piece, every detail of you immaculate, but he committed one to many sins in his past life, and now they’ve locked you away forever as punishment. 

You float across the night sky, stuck in a golden cell. Its fourteen bars hold you hostage amongst the stars, all while he’s chained to the bottom of the ocean floor gasping for air. 

But fuck the gods and fuck their gilded cages. 

He’d break from his chains, swim to the surface of the sea and grow wings. Would break your prison apart with the sheer force of his wanting, then drag you down to the depths if it meant he got to keep you for himself. 

He would. He really, really fucking would. If his world wouldn’t implode completely if he did. 

So he keeps these thoughts to himself. Forces them down as they try their damndest to bubble over and burn him, because they will if he lets them. If any of them get outside these little moments, the ones where he allows himself to feel, he would burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left. 

Therefore, Taehyung has never been more grateful that his best friend was stuck on the night shift while he watched you dance and enjoy yourself, because it granted him this sliver of time to pretend like your brother doesn’t exist. 

That you are something he could let himself have, if you wanted him to.

And he’s solid in his decision to only observe, to stay inside his little moment, until fuckhead doesn’t get the message for the third time and Taehyung is out of his seat before he can think. 

Because Fourteen isn't here. 

And old habits die hard. 

“What the hell? Let me go, Micah!” You see his eyes then, red rimmed and glazed. He definitely has more than one thing in his system as his grip on you hardens further. The more you struggle, the tighter he grasps and—ouch, ouch, ouch, yank, fuck! Ow!—it’s really starting to hurt. 

“Just give me one more chance Kitten, I promise I’ll do better,” he whisper in your ear over the music, and you cringe back from how loud he is. But that doesn’t stop him from continuing, “I fucked up, I know I did. But that was years ago, and I learned my lesson. Just one more chance Kitten, just one more, and I—I promise. I promise it won’t happen again. It won’t. I really miss y–AH! What the fuck!?”

The hand on your arm releases the second Micah yelps in pain. You look down to see familiar ringed fingers around Micah’s wrist, clutching so hard they’re white knuckled and skin bruising. 

A broad chest comes to rest at your back, and an arm snakes around you. Its large palm rests on your stomach and hip as it pulls you tightly against its owner. 

Words covered in sharpest ice are spoken from behind you, their baritone so recognizable they have you melting back into him. 

Safe. 

You’re safe. 

Exhale.

“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Taehyung growls so deeply, so powerfully, you feel the rumble from behind his sternum reverberate into your body. 

Micah’s focus shifts from his wrist to the man several inches taller and several years his senior still holding it. You watch as his face contorts from pained to confused and then to murderous. 

“The fuck are you to tell me not to touch my girlfriend?” Micah seethes, and you stiffen because no the fuck you are not, and haven’t been for several years. 

How blitzed out of his mind is he right now?

You don’t even get the chance to deny his words before Taehyung’s on Micah like fire to dried grass.

“Don’t make me laugh, Asshole. No way in hell an pig faced looking fucker like you could pull a woman like her. Now,” Tae roughly shoves Micah’s hand back to him, and it forces Micah to stumble into the people behind with the force. “Get the fuck away from My Girl before I make you My Problem. And trust me,” Tae says in a tone so dangerous, you’ve never heard him sound so terrifying in the fifteen plus years you’ve known him, “You don’t want me to make you my problem.”

And you realize, that this isn’t the Taehyung you’ve grown up with; seen through his awkward teen years and watched come into his adult life with. This isn’t jazz music and poetry Taehyung. 

This Taehyung has only ever come out the handful of times you’ve ever been in trouble. The one who studied Judo with Fourteen growing up, the one who has his fourth Dan. 

The one who does not play when it comes to you and your safety. 

It’s enough to know that Taehyung is more than pissed off, and more than a little ready to beat the absolute shit out of Micah, if the whiskey on his breath says anything about his loosened inhibitions. 

Micah seems to sense this too, and decides to back off. But not without a stupid macho expression and two middle fingers directed at both of you as he disappears into the crowd, and out of sight. 

You can feel the tension radiating off Taehyung in waves, a coil so tightly wound that a gentle breeze could set him loose, so you turn around and attempt to safely unwind. His hand moves from your stomach to your lower back, and you ignore the trail of wildfire it leaves in its wake because Tae’s eyes haven’t wavered from the spot where Micah just stood. 

“Don’t.” You say, loud enough for him to hear. And his flame filled irises snap to yours, burning. “He’s not worth it.”

Your words seem to bring him back somewhat because Tae sniggers. “Damn right he’s not,” then softens. “Are you okay?”

You look anywhere but at him, the reality of the last three minutes crashing down onto your head like broken glass while the both of you are still caught in the middle of the dancefloor. 

The people around you seem to understand something’s happened, and you’re left mostly untouched aside from the gentle nudges of inebriated party goers whose balance isn’t the best at the moment. 

Like the mellowed waves in the eye of a storm.

Taehyung seems to make sense of this at the same time you do, and lifts his free hand for you to take. Slipping your fingers into his, he leads you to an unused and out of the way emergency exit hallway somewhere in the back of the club. It’s completely empty and dark, undisturbed besides the occasional server passing by. 

It’s private. 

It’s safe. 

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

He lets go of your hand and looks at you again. “Now, are you okay?” 

The adrenaline is wearing off, and you can feel yourself start to shake. You ignore it. Sort of.

“I’m okay,” you say. But he’s eyeing you suspiciously and rightly so, so you repeat yourself, trying to convince your own brain more than his right now. 

“I’m okay, really! I’m good. I’m–” you exhale a shaky breath and he doesn’t ask before pulling you to his chest. Wrapping both his arms around you, one around your back while the other holds your head protectively to him. Your own go around his waist as you grip him back tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

“I’m okay,” you say again, muffled into his black high necked shirt, taking deep breaths of his soothing, familiar scent. You do it and again, and again. Repeating the pretty lie to yourself again and again until it becomes the truth. 

He doesn’t let go until you do, and you don’t let go until you’ve finally stopped shaking.

You look up into his eyes, and all signs of his previous wrath are gone. It seems the hug didn’t ground just you, it grounded him too. Got him out of the headspace that would’ve been required for action first, words later. But now the sun is back, it shines down on you, and you bask in its warmth. 

“I’m good now. Thank you,” you say in an even and unwavering voice, because you are. The panic and immense relief having washed over you, and you’re once again simply, pleasantly buzzed. 

Though you do have a new problem in the form of the warmth pooling low from the feeling of both his hands still on your lower back. 

You’re trying to convince yourself it’s his way of keeping you safe.

But the lock on your box has the key inside it, and it’s just begging for you to turn it. 

“Good,” he replies, still not letting go. And it’s chipping away at your sanity. “Who was that guy? I only caught the last bit of his pathetic ramblings.”

You wince. Due to a lovely combination of not being very active on social media, not being much of a picture taker, and the newly dyed hair Micah seemed to be sporting tonight, you’re not surprised Tae didn’t recognize him. 

“Ah. Uhm…That was...Micah,” you admit, unable to meet his eyes again. That’s when you notice his outfit tonight is all black. 

Oh you are so fucked.

 “As in Micah, Micah?” Tae asks neutrally, familiar with what your ex had done, just not what he looked like. 

“...Yeah...”

“I see.”

“Yeah...” You say again. Because what else could you say?

Tae cracks a smile. “Should’ve let me kick his ass. The balls on him not only to approach you, but to call you his—” he cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing in a hushed, caring tone. “After everything he’s done to you, you should’ve let me, PG. Consequences be damned.”

Your cheeks flame at the nickname so close to your ears. So tenderly said. And you honestly can’t tell if you still hate it in this moment, or if it’s only adding kindling to the fire his hands are fueling at the base of your spine. 

The new name he’d called you earlier, its ignition point. 

My Girl.

My Girl.

You swear, even in your panicked state, you’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe before inhaling far too much all at once. 

Fuck, what you won’t give to hear him say it again. But you’re 98.9% sure that’s the three shots of vodka talking. Trying their best to turn the damn key. And maybe they succeed in turning it half way—hell, maybe all the way, because you look him back in the eyes and hear yourself say,

“Maybe I should’ve, but I was far too distracted by the new nickname you finally gave me to give a single fuck about anyone else.”

The moment the last word is out Taehyung stiffens beneath your touch, fingers locked on your back, and you’re very pretty sure you just fucked absolutely everything up. 

Years of good behaviour, of keeping yourself in check. Of pockets of time and side long glances and knowing nothing would ever happen, stolen from you. By your own big, fat, adrenaline depleted, vodka loosened mouth. 

You're a second away from damage control before his grip shifts from your lower back to your hips. 

Higher. Tighter. Controlling. Oh fuck.

He leans down to murmur, “Liked the new name, did you?” in your ear.

Shivers shoot from your crown to your core and down to your toes. Having his deep, deliciously inviting voice so fucking close to your pulse point has you millimeters away from drowning in it. You know he can feel it course through you, just like you can hear the smile it makes him display away from your eyesight as he does. 

“You did then,” he responds for you, a cat toying with its meal as he lifts his head once more to look into your eyes. 

You don’t need a mirror to know the state of your pupils. Your gaze is glazed over in the sinful kind of way.

“I did,” you needlessly confirm, looking up into similarly blown out ones.

The fingers twined behind him release, and make their way around to his abdomen. They pause to splay for just a second at the defined ridges, before slowly crawling up his chest and meeting again at the nape of his neck. 

They play with the soft hair there, gently scratching their nails at the skin beneath where it grows and you watch as your ministrations cause his eyes to roll back, flutter shut, and his head to meet the wall behind him. A barely audible moan escapes the confines of his lips before he swallows,  the divine bob of his adams apple as he tries to regain his composure is the dawn of your undoing. 

“Fuck, PG that isn’t fair,” he groans towards the ceiling, his hands on your waist clamping down harder, pulling you so close your bodies touch in more places they definitely shouldn’t be. The contact has you reeling and all you want is more, more, more of it. 

More of him.

“PG isn’t the name you called me earlier,” you hum, yanking on a single loose strand and Tae sucks in a steep breath, biting the corner of his smirking lip with a canine. 

You want to hear him say it again. Badly. So you release the sensual grip you have on his nape, and let his head lul slowly back down to where it was, his deepening amber wholly fixated on your now entirely onyx. Your heart is begging for release from your chest, and for a moment you wonder if he can see your pulse thrumming in your eyes, because you sure as hell can feel it.

“No, it’s not. But it also hasn’t meant to me what it means to you for quite some time now,” his voice like honey, thick and dripping its way over your body. It’s making you dizzy and weighty with want. It has your mouth opening slightly as he leans closer still, knocking his nose gently with your own. Inhaling in your exhales. Teasing you. Making you work for it. 

“And what does it mean to you?” you ask, barely above a whisper, irises never straying from his as your bottom lip brushes against his in one solitary, intoxicating moment that has you more buzzed in one touch than three shots has had you all night. 

“Pretty Girl,” he breathes onto your lips, pushing his thigh between your legs at the same time he pulls you impossibly closer. You hear yourself moan ‘fuck’ at the contact it gives your throbbing cunt. Too focused on the need coursing through you like a live wire—your body pure water—to think about what you’re saying.

It’s a sweet sound and a violent pleasure he devours as his lips finally, finally, finally crash into yours, pinning you in place and allowing him to take every piece of you he wants. One hand slithers up your naked spine to hold you, your backless dress doing you every favour imaginable as his other continues to help you grind over his thigh.

His tongue slips into your mouth and you suck on it, causing him to jerk into you once with the rapidly growing want pressing into your lower belly. But your hands hold firm at his neck as you pull him into you, a knee lifting to meet his hip. Needing more contact.

The electricity filled pathways his fingers leave down your back, over your ass and across the bottom of your thigh to support your search for pleasure do nothing but spur on the overwhelming need to touch him everywhere. 

No holds barred. No clothes worn. Nothing stopping you. 

He uses his new grip to spin you around and press his hips into yours as your shoulders meet the wall. You’re left to moan sickly sweet sounds of bliss into his ear as Taehyung frees your mouth in favour of your jaw and neck, sucking gentle purple hues down the column of your throat and onto your collarbone. 

“Pretty Girl,” he whispers between love bites, “My Pretty Girl.” Over and over and it has you melting so far into him, the only thing keeping you apart is fabric and a potential audience. Though from the colour you’re going to have to cover with far too much concealer tomorrow, you don’t think he quite cares about that last part. 

It drives you farther into insanity. Years of want and restraint and pretty white lies you told yourself are crashing down on one another and it shows in the fervor of your touch, your wants, your pleads.

“Fuck, Tae—please. Please, I need you— please,” you beg, and the bite he leaves at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder has you gasping for air that refuses to be consumed gently. 

But Taehyung is a man on a mission. One who will not be deterred, and you can’t tell if he will be your pinnacle or your inevitable end. 

With what is very clearly great effort, Tae pulls himself back from your decolletage, only to kiss your lips once more. Open mouthed and dirty, tongue clinging to you like the only thing he’s concerned about is swallowing down as much of you as he can while you’ll let him, and you’ve never felt more desired in your life.

He’s hoarse as he says, “Not here. Not for the first time. Not…not here.” 

“Then where,” you ask, near impatient and far too eager as you let your hands roam wherever they want. And you find your thumbs tracing the waistline of his pants, dipping a nails width below where they should. They trail over the indented V of muscle you know is hiding under his shirt. He shudders. 

It makes you smile wickedly. 

“Then where, Taehyung,” you murmur into his neck with that wicked smile in your words as you trace your nose along his jaw. 

“Fuck, you’re something,” he says, almost pained, bringing you immense delight. To know you affect him as much as he does you. That you have him as much as he has you. 

Sly hands slowly pull his shirt from his trousers in an attempt to urge him on. It works, and his response is quick. 

“My place. It’s a ten minu—fuck PG,” he almost scolds as your digits toy with the hair at his navel, dipping lower—enough to feel the beginnings of something—but not low enough to discern anything. 

Yet.

 “Can you behave for that long?” 

You smirk. 

Retracting your hands, you hold them up to show you can be good, do a quick once over to make sure you're decent and spin on your heel to walk towards your booth. Tae is behind you immediately, hand placed low on your back, thumb rubbing circles on the sliver of skin it touches. You ignore the goose bumps that arise.

Rei and Lea are at your table, thankfully. You explain to them you ran into Micah and that it really shook you, so Tae’s going to take you home. They know who Tae is, so they’re not worried when they give you goodbye hugs or when they tell you to text them when you're home safe. 

You promise you will, and hope that the rest of Rei’s birthday goes well. 

True to his word, it’s a ten minute rideshare before you’re pulling up to a tall, black windowed apartment building.

You’ve only been to Tae’s a handful of times with your brother, mostly for things like pick ups for concerts and such, but now that you’re here—alone with him—you’re trying hard not to jump him in the fucking lobby. 

The pulsing between your legs has only worsened since you removed your hands from his waistline, and you’re close to crawling out of your skin with need. 

His hand stays in its place at your lower back as the elevator climbs. 

It’s not helping and completely helping at the same time.

Fuck.

Tae lives on the sixteenth floor and the view is incredible. It’s the first thing you see past the island when you walk in the front door. There’s the kitchen to the left past the entrance, which turns into the living space that’s furnished in a way you can only describe as pure Tae. 

Books littering every surface, warm neutral toned furniture to counterbalance the colourful artwork he keeps on the walls. There’s an old record player with a collection of vinyls in the corner and what you assume is this morning's coffee mug on the art book filled coffee table.

To the right of the living space is the bedroom. It’s a studio apartment, but Tae’s managed to keep the flow of the place beautifully with some creatively put, gorgeously decorated room dividers. And the tall floor to ceiling windows wrap around it all, showcasing the lights of the city as they blend into the stars in the night sky. 

Mesmerizing. 

Just like the man locking his door behind you.

A kiss is placed on the back of your neck as you slide out of your shoes at the front door. You angle your head to allow more space, letting the arm that folds around you bring you closer to him. The feel of his arousal begins to grow behind you once more and you push back against him. A faint grunt meets the shell of your ear before his hand delicately slides up from your lower stomach and past your sternum. It teases your neck for just a moment before it meets your jaw to turn your lips towards his. 

He captures them in a brutal kiss, drinking you in for all you’re worth and then some as his other hand replaces the one that now holds your jaw in place. He pulls you into him but you spin in his hold, throwing your arms around his neck once more and dragging him towards the living space. He sheds his jacket in the process, uncaring of where it lands on his floor so long as you are still kissing him. 

You only stop when your ass meets the top of the couch and Taehyung palms the back of your thighs to lift you, your legs wrapping themselves around his hips as you sit on its edge. 

He growls at the contact and it has you raking your nails down his neck and over his shirt as you open for him once more, tongues clashing and teeth scraping at the desperate nature you both share. You yank his shirt up and he breaks from your embrace for only the amount of time it takes for the fabric to hit the floor before he’s back on you, adding twin bruises to the other side of your throat. 

You let the strings holding up your dress fall naturally to the side, revealing your chest to him, and a  low, “Fucking hell,” is murmured somewhere below your ear before a nipple is in his mouth and you’re arching into his touch, slices of need shooting straight downwards. Giving no mercy to your attempts to draw out the pleasure. 

One large hand cups a breast, molding it to his wanting before he switches and you’re groaning into the air above you, begging him for more, determined to have his tongue anywhere and everywhere you can get it. He lavs at your peaked bud, roaming over the sensitive flesh, making you squirm at the sensations he’s drawing from you. 

You never want it to end as he makes his way back up to your mouth, dragging his bottom lip over all of the freshly deepend skin it trails in its wake, making you hazy with the feel of him and his marks. 

His delicate touch wanders the insides of your thighs and your cunt aches for it the higher it climbs. But it slides up not down, reaching around to your ass and hoisting you onto his hips. 

Turning, he walks the eight paces to his bed, places a knee on the mattress for support before setting you down. His lips never leave yours he crawls over you, settling his hips over yours for mere moments, allowing you to thrust only twice before he’s removing himself completely and sinking to his knees. 

The fingers you’ve spent way too much time thinking about can’t get enough of your skin as they skate down your sides, taking the dress bunched at your hips with them. You raise your hips to help him get the scrap of fabric off, leaving a delicate, black lace thong the only thing keeping any of your remaining modesty intact.

You watch as his now fully blackened gaze takes you in, jaw dropped in slight at the sight of you with your legs opened on his bed. Like you were the prize he’s been waiting years to claim, and now that you're here and that you’re his his, he can’t quite believe it. 

It’s then you realize that he wants you, and has been wanting you. That your attempts to stay in reality these last couple years weren’t just harder for you, but for him as well. 

It hasn’t been one sided.

He wants you. 

Taehyung. 

Off limits, older brother’s best friend, swim club participating, jazz and poetry loving, judo knowing, book gifting, perfect smile having, protective, Taehyung. 

Wants you. 

You can physically feel the gush that rushes from your core at the thought and you know Tae can see it through the lace.

“Holy fuck…you’re fucking drenched and I haven’t even properly touched you yet,” he rasps, unbelieving. 

“Then touch me and find out just how much I want this,” you whisper. Begging, pleading, praying your words have their intended effect. “How much I want you, Taehyung.”

The sound that leaves his throat is a mixture of a whimper, a groan, and a guttural noise indicative of pure desperate want as he takes hold of your legs and spreads them further. Those mother fucking fingers trace from your ankles to your knees accompanied by the occasional light kiss, back up your inner thighs, and finally to the spot where you’ve been weeping for him for the better part of thirty minutes with a heaping side of ten years yearned. 

He places one open mouthed kiss on the top of your clothed clit and that simple touch has you arching, lightning crackling through your veins with the pleasure it brings. Tae slides one single finger down your covered slit before pushing it under and pulling it to the side. 

At the mere sight of you he’s swearing so fiercely under his breath that you involuntarily clench and he can’t fucking take it anymore.

His mouth is on you and you buck at the sensation. Yielding you no mercy, his tongue swipes from opening to clit in one long lick that has you gasping, clutching bed sheets above and below your head to keep from screaming. 

“Oh my—Fuck—Tae. Ohmygodohmy—” you’re rambling. Incoherent. A mess. 

He’s consuming your very being, no nerve left untouched, no reaction too minimal for his learning as he snakes his hands around your legs to haul you closer, pull you deeper into his mouth and you can’t fucking take it. You’re screaming out at the intensity he circles you with, and you can feel your impending orgasm come rushing to the surface. You’ve barely even processed it’s begun before you’re spasming so hard Tae has to remove an arm from your leg to throw around your pelvis. 

His devious fucking eyes meet yours for one earth shattering moment as he slips two fingers inside and begins a secondary merciless pursuit on your already overwhelmed senses. Using the pads to press upwards in time to the motions he never ceased with his tongue, a second wave is cresting before the first has ceased and you feel yourself clamping down, legs holding him in place as the intensity of your release climaxes. 

You’ve never felt a pressure so intense before, it’s like your body is a volcano and you’re erupting for the first time while someone sets off fireworks from its peak. The lava flows in waves, your hand holding his hair as you ride his face, shuddering at the vibrations his moan into your cunt leaves on the most sensitive parts of your body. 

Gentle strokes and licks calm as your pleasure begins to wane and you can breathe in more than just stuttered inhales again. 

“Holy fu–” you try to get out, but your voice is hoarse, like you’ve been screaming the entire time. 

And fuck, maybe you have been. You sure as hell can’t remember or think of anything more than the warm fuzzy feeling currently radiating from every single pour in your body. The damningly  deliciously dizzying feeling in your head not allowing for coherent thoughts to pass. Your limbs are loose, your body wholly relaxed. 

You’re…Well. You’re fucking perfect right now. If you could stay in this moment forever you would without second thought. Locked in this room with him for all time sounds like the best way to live out the rest of your days.

Until you wince as Tae blows warm breath on your core and he chuckles, then does it again. 

“Hey,” you say, sounding much clearer now, “Stop that and come here.”

You slip your hand down his face and grab him by the jaw, pulling him up and over you. Tae tastes like fire and whiskey and ambrosia and you as you kiss him with abandon, near feral as you take what you want from him and he revels in it. 

He’s on his elbows and a knee over you, and you use it to your full advantage to palm him over his pants and—Fuck he’s big. No wonder he was so thorough on you. This is going to hurt no matter how much prep either of you did.

He hisses at the contact and that only spurs you on, grasping firmly at his base and roving up and over the head with the heel of your palm, squeezing gently in time with his reactions.

“Christ PG, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum in my pants,” Tae laughs into your neck before rising to sit back on his heels. He gets as far as undoing his belt buckle and button before you take over, sitting up and pulling him out. 

He is disastrously beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your mouth waters at just the idea of him in your mouth. 

Licking your lips, you hear him curse quite colourfully as you take the tip into your mouth and swish your tongue over the head. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

Tae raises one hand to his eyes and the other behind him to hold him up as you take him deeper, shaking from restraining himself so hard, murmuring to himself, “Oh fuck. Fuck me, can’t believe—so fucking good, pretty—perfect—ohmygod,” and you seal the motherfucking deal by taking him into the back of your throat and looking up into his eyes at the same time. 

Taehyung barks and bucks once into your throat before removing himself and throwing you down onto the bed. He looks furious in the way that gets your heart racing, your cunt thrumming and your breathing so fast your chest feels like it might shatter from the crosscurrents. 

He grabs each of your hands and raises them above your head, sliding his fingers up your wrists and between your own, holding them in place on his pillow.

Leaning down, he uses his lowest timber to speak darkly into your ear, teasing your swollen clit with the tip of his cock. Sliding back and forth, sending bolts of white hot need through you. 

“You drive me fucking insane,” he starts, thrusting, teasing, torturing. And you moan at the contact. 

“You make me want to throw away a decades old friendship just for the chance to touch you.” 

Thrust, tease, jolt, whine. 

“And what’s worst of all is you’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and you turn me into a complete idiot the second you enter the room. It’s like your fucking presence takes away all the working functions in my brain and leaves me with only the incurable fucking desire to make you cum until you can’t remember you own fucking name. Only mine.”

Thrust, squeeze, glide, jolt. “Tae...” you whine, delirious with pleasure, drunk on his greed and  delighted by his torture.

“I call you PG because it’s the only way I can get away with calling you anything more than your name around him.” He sounds almost angry with how low he growls. “And it means so much more than you could think.”

He leans further into you, so close now that his lips brush your ear as he speaks. 

“My Pretty Girl,” thrust, “My Precious Girl,” moan, “My Perfect Fucking Girl.” 

He releases one hand to line himself up with your entrance. “That’s who you are to me. That’s what I’m calling you when I call you PG. My Pretty, Precious, Perfect Girl. My Girl.” He slips past your walls, sinking deep and you both groan in euphoric unison. “Mine.”

Tae pulls out, slow and controlled. 

Blissful. 

Then pushes back in, methodically. 

Torturous. 

Feeling every inch you can take, which is every single fucking one.

Inevitable.

Bottoming out for the second time, you whisper, “Yours,” into his ear, and he turns fucking ravenous.

Setting an absolutely ruthless pace, he claims your body, taking what’s so clearly always been his. Your legs wrap around him again, digging a heel into his ass as you drive him closer, harder with every push. Then lay claim to the one thing you’re able to, taking his lips with yours and biting down hard enough to draw the most sinful groan from the back of his throat. Hoarse, deep, almost broken with how raw it is. 

One hand bruises its fingerprints into your hip while the other holds him up over you, and you use this to your advantage, slipping one leg around his and flipping the both of you over. 

You trail your tongue down his jaw to his clavicle, he tastes of sweat and lust and sex and it is the most intoxicating thing you’ve ever consumed. Creating your own gardens of little blooming flowers down one side of his neck and up the other, Taehyung moans greedily into your ear as your ride to match his thrusts, sending him deeper while you decorate your willing canvas. 

Because as much as he wishes to lay claim to your body, you want to claim his as well. 

“Mine,” you say, positioning yourself to take over completely, using the springs of the mattress to do most of the work for you. 

“Yes,” he says. But that’s not good enough. 

“Mine,” you demand, and let loose, pressing down on the mattress with your knees rapidly, creating the glorious effect you wanted. You watch as the up force from the mattress causes Taehyung to be driven into you so quickly he throws his head back, mouth dropped in pure ecstasy. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, YN, What the fuck—” he rambles, lost to the pleasure, biting his lip, going slackjawed, clenching and unclenching his fists into bedsheets that already have your handprints seared into them.

And you keep going, a little torture creation of your own. 

“Mine,” you demand again, and this time, it clicks.

“Yours! Fuck, yours. All yours, only yours,” he surrenders and you slow back down to a regular pace, breathless. 

It’s a great move but it’s exerting. 

You all but collapse on his chest and he takes over, thrillingly pissed off due to your power play. 

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” he asks, and you clench at his tone. 

He removes himself and you whimper, but he’s maneuvering you like a ragdoll on the bed and you’re more than fucking willing to be thrown around. 

He’s kneeling on the bed, lifting your hips and sliding into you in a doggy style, but then he’s doing the most insane thing you think you’ve ever seen. With an arm around your stomach he brings your back to his torso and twists you both to face the open floor to ceiling windows. One of your legs is thrown over his that’s up to splay you wide for the skyline to see, and you can see your reflection in the glass. 

You look beyond fucked out, and so does he, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. But then his hand is sliding to your throat, and a whispered, “Is this okay?” finds your ears. You nod.

Gripping the sides of your throat, he slides his other hand to graze your clit before beginning his own version of the move you just pulled. Pumping into you at a pace that has your g-spot screaming from all of the attention it’s receiving, his fingers swiping deftly over the bundled nerves at the apex of your thigh whilst lightly cutting off the blood supply to your brain. 

It has you twitching and hazy and dizzy in seconds. You can see yourself losing to the feeling so steadily building at the base of your spine in the glass. Mouth open, body willing, the man who’s been at the center of your wanting for longer than you can remember, its deliverance. 

Dark, sex tousled hair, muscled forearms holding you up and driving you insane. Blackened eyes focused on you and only you through the mirror the darkness of the night’s sky has created for you. 

It’s that visual that sets you over the edge when he releases your throat, and you feel a gush flowing from where you two meet.

“Fuuuck yes. My Perfect Girl, cum all over my sheets, drench my cock. That’s it,” he purrs in your ear and it’s doing nothing but sending shock after shock into your already over sensitive and pulsing cunt, letting your consciousness float somewhere above or below you, you don’t really care. 

All you know is that you feel light as a feather and not of this earthly plane. 

Taehyung removes himself and lies you down gently. He’s back inside soon after and it just feels right as he fills you, like it’s where he’s meant to be. 

He hovers over you once more, and you lift a single knee to his hip, mimicking your position from the club as he thrusts into you with fervor, chasing his own high after delivering three mind shattering ones to you. 

Reaching one hand to his cheek, you hold him as he kisses you, working himself to completion. 

Using your other to deliver a few expert circles to your clit, so you can come together, you breathe in each other's release and  drown in once another’s embrace. 

You leave his name on your tongue this time. A gift. A cry so delicate that a tear falls from your cheek and he kisses it away.

Taehyung inhales sharply, before stuttering his exhale and an exquisite warmth fills you.

“F-f-uu-ckkk,” he shudders as he lets the aftershocks of his release claim you in the most basic and animalistic of ways. You drink in the vulnerable sound, taking his mouth with yours one final time as you bask in each other's pleasure. Silent but for catching breaths, exertion evident as you hold one another. 

Taehyung rests on your chest. Lines are sketched gently with your nails up and down his spine and into his hair as he comes down, content in the afterglow, where nothing is wrong and everything is perfect. 

Before consequences kick in and regrets form. 

When he decides he’s ready, Tae lifts and removes himself from you and you can feel the remnants of your combined efforts slide down to the bedsheets. 

Tae takes a single finger and gathers it up before pressing it back in. You hiss at the now tender flesh. Though the pain doesn’t stop the warmth newly pooling at the sight and feel and meaning. 

He pumps it back in once, twice before removing his finger and placing it in his mouth to clean off. Your cunt flutters at the sight and Tae smirks, leaning forward to share his findings with you in the form of a filthy, open mouthed, tongue filled kiss. It’s slightly salty, slightly metallic but you pull him back for one last lick when he tries to pull away. 

Watching him kneeling there, in the glow of moonlight, you realize just how truly beautiful he is. The shape of his illuminated profile, the expanse of his chest as he breathes in, the colour of his skin under silver rays. He’s stunning. 

You smile up at him, spent, sated and so astronomically fucked if your brother ever finds out. 

Tae must see the thought on your face, because he says, “Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle it.”

But you honestly don’t give a fuck about that right now. That’s a tomorrow issue. What you want to know is, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what, exactly?” He specifies. 

You sit up, eye to eye as he sits on the edge of the bed, one leg on the ground. 

“All of it. Any of it.”

There. 

Now it was out in the open. And the rest is up to him. 

You could drag yourself back down to reality. Chalk this night up to booze and bad timing and perfect timing. Could convince yourself it was just one night and that it would have to be enou—

“All of it,” he interrupts, the most sincere expression you’ve ever seen on him on full display. “Definitely all of it. Every last fucking word.”

You slump on your exhale, so fucking relieved you didn’t have to keep trying to lie to yourself that you could forget this happened. 

You’re laughing before you can fight it off, shoulders shaking. Smiling so wide it hurts. 

“Uh..YN?” Tae asks, clearly not sure how to take your reaction and you compose yourself. 

“That’s PG to you,” you say as you crawl onto his lap, and kiss him into oblivion. 

It’s interesting to finally sit on the dock across the way in East Egg. 

The fog is gone, the sky is a brilliant blue, and the little box you kept sits open next to you, the lock and its key lost somewhere to the depths below your feet. Funny how harmless it seems now that there’s nothing locked inside anymore, like it could never really have hurt you in the first place. 

You take in your newly emptied creation, and quirk a brow when you see it move. 

A wiggle at first, before it’s shaking and spinning and shrinking, turning from a box into a glass windowed locket. Golden and delicate and beautiful, with a matching chain. You ponder for a moment what it could be for, before turning to look down at the green light to your right. 

An idea strikes. 

Unclasping the little window, you lift the opened pendant to the green light. And to your delight, the emerald hue hops into its new home, closing its tiny windowed door. 

You smile at the clever little light, lacing the chain around your neck, resting it on the middle of your sternum, right above your heart. Its brilliant hue shining brightly through the pane for all to see.

Funny how the green light you so longed for, longed for you back, and is now yours for keeps.

A/N 2.5: This is what has been rotting in my brain for the better half of two weeks so please enjoy, it was supposed to be short and trope filled to cure my writers block but apparently I am incapable of short. But trope filled it clearly is. Overall tho, I'm quite pleased with this one.

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

Masterlist

[uhohdad]

I'm totally speech-less. That was the perfect peace of literature. Pure art.

Ps. This is totally just my opinion, but I feel like Ruby and john had something happened between them, albeit be a kiss or a one night stand, but they give of that vibe ♥️

first of all tysm <3 ily <3 your nice words mean the WORLD to me 💕💖🩷💗💞

second of all. genius. the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind but as soon as i read the brilliant words i LAUNCHED to agree. The opposite attract??? ffff the gruff and the uptight??

Price and Ruby absoluuuuutely had too many one night, maybe shortly after a games, both of them vulnerable and needy after watching their tributes perish. The kids they come to know and love over the course of the week, only to see them meet their brutal end. Price wordlessly pours Ruby a drink, and she accepts without pushback. He’ll sit next to her on the plush couch, closer than he normally would. They drink in silence, Ruby uncharacteristically quiet.

After the second drink, Ruby will finally break the silence in the tune of her reminiscing about her tributes. The good things - their amazement as they indulged the luxury of the Capitol, the rare smile at the dinner table, touching heartfelt parting words during bittersweet goodbyes. He didn’t tell her that he hates this. He hates talking about the kids. He wants to drink and forget. But he knows this is how she processes the pain, by reliving the good memories. So he lets her ramble on, watching her sad smiles as she plays absentmindedly with her necklace.

And by the third, when the heat is flushing their skin, Ruby manages to draw amused huffs from Price, the corners of his lips perking up ever so slightly. Partly because, well, it’s Ruby, but there’s a part of him that is genuinely enjoying listening to her gush over her tributes. She sees the world much differently than Price, and he can’t help but be mesmerized by her perspective.

By the fourth, Ruby’s rocking her upper half, swaying loosely as the alcohol dances in her veins. Wide, perfect smiles that bunch her cheeks and unrestrained laughs, much different then her usual reserved, polite laughs.

And by the fifth, Price cuts off Ruby’s rambling by pulling her in with either end of the collar on her low-cut button down, planting a kiss on her lips by no means gently. While shocked, eyes wide and not returning the gesture, she doesn’t pull away. A moment passes and Ruby flutters her eyes shut, submitting to the harsh taste of alcohol on his tongue. She lets him lead with sloppy confidence, matching his eager pace as he tilts his head to devour more of her. A rough, calloused hand finds the side of her jaw, the other sneaking underneath the fabric of her top. His hand glides over soft, flushed skin, fingers brushing over collarbones as his palms gently meld to the top of a plush breast.

There is no sixth drink that night.

no, you 😳 thank you for the ship i didn’t know i needed.

😭🥺🥹💕💗🩷

[gummy-cat-writes]

save it for a rainy day | spencer reid x bau! fem!reader

synopsis: while on a case in Seattle during a particularly rainy week, the team learns that you've never been kissed, a fact Spencer didn't realise would both him so much

content warnings: criminal minds typical themes (discussions/descriptions of violence, injuries, death, trauma and generally not great things) please read at your own risk!! also minor spoilers for s7 ep19 (heathridge manor)

ingredients: mostly fluff, she fell first, he fell harder, I got carried away so it's basically a casefic, inaccurate depictions of the US/how the FBI works (sorry I'm not American), a bunch of random facts since its literally Spencer's main love language (cannot guarantee the legitimacy of said facts they were from singular google searches), limited use of Y/N (I tried) and I'm not entirely convinced the plot exists sorryyy

word count: 6k (like I said I got carried away whoops)

a/n: eek this is my very first attempt at posting my writing on tumblr, and also my very first x reader fic! (finally living up to my username lol) I got a bit carried away with this and it is just a tad self indulgent but I hope you all enjoy and if I missed any content warnings please let me know!!

Spencer Reid couldn’t stand the rain. His hair was hard enough to keep presentable when dry, but being wet it made him look like a soggy cat. Much to his dismay, the current case happened to be in Seattle, Washington, right in the middle of their rainy season – perfect for an unsub who liked to drown their victims in rainwater.

Spencer had only just stepped out of the jet when he felt the light downpour beginning to dampen his head and shoulders, squinting up at the sky with a disgruntled look.

“I hate the rain,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, thankful he’d long since transitioned back to contacts, as wearing glasses in this weather would have made the trip entirely more frustrating.

“Aw, come on,” a voice chirped up beside him. “It’s not that bad,” You were much more prepared than him, already opening a brightly patterned umbrella as you descended the plane steps. “It smells so nice.”

Without being asked, you lifted the umbrella higher so he could duck beneath it. The two of you began the walk across the tarmac, following Hotch and Rossi, with Emily, JJ and Morgan bringing up the rear.

“The term for the smell we usually associate with rain is actually called petrichor,” Spencer said, unable to help himself. “The word was coined in 1964 by Australian scientists, it’s a mixture of water and other compounds like ozone, geosmin and plant oils.” He wrinkled his nose, the aforementioned smell filling the morning air. “It gets particularly strong during a downpour like this.”

You chuckled. “Well, I think it’s romantic. I always imagined my first kiss would be in the rain.”

Spencer ducked as you closed the umbrella, arriving at the terminal entrance. He watched as you held back, letting the rain fall on your face for a moment.

“Was it?” he asked.

“Hm?” You blinked, before shrugging. “Oh, I wouldn’t know,” you said, in a surprisingly casual tone. “I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

This statement somehow caused Spencer’s stomach to flip, and he found himself unable to form words.

Emily, who’d overheard the tail-end of the conversation, did not have the same issue.

“You’ve never been kissed?” she said incredulously, already grinning at your now somewhat sheepish expression.

“I’ve sort of being saving it,” you admitted, smiling nervously. “I just think that being kissed in the rain is so romantic.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Emily responded fondly. “Wait ‘til Penelope hears about this.”

You groaned, your cheeks reddening. By now, JJ and Morgan had caught up, the former eyeing Spencer with concern.

“Spence, you okay?”

Caught off guard, Spencer’s next words came out a little harsher than intended.

“I don’t care if it’s romantic,” he snapped. “I still hate the rain.”

Spencer had no clue what was going on. It had been ages since your conversation on the tarmac, but your words kept replaying in his head. It was one of the few times he loathed his eidetic memory, as the visual of you standing calmly in the rain, water dripping down your face – more specifically your mouth – swam in his brain whenever he closed his eyes.

“-and Reid can share with her.” The sound of his name broke him from his reverie, and he looked up frowning. The team had dropped by their hotel to freshen up before heading to the precinct, and were discussing who would be sharing a room together. Typically, they got four rooms, with six of them pairing up and one person getting a room to themselves. JJ was looking at Spencer, that concerned look on her face again.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked.

Spencer’s brain rebooted awfully slow. “I- what?”

“Room shares,” Emily cut in, looking amused as the others chuckled. “You’re good to share a room with Y/N, right?”

All Spencer could do was glance between his team, his eyes landing on Morgan.

“What about Morgan?” he asked. Something about sharing a room with you made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

Morgan laughed. “Sorry, pretty boy, it’s my turn in the solo room.”

“I don’t mind,” you piped up, glancing at Spencer with a friendly smile. “Spencer?”

“Do you kids need to do rock-paper-scissors to decide?” Rossi’s tone was exasperated. “Me and Hotch, Emily and JJ, Reid and L/N and Morgan on his own. Simple.”

There was little more arguing Spencer could do without being obvious, so he reluctantly followed you down the hall to your room. Why on Earth was such a short, insignificant conversation making him feel like this? He’d shared rooms with you on cases before, what was so different now?

You unlocked the door to the room, completely unaware of his inner turmoil. For a moment, Spencer could forget it too, watching as you examined the room, enthusiastically dropping flat onto one of the twin beds.

“This room’s a lot like the one we shared in Massachusetts,” you mused absentmindedly. “The layout’s the same. I like the old-fashioned look.”

“You know, the oldest hotel in the world is the Nishiyama Onsen Keiunkan,” Spencer said. “It’s a ryokan, which is a traditional Japanese-style inn, and was first opened in 707 AD.”

You smiled. “Oh, yeah?” Sitting up, you looked up at him with a genuine interest that always made him falter his words.

He cleared his throat. “Um, yeah, it was created by the son of an aide to the 38th Emperor of Japan, Emperor Tenji. Actually, quite a few of the world’s oldest businesses are in Japan. There was a report published by the Bank of Korea that found that 56% of the around 5,500 companies older than 200 years are in Japan.”

“Damn,” you said, still smiling. “Well now I want to go to Japan.”

Spencer chuckled, averting his gaze. His rambles were typically met with disinterest, yet you were one of the few who would properly pay attention. You too were prone to rambling, though your tangents tended to be more anecdotal than random facts. But why now was your attention so nerve-wracking?

“Spencer?” Your voice once again pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” you finally asked, frowning at him. “You’ve been really space-y today.”

“I’m fine!” His voice rising in octave definitely didn’t sell it. “I’m just… tired.”

He gave her a tight smile, hoping you’d drop it. He busied himself with setting his go-bag onto his bed.

“Do you think I’m weird?”

That caught his tension.

“What?” Spencer stared at you, concern that you’d ever think that overruling his current dilemma. “What are you talking about, you’re not weird you’re- you’re you-” He cut himself off as you laughed.

“Spencer, I’m in my 20s and I haven’t had my first kiss. That’s pretty weird, isn’t it?”

He blinked. “I didn’t have my first kiss until my 20s.” he pointed out.

“Yeah, because you were, like, twelve in your senior year. It would have been illegal to kiss you,” you said, amused. “I think I’ve only ever held hands with one person all through school.” Your smile faded a little as you fidgeted with your sleeve. “I guess I always expected dating and romance would just happen, like in the movies, and it never really did.”

“Well, in the US, the average age of the first kiss is fifteen, but even that varies between regions.” Upon realising his comment wasn’t helpful in the slightest, he back-tracked. “But everyone has their own timeline. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

You sighed, standing up. He could tell now that despite your casual tone on the tarmac earlier, it really did seem to bother you. Something about the melancholy look on your face stung something deep in him.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said softly. “I’m going to go shower.”

The Seattle Police Precinct was a buzz of activity – the media had been all over the murders since a sixth body had been discovered, which was why the BAU had been called in. As Penelope had explained in the briefing, so far the unsub had killed six women over the course of two and half months. All six victims were women in their 40s, who all went missing a few days before their bodies were found in empty lots, significant amounts of rainwater in their lungs. With no other injuries on the bodies, it had been difficult to determine a clear motive.

Upon arriving at the precinct, Hotch set about delegating tasks so the team could build a profile. Spencer was strangely relieved when Hotch sent him to the medical examiner with Morgan. It wasn’t that he didn’t like working with you, but your comments had stuck with him more than they should for someone he saw as a friend, and he knew the longer he spent around you, he’d likely make a fool of himself.

The ME went over the autopsies with them, noting some of the interesting findings.

“So, it appears the victims spent a significant amount of time in water before they died,” she said, frowning at her clipboard.

“How can you tell?” Morgan asked.

She walked over to one of the tables, lifting the sheet covering the most recent victim, pointing at her arm. “See how the skin is thickened here, and the sores? She must have been in the water for good while, for the skin to do this. They all were.” The ME crossed the room to pick up a tray, bringing it over to show the two men a cutting of fabric. “The clothes they were wearing were beginning to mould, which can happen with water damage. These women were fully submerged for days before they died.”

“And you can confirm they died from drowning?”

“It’s quite difficult to determine if drowning is the official cause of death,” The ME replied. “But given how much water was in their stomachs and lungs, and the foam present, I’d say so.” She grimaced as she read through her notes. “It certainly wasn’t done quickly either.”

Morgan frowned. “This is similar to the case in Oregon, at that manor.” He paused, glancing at Spencer. “Reid,” he nudged him. “You good?”

“What? Oh- yeah, I’m fine.” Spencer stuttered, very aware he wasn’t convincing his colleague in the slightest. “The case in Oregon?”

“The way the victims were submerged in water, it’s similar. Do you think this unsub is also torturing?”

Spencer forced himself to focus, frowning at the body in front of him. “It seems it serves as both a way to torture, and to kill. The Oregon ones were killed with nicotine poisoning.”

“I also noticed something else,” the ME spoke up. “I found bits of rust stuck to their hands.” She moved the sheet, turning the victim’s hand over. Flakes of deep orange speckled the skin of her palm, which was reddened and raw. “I think they were holding onto something for quite a while, something metal.”

“Didn’t the Oregon unsub submerge the girls in a well?” Morgan said. “Perhaps we’re dealing with a copy-cat.”

Spencer shook his head. “Those details weren’t released to the press, it can’t be. Besides, if they had, they would have the grazes on their bodies from the rocks of the well, wouldn’t they?”

The ME nodded. “Aside from the hands, they’re relatively unharmed. That, and a bruise to the back of the head.”

Morgan nodded, putting the pieces together. “So the unsub hits them over the head to stun them, takes them somewhere and keeps them in a body of rainwater until they’ve drowned and dumps them in lots?”

“He’s gotten better, clearly,” the ME mentioned. “The first two victims had multiple wounds to the head, whereas the more recent ones only had one.”

“So,” Morgan said, seemingly talking to himself. “How long until he attacks again?”

Spencer leaned against the car, trying to read while Morgan phoned Penelope to update her on the unsub’s MO. Emphasis on trying. He’d been re-reading the same page over and over, and when one can read at his speed, it got repetitive rather quickly.

“- great job, baby girl, keep it up,” Morgan was saying as he returned to the car, putting his phone away. “So, Penelope is going to look into places where the unsub might have been able to keep the women, but that could be anywhere-”

“Ow!” Spencer looked up, offended, having just been flicked in the forehead. “What was that for?”

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” Morgan stated, eyeing the younger man. “More than your usual weird. What’s going on?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, looking back down at his book, only for it to be snatched from his hands. “Hey, give that back-”

“Not until you tell me what’s up,” Morgan’s voice was serious, using a similar tone Spencer had heard him use with his sisters. Firm but compassionate. “It’s pretty obvious something is wrong.”

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, and he let out a huff of frustration. “If I knew, I would tell you,” he grumbled, hesitating before he continued. “I- Y/N told me this morning that she’s never been kissed, and I can’t stop thinking about it-”

He was interrupted by Morgan’s hearty laughter. “That’s it?”

Spencer stumbled over his words, his face flushed. “It doesn’t mean anything, I’m not-”

“Pretty boy has a crush~” Morgan teased, the smirk on his face not shifting, even as Spencer smacked his forearm to get him to shut up.

“What? No, that’s ridiculous!” he snapped. “She’s my co-worker, my friend! I just-”

“Realised how much you’d like to be the one to kiss her?” Morgan finished for him, getting into the car. “Did you only just come to this conclusion today?”

Spencer scowled, climbing into the passenger seat. “What are you talking about?”

“Reid, you’ve been ogling her since she first started working here,” Morgan pointed out. “I know we’re not meant to profile each other, but it’s textbook-”

“You have no clue what you’re talking about! We’re just friends!”

Morgan chuckled. “If you say so. But, if you ask me, I don’t think she’d be too opposed if you asked her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Infuriatingly, Morgan chose then to finally fall silent.

You couldn’t understand what you’d done wrong. It had been two days since the team had arrived in Seattle, and Spencer was 100% avoiding you. He averted his eyes every time you spoke, made excuses to leave the room when it was just the two of you together, and barely spoke when you finally returned to the hotel to rest. Surely he wasn’t put off by what you’d told him at the airport?

When you’d said you were saving your first kiss to be in the rain, you were only half lying. A kiss in the rain would be romantic, but you desperately wanted it to be with him. It had been a little over a year since you joined the BAU, and you’d spent practically every day since then head over heels for Dr. Spencer Reid.

Who wouldn’t? He was your type in every way – nerdy, awkward and ridiculously good-looking.

So far, you’d managed to keep it hidden from most of the team, save for Emily, JJ and Penelope. Curse those women for being so good at their jobs. And curse them for teasing you every chance they got.

“What are you looking at?”

Speak of the devil, and doth shall appear, looking exactly like Emily Prentiss. She set a coffee down next to you, choosing to lean against the table rather than sit, giving you a knowing grin.

You quickly looked back down at the files in your hands. “Nothing,” you mumbled, convincing no one.

“Honestly, you are lucky the boy genius is the most oblivious man in the world,” Emily said, frowning at Spencer, who was discussing the case with Rossi and JJ. “I’m surprised he hasn’t caught on yet.”

“Would you keep it down?” you hissed, swatting her with a file. “I don’t want the entire precinct to know.”

She cackled, nudging you with her leg. “I figured you could do with a push in the right direction,” Leaning down, she lowered her voice. “That direction being a certain doctor’s bed-”

“Emily!”

“I’m just putting it out there, you should go talk to him,” She stood up to avoid any more file assaults. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

Fortunately, the lecture was interrupted by Hotch walking into the room, a particularly stormy look on his face. “There’s been another kidnapping,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The team bundled themselves into the cars, heading to east Seattle, where a staggering amount of police cars and media vans were already gathered. Breezing past the officers and into the house, you followed JJ and Emily into the bedroom.

The previous women had all gone missing while at home, all living alone, or when their partners weren’t home. This time, it was clear the victim’s partner had been home. He was laying on the bed, blood splattered everywhere and a pillow covering what was sure to be fatal head wounds.

“Monique Johnson is currently missing, the neighbour found this after hearing their dog barking inside.” Hotch said as he followed in behind you.

“Clearly the unsub didn’t expect the boyfriend to be home,” JJ muttered. “This is overkill, he lost his cool.”

Hotch nodded. “We need to give the profile.”

“We believe the unsub is a white man, likely in his 30s. He’s not very noticeable, blends in with the crowd,” Hotch began, arms crossed as he presents the profile to the Seattle Police. “Given how he manages to break into the victims’ houses with little to no trouble, it’s possible he has experience with burglary, and may have a criminal record.”

“The victims all resemble each other physically, and in personality,” JJ continued. “It’s possible the unsub is viewing these women as surrogates for someone in his life, possible a sister, or a mother, given the lack of sexual components to the crimes.”

“We’ve classified him as a control-oriented killer,” Morgan picked up. “The method in which he drowns his victims over a gruelling multiple days is his way of being in control. Though he is very intelligent, and manages to limit any physical evidence left behind on the victims, he clearly struggles when plans don’t go his way.”

“The most recent victim is Darius Bowers, 47,” you spoke up. “He was killed during the abduction of his girlfriend, Monique Johnson. This is the first time the unsub has killed a man, and it is very clear it wasn’t meant to happen.”

“He knows we are getting close, which means we only have a limited time to find Monique alive.” Hotch concluded.

As the officers dispersed, you breathed a sigh of relief. Delivering profiles was nerve-wracking, but it was good to know you were on the right track.

“What are you- hey!” Spencer’s voice shot up an octave as you grabbed him by the sleeve, all but dragging him into a nearby hallway. He looked as if he were caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

“Have I done something wrong?” you asked, trying and failing not to sound desperate. The reality was the distance hurt, more than you could admit. “You’ve been avoiding me this entire case, and it’s clear I’ve upset you, which is the last thing I wanted, so would you please just spit it out?”

Spencer stood there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, utterly speechless. Then, slowly, a deep red flush crept up his neck and he cleared his throat.

“I- I don’t know.”

It was rare to hear that phrase from him.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s- You haven’t done anything wrong, I just-” He was stuttering, eyes directed towards some far off thing as he struggled to explain himself. “I think I’ve come to realise how much you care about me, and-”

“Guys, it’s Penelope.” JJ said sharply, peeking around the wall.

You let out a huff of frustration, storming after the blonde woman, leaving Spencer nonplussed and red in the face.

The team huddled around the table, where Morgan’s phone on speaker in the middle, playing the upbeat voice of Penelope Garcia.

“Alright my lovelies, so I have been fighting tooth and nail with these files, trying to find a link between the victims and let me just say, it would be easier to get Hotch to smile, it is difficult-”

“Garcia-” Hotch’s tone was warning.

“Sorry sir,” she quickly added. “I think I’ve found something. Weeks before Janet Burgess, the second victim, went missing, she payed a fee for a lawn service through Green City Lawn Care-”

“Isn’t that where Monique Johnson works?” Spencer piped up, frowning.

“Why indeed, boy genius, and get this, Danna Howell, the fifth victim also had her lawn mowed by the same company!” Before anyone else could interrupt, she continued. “Now, you’re probably thinking that it’s just a coincidence, but the universe is rarely so lazy, so, I dug a bit further and found out that all the victims at some point used the service in the past six months, and three of them left quite scathing reviews of the company.”

“That’s great, baby girl, but we both know you can do better,” Morgan teased.

“I was getting there, chocolate thunder-”

“Garcia-” Hotch warned, a little more impatient.

“Sorry sir, so I went through employee records and just seven months ago they hired a Tristan Murray, who has only just completed 15 years in prison.”

“What for?” Emily asked.

“I’m not-so glad you asked,” Penelope said, her cheery voice becoming more grim. “Burglary that ended with assault of the homeowner.” A rapid sound of typing was heard. “Looks like he had quite a nasty childhood, his biological mother was only 16 when she had him, and put him into the foster system. He got with the wrong crowd, spent time in and out of juvy, and oh god-”

“What?”

“Apparently he was arrested for the burglary charges when police were called to a cafe for a verbal altercation between 19 year old Tristan and his biological mother. Police reports say she came there to meet with him and he wanted to have her in his life but she didn’t, and this made him very angry.”

“Where is his mother now?” Rossi asked.

“Uh, it looks like she is still in Seattle but- oh no- she got a restraining order against him just recently.”

“That’s the trigger,” Hotch said. “Alright, Reid, L/N, Morgan, you take officers to Green City, JJ and Emily head to the mother’s place and Rossi and I’ll go to the unsub’s house.”

Green City Lawn Care was a run-of-the-mill lawn care company, nestled in a mostly suburban part of Seattle. The sky was a deep grey, not yet raining but clearly it would soon, if the rumbling thunder was any indication.

Spencer couldn’t say a word to you, his mind still reeling from your earlier confrontation. As he strapped on his bulletproof vest, he snuck a glance in your direction, and when his heart jumped at the focus in your expression, he felt yet another wave of confusion.

Following his conversation with Morgan, he’d been going over every memory of you in his mind, analysing your behaviour and he’d come to the shocking realisation that maybe his colleague was right.

The shy smiles, a kind tone reserved only for him, flinching when your hands brushed and the occasional flush to your face when you spoke to him. While Spencer knew he was blind to subtle social cues, re-examining all those behaviours were blatant indicators of at least some level of affection beyond a platonic line.

Had he only missed it because he couldn’t imagine you – or anyone, for that matter – seeing him in that light? Or was Morgan also correct about him? Had he been so caught up in watching you he hadn’t actually seen you?

Observing the way you frowned as you buckled the clips of your vest, the variety of your expressions flashed in his mind, your smile, your laugh, your pout, it all burned itself behind his eyes, causing some unknown feeling to bubble in his chest, threatening to burst free.

“Ready to go?” Morgan asked the both of you, adjusting his earpiece.

You nodded, and he turned away to check on the Seattle officers.

Spencer opened his mouth, your name on the tip of his tongue, and as you made to walk towards the building, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist.

The sky above rumbled, and a few drops of rain hit his shoulders, darkening the fabric.

“Listen, I need to-” he began, unsure of exactly how to explain his feelings, but knew he had to tell you, before it consumed him.

You stared up at him, conflict crossing your face as Morgan called the two of you. Giving him a brief smile, you gently pulled your arm from his grip.

“After, alright?” you said.

When did you become able to so easily steal the air from his lungs?

“Reid, come on.” Morgan said, frowning.

The three of you took the lead, crossing the car-park towards Green City Lawn Care as a few officers brought up the rear. Guns ready, Morgan paused outside the front door, directing some officers to go around the back, before nodding at you and then Spencer.

The door chime jingled as Morgan walked in, body tense as he directed the baffled receptionist to head outside, asking him if Murray was in.

“He- He just came by, said he was grabbing supplies-” the man babbled, pale in the face of three armed FBI agents. “What’s this about?”

“Let’s go,” Morgan ordered, ignoring his questions, taking the lead as he jumped over the counter, gun ready as he opened the door to the back supply room.

The three of you filed into a large garage, which held a few lawnmowers, and various other lawn care equipment.

“You two, take that side.”

Spencer followed as you crept around the right side of the garage. There was a clatter of something hitting the floor, before the face of a man poked up between the machinery.

“Tristan Murray?” you called out, pointing your gun at him. “We just need to talk!”

The man didn’t hesitate to bolt, and Spencer’s heartbeat thrummed faster as the two of you chased after him, Morgan a ways behind, radioing for back-up.

Running to the back door of the garage, the man dashed outside, disappearing around a corner. Without a second thought, you ran after him, and Spencer couldn’t stop himself from sprinting after to you. He could see the figure of the man darting down a side street, which lead to what appeared to be an abandoned construction site.

The rain was heavier now, blurring Spencer’s vision as he watched you slide between the gates, running straight into the site. He somewhat clumsily stumbled into the gate, pulling it open, while trying to keep you in his line of vision.

Morgan had caught up by now, the two of them squeezing through the gates into the site. It was clearly meant to be a building, but hadn’t been touched in a while. The pelting rain soaked the dull grey concrete foundation blocks as the two men squinted through the downpour.

“Where’s L/N?” Morgan shouted.

“She went after him, I-” Spencer tried to catch his breath, his lungs burning.

“Murray, this isn’t going to change anything!” Your shout caught their attention, but the following cry of pain chilled Spencer to the core.

Sprinting in the direction of the scuffle, he found Murray on top of you, a metal pipe pressing against your throat.

Before he could really process what he was doing, he grabbed Murray, pulling him off you, managing to take the man by surprise long enough for Morgan to catch up.

“I’ve got him!” he shouted, tackling the man to the ground, silver handcuffs already being clipped around his wrists.

Spencer whipped around to you. You were on your feet, muddy and a bright red streak of blood coating your right arm, running down your hand.

“Spencer, she has to be here!” you said urgently, looking around. “He ran here for a reason, this is where Monique is!”

“Where is she?” Morgan shouted at Murray, hauling him to his feet.

The man bit his tongue, angrily glowering at them all, still attempting to struggle against Morgan.

Your eyes darted from foundation block to sodden wooden pallet. And then you ran off.

“I’ve got this, go after her!” Morgan said.

Spencer was already chasing after you, as you jumped down, following the gutter down some slippery wet grass to where a large storm-water drain sat.

“She’s here!” You shouted, already pulling against the metal bars. Spencer all but stumbled down beside you.

A woman was in the drain, gripping on to the bars with all her strength, the rushing water from the pipes bubbling over her face. “Help me lift this!”

Spencer nodded, grabbing one end of the grate, and the two of you managed to lift it just enough so you could grab Monique’s shirt, dragging her out of the drain.

She was pale and barely conscious, but thankfully coughing up water. You held her shoulder as she heaved, relief clear on your face.

“Your arm-” Spencer said, heart rate slowly ticking down to a normal rhythm.

It was as if you barely noticed the wound. “I cut my arm when he tackled me,” you wheezed. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

Something about you, covered in mud and blood, your cheeks flushed from the exertion, asking if he was okay, confirmed what he’d been questioning all along.

Despite their victory, the rain didn’t let up by much. Spencer was positive he looked ridiculous, soaked to the bone, but he didn’t care. He walked over to one of the ambulances, where an EMT was stitching up the cut to your arm. It looked pretty nasty, but without the blood dripping everywhere, it was certainly improving.

You glanced up as he approached, giving him a tired smile.

“You okay?” he said, as the EMT finished covering the wound, excusing herself.

“I’ll survive,” you replied, examining the wound. “Might get a cool scar. It’ll make me look more badass.”

Spencer chuckled. The two of you looked around at the scene, blue and red lights reflecting off the rain. Monique was being wheeled away in a stretcher.

“Hotch is going to be so mad at me,” you muttered. “I shouldn’t have gone after him alone.”

Spencer shook his head. “I’ll vouch for you. If you hadn’t, Monique would’ve drowned.”

You nodded, but your expression was bitter. “She’s about to find out her boyfriend is dead,” you mumbled. “I can’t imagine anything worse.”

Standing up, you sighed, tilting your head up as the rain soaked your clothes once more. In contrast to how calm you’d been on the tarmac, your face was melancholy.

“You were right,” you said, dejected despite the success of the case. “The rain isn’t that romantic afterall.”

Spencer looked down at you, then up at the sky. The events of the past few days replayed in his mind, and the revelations that had come with matched the steady rhythm of his heart. He reached out, almost imperceptibly, letting his hand brush against yours.

“It’s beginning to grow on me,” he said softly, glancing back down at you, his lips twitching up into a small smile. “Thanks to you,” he added, and when you linked your hand with his, he tried not to let it show how breathless the action made him.

Your smile was nothing short of beautiful.

As if sensing the troubles were passing, the rain lightened up as the team returned to the precinct to wrap up the case, and then headed to the hotel. Cases like these always seemed to drag on when you’re in the thick of them, but the moment you’re done, you swear no time has passed.

Spencer headed out of the hotel, spotting the brightly coloured umbrella you’d brought before he saw you, standing in the rain. Your go-bag was on the steps of the hotel, sheltered from the light downpour.

He walked up to you, gently tapping the fabric of the umbrella so you’d lift it up for him to duck under. “Is your arm any better?” he asked after a moment.

“It stings a bit,” you replied. “I’m fine, though.” There was something in your voice that told Spencer you weren’t.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we did good,” he said softly. “You did good.”

“Why do people do things like this, Spencer?” you asked quietly.

“Do you want the statistics?”

You huffed a small laugh, leaning into him a bit. “Yes.”

“Humans are, and have always been a naturally violent species out of all the mammals,” he said. “Studies show that in most mammals, deaths caused by others of the same species accounts for 0.3 percent of deaths, and typically the reasons are practical; food, territory, et cetera. The rate of lethal violence in humans is almost seven times higher,” Spencer couldn’t resist gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “We kill not just for those reasons, but for seemingly insignificant or even perceived transgressions. Anger is particularly potent, and it makes us do terrible things. Combining that with an often hostile and intolerant society, it makes us predisposed to kill.”

“We’re kind of awful, aren’t we?” you said bitterly.

Spencer nodded slowly, glancing at you. “Some more than others. Some less. If its any consolation-” he hesitated for a full 30 seconds of rain before continuing. “You’re one of the least awful, in my opinion.”

He loved the way your smile grew, gradually reaching your eyes and filling his chest with warmth.

“Thanks,” you said genuinely. “For making this case a little less awful.”

“I’d like to make it not awful at all, if you’d let me.”

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Wordlessly, Spencer reached up, taking the umbrella from your hand and closing it. Gently dropping it by your bag, he took your hands, leading the both of you properly out into the rain. You stared at him, and something clicked, your smile faltering in favour of a more surprised expression.

Spencer tentatively touched your cheek with one hand, fingers barely grazing the skin, as if he was scared you might shatter.

“May I?” he asked, his cheeks going pink at how his voice cracked.

Your small nod was all he needed. Spencer leaned down, his other hand drifting up to cup your jaw with more confidence as he pressed his lips to yours. He kissed with intent, he always did. He couldn’t help it, using the kiss as a way to almost press the words he wanted to say into you.

You let out a muffled squeak of surprise, tilting your head back as your hands found the slightly damp fabric of his cardigan. You kissed back, clumsy and inexperienced, but neither of you cared. The rain was chilly, you both knew you’d be uncomfortably damp for the flight home, but those were small prices to pay for a moment that Spencer realised you’d been right about.

Kissing in the rain was indeed, very romantic. It was romantic in how despite knowing that your clothes were getting wet, your hair was ruined and you were shivering slightly from the cold, all you wanted was the moment to drag on forever.

Finally, you were the first to pull back, grinning up at Spencer with bright eyes and a wide smile, cheeks flushed. You were both vaguely aware the others were watching, Emily and Morgan snickering to each other in your peripheral, but it didn’t matter.

Spencer Reid couldn’t stand the rain. His hair was hard enough to keep presentable when dry, and he knew in this moment he probably resembled a soggy cat. However, for you, he’d gladly make an exception.

thank you for reading <33

[honeybeeznutz]

It's Better This Way: Part 2

Part one: https://www.tumblr.com/honeybeeznutz/785301063173603328/its-better-this-way?source=share

Summary:

You fall for Bob but you aren't the only one, but it gets harder to hide how you feel

Warnings:

swearing, brief use of Y/N, angst, unresolved feelings, drinking

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I didn’t anticipate the evening going this way. I just planned on sitting around in sweatpants and an old tshirt from high school, but here we are. Now I’m dressed up in a dress that shows off everything I’d normally hide, in a dingy bar with music blasting. I take another sip of my old fashioned and observe the group. Alexei is watching over the group, a bottle of vodka in hand. Ava and John were arguing over some tv show, I have no idea. I look to the corner and Yelena is nursing a vodka cranberry with Bob by her side. I take another drink. Bucky sidles up next to me at the bar. 

“You good kid?”

He asks knowing I’m not

“Just tickled shitless.”

I respond without looking up from my drink. Bucky knew what was going on. Of course he did. I wasn’t exactly being cryptic about my swooning at the moment. 

“You’ve gotta tell him. ”

He starts. I go to argue but he cuts me off. 

“Trust me. I know what it’s like to love someone you feel like you can never have…. To love your best friend…. But learn from my mistakes. Take that chance. Talk to him…. Before it’s too late… Before he chooses her without knowing you were an option.”

With that he grabs another beer and leaves me alone. 

Before long we’re all crowded around one table and John is trying to get us to do shots. I look over and Yelena whispers something in Bob’s ear. He giggles. I take a shot. One turns to three, turns to too many to count. One minute I’ve got a light buzz, the next I’m partway through a bottle of Tito’s. We’re all laughing and carrying on when someone starts playing the run down jukebox in the corner. Your Man by Josh Turner starts blaring through the background and John looks like he’s won the lottery

“Someone dance with me!”

He begs. Everyone groans. Yelena rolls her eyes and leans more into Bob. I take John’s hand and follow him to the makeshift dance floor to the sound of whoops and hollers from our group. I turn to see Bob. He looks…. Almost upset. I shake my head and turn back to John. We start to slow dance and he holds me close. 

“So,”

He starts

“When are you gonna tell him?”

“Tell who what?”

“Bob that your madly in love with him”

I pull back and shoot him a look. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just friends. And even if we weren’t he had Yelena.”

John rolls his eyes. 

“All I’m saying is it’s a bit pitiful seeing a strong girl like you moping over a man.”

“And I think it’s a bit pitiful you won’t shut up and dance with me!”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. We finish dancing and I stumble back to the bar stool. I order another round and the shots start flowing again. 

A random man approaches me. 

“Hey there beautiful~”

He slurs out. I start to roll my eyes but I can see Bob out of the corner of my eye. Screw it.

“Hi there~”

He goes on to tell me he’s some business man looking for a good time. I honestly couldn’t care less, my body feels warm the way only too much liquor can make it, and I’m ready to make some bad decisions. I let him lead me to the dance floor and we start to dance. I don’t think too much of it and we’re dancing with my back to his chest. I feel him grind against me and I try to pull away but strong hands keep me there. 

I look around for someone to help but the only person I see is the exact person I don’t want to. Ava and Yelena are dancing, Alexei and Bucky are arm wrestling and John is judging. Bob just sits there and stares at me. He quickly looks away when he notices me looking though. 

“Let go of me!”

I struggle against him. The next thing I know Bob is between me and the guy. His eyes a shining gold. The Sentry is out. Shit. I pull Bob away and we head outside the bar. 

“What the hell was that?”

I ask. 

“I could have handled that myself!”

“Bullshit!”

He grabs me and starts to look me over. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“What do you care?”

I slur out

“What’s that supposed to mean? Of course I care.”

“Nuh uh, you’re too busy caring about Yelena!”

I pull away from him and start to walk. To where I don’t know, but I need to be away from him. Drunk or not I know it’s bad for me to be alone with him. Especially in an altered state. 

“Where are you going?”

He quickly follows after me

“Anywhere but here!”

He calls my name but I ignore him. I walk past an alley and he grabs me. He pushes me against the wall and holds my wrists so I can’t move. If I wasn’t so upset I’d be dead from the sheer closeness. 

“What is your problem?”

He asks. 

“What’s *my* problem? What’s your problem?”

I shoot back pointedly. 

“Why are you acting like this? Why have you been avoiding me? Why have you ghosted me? We’re supposed to be friends!”

He sounds tired, and if I wasn’t in so much pain myself I’d feel bad for him.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Bullshit”

“I can’t. It’ll ruin everything.”

“It won’t ruin anything.”

So I do it. Without a second thought I kiss him

Now True Believers it’s your turn to decide how it ends:

Happy ending:

He kisses back with ferocity. It’s like a missing piece slips into place and everything is right in the world. He pulls back for a second. 

“You’re drunk…. We shouldn’t do this”

“But I still know what I want. And it’s you.”

“Is this why you’ve been so distant?”

“I know how close you are with Yelena, and I care about both of you so deeply…. But I love you Bob… I love you and I want you. And I know I’m drunk right now but I need you.”

Bob smiles at me gently.

“Yelena and I are just close friends…. And I love you too…. We can talk about this tomorrow when you’re sobered up, okay?”

I nod and smile. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow. 

Unresolved ending:

He immediately pulls away.

“You’re drunk, we can’t do this!”

“But I want this! I may be drunk but I know what I want. I need you Bob, I love you! And it breaks my heart every time I see you with Yelena! I need you!”

“Look, let’s get you home…. We’ll talk about this in the morning….”

“Promise?”

“Promise…”

I let him walk me home. I let him carry me home. We make it to my room and he helps me into my pajamas. As soon as my head hits the pillow I’m asleep. 

When I wake up my head hurts and I crave water. I stumble into the kitchen. I see Bob making breakfast. 

“Morning sleepy head.”

He says looking absolutely exhausted.

“I drank way too much…”

“Yes you did…. Do you remember much of last night…”

“Not really, were we supposed to talk about something.”

I see the wheels turning in his head. I remembered what happened. I remember him promising.

“Nope. Not that I know of.”

Bad ending:

He immediately pushes me away

“What the hell!”

“I- you told me to”

“Y/N….. No….. Look you’re drunk and you’re not thinking and-“

“I may be drunk but I know what I want! I know I’m not the one you want but I love you Bob! You’re my best friend and I love you! And I love Yelena but not like you. And I’m sorry if you hate me now but I need you to know how I feel!”

He takes a step back and leans against a wall. He puts his head in his hands and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry… but I’m in love with Yelena…. It’s always been her. You’re my best friend too  y/n  but I love her…. Not you…. I should…. I should go….”

“Wait, Bob- please!”

“I’m sorry…. But I just see you as a friend….”

He keeps talking. Apologizing for not choosing me, but I don’t listen. I just walk away. Back into the bar. I remember ordering another shot. I don’t remember how I got home. I don’t remember how I got back in my bed. I woke up the next morning with a note on the side of my bed.

“You’re my best friend. We can talk when you’re ready.”

I wasn’t ready though. I put on a fake smile and walk into the kitchen where the rest of the team were relaxing.

“There’s the party animal!”

John laughs. I roll my eyes and pour myself a cup of coffee. I look to Bob. He has his arm around Yelena. He looks at me as if there was anything left to say. I take a swig of my coffee and sit down next to Bucky. 

“I drank way too much last night….”

“Yes you did, but I’m very proud of you!”

Alexei beamed. Bob looks like he wants to say something when Yelena interrupts

“You kept apologizing for ruining things last night, what was up with that?”

I look at Bob. I bite my lip and then grin. 

“No clue, I was really drunk and I say dumb stuff when I’m like that.”

I don’t know what hurt more. The fact the conversation with Bob never came, or how he acted like nothing ever happened. As if I hadn’t laid my heart out on the line for him and he’d squashed it with a simple “I’m sorry”. It wasn’t his fault. Days turned to weeks, turned to months and nothing was said again about it. My feelings never went away, but I learned to deal with them. Learned to pretend to be happy for Yelena when she confessed she liked him to me. I pretended to be happy for them when they went public. They were my best friends. They were happy. I was broken and hiding behind a mask. But they were happy. It’s better this way.

[icycoldninja]

heyy again its me the one who asked about rafayel. thank you for responding! you dont have to but if you could and it wouldnt be too much trouble id love to see just some general headcanon stuff! or like a story of him and the reader going out on a cute little date to the art store or something art related.

Alright! Here you go!

My beautiful merman (Rafayel x Reader fluff)

Giggling like a pair of kids up to no good, you and Rafayel bolted across the street, hand in hand, breezing past a group of apathetic pedestrians and a large, curious dog. Your destination, this one small art store that Rafayel always loved going to, was just a block or two away. As long as you hopped across the crosswalk and only stepped on the white lines, you'd be clear in a few moments.

"Go, go, go!" Rafayel was shouting happily, while you both hopped awkwardly across the street, balancing on one foot.

"I'm going, I'm going," You laughed, letting out a loud "phew" when you reached the other side of the street. Once Rafayel caught up, you headed for the entrance, swinging the door to the art store open and ringing the cute little bell above it in the process.

A pleasant chime rang through the shop, alterting the elderly shopkeeper to your presence and signaling Rafayel to depart from your side and hurry off towards the paint-filled shelving, admiring each tube like a child visiting the aquarium and seeing fish up close for the first time.

Chuckling to yourself, you followed him, giving the shopkeeper a nod of acknowledgement as you passed by. Rafayel was far too lost in examining colored pencils now to even notice you were standing behind him, but it didn't matter, just getting to see him so happy and distracted was endearing sweet. While he browsed, lost in his own world of imagination, your attention drifted over to a set of little glazed clay sculptures sitting on a small display case. There were an assortment of little animal figurines, some of dogs, cats, mice, and little piggies, but the one that stood out to you the most was this beautiful rainbow fish that had apparently been dipped in glitter while the glaze was still wet. Casting a look over your shoulder, you saw Rafayel still absorbed in reading the back of a pack of alcohol markers, and decided then and there that that fish would be a gift from you to him.

Quietly, you snatched the fish figurine and padded over to the register, whispered a short "I'd like to buy this" to the shopkeeper, who likely saw the whole thing and knew what you were planning, and in under a minute or two, you had paid for your gift and had it placed neatly in a little gift bag small enough to be concealed behind your back. When Rafayel finished his shopping, which wasn't long after you finished yours, you followed him out of the art store, offering to carry his bags for him, which he accepted. It didn't occur to him that you had seemingly left the art store empty-handed, which was great, it gave you the element of surprise.

Once you were home, Rafayel went to put his new things away in his studio, giving you time to sneak into his room and leave the fish figurine on his nightstand, where he would surely find it later. "Later" turned out to be a few minutes after you left his room. You didn't have to ask him if he liked it; his excited shrieking and whooping told you more than words ever could.

"Awwww!" You heard him squealing as he practically flew off the stairs and into your arms. "I love it! Thank you thank you thank yooou!"

"How do you know I gave it to you?" You smirked, deciding to confuse him.

"Who else knows who I really am?" He returned, throwing his arms around your shoulders. "It could only be you."

You had to admit, he got you there, so you rewarded him with a kiss.

"It's a present," You said, upon pulling away. "A present for my beautiful merman."

"Aww," Rafayel cooed, burying his head in the crook of your neck to hide his raging blush.

[kvroomi]

May i request megumi headcanons or drabble about him having a pet shop? Have a nice day

in good company

author note: I DIDNT REALISE I HAD THIS SITTING IN MY INBOX IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER TO GET AROUND TO!! this started becoming a little too self indulgent but i hope you enjoy it anyways! :)

☆ pairing: petshopowner! megumi x fem!customer! reader

☆ word count: ~1.6k (got carried away,, whoops!)

Megumi believes he's lost 10 years of his life span since beginning this shift.

The entire place is bustling; voices are overlapping and the faint music he plays every morning over the speakers can no longer be heard as more customers pile in. Suffering from the worst migraine, Megumi thinks he can feel himself begin to grow two heads as he tries to simultaneously watch over the two young children playing around with the newly rescued cat and the old lady who’s poking her finger inside the cage of parrots. He notices her scolding them for being too loud and he lets out a deep sigh as she grows even angrier when they spit her complaints back verbatim, mockingly.

The "NO YELLING" sign attached to the cage that’s only inches from the old woman's face (who ironically is currently yelling), is written in glaring red marker. It stares back at him and for a second he thinks that if it grew a face and some arms, it'd start pointing and laughing at him. The boy’s hand drags down his face as he groans at the thought.

To anyone else, they'd think the sign was written to warn the customers not to disturb the birds. But Megumi knows he wrote it for the parrots, sternly telling them to "keep it down," as he taped the sign onto the cage.

He knows they can't read and deep down he knows they don't even understand half of what he mutters to them—but if parrots could talk and respond to even just some of his conversation, then what was stopping them from learning how to read and comprehend a single set of instructions?

He walks over to the old woman, placing a warm hand on her back and guiding her away from the squawking parrots. Once her back is turned, Megumi sends them all a dirty look: a silent message that says he'll be giving them a lecture once everyone is gone.

Bringing her up to the counter and rambling about how “the birds have been in a mood today”, he offers her a 10% discount for pet food with her next visit. She laughs as he hands her the coupon and tells him “[she'd] love to have a sweet boy like him, come over to cat-sit for [her] while [she's] away”.

Megumi smiles and tells her she's welcome to come by any time and help him schedule it, all whilst ushering her out of the store. He desperately needs one less customer to worry about.

As he shuts the door, waving goodbye to her from afar, he mentally curses out Yuuji for calling in sick at the last minute. He'll have to stop by and bring him some soup to make sure he's alive.

The thought of food reminds Megumi that the animals must be hungry. Glancing up at the time, the boy takes note of his lunch break in the next 10 minutes.

He walks around the store, informing everyone that the shop will be closing soon for the next half hour.

The place is filled with warm and friendly smiles; gentle biddings of farewell fill the air. Despite the comforting atmosphere, Megumi has to hold back from grimacing through each entire interaction from how awfully his feet ache.

Thankfully and slowly, he watches as people collect their belongings. He listens patiently for the ring of the bell above the door.

There are still a handful of customers wandering around and collecting last-minute items so he watches from the counter—waiting. Shaking out his arms, he moves to crane his neck over on either side, pausing once he feels the familiar popping sensation of his muscles relaxing.

It’s sudden, and his stretching is halted when he notices. His arms have stopped high in the air. His heart plunges and it’s an immediate swell of anxiety that consumes him.

2 ferrets: Rose and Violet–both of whom are starkly distinct in colour when in comparison to their third companion who is banded with brown fur accompanying their own completely white appearance.

This also happens to be the same third companion missing from the cage. The black-haired boy winces and a deep line forms across his eyebrows—his face hauled into a tight scowl.

Always trust Lily to be wandering off on her own in the worst circumstances.

After spending the entire morning brisk on his feet and repeating the same "how to care for your new pet" conversation over and over again, Megumi was starting to think that closing the shop a couple of hours early and dealing with getting into trouble would be worth it.

How many more times will he have to clarify that, “No, these fish can not survive in a fishbowl,” or that “No, you will not find any pets here that don’t require any effort.” The three hours of sleep he had been functioning off of was ultimately starting to deplete and now on top of everything, he had an escape-artist-ferret he needed to locate.

Oh, the pleasures of working in a pet shop.

Imagine his surprise when he's hauled from his thoughts by the hasty clatter of cans and a foreign shriek, rushing over to the pet food aisle to discover you—frozen in place with Lily attached to the bottom of your pants, looking incredibly pleased with herself.

All prior apprehensions about whether or not Megumi was going to make it out of the shift alive had instantly vanished, and he found himself standing clueless in the middle of the aisle. He’s uncertain of how to approach you because ‘holy shit’, you were just so pretty.

Had you been in the shop the entire time?

All you planned to do today was drop by your local pet store and pick up a couple of packs of treats for your cat Winston. What you didn’t plan to do, was get jumped by a brown and white ferret that flew straight for your face while reaching for a can of cat food.

A soft “ahem” entices you to turn around.

It's brief, but you lock eyes with his own and Megumi swears he can feel his legs buckle from underneath him. He reminds himself that he’s probably just exhausted, shoving down any other ideas that it could be because of you.

“I’m so sorry about her.”

He’s the first to speak, and though his voice may have cracked mid-sentence and he can feel how coarse his throat is getting from the nerves—Megumi hopes that the gentle smile he offers is enough to distract you from it.

And it is, because currently all your thoughts are occupied with how you believe his smile alone could heal every bad day you’ve ever had in this lifetime. You want to tattoo the inside of your eyelids with a picture of his smile, just so you could see it even with your eyes closed and in your dreams. But you couldn’t possibly say that to him, so you settle for the next best line of dialogue.

“I didn’t realise I was a hit with the ferrets.”

Your comment makes Megumi laugh, and he thinks it’s his first, honest laugh since he started work this morning.

“She’s usually quite picky.”

He’s closer now, and your eyes watch as he squats down. His hands are soft and gentle as he attempts to guide Lily off your pants and into his open palms.

Your gaze wanders and you take note of his many rough calluses and lingering scratches that line his fingers, evidence of the hard work and pieces of him that are so beautifully human. Your voice catches in your throat, desperate to uncover the many anecdotes he holds—desperate for your own piece of his humanness. It’s the second time that you are forced to say something else on your mind.

“It seems she’s quite persistent too.”

Megumi lets his eyes trail upwards with a soft chuckle as the small ferret climbs up your leg and then your back, choosing to nestle herself in the deep crevice of the side of your neck. Even though you know Megumi is probably more concentrated on the ferret than what you looked like in the current second, you can’t help the anxious thoughts that run rapidly though your head when you notice his vision follow along the edges of your face.

Did you put on enough lip balm today? Your lips weren’t dry right now were they?

It took a lot of mental strength to not unconsciously bring your hand up to check your lips. Instead, you chose to purse them tightly to hide the awkward smile developing at Megumi’s next sentence.

“I’d go as far as to say she has good taste.”

And that’s when you can feel your breath stop. The isle feels constricting and hot, and the sudden appearance of sweat in your palms makes your mouth feel dry.

His tall figure is standing back up and moving towards the cans that were knocked over seconds earlier—tender hands aiding them to stand back up. He was avoiding eye contact.

Your silence makes Megumi’s stomach churn uncomfortably and he’s already turning his head around, mouth halfway open and ready to apologise when you let out a louder-than-intended and impulsive “thank you.”

It’s cute how bashful you both are, faces avoiding one another and warm smiles yearning to be exchanged.

It’s you who decides to break the pause in the moment. Though upon realising what you had just said, it almost sends you into a psychosis on the spot.

“I guess her and I have that in common.”

This time, it’s Megumi whose gaze snaps towards yours in an instant, a bright grin decorating his face alongside a soft pink hue that was slowly forming across his cheeks.

He thinks he may have just gained back the 10 years he lost earlier.

AUTHOR NOTE: just a little something to keep you all at bay while i work on ‘right person, wrong address’ enjoy! ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

all reblogs and likes are appreciated :)

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[gatorbites-imagines]

I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to do John Constantine x male!reader who is like Dean from spn, maybe just a one shot of him meeting the reader and being like “I want that one.” Preferably no smut but if that’s what you’d like go for it! Ofc feel free to deny the request if you don’t want it!

-Crow

John Constantine x male reader

Headcanons

I honestly don’t know a lot about supernatural, the closest I’ve gotten to it has been reading smut about the characters sometimes. So, if the personality is wrong, its cuz I got no supernatural experience.

You were a hunter in the magical world, but you were different from most of the others. That difference being you had no magic or supernatural powers. You were just a guy, with his gun, his car, and his knowledge gained from the lifestyle.

You were well known because you had stopped the apocalypse side by side with your brother and some other allies, some of those allies being angels, demons, and anything in-between. But through it all, you stayed human, which is pretty damn impressive.

After saving the world from yet another apocalypse, you and your friends and family had decided to slow down with the whole hunter thing. Your brother found his other half and got married, they’re expecting their first kid. Your angel allies seem to be out experiencing the world, though you all keep in touch.

You were the only one still active in the hunger community, though you had settled away from the extreme, world devouring demons and beasts and returned to your roots. Those being smalltown issues, like werewolves running berserk, or some fae putting a village under her spell.

It helped settle some of the constant anxiety and paranoia in your bones, as these small things felt like coming home after fighting for humanity for many years.

That was what led you to where you were now. Sitting in a bar in some small village out in the boonies, the kind of place that had one grocery store, one bar, and one liquor store. A vampire seemed to have settled on turning this small remote down into their own personal blood bank, so you’d settled out and gotten rid of the thing.

Constantine had been passing through, headed for the exact same vampire as you. Both to kill them, but also to take their collection of ancient magical tombs. Sadly, for Constantine, you had made a habit of burning down the homebases of the things you hunted, so nothing like it would settle there again.

Constantine had tracked you down using magic, maybe wanting to whoop your ass just a bit for destroying the books he had been after. He expected some green hunter, who’d just picked up their first silver dagger or bottle of holy water, so color him surprised when he saw you of all people.

Constantine would know who you were, because of the whole, saving humanity from the apocalypse thing. Hed think you were a lot more handsome than the rumors told, even with your scars and tattoos. There was something about the way you carried yourself that got under his skin in the best way.

So, instead of starting anything, Constantine would saddle up beside you and start his flirting spiel. You, of course, would also know who he was. What respectful hunter wouldn’t know John Constantine, because anywhere he went, trouble always followed.

You being you though, flirted with him in return in your own way, though neither of you expected much to come out of your meeting, even as you shared numbers after stumbling out of the bar drunk off your asses.

You had completely forgotten about having his number, and Constantine was the same, until one of you found the number and texted the other in a moment of boredom.

It would take a while for the two of you to become close, as this business always came with paranoia and a lot of backstabbing. But your mutual interest grew, though Constantine will never admit it, he fell hardest, and he fell first.

Expect a lot of flirting from him, which you always respond too by flirting right back at him. It would probably take you both a whole to accept that you have feelings for the other, and even longer for either of you to confess because you’re both emotionally constipated and don’t think you deserve happiness.

It ends up being your brother that gets you to confess, or he would probably tell Constantine that you like him on accident or in a passing comment. Constantine wouldn’t believe it in the beginning, until he would mention it around you, and you end up confirming that you feel that way.

You both try to play it cool, not wanting to come across as desperate or too lovesick, but one thing leads to another and you two become a thing.

It doesn’t change your dynamic a whole lot, outside of the fact that you can kiss whenever you want now. Constantine might also be sneaking protective magic and runes into everything you own, just in case, even though you are only taking small hunts now.

In the same way you always find ways to protect Constantine even without magic, resulting in at some point pummeling a demon half to death for trying to demand Constantine’s soul. It just makes your lover even more attracted to you, so win for you.

Your relationship has moments of long distance, as you drive around wherever your job takes you, and Constantine is needed all over the world, but you are both loyal and just make up for lost time next time you see each other.

[colderdrafts]

How about the reader teaching the Driders how to kiss?- on the mouth.

*Kiss on the cheek for you* You are an amazing writer and I look forward to more of your writing.

You get a lil cheek kiss back thank u <3

Ooooh that's a neat idea. This got a little away from me (as things tend to do..) Whoops. I wanted to explore how both the spoods would react to a sorta similar experience, and had a lot of fun with how they respond differently. Anyhoo, class in session? I guess? Enjoy!

Tw for suggestive content (as one can imagine)

It's rare for Dren to venture outside the cave for any reason other than to get supplies. But, ever observant, he's taken note of your stir crazy and subtly spending longer and longer outside whenever you go to catch some sunlight.

So he's strapped the basket sheltering his young to his abdomen and gone with you for a little outing, for no other reason than to look at the changing leaves in the forest, some fresh air, and enjoying spending time with you.

You ask him about the surroundings, and he eagerly puts his odd collection of knowledge to good use when indulging you. You can always name and recognize at least three new species of plants whenever he does this. It may not be useful knowledge to you, but it is endearing watching Dren excitedly talk about things, loosening up a little around you.

You enjoy his company underneath the extensive forest canopy, sunlight filtering through the leaves and a brisk, cold wind. You pull you cloak a little closer and step to Dren's side for warmth as you walk, idly chatting along the way.

The peace is broken when the sound of other people speaking reach your senses. Dren stops moving to look for the source, suddenly going quiet again. The path ahead splits, and further away you see another group of common-folk slowly coming toward the path you're currently on.

You glance up at your companion. He stares at the strangers approaching with eyes narrowed, like he's trying to figure out how to diffuse a ticking time bomb. You know he's sensing for a shift of vibrations in the air, considering if he should be on guard or not.

You sigh, knowing his anxiety is already running ragged. You don't want what was supposed to be a fun shared experience triggering his overprotective instincts, but the way his dark lower body changes its stance like prepping for an impact tells you it already has. His paranoia still gets the best of him at times.

"We're just gonna pass them by," you offer quietly, running a hand over the sensitive black hairs on his front leg. He seemingly snaps out of it, and focuses on you instead. "Just like at the marketplace. Easy as pie. Who'd stop us, right?"

Dren nods, calming himself at your words and starts walking again, following your lead. Though you notice he steps a little heavier than usually. Surprising, considering he can be completely soundless if he wants to remain undetected, but it may be for the benefit of the common-folk you're about to cross paths with.

Less incentive to act on surprise if they hear him coming.

And they do, the group practically stops dead in their tracks at your approach, conversations cut short, several eyes staring - a family of five, it seems, three adults and two adolescents. They're a group of some sort of humanoid canines.

You push forward, however. If you stop too, you're admitting it's a standoff. You've learned to play it off casually. Dren stays close enough so you can feel the weight of his presence right behind you.

"Good afternoon," you offer politely as you get closer, an unspoken ask for peace.

"G'afternoon," one of the adults reply, silently agreeing to it.

Most of the group turn to keep on their way, though one of them stops to look you over. Something about their stance makes you glance at them once more.

The spear they carry on their back tells you they're not just any common-folk. The way they carefully watch you puts you a little on edge. Dren notices too, and you can literally feel the dangerous shift in his energy as someone who's clearly a hunter shows just a little too much interest in you.

The family hurries past, waiting further down the road, as Dren calmly steps to your front, one leg blocking you from view. You glance under his abdomen, and the legs carrying his young clutch the side of the basket, as if subtly preparing to tear it from himself. He's readying in case he has to quickly hand them to you.

"Leave us be," Dren says, voice steady and sure, though you note his claws gripping at the ground. "There will be no conflict if you do not make it one."

"I intend not to," the hunter replies cautiously, arms out in a placating gesture. Unarmed. They return their attention to you. "Sentry. Are you alright?"

Dren can't hide a subtle hiss when the hunter addresses you, and you put a hand on his waist to calm him. You frown. Why would a hunter of all people show concern for you?

"I'm fine. Leave us alone," you reply shortly.

The hunter watches you for an uncomfortably long moment, though glances at Dren and wisely decides not to push it. They turn, and go to follow the rest of their group.

You turn as well, silently grabbing Dren's hand to pull him with you.

"Blue moons, they're nasty up close," one of them breathes when they think you're out of earshot.

"Poor thing," another whispers. "They're always completely brainwashed."

You quickly send a rough glare back in their direction, though it seems the group is focusing on moving on, and they don't catch it. You ignore them instead, and gently nudge Dren to keep moving, praying he didn't hear that.

His very stoic silence proves that, unfortunately, he did.

Once you've covered some ground, and sure you're alone again, you gently pull at Dren's arms to make him turn towards you and lean down. He's avoiding your eye and fidgeting.

"Hey, don't listen to them," you assert, gently moving a stray black hair from his face, hand resting on his furred shoulder. "You know they just don't get it, and they're not interested to learn. That's on them."

"But their words are always on us," he growls, uncomfortably stepping in place. He looks at you, sighs, and softly leans into your hands, resting his forehead against yours. "But not to worry, I'm not listening to them. I'm not sad. I'm angry."

"And you have every right to be," you agree, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "They're being extremely rude for no reason. I'm sorry to drag you out here and then this happens of all things. Let's just get back."

You go to pull away, but Dren puts a palm on your face to stop you, staring at you curiously. You peer back, a little confused. His anger has seemingly all but evaporated all of a sudden.

"What was that?" he inquires, chittering quietly.

"What was what?"

He tilts his head at you. "You put your mouth on my face."

Oh. You did, didn't you?

Wait, is this the first time you've kissed him? You didn't even think about it. It just came so naturally in the situation to reassure him, enjoying his proximity, indulging his warmth -

"Shit, dude, I'm so sorry," you realize in horror. If he doesn't even know what a kiss is- "I should have asked -"

"No, no, it's alright," Dren says quickly. He keeps his hand on your chin, not letting you look away. His gaze softens. "Actually - could you do it again?"

You feel a flutter in your stomach. "Again - give you a kiss?"

"If that's what it was, yes," he says, a small smile playing on his lips. "The gesture seems regular to you? If you want, I'd like to try it again."

His vicinity and complete earnestness is not doing wonders for you at the moment. Neither is the direct fixation in his eyes, like he's just daring you to look anywhere else. He's drawing you in again, as effortlessly as ever. You wonder if he even knows he does this.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Does he realize how awkward this is? Perhaps he just doesn't care. Ever patient, he just watches you think things through.

But you do perhaps want to kiss him again. Just to give it a try? It couldn't hurt to show him the ropes, could it?

"Okay - but I'm going to do it a little differently this time, if that's alright?" you ask. "If I do this, I want to do it right."

Dren nods, intrigued. "Go ahead."

Your heart start hammering as you reach the back of his head to slowly guide him to you, leaning in and gently brushing your lips across his. You can feel him tensing a little, fingers ghosting over your neck and chin, unsure where to put them. He's angling himself to better accommodate your movements. Even though you're taking the lead, he's trying his best to be careful.

Christ, has Dren always been this soft and warm? You know he can be, but this is like experiencing him again. You recognize the gentle energy within him calmly reaching for you, and you melt into him in a completely new way.

You can feel something sharp on your lip, his pointed teeth and mandibles brushing across your lips and face as he leans in further, looking for more - but the little stings don't matter. You know for sure that any danger he possesses would never be a danger to you. You carefully move your lips against his, and he copies you, eager to learn this new skill, his warmth completely engulfing you like a soft blanket of trust.

When you finally pull away again he's seemingly breathless, and so are you. You only notice now he's completely curled both his pedipalps and legs around yours, pressing close up against you like a lifeline. A deep, guttural purr escapes him as he stares, obsidian eyes sizing you up like a starved man going for seconds. The sound lights a fire in your stomach, your heart leaping out your throat as your face burns.

"Woah dude, not in front of the kids," you blurt, borderline hoarse.

Dren blinks, the spell officially broken, and bumps his face into your shoulder, howling with laughter.

"No, fuck - ugh," you groan at your own lack of filter for ruining the heated moment. "I'm so sorry," you laugh, holding onto him to hide your face.

Dren pulls you to him and lifts you off the ground effortlessly, losing himself in the moment to hold you close. You steady yourself with arms around his shoulders to keep balanced at the rapid movement.

Dren's laugh settles as he rests his face in the crook of your neck, breathing deeply.

"I've not laughed like this in my life before you came around," he says, softly nudging you. "Please never apologize for that."

"I'll apologize for not handling this well," you argue, running your fingers over the back of his head. "I really think you should be able to enjoy a kiss, especially if it's the first time you're doing it."

Dren pulls back to look at you fondly, supporting your weight with his front legs.

"I did enjoy it. Very much," he chuckles, pressing his face against your cheek. "Perhaps I just need to learn to contain myself, should you ever wish to do this again."

************************************************************************

It's been a quiet day today, taking a break at an idyllic lakeside deep in the forest. Morgan has their mind set on a small town they've never seen and you're prepping to spend the night in this little safe spot underneath the stars before you reach it tomorrow.

You've finished starting a fire and settled back when Morgan suddenly sneaks up behind you, pressing their face against your cheek and chittering. You let out a not so dignified sound at the startle.

"What?" you grumble at them, waving their hair out of your face. "Don't you have a task to do?"

"You should pay more attention to your surroundings," Morgan purrs, eyeing you. "You must be tired. Good thing the pod is all finished and ready for sleeping. I just need you now."

"Don't hold your breath," you mutter, and look up to the canopy above.

Indeed it seems the webbing they've spun to accommodate you both for the night is finished, expertly secured and up high, spreading out over multiple trees. They did all of this this surprisingly quick. The strong, silky strings glint slightly in the dwindling sunlight, looking rather impressive, you reluctantly admit.

Morgan is nothing if not efficient. And so, so eerily quiet when they want to be. You hardly noticed as they worked right above you.

They watch you admire their construction, obviously pleased with themself. You avoid their eyes by looking into the flames in front of you.

"I'll take your deafening silence as approval," Morgan teases. They lie down next to you, flat on their torso, resting their head in their hands, abdomen stretching behind them.

"Also, I found something when moving about. I thought you might like it," they add, holding out a clenched hand to you, something hidden in their palm.

You eye them cautiously, assessing their nonchalant expression and easy smile as they eagerly watch you right back. Gingerly, you put you palm out to accept the offer.

They unfurl their clawed fingers, dropping a small soft object in your hand. It's some sort of flower head with blueish-white petals, stretching almost like small tendrils.

"These are good for insomnia," Morgan explains softly at your confused expression. "You've been having trouble sleeping lately, and they grow a lot around here. If you want, I'll show you how to make use of them."

That's - oddly considerate. Well, in many ways, they are. Your thriving and consequent survival means theirs as well, after all.

Though something in the back of your mind tells you not to let Morgan give you something that'll leave you even more defenseless in your sleep. There's, after all, a very good reason you've not been sleeping well lately. And it might have to do with sharing your sleeping space with an incredibly dangerous predator.

No matter how much their proximity calms you immensely.

As if sensing your train of thought, Morgan leans into your side, resting a head on your shoulder. You can practically feel the anxiety flee your body like it's scared of them.

"Just let me know," they hum at your silence. "I wish you'd just let me help you instead, though. I could lull you to sleep pretty easily."

You lean your head against theirs heavily. "So why haven't you?"

"Because I want you, to want me, to do it," they shrug, absentmindedly running a hand over your arm. "But I understand I can't right now. My sentry doesn't trust me at all. So, for now, let's keep this as a backup if your insomnia gets worse, hm?"

This is honestly surprising. For all their unpleasantness, Morgan at least seems somewhat genuine when it comes to taking care of your health. You can't trust them, but you can at least trust their consistency in being hellbent on keeping you alive. This little gesture is just further proof of that. You sure don't feel like you owe them anything, because you don't. But perhaps you can throw them a bone for this one. If you're stuck together anyway, might as well reward good behavior.

"Thank you," you sigh, absentmindedly pressing a small kiss to the top of their head still resting on your shoulder. They smell faintly of grass and sweat. "I'll keep it in mind."

Morgan slowly pulls away from said shoulder in favor of staring into you, an inch away from your face. You recoil at the startling change as their red eyes zero in on you.

"What was that, sentry?" they ask curiously, lowly, tilting their head. You can feel their breath, their energy fluttering against you.

And it only now occurs to you what you just did without thinking. What possible consequences could it have giving Morgan that type of affection? And after all this work, being so careful to not indulge them. Foolish.

"Nothing," you brush it off quickly, turning to grab a stick to stoke the fire unnecessarily.

Morgan keep hovering close, and you feel their hand curl softly around your shoulder. You don't need to look to know they've got that obnoxiously knowing expression on their face. They get it whenever you try to hide something, your fluster never failing to be extremely amusing to them.

"Nothing? Then why are you so embarrassed?" they tease, nudging your side.

"It was a little kiss," you snark, resisting the urge to glower at them. You don't want to look at that face again. "I think you know that very well."

"Kiss," they repeat, tasting the word and casually trailing their fingers over your neck. You shiver. "I don't think I do. Care to explain it to me? It's very soft. I like it."

Their hands settle over your chin, gently turning you to face their humored staring. You can't tell if they truly don't know, or if they're just enjoying watching you squirm with this. They seem relaxed, and you can feel its infectious energy traveling through you as well. An attempt at reassurance.

They do genuinely seem intrigued, however. And this wouldn't be the first time you've had to explain a certain social etiquette to them. They're well versed in most things from watching others, obviously a fast learner with a keen memory and ability to mimic - but sometimes, certain things like this has just somehow escaped them. A life of pure, cold solitude could do that, supposedly.

But do you really have to explain this to them? They look at you expectantly as if you do.

"Fine," you cave, mentally preparing for the havoc you're about to cause. "Kissing is a way to show affection. You've got a lot a sensitive nerves in the lips, and just pressing them against someone feels nice. I didn't really think about it right now, so you shouldn't either."

Morgan doesn't say anything for a bit, considering your words. Then they simply grasp your chin, briskly lean in, and press their lips against your forehead. They're being careful, analyzing the situation and the best approach like always. Regardless, your breath gets caught in your throat.

You can feel the fangs of their mandibles scraping across your skin, a faint but very stark reminder of the paralyzing venom that runs through them. It makes you freeze in place, gripping at their wrists on instinct, unsure if it's a search for safety or an act of silent plea.

Morgan hums lowly at your reaction, sensing unease and attempting to calm it by gently brushing their hands over your skin, like smoothing out tension. Oddly enough, it works. It always does. You relax a little bit, like any nervousness has just been deftly removed. Reassured, Morgan pulls away again.

"You're right. It does feel nice," they whisper, tilting your head up to meet their eye again, searching your face. "You did it first. So why are you suddenly so agitated?"

There's no point in lying to them point blank like this. The annoying arachnid can all but smell it. "Your fangs," you reply simply.

They blink. Then they chuckle fondly, cupping your chin and brushing a thumb over your cheek. "Sentry, even if I could pierce your skin on accident, nothing would happen without me wanting it to. If anyone gets to feel my venom it will always, always, be because it's on purpose."

You look them in the eye, trying to ignore the subtle way their voice curls around your senses. "And that's why you did it that one time?"

They give you a look like you're being silly and lean in again, forehead against yours, legs curling around your space. "Only on purpose, and when necessary. Unpleasant, but harmless. You know I'd never hurt you."

You hesitate. "Do I?"

"I have been trying to show you," Morgan offers with a sigh. They frown, thinking for a bit. "But if my kind of affection doesn't work, perhaps your kind will? Are there other ways you'd do this?"

You get a mental image of Morgan's lips on yours and your face flushes. You can tell if it's by disgust or need, and the contrast makes you squeamish. You know Morgan has honed in on an idea from the way their smile stretches. Crap.

"There is, isn't there?" they purr.

You just nod an affirmative. You can't even pull back. Do you even want to? There's just the red of their eyes in your mind, and their palms on your cheeks.

Morgan keeps the suffocating closeness, smiling as they lock your focus on them completely. "Show me."

Their face barely an inch from yours, they patiently wait for you to do the rest. They want you to come to them. And you do. You just can't help yourself.

You brush your lips against theirs, careful and soft, their low pleased chittering filling the space. Seems they like it. Encouraged, you lean further into them, drawn by their warmth and reassurance, reaching your hands up to rest against their chest. You can feel them smile through the kiss, and they angle themself to reach you a little better.

You pull back briefly for air, and Morgan follows you, pushing forward and seeking you out again like they're scared you'll vanish if they don't. Something curls around your hips and pulls you closer, you recognize the familiar strong grip of their pedipalps, and their arms slowly wrapping around your torso. Your feet leave the ground as they simply lift you up to meet them better without having to lean down. They lean into you with a contended sigh. Seems they really like this.

"Again," they whisper in your ear, almost sounding giddy. "Let me get it right."

Their lips are on yours again, soft but a little more insisting. As promised their fangs don't pierce your skin, but the prickling impression of danger mixed with the pure endorphin rush from this new sensation you can share with them sends a fire through your system. You can't help but fall back into them, their warmth encompassing both of you in an entirely new intoxicating way. They're a fast learner indeed.

You try to break off for air, and Morgan smiles at you, all fangs and intense staring, their chittering purr almost making your tremble.

"Don't run from me," they hum softly, their breath on your lips. "Trust me."

Their legs settle under you to help support your weight, and you completely relax into them. It's like you're floating. The only thing on your mind is Morgan. They're everywhere around you, against you, within you, pulling at the little connection lodged to your core.

Carefully you poke your tongue out, and perhaps that was a mistake, you're just giving them ideas, but it's just so nice to be in their arms, it always is. They hum, and gently grip the back of your head and push their tongue out against yours in turn. It's warm, so warm, and you just let it in your mouth to explore, messy and experimental. A low growl escapes them at the feeling, and they lean further in, seeking out the taste of you like a moth to a flame.

It seems Morgan doesn't even need the venom to paralyze you. They kiss you like they're prepared to swallow you whole.

[destinedfordiaperstories]

Sammy's Little Problem, Chapter 15

Chapter Fourteen here.

It took a second for Sammy to comprehend how huge Littles’R’Us actually was when they pulled into the parking lot. It made Costco seem small by comparison. This wasn’t going to be a quick trip.

Sammy took a deep breath, trying to not feel so overwhelmed. She couldn’t help but notice Allie was treating her much more like a Little than ever before. Movie night now felt like a lifetime ago. She still didn’t feel like a Little. She felt the same as she did the day she received the news.

Just…with much less bathroom control. And did get a bit sleepier around midday and around 8 PM, and, she had to admit, did have to work harder than usual to not be emotionally overwhelmed. But still, adjusting to being treated like a Little was harder than she expected.

“You ready, Sammy?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Alyssa laughed, “well I guess not, no. But I want you to stay close to me, this store is huge and I don’t want you getting lost, okay? I want you to hold my hand or the cart at all times.”

“I’m not a baby,” Sammy huffed.

“I never said you were, Sammy. I just don’t want you getting lost. What would you do if you got lost? You don’t have the keys to the car. You don’t have a cellphone to call me. What would you do?”

“Well, I would have my cell phone if you didn’t take it away!” Sammy retorted.

“We went over this, Sammy,” Alyssa said sternly, “you don’t need a cellphone like you had. We can get you one designed for Littles in the future, but I don’t want you surfing the web and getting into trouble.”

Sammy stuck her tongue out Allie before she realized she was doing it. Her face flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, that is a great point there, Sammy!” Allie laughed, “now can you hold my hand?”

Sammy did. They walked into the store. It was hard to fathom how large it was. There seemed to be endless rows of Little’s products of all levels. It was so big, Alyssa grabbed a map before heading to the counter.

“Hello,” the woman at the counter said nicely, “how can I help you today?”

“We’re here to get everything set up for my new Little, Sammy,” Alyssa responded.

“What a cutie!” the woman said looking down at Sammy, “the first trip is always so exciting! You get to pick out everything your heart desires, little one!”

Sammy couldn’t bring herself to respond. Instead, she hid behind Alyssa in embarrassment.

“She’s still a bit shy,” Alyssa acknowledged.

“Well, that’s perfectly fine!,” she said to Sammy before turning back to Alyssa, “I can get you set up, did you bring the paperwork from the Littles Registration Office?”

“Yep, right here.”

“Perfect. Okay. So I see Sammy here is a Level Two Little. Most of the L2 supplies are down towards the back. Just head straight down and you can’t miss it. You’ll find the diaper aisle on the way, as well as any of the products that are appropriate for both L1s and L2s, such as bottles, sippy cups, and diaper bags.”

“Great,” Alyssa replied, “but these shopping carts don’t seem big enough to carry everything, though.”

“Whoops, I almost forgot! You’ll use this scanner here to select any of the bigger items you’d want. We offer same day delivery and installation if you finish before noon, which gives you three and a half hours, plenty of time. For things like diapers, you can put some in your cart, but the rest you can scan in and we’ll delivery them along with any furniture. And everything you scan will be added up and once you get to the checkout, the government rebate will automatically deduct from the total and you can pay the difference, if any, there.”

“Thank you so much,” Alyssa says as the woman gives her the scanner, “I think we can figure it out from here!”

Alyssa grabs a cart. “Okay, Sammy, you ready to start?”

“I-I guess,” Sammy whimpers.

Unsurprisingly, the diaper section is huge. There are diapers of every size, thickness, color, interest.

“It look’s like the L2 diapers are a few rows down,” Allie says, consulting the map.

“What’s the difference between L1 and L2 diapers, Allie?”

“Well, L1s and L2s have different needs. Remember, L1s aren’t able to walk or talk, so their diapers need to be different than for L2s. L1 diapers are way thicker since they don’t need to worry about walking. They’re so cute though. I’m sure we could get you some!”

“Sammy laughs nervously, “I think that’s okay, Allie.”

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know!”

They get to the L2 diaper aisles. Sammy sees there are three sections: Daytime Diapers, Nighttime Diapers, and Swim Diapers. Each design had a diaper on display, to let the Littles get a better idea of each design.

“Okay, lets start with daytime diapers,” Allie says, “which ones do you like best, Sammy?”

Sammy’s stomach sank at the question. This made it feel so real. She was going to pick out the diapers she’d wear for the rest of her life.

“I-I don’t know,” Sammy whispers.

Allie pulls Sammy in for a hug. “It’s a lot, I understand, Sammy. But would you rather have me pick out boring, ugly diapers? If you’re going to wear them anyway, you might as choose the ones that match your style!”

Sammy doubted diapers would ever match anyone’s “style,” especially not hers. As she looked around, she definitely didn’t think anyone of these diapers would do that. All of them were in sickening pastel colors or complete with babyish cartoon patterns on them. She started walking down the aisle, seeing her options.

“Look at this one, Sammy!” Allie encouraged, “these one’s have astronauts and these one’s have rockets on them!”

Alyssa knew it was a mistake as soon as she said it. Sure, they did make the most sense for Sammy, but maybe it was still a bit too soon for Sammy to want them.

Sammy teared up almost immediately. It was one thing to go from an adult to a Little, but going from potentially being a rocket scientist, to wearing rockets on her diaper was just too much. Tears welled in Sammy’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sammy, I should have known that was a stupid suggestion! I didn’t mean to upset you!”

“It’s not fair!” Sammy whined, “I don’t want to wear diapers with rockets on them, I want to work on rockets! I want to go home!”

Alyssa kicked herself. She should know how to not set off her own Little’s tantrums, even if this was so new. “Sammy, please, everything is okay. Come here.”

“No!” Sammy shrilled defiantly, stomping her feet, “I won’t do it! I won’t choose a diaper! I won’t be a Little! I won’t I won’t I won’t!”

Sammy’s screams echoed across the store, drawing sympathetic looks from other Caregivers. Alyssa stood there, unsure how to help Sammy.

“It’s okay you’re upset, Sammy. It’s okay to be angry. I know you don’t want to be wearing diapers. These are big emotions, it’s perfectly fine to feel them. But right now you need to choose some, okay? It’s not up for debate.”

Sammy looked mutinous. “I’m not a baby! You can’t make me!”

Alyssa sighed. “Sammy, now is not the time for screaming. I understand you’re frustrated, honey. But you need to calm down and explain to me how you’re feeling, alright? You cannot scream like this in public. Can you take a deep breath for me, Sammy?”

It took a few more stomps, but eventually Sammy gave in and took a deep breath.

“Thank you, Sammy. You’re doing great. Now let all your anger and frustration out as you breathe out, okay? Nice job. One more time. Good girl, Sammy. Now, can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

Sammy took a few steadying breaths. As she did, she felt herself calm down, regaining the clarity she had before. “I-I’m sorry, Allie! Sometimes it feels like I lose control and just want to cry and scream, I don’t know w-what’s happening to me.”

“I understand, Sammy, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“But we can’t yell and scream when that happens, can we? We need to talk about our feelings before they explode, okay?”

“Y-you’re right, Allie.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Sammy. Just promise when you start to feel overwhelmed, you’ll tell me, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Thank you, Sammy. That’s very mature of you. Now, can you help me choose some diapers?”

“Yeah, I can, Allie,” Sammy says, looking back at the rocket ship diapers, “I actually do want them, Allie. I want to see them so I’ll always remember my goal, to be the first Little rocket scientist ever!"

Go to Chapter Sixteen.

[swagmagussupreme]

@whiterose-fans-blog White Rose Event, Day 2: Gundam/Mecha

(I, uh... got carried away with this one. Whoops. Hope this doesn't awaken anything in me [the thing is awake and thrashing {the thing is thinking robots/cyborgs/androids are hot}])

Warnings for body horror, I think. To be safe.

Word count: 5253

Ruby clambered into the mech with much less pomp and coolness than she did anything, but that did little to tame the roaring pound of her blood in her ears. She was magnified, electrified, extremely-freaking-happy-ified. Her nerves were frayed and exposed, the air in her lungs was aflame, and all for one incredible reason:

Today, she would have all her blood replaced with super-drugs and shove a finger-thick metal node into her spine. In other words, she would be a Pilot.

Her mech, a Lancer-class Haema built for speed and offense, was a thing of beauty, and she was beginning to have genuine worries about the trickle of attraction she felt towards its fast edges, its angular shoulders, and the furious triangular wedge of its head. The red upper coating of its paint looked supple and deep, aggressive, while the under-coat of silver shone beneath the arms and over the lower back's delicious curve like moonlight. And when it powered on, when the sharp eyes flashed white and the head split open like a dying spider in reverse, Ruby may have moaned.

So she toppled into the cockpit like a lovestruck fool, the snug fit of her bloodbag suddenly feeling stuffy as she reclined in the full-body seat. She tugged at the suit’s dark collar, which achieved nothing.

“You in?” came her sister’s voice over the interior speakers.

“Y-yeah!” Ruby stuttered in return, overcome with joy. When she realized her informality, she retried, “Uh, I mean, yes sir. Captain Yang. Sir.”

The woman in the speaker snorted. “Just S-L, Rubes. I'm not a Captain yet.”

“Oh, uh… right. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Nervous?”

This time, Ruby was the one to snort. “It's my first time in my Haema. What do you think?”

“Fair enough,” Yang commented, taking an audibly deep breath. “Alrighty, no time to waste, DLR’s gonna drop soon and we’ll be right in the fuck of it. You ready?”

Jitters awoke in Ruby’s stomach. She hadn't even noticed the carrier entering Divine Light Redistribution. Maybe that was why she was nervous. Probably. Yeah. She could almost believe that. “Psh, of course I'm ready.”

Her sister barked a harsh laugh over comms. “Sure,” she said, a worrying hint of rue in her tone. “Sure you are.”

Yang continued in a clinical tone: “This is C-Squad, ready to jack in.”

Another voice, so cold and professional Ruby wasn't sure it was even human, responded: “Affirmative, C-Squad approved to jack.”

Two thick cables dropped from the metal ceiling of the cockpit, dangling off to the side of Ruby’s chair— the neural jack and the transfusion cable— just begging to be installed. She obliged. Two mechanical arms rose from the chair to hold the sides of her head as Ruby slammed the neural jack into the nape of her neck, right through the port of her bloodbag. She bit her lip expectantly.

From the jack, four needles slammed deep into her neck, breaking through the limits of pain that Ruby had known, but that wasn't the main event— these were just sensory dampeners, poking deep to zap her nerves into a state that wouldn't have her dying of shock when the main interface node came in. Her neck tingled, numbing, heralding the node with blunt pressure. Ruby sucked in a breath.

The pressure disappeared as the node backed away, rearing up to slam its almost-blunt tip through her skin, through her muscles almost into the vertebrae. The thing in her neck felt huge, like someone had javelined her with a stick of rebar, but that wasn't even the worst to come. Shackles slammed around her wrists and ankles. She felt the node twist inside her, opening its cap. Blood leaked from her tortured lower lip.

Despite the immense anguish, even with the dampeners, Ruby had managed to keep her noise down to squeaks and heavy breathing, but the final step broke her silence. Uncountable nano-filaments wormed through flesh and bone, hungrily burrowing towards every nerve along her cervical vertrbrae. The invasion of her was maddening not only in its sheer pain— if not for the bloodbag covering her fingers, she would've clawed her fingernails off on the armrests— but also because of the growing sense of agonizing relief she felt. With each nerve interfaced, she became closer to the machine, which only made the pain of her meat seem more alien as every second passed, every shred of anguish a reminder that she was not at her prime. Even as her throat tore itself ragged with wailing, the corners of her lips tugged upwards. Soon, very soon, she would become one with the Haema.

All at once, the agony collapsed into nothing, and she knew it was done. Ruby had unified with the mech, her pain receptors were cut off completely, and even the memory of that suffering was vanishing into dust. Her shackles receded into the seat. Ruby sighed. Now, for the best part.

With practiced ease and a complete lack of worry, Ruby took the transfusion cable and slipped it into the port at the side of her neck. Tubes with razor-sharp tips slipped into her skin with ease, slotting directly into her carotid artery and jugular vein. There was no pain, but the process wasn't a mystery to the studied Pilot. Through the arterial tube came vitae, the saplike blood replacement compound brimming with nanomachines, vasodilators, anticoagulants, and synthesized cells with oxygen carrying capacity at least threefold superior to hemoglobin. The viscous liquid would surge through her, bulging her arteries against her skin, dilating them so much that the tiny vessels in her eyes would leak thick crimson tears. Every inferior blood cell would either be forced up her jugular to get sucked into the Haema or recycled by the vitae until the only thing circulating through Ruby was manmade super-juice. In short, it would make her into a hero.

Which was great because Ruby was born to be a hero, just like her mom was. The proof was literally in her genes— bloodcaller genes— she was made for vitae, and vitae was made for her. She was an offshoot of humanity born from that sanguine primordial soup, and she could utilize the blessed compound in ways no baseliner could. She was tapped into the vitae-amber heart of her Haema, her Haema was tapped into her own lifeblood, and the two of them could dance like figure skaters.

Ruby folded the control sticks forward into her armrests as soon as they popped up. She didn't need them; the mech knew what she wanted.

“Ruby? You good?”

The sound didn't come through a loudspeaker this time, it came directly into her ears as if Yang was physically with her. Her brain was jacked directly into their comms. “Never been better,” she breathed, feeling her voice in her own throat and the Haema’s. “You?”

Yang took a deep breath, sounding much less pleases than her sister. “Yeah. I'm good. Let's fuck this up.” After a pause, she added, “C-Squad, jacked in and ready to go."

“Confirmed, readings all-clear.” The voice pitched up, slightly impressed. “Phenomenal compatibility, Red.”

“Gracias,” Ruby said casually, stepping off the platform and feeling like she'd been reborn anew. She marveled at her hands, the red upper coat of her knuckles, the silver coat of her palms. “Holy crap.”

“Cut the chatter,” Yang chided, her own golden Haema stepping to Ruby’s side. Her movements were so… bulky. Mechanical. Joystick-controlled. Ruby couldn't help but pity her human sister.

“Uh, sorry,” Ruby apologized, willing her words through the chassis comms rather than the radio comms. “Keep forgetting this whole talking thing is a ‘we’ and not a ‘me’ now.”

Yang's eye-roll was audible. “Keep rubbin’ that in, why don'tcha.”

A mechanical voice wailed over the hangar: “EXITING DIVINE LIGHT REDISTRIBUTION, ENGAGING COMPELLED SPEED, COMMENCE IN T-MINUS TWENTY SECONDS;

“BLESSED BE YE FAITHFUL;

“HIS KINGDOM COME;

“HIS WILL BE DONE;

“KNOW HIS LOVE AND KNOW HIS FAITH, AND BE SHELTERED BY ALL THINGS;

“AVE DOMINUS;

“GODSPEED.”

“Ah-men!” Ruby cheered, pumping the giant metal fist of her Haema excitedly.

“Ay-men,” Yang said more plaintively, her own mech perfectly still, awaiting the hangar’s opening. Ruby came to her side.

“Uh, sis?” she asked. “You okay?”

Yang’s Haema twitched its arm a little, the Pilot within probably jolting against her controls. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Just…”

“POWER ASTERN, WAFTING COMPELLER DRIVES, ANCHOR WELL IN T-MINUS TEN SECONDS.

“INCOMING INCOMING INCOMING.”

A dull thump rattled the vessel, making Ruby stumble on her new, much taller legs. Yang righted her with a hand, perfectly still. Her chassis crackled with her voice.

“Ruby, we'll be okay.”

Ruby looked at her sister's Haema. It was boxier than her own, Bulwark-class, rigid and cubic with giant proportions that made Ruby's look like a ballerina, but she knew that Yang could probably pilot that thing better than she could, even as a bloodcaller. Such was dictated by Yang's experience, which she had in spades over her sister. In an attempt to reassure her, Ruby took the staff of her weapon from her back and held it in a stern, at-ready stance. “Of course we will,” Ruby decided. “You're the best there is, and I'm right behind ya.”

Yang snorted.

“ANCHOR WELL ESTABLISHED. HANGAR DOORS OPENING.”

“I'm alright,” Yang said humbly. “But you'll be the best. Just… don't try too hard, okay?”

Ruby blinked, which she felt in her Haema despite it not having eyelids, which was weird. “What?”

The hangar doors shot open in a blink. Yang shoved her out with one hand, and Ruby tumbled weightless into hell.

The battle was already well underway. They were just reinforcements meant to turn the tide. The carrier they'd taken was barely within the outer area of the battle, but it was already alight with long-range sabot fire and dazzling anti-countermeasure lasers, so Ruby got a dramatic view of her sister thrusting out of the open hangar amid a dramatic backdrop spectrum of lights and explosions. Her big golden box of a Haema flew straight towards the battle’s distant center, producing a pair of tower shields that she covered her front with.

“Fall in, Red,” Yang commanded sternly over the comms, her voice a crackle as the signal fought through the background radiation of nebular space. “P-formation.”

Ruby shook her head and willed her giant mechanical body to thrust, her vitae-enhanced senses drinking every minute detail of the battle. When she blinked, she felt thick crimson crawling down her cheeks, and when she breathed, she felt like she could drink the world.

Falling behind the cover of her sister's giant shields, she observed what she could.

The battle was mostly gun-against-gun, no boarding vessels or ramming ships visible amid the chaos, with the Divine Hierarchy's ships clustered like a star in the center, a ball of purifying fire and plasma that lashed out against the surrounding seculars and belligerents. The fleet of God's enemies was numerous, consisting of smaller vessels concentrating fire like flies on honey, with larger vessels fanning out along the outskirts and firing from range, proudly displaying their cowardice. Ruby snarled and shouldered her weapon, a custom-made lance that she'd been designing her whole life in anticipation of this.

“Easy, rookie,” Yang admonished. “Engagement path coming to you… now.”

Bright green dots lit up a track leading in towards the center of the conflict, then out.

“Huh? What is this, hit and run?” Ruby complained. “Come on, let me get in there!”

“Red!” Yang snapped, making her sister jump. “This is not a game, and this is not school! You will stay on my ass and shoot what I tell you to shoot! Got that?”

A surge of defiance welled up between Ruby’s teeth, red and sweet and hot, but she bit down until it subsided. “Yes, sir.”

Yang flashed her mech's glowing green eyes at Ruby for just a second before turning forward again. “Now, if you'd actually wait, you'd learn that we're just dipping in to silence a particularly loud gunboat, then we'll be dashing out to start hunting some of the command carriers. No good dogfighting in the center, anyways, too much flak.”

Ruby felt her face and the Haema’s face go warm. “Oh.”

“Now get that stupid thing pointing forward, we’ll be lining up soon, and I wanna see what it can do.”

“Right!” the rookie Pilot agreed, instantly cheering up. She whipped the staff of her weapon around and shifted her thumb along its side, releasing bipods that she hooked along the front of Yang's shields. With her other hand, she slotted a sabot the size of her Haema's middle and index fingers into the giant gun's receiver, feeding the maw of her monstrous Crescent Rose as she slammed the bolt forward. She felt the barrel start to hum in her hands— in her Haema's hands, which felt exactly like her own— and mentally requested a targeting solution. Seeing a digital alignment with her barrel and an alignment to the target, she matched the two lines. The gunboat, so far away and roaring with so many cannons, looked like prey, and Ruby slavered for it.

“Ready,” she managed to say, holding herself back despite the scarlet lust in her veins.

“Fire when—”

Ruby felt the round blast in her metal hands, jolting her back against Yang's shields, the explosive primer kickstarting the sabot through the railgun’s coils and slingshotting it out the barrel so fast that the first impact with the gunboat's aft shields turned the tip into plasma— which was perfectly according to plan. The front half of the sabot vaporized a bright blue, tearing a hole through the shield that ferried the round’s second, denser half straight into the hull. The projectile tore through the gunboat like a meteorite through paper, blasting out an exit wound that had the small vessel looking like a big metal flower. Its guns sputtered out one last breath before the whole ship started to blankly list, dead.

Ruby’s cheeks hurt from her grin, and she'd smiled hard enough to split the bites she'd made just before the interface node. Vitae bubbled to the wounds, sweet and viscous, congealing over them like amber. “Did you see that?” she asked, feeling her voice a little frantic. “Now we veer out, right? To the big ship?”

Yang’s voice came out like a worried stare. “Yes. Just… keep following my lead.”

Ruby, despite herself, giggled as Yang turned them both tangentially along the main sphere of combat, skirting the worst of it and blasting towards the outer limits. The carrier, a fat, juicy obelisk of a ship, came into sight quickly, looking like a ripe fruit produced just for her. Ruby slid another rectangular primer into its slot, then racked a new sabot. She wouldn't need a targeting solution for this. “Ready."

Yang, surprisingly, took a while. She said nothing while Ruby dithered impatiently, feeling her gun’s hum, her finger itching on the trigger. They came closer, kept coming closer, and Ruby had to hunker down behind her sister’s shields as they came within range of the carrier’s guns.

“Yang! Yang!”

The golden Haema beneath her jolted. “Fire!”

Ruby breathed a sigh even before she pulled the trigger. The primer exploded, the round flew free, and she could track the sabot’s blistering line towards the carrier’s center, where it'd rip through the shields and tumble through whatever mass of important stuff lay vulnerable beneath the shell of its hull. Then the whole thing would explode hotly, and Ruby could bask in the satisfaction of heroism, knowing she saved her faithful brethren and damned the seculars.

Only, the sabot never struck the hull, never ripped at the big carrier’s juicy insides, because something— some-frigging-how— deflected it. A bright shape, either white or blue, stood between her and her prey.

Then Ruby was tumbling, because Yang had been completely ripped out from under her, thrust out as a spiraling mass of yellow and violet— another Haema, Ruby realized, wrestling with her sister and somehow holding its own!

Her control thrusters blasted, Ruby splayed her arms and legs wide, and she flourished her staff into both hands. Charging after her sister, the lance shunted out a long blade from its tip. The Lancer became its namesake, spear held straight and true as the vitae in Ruby's system coursed with a lust for combat.

Her charge was arrested by a blur of blinding white. Another Haema stood before her, a blue-limned buckler on its right forearm and a long white sword in its left hand. It was smooth and articulated, formed like a porcelain suit of ancient plate armor, complete with resplendent blue pauldrons that supported a bright cyan cape. Its eyes were a baleful, clashing red, locked perfectly onto Ruby’s— in and out of the Haema.

She felt something. Some… tugging. A pull at her heart and her veins and her brain. A familiar feeling.

Ruby stared into those glowing scarlet eyes and felt a hunger. A clawing need. A lust and a desperation that Ruby had never seen in anyone else before.

Another bloodcaller.

“Achtung, Bauer!” rocketed a voice from that knightly Haema, haughty and high-pitched. “You stand in ze presence of Schnee! In your thick skull, realize zat resistance is futile! Your God has abandoned you!”

Of course, the first time she'd ever met another bloodcaller, they were crazy. “What?”

“Zis is your last chance! Drop ze lance!”

Ruby blinked, the gears in her skull going ka-klunk and slipping into rapid motion, slapping her with realization: she would fight a fellow bloodcaller. And on her first day!

Ruby lowered the tip of her spear in a move that she hoped looked honorable and flared her stabilizers. “Nope,” she said through a voracious grin. “Let's go.”

Her ears crackled loudly, a voice— her sister's voice— wailing through: “N-no! Ruby! Don—”

Static cut Yang's transmission down to nothing. She felt a rise of protectiveness within her, an urge to bolt past this weirdo and grab her sister, but a single movement from the Haema before her choked everything dry. It dipped low at the waist, spread its arms, and bowed.

Sense left Ruby. Rationality fled completely. All she had was lust.

Space shortened to nothing before her, the Schnee (whatever that meant) getting closer as Ruby blasted fully towards it, spear extended, thrusting outwards decisively for the center of mass. The knightly mech parried her stupendously, buckler arcing up and batting the lance away with ease, with force, nearly throwing it out of Ruby’s giant silver palms before she redoubled her grip and blasted past the Haema. She cut her thrusters and rolled, her body barreling around until the spear’s point was once again level with her opponent, at which point the long blade shifted dorsally, presenting the gun-barrel once more as Ruby slapped in a primer and shoved a sabot home. She pulled the trigger.

The porcelain-looking Haema knocked her sabot away with a shower of plasma and shrapnel, the force of the round throwing its arm back and turning it slightly before some kind of control thrusters kicked in, or another stabilizer that Ruby couldn't see. Without hesitation, she set her spear’s point forward again and charged, screaming towards the bloodcaller, lance out. This time, with their buckler still away, the Haema clashed its sword— a rapier with some kind of fancy, colorful hilt— directly against her spear, locking the point against their crossguard and sending them both flying with Ruby’s momentum.

“Utterly lacking!” the porcelain knight cried. “You are artless, you are overly quick, you make no grace of your movements!”

The buckler came around and smashed into Ruby’s head, separating her from the bloodcaller and making everything spin. She fanned out her thrusters for control, but she moved too late— the knight was behind her, her sensors were screaming, she could feel the thrust that was about to penetrate her spine— she would die. The blade would penetrate her chassis and vent her cockpit into the cold aether. Ruby would flop into space, helmetless, the heavy vitae in her body pulsing and pushing until she went unconscious, and it all ripped out of her veins at once. Ruby Rose, on her first mission, her divine christening, would die.

Ruby blew all the thrusters on her right side and pulsed up with her feet, forcing the rapier to slide into the hip of her Haema instead of the lethal center. Her huge mechanical body held the blade like a sheath, and she flipped her staff to—

“Hold still, you idiot!” the knight cried, its hand coming around to grab Ruby by the face— her Haema’s face. “There!”

“I've got you!” Ruby cried first.

“N— no, you have not!” the bloodcaller protested. “You are facing ze other vay! I have you by ze face!”

Ruby let her smirk drip into her voice. “You didn't notice? Look behind you.”

There was a shuffle, metal-on-metal as the knight’s body moved against Ruby’s, which felt confusingly like flesh-on-flesh. She felt the Haema, the bloodcaller within, jump in surprise as they caught sight of Ruby’s spear— with the long blade of its head flipped like a scythe’s— hugging the crook of their porcelain neck. “Huh,” they said, which sounded like a real person right next to Ruby’s real ear. “Aren't you something.”

“Now let me go, or you'll die first.”

The other bloodcaller snorted, their voice tight but humored. “Nein. I vill not.”

“And why not, huh?”

The fingers around Ruby’s face, their steel feeling like real flesh, warmed to burning. “Because I have still gotten you.”

Burning, something which Ruby couldn't feel. Pain, impossible when the Haema had her nerves cut dead, but it all surged right to her brain nonetheless. She felt the sword in her hip— the real sword in her real hip, lodged in flesh and bone and gushing blood— and she screamed. She wailed, thrashed, swinging her scythe like it would relieve the feeling that could never be felt, the impossibility that had become reality. She had lived her whole life knowing that the Haema’s pain could never be hers, but now her reality was sundered. She arched her spine— the Haema’s spine, her spine, the bodies were the same, the agony was the same, they were both howling.

The sword exited her bones and metal in a white flash of anguish, and Ruby found herself being jerked backward by a hand. She felt her ears coming alive with sound, hot and loud.

“Ruby!” Yang called from a mile away. “Ruby, are you— they got you! Oh god, Ruby, Ruby respond!”

Ruby gurgled, unable to find her voice. She felt her Haema moving, limp.

“You're alive! Thank God, they got you. Okay. Just… stay there, okay? Everything—”

Static cut her out again. Ruby gurgled again.

“Vhy are you making zat noise?” the bloodcaller asked, dragging her limp Haema by the neck. “You should not be avake.”

Vitae surged in her, a well of defiance rising in her gut, but nowhere else. “I… I'll kill you,” she promised. “I'll… do it.”

Ruby’s head lolled back, her eyes boring up at the other bloodcaller. It stared back. Ruby could feel their eyes— her eyes, she was certain— clashing against her own. The hand around her neck was real. The body carrying her was blood and meat and skin. The bloodcaller dragged her all the way to the carrier she'd failed to destroy. She chucked her into a hangar, one similar in all the important ways to the one she'd just left. Ruby’s metal body sighed limply against the floor.

Porcelain feet entered her vision, their shape like sabatons, and Ruby’s brain was convinced that they'd be warm to the touch. There was a sound. Then another sound, then more sounds. Then a hissing, a clanking, a sliding. Ruby’s split perception differentiated, one pair of her eyes seeing the world open into white light before her, the other pair staring listlessy at the big metal feet. She wasn't sure which was real.

There was a person inside her. The person, the bloodcaller, the girl like her, not a knight but a stretched-out thing of white that her red-tinted vision struggled to comprehend. Ruby’s eyes failed to focus, and any attempts to move her body only made the wrong limbs move, the ones that were on the outside. A voice slipped into Ruby’s ears, real, with a tongue and lips and air, but no less real than that knight’s voice had been.

“Vait, vat in ze fuck?” the white thing tugged at her umbilical cord— her transfusion cable. “Mein Gott, zis is so much vitae. How are you alive?”

Ruby blinked, pushing out saplike red tears. Speaking felt unfamiliar, like it was in the wrong throat— everything felt unfamiliar. Scrambling, panicking sensors felt just like her sense of smell and taste. She couldn't differentiate.

“Vat? Vat are you saying?”

The bright white head bent towards Ruby. She tried to force air over her throat, remembering manually what a voice was supposed to be. “Blood… crall… brall… brac… ler…”

The white thing shook its head. “Have you a concussion? I did not give you one.”

Ruby groaned, testing her vocal chords. “Blood… blood… call… er.”

White made no sign of acknowledgement and instead gripped Ruby's umbilical cord fully. “Let us get some normal blood in you, oder?”

Ruby tried to thrash. Her body didn't comply. Something was covering her vision, obscuring her view of the white thing, something caked thickly over her whole face— hair, thick and dark, crystallized to her skin by dried vitae. She was bleary. She was angry. Nobody would take her vitae away.

This point was carried across through weak movements of her arms and tiny, wordless burbles, which white-thing either didn't understand or didn't respect. Ruby vacillated, stuck between flopping in her chair or trying to flop out of it, but White did another series of indecipherable things with her hands, causing the worst thing ever to happen to Ruby:

All her vitae raced up her veins, dilating and burning her vessels as the thick stuff moved faster than it should, scraping Ruby’s insides and blasting up, leaking from her eyes as it bulged up her neck. At the same time, feeble blood flooded her carotid, piping traitorously from her own Haema, hot and cold and thin. It felt like all her parts were filling with tepid water. Her mind slowed to a crawl, her vision sharpened and dulled simultaneously, and her pain doubled.

White held her down. “Stop your thrashing!” it demanded, its accent turning ‘thrashing’ into ‘trashing’. “Vhy are you going crazy!”

Ruby kept thrashing. She couldn't not be thrashing until the white smear fumbled at the back of her neck, grabbed something it should not grav, and yanked.

Unfortunately, that seemed to work because the violent cleaving of Ruby's existence snapped everything into perfect human clarity. Her body became singular, unbalanced and nauseous, but the physical pain disappeared. It was replaced by mental pain, anguish of memory, the haunting of that impossible pain reeking deep in Ruby's bones. Her brain felt like a sinkhole— brought so high then wrenched so low— vacant and filling only with the upending memory of having her real hip getting pierced by a real sword.

It was worse than the actual pain. Somehow. Now she was sober, no high to ride from the vitae, no adrenaline, no nothing but her thoughts and the recollection of the rapier and her bones, free to be remembered in excruciating detail from all angles. A fundamental fact of her life had been shattered. Painfully.

Ruby's hearing cleared before her vision did.

“Okay, okay, you are okay? Ja?”

Ruby opened her eyes, only to realize they were already open. They took a little longer to calibrate.

When the image in front of her, still obscured by plastered black hair, finally came to clarity, Ruby scowled.

The smear of white, the bloodcaller who'd done this to her, was a girl. Probably. Her hair was long and white, hanging in an asymmetrical ribbon of a ponytail. Her features were pale, powder or snow, and pinched somewhat close to… frustration? Concern? With her bright, colorless brows drawn so tight, Ruby couldn't tell. Her lips were a pursed bow, pinker than lips should be, chin and nose downright cherubic to match.

Cute. The face was cute. Even if it was riven with sharp, surgical lines. A vertical seam split her nose from tip to bridge, vanishing somewhere under her hairline. Forked lines cupped the orbits of her eyes, dipping down her cheeks like tears, cresting over her jaw and continuing until they disappeared beneath her collar. More angular lines ringed each ear. Her face looked like it could just… open.

Ruby gulped. Without vitae, she felt weak. No indignant heat rose in her chest. She didn't spit ‘you secular waste!’ in her face. Her cheeks warmed. Her head lolled a little.

“Oh, you are not okay. You… how did you… nichts. Macht nichts.” She shook her head and looked out of the gaping cockpit of Ruby's Haema. “I vill be back mit Wasser— water. You need it. Er… stay put. Egal.”

Ruby watched her leave, and she wasn't sure how much time had passed before the bloodcaller came back. It felt like a blink, but Ruby felt tender, vulnerable loneliness like she'd been gone forever. She felt pathetic. She was pathetic. She should be throttling this lady, killing her, but she just sat there slumped, feeling (and probably looking) like a wounded animal. The girl, the bloodcaller, knelt before her. Ruby realized she was on her side. She didn't remember falling out of the seat.

The girl tilted Ruby’s chin up, holding a water bottle like it was a gun.

A voice rumbled up Ruby’s shredded throat— her own, probably. “Wher… sher…”

“Hm? Ja? Still avake?”

“Nnnn… naamm-uh. Nayum.” Ruby worked her jaw, getting feeling back in her mouth. “Name. Your name.”

“Schnee,” Schnee said. “Like I said.”

Ruby turned her nose up petulantly. “Nuh-uh. That's not a name.”

“Oh really? Then vhy don't you tell me your—”

“Ruby,” Ruby answered stupidly, giving intel away to the enemy like the concussed idiot she was.

“Zat is just as believable as mine."

“I'm a bloodcaller. So’re you.”

Schnee stared at her. Ruby stared back. “Weiss,” Weiss said eventually. “And I'm not… that.”

Ruby tried the name on her tongue. “Vice?”

The girl cringed. “Just…” she sighed with a lifetime of defeat. “Weiss. Mit einem ‘W’. Wuh.”

“Vuh?” Ruby tried, concussed. “Vuh-ice?"

“Nein. Weiss. Ooouuh-ice.”

“Ooouuh-ice.”

“Weiss.”

“Vice.”

“Double-u."

“Uu-ice?”

Weiss (Uu-ice, apparently) dragged a hand laboriously over her face. Ruby noticed surgical marks on that, too. “Ja. Sure. Uu-ice. Close enough.” She grabbed Ruby's jaw and tilted her face up towards the water bottle. “Now say ‘aaah’.”

Ruby (still concussed, still an idiot) obeyed, opening her mouth wide and even going ‘aaah’ for her mortal enemy, ready to accept her anomalous fluids. Weiss squeezed the bottle. Water blasted over Ruby’s face, which felt amazing, soaking her as the other bloodcaller focused the stream towards Ruby's dumb idiot waiting mouth. The water was heaven on her tongue, washing all the sweetness of vitae away.

The girl— the bloodcaller— Weiss— pulled the bottle back and, with undue care, brushed Ruby’s now-wet, un-crystallized hair out of her face. She stared, brows raising. Her eyes were impossibly blue.

“Scheiße,” she mumbled. “You are pretty.”

[timeofjuly]

And Four Papyri in a Pear Tree

Chapter 1 - Smooth Operator

Summary: Rus takes you ice skating for the first time and despite some initial wobbliness, only one of you ends up on your ass.

Notes: The first chapter of And Four Papyri in a Pear Tree, my four-part holiday series focusing on festive-themed dates with Rus, Edge, Stretch, and Papyrus.

Tags: Reader/swapfell Papyrus, ice skating, fluff, established relationship.

Read it on AO3 or read it below the cut!

“lookin’ a little wobbly there, baby doll,” Rus teases, looking unfairly steady on his skates. Behind him, a vast expanse of glistening ice stretches out under the open sky, reflecting the soft glow of twinkling lights that adorn the perimeter of the skating rink. The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of freshly fallen snow and the rhythmic sound of blades gliding over the smooth surface.

Your own skates slide perilously against the ice, your legs clenched tight to stop your knees from slipping out from underneath you.

“Nuh-uh,” you say, willing your fingers to loosen their grip on the barrier. “I’ve just got knives attached to my feet, what’s scary about that?  It’s not like ice is slippery or anything.”

Rus chuckles. “c’mon, don’t’cha trust me? if you’re that scared, it’s not too late for me to get you a penguin.”

As if summoned by the cruel forces of comedic timing, a small child breezes past the two of you pushing said skating aid. They seem entirely at ease and as you watch, they remove their hands from the penguin with an elated whoop.

“Look, no hands!” they call out, presumably to a parent.

Your resolve, which has previously been a gelatinous mass quivering at the pit of your belly, hardens. Like hell you’re being shown up by a kid. “Nope,” you say to Rus, “I’m good.”

You aren’t, though. You’re nervous. You probably shouldn’t have watched that video about the top ten career-ending ice hockey accidents last night. Ah, hindsight. At least you’re wearing a thick scarf; hopefully that’ll protect your neck from any errant skating blades.

“if you’re sure,” he says. In contrast to the pitiful display you’re putting on, Rus looks completely at home on the ice. More graceful than he is on solid ground, even, though that’s not necessarily that high of a bar. There’s a natural ease to him like this, a confidence that you’ve only caught snatches of before.

“i’m ready whenever you are,” he says. His thick woollen sweater reads FESTIVE GUY and is a particularly fetching shade of eggplant.  His cheeks are faintly lilac from the cold that nips through the air, his long, delicate hands encased in cosy mittens.

Those mittened hands are held out to you now. Anxiety flickers in your chest but then you look at him again, at how steady he is, how the long lines of his body are looser and more relaxed than you’ve ever seen them outside of the safety of privacy, and that gives you all the bravery you need.

You take his hands, the chill of the rink being chased away through your gloves. Your fingers curl between his phalanges in a grip that would surely be bruising if he had flesh. As you step further onto the ice, you wobble perilously, struggling to find your balance. Your ankles feel heavy and clumsy, your feet dead weight. How do people make this look so easy? You’ve never felt so unwieldy in your life.

“you’re okay,” he says, holding you steady. “that’s perfect.”

The standards for perfect must be low.

You’re too busy concentrating on not falling on your ass – no, hands and knees, the video you watched in preparation for this said that letting your arms absorb the impact is the safest way to fall – so you can’t articulate that thought into an appropriately clever remark, so you just settle on responding with a dubious look.

His grip tightens reassuringly – you feel like he’s holding all of your weight at this point - and he begins guiding you across the smooth surface. He’s making it look so easy, skating backwards with practiced, smooth motions. You feel like a newborn giraffe in comparison, if someone was to sneak into the zoo, strap knife-blades to its hooves, and set it out onto the ice.

"first lesson: find your centre of gravity," he says, his voice low and encouraging. "keep your knees slightly bent, and let the skates do the work."

“What does that even mean?” you say, a little panicked, but you quickly mimic his stance. It’s awkward at first – you’re ready to tip face-first into him at any moment, but with enough gradual, tiny adjustments, you start to feel a little steadier. The tempo of the music playing over the rink's speakers helps you keep your movements rhythmic, and you find yourself feeling more and more confident.

“there you go,” he says. Despite yourself, warmth floods your chest at the praise.

“I feel like you’re doing all the work, not me or the skates,” you say. “How the hell are you so good at this? I’ve seen you trip over your own bone constructs.”

He lets go of one of your hands to press a wounded hand to his chest and you flail in its absence, letting out a startled eep.

“hey, i am beauty and i am grace. ’specially compared to you right now.”

He snatches your hand back before you can really panic, but as you recover, you realise that you probably weren’t in any danger of falling anyway. One, you trust that Rus would catch you and two, you’re feeling a little steadier on your skates now. Maybe you’re getting the hang of this! The Zamboni isn’t going to run you over after all.

“Aw, you don’t think I’m pretty?” You affect an exaggerated pout.

He laughs, but his cheeks tinge purple. “’course i think you’re pretty. you’re my cute little baby squirrel, slippin’ around on the ice. like in ice age.”

“… thank you?”

“you’re welcome, scrat.”

Eh. You can live with that. Dude has tenacity you can appreciate.

Besides, all this teasing is distracting you from looking down at your own feet and throwing yourself off-balance. Rus continues to glide you around the rink and the sounds of the other skaters seem to fall away, leaving just the two of you and the sounds of your skates sliding against the ice. You gently lap around, each pass making you feel more and more comfortable.

“Still, there’s got to be a reason you’re so good at this,” you press. “There’s not some secret winter Olympics Underground I don’t know about, right?”

He snorts. “hah. nah, nothing like that. not much time for organised sports when everyone’s tryin’ to avoid being dusted. i just did a lot of skating on my own, back when i was in stripes,” he says, and though the tone is off handed, you get the sense that this is far more significant than his voice is letting on. “spent a lot of hours out on the ice. with enough practice, angel eyes, anyone’d pick it up. even you.”

He lets go of your hand again, this time to boop your nose. When he takes it again, his grip is far looser, and you find that you’re staying upright of your own volition. Part of you is tempted to let go completely and see what you can do on your own now that you’ve got the basics down, but fuck, the enjoyment you’re getting from holding his hand is overriding your competitive spirit.

He’s also still towing you around and you have no idea how to actually make yourself go, but little details.

“There’s not much ice or snow from where I’m from, so I never learnt,” you say. “We’d get this gross, dirty sleet sometimes in the winter, but not much else. I used to be so jealous of kids who got to have white Christmases. Did Black teach you to do this?”

Fondness colours his features. “yeah, he did. he was good like that. not many of the other kids liked to go out onto the ice, so i think he thought that if i stayed out there, they wouldn’t pick on me. when i got older, it was a good way to get away from everything for a while.”

You imagine a younger Black taking an even younger Rus by the hands and leading him out onto the ice, guiding him in the way he’s guiding you now. You wonder what being picked on as a kid looked like in their universe, that cruel, brutal place. You doubt that it amounted to simple teasing.

Your chest aches at the thought, but you quash it down. Today is a day for good things; you’re not going to dwell on a past you have no way of changing.

“You must’ve learnt some pretty cool tricks, then,” you say, pushing levity into your tone.

The words chase away the hint of melancholy that had been lurking on his skull. He grins at you, lazy and languid and confident, and says, “oh, sugar plum, you have no idea.”

The two of you both glide to a stop on the side of the rink. You let go of his hands and grasp back onto the barrier. You feel safe now to stay standing without his assistance.

“Go on, then,” you say, angling your chin towards the ice. “Impress me.”

He takes the ice, his movements fluid and confident. The chilly air echoes with the scrape of blades against the smooth surface, and he shoots you a mischievous grin. With each stride, he gains momentum, twirling effortlessly with a grace that makes you dizzy. Your breath catches as he executes a flawless spin, his body a whirl of controlled motion. The ice seems to respond to his every command, and he carves intricate patterns with finesse.

With a final, daring leap, he lands with a flourish, a triumphant smile lighting up his face. The ice seems to shimmer in approval of his performance.

As he skates back to your side, there's a glint of anticipation in his eyes, silently asking if he managed to impress.

And in that moment, under the twinkling lights of the ice rink, you can't help but feel the warmth of his efforts.

Fuck, you’re getting mushy. You can’t find it in you to be upset about that, though.

“well?” he says.

Your applause is muffled by your gloves, but the intent is the same. “That was amazing! Do you reckon I could learn to go that fast today? Oh, or even backwards? Both at the same time seems a little ambitious.”

“maybe just a little,” he says, cheeks flushed from your praise. “we can work on it, though. just getting you to go under your own power today is a good goal. that you’re standin’ with no support now is impressive on its own.”

You look down at yourself and then at your arms and huh, would you look at that. Granted, you’re not moving yet, but you’re getting there!

You cast your eyes back out onto the ring to see the small child from earlier gliding around the ice, skating aid now discarded. You point a gloved finger towards them.

“Do you think I could at least go faster than that kid today?” you say.

Rus looks amused but doesn’t question your choice of a benchmark. “maybe, but don’t stress if you can’t. you’re doing really good for your first time on the ice,” he says. “i don’t want you fallin’ and cracking your head open because you bite off more than you can chew. don’t worry, we can come back for more practice. if you want. it’s okay if you, don’t, though, i -.”

“We are definitely coming back,” you say. You’re determined to at least learn one trick before the holidays are over. “You’re stuck with me now, coach.”

“does that mean you’ll get one of those leotards?”

“If you wear one too, sure,” you agree. “Maybe we can get matching ones.”

He takes your hands again and starts pulling you around the ice, slow and deliberate. You do your best to match his movements. The two of you make another slow lap and though you’re too focussed to be chatty, the silence doesn’t feel awkward. He gives you the occasional helpful, if teasing, pointer and your confidence continues to grow.

“well, how’s your first time on the ice shapin’ up so far?” he asks you after another lap. “everything you were hoping for?” The words are joking, but you can see his sincerity.

Your chest feels all warm and soft and suddenly, you don’t feel the chill of the ice at all. You steel yourself and use your handhold to pull yourself closer to him, slowing your pace, and then let go of his hands altogether, bringing one now free hand to cup the side of his skull. Your gloved fingers splay across his zygomatic arch.

He nuzzles into your palm, sockets drooping.

“Good,” you say. Your voice is soft. “Really, really good.”

“i – heh.” He ducks his head, but he can’t hide the colour that flushes his skull.

In an attempt to recover gracefully, he takes a misstep, his skates catching an edge. Before you both know it, he's tripping over his own feet, arms flailing in an attempt to regain balance.

To no avail. He crashes down into the ice, bony ass first. You narrowly avoid getting taken down with him.

“Oh my god,” you say, unable to stifle the laughter that bubbles up your throat. “Are you okay?”

Rus attempts to clamber to his feet, trying – and failing – to get his legs back underneath him. With each slip back onto the ice, the vivid mauve dusting his cheeks deepens further.

Eventually, he rights himself, skull blazing purple. “’m fine. that was exactly what i was going for. grand finale. ta-da.” The words are said with accompanying jazz-hands.

Still laughing, you pluck one of his hands from the air and pull yourself towards him.

“Real smooth,” you say. “Come on, you charmer. I want to have another go.”

[romanstheory]

I'm The One a Jey Uso Fic pt 1/?

Warnings : Language, Fighting, Violence

Word Count: 842

18 +

loosely based on this interaction (it'll make sense I swear)

"Fuck you Solo! You just costed me the NXT Women's championship" I bark at Solo as I storm through the backstage area. Solo rolls his eyes "Nah you costed you that title" He replied in a monotone voice. I turn around quickly "If you wouldn't have got involved I would be champion right now! FUCK YOU!" I scream again. "If I didn't get involved yo ass would be on a stretcher" Solo responds. Who does he think he is? I carry this tag team! ME! Not him! If it wasn't for me he would have been forgotten about. "I don't ever want to see you again, and if I do I'll make it my business to be a fucking problem" I bark, getting in his face this time. He clenches his jaw, ready to throw punches with me. He knew none of these men here could ever scare me, if he wanted to at it I was fully willing knowing I could hold my own.

"Woahhhh woah woah woah" I hear his brother scream as they run towards us seconds from scrapping. "Let's not do all that now" Jimmy says putting an arm between the two of us. "You're lucky" I say, my eyes piercing through Solo "Remember what I said. I am your worst nightmare now". I push through the twins leaving them both dumbfounded. Jey's eyes lingered on me longer than the other two. My rage did something for me. "You good uce?" Jimmy says tapping Jey. "Yeah..... Yeah I'm good. She's crazy as hell though. You almost got whooped on Solo" Jey chuckles. Solo huffs loudly and they all walk away.

Years pass by, Solo joined forces with his brothers and cousin to form the bloodline. His brothers eventually break free leaving him alone to be the heavy for his cousin. I dominate NXT and now it's my turn, and what do you know..... I'm the number one draft pick for Smackdown and tonight is my debut. Solo and Roman are in the ring, Roman is giving a promo when I walk up to tech and demand my music play...... I'm debuting RIGHT NOW. Multiple superstars attempt to stop me, I blow passed them as the sound of my music echos through the arena. I storm out, the crowd is roaring. Solo has a look of rage and confusion on his face while Roman is completely stunned.

I demand a mic and it's given to me swiftly. I meet Solo with an intense stare down, Paul Heyman and Roman are at a loss for words. No woman had ever been ballsy enough to do this to Solo before. I smile at Solo "Long time no see" I tease "You look TERRIBLE by the way". The crowd begins taunting him. "Remember how I said I would be a fucking problem?" I continue. I get in Solo's face, just like I did the last time I saw him. Tension is high, I want to rip his throat out and I know he wants to do the same to me. Just as Roman exist the ring I swing on Solo, prompting The Usos to come sprinting out. I expect them to attack me, I mean I did just deck their brother. They detain solo, throwing him out of the ring where Roman forces him to leave.

I stand in the middle of the ring with Jimmy and Jey to either side of me. "You chose your side! Remember that" Solo barks. "And you just got yo ass beat" Jimmy cackles. Jey is trying to stay focused but I catch him peering over at me. Back stage I'm met by welcomes and words of affirmation for coming in with a bang. "So I guess you with us now" Jey says grinning. "If it means I get to hit Solo again then sure" I say giggling. "Let me uh get your bag for you" Jey offers. "Oh come ON uce you gotta have better game than that" Jimmy teases "Let me get your bags for you" Jimmy says mocking Jey. "Man I'm tryna be a gentleman unlike you" Jey says grabbing my bags.

"Well uh my wife is at home" Jimmy cackles "I'm playin i'm playin". We pack our things up into the car and head to the hotel we'll be staying at until our flight in the morning. We arrive, the boys already have rooms booked so I need to book mine. "I'm sorry we're all full for the night" The front desk attendant says. I sigh loudly and rub my temples. "You can just share Jey's room" Jimmy says looking at him and then me before grabbing his bag and walking down the hall, chuckling to himself. I see what he's trying to do, Jimmy is the locker room cupid...... Or so he thinks. "I...... I can take the couch you take the bed" Jey stumbles over his words. "Well.... we're room mates tonight I guess. I hope you don't snore" I say as the two of us walk to our room.

[avatar-obsessed-girl]

For The Best | Miles Quaritch

This story will eventually contain smut and violence MDNI (18+)

Chapter 1

Word count: 2.4k

Multiple part series —> [ 1 ]

Visual of Kxani

Ikran screeched echoing through the forest along with the beat of their wings. You were flying next to Neteyum and Lo’ak behind Jake and Neytiri. It was surprising to say the least the boys were joining this attack mission. Jake had always not trusted their abilities, it was only till you and Jake got into an argument about it he let them join. It wasn’t uncommon for you two to fight, you were both strong willed and warrior just with two different perspectives.

With your bow in hand and visor on you looked over and yiped to the two boys. Lo’ak smiled and raised his bow in return but Neteyum showed nothing. You flicked your Ikran wing over to him which brought a smile. You always knew how to get to him. To the children you were the cool aunt that wasn’t really an aunt. After the battle between the sky people you decided to stay with the Omatikaya and it didn’t take long to become close with the Sullies.

“Ground team go” you heard Jake say through your ear piece

The next thing you knew the train exploded off course and neytiri already took out one aircraft. The other one was left to you. You summoned your Ikran to bite and throw the person through the middle, leaving time for you to jump aboard and bust through the door to the pilot. Giving them a stab, only to run back off and jump out the side getting caught by your Ikran. You searched the air for the boys only to find them on the ground. Something told you it was Lo’aks doing.

You cursed looking ahead to see another aircraft launching a missed right at the boys. You swooped down to see Jake had found Lo’ak and told him to run. You didn’t let him get far before you picked him up from the claws of your Ikran.

“Kxani let me go!” He yelled over the wind

“When you quit being a skxawng I will!” You yelled back

It wasn’t until his Ikran was below you you dropped him so he could fly by himself.

“I hope your ready for the ass whipping” you said only to receive an eye roll

The flight back was anxious and awkward; you could practically feel Jake’s anger. As you approached high camp the familiar arrival horn got blown and echoed through the caves. It felt good to be home when you landed next to Neytiri. Tuk immediately hugged her mom then you. You picked her up and set her on your hip. She began to mess with your tooth necklace.

“Your brothers are in trouble” I whispered setting her down

You walked over to Spider and ruffled his hair. Over the years you and Spider grow close. He even called you his parental figure sometimes. You took great joy in these words when he expressed them, you never had a mate or love interest. Even though he was different he was yours and you always looked after him. Putting an arm on his shoulder you lead him away from Lo’ak who was visibly pissed after getting yelled at.

“How was it while I was gone?” You asked in English

“Meh didn’t do anything” he responded

From the tone of his voice you could tell he was disappointed he couldn’t go. Then again he would never be able to, his sadness laid stones in your heart.

“How about we go exploring tomorrow?” You noticed how he perked up at your words

“Can we bring Kiri?” He asked

It was obvious the way the boy had a crush on Kiri. The way he stared at her when she wasn’t looking or when she helped him apply his blue stripes. You thought it was cute.

“Of course” you smiled “maybe even Lo’ak so he feels better”

—————————————————————————

Lo’ak and Spider whooped and yelled as they jumped from vine to vine, leading the group. It was you, Kiri, Tuk, Lo’ak, and Spider. More than you wanted to bring but you couldn’t say no to her cute pouty face. Spider and Lo’ak carried a bow with arrows while you only stuck to your knife. As the group ran along a big branch Tuk got distracted by a plant and got yelled at by Lo’ak.

“Tuk keep up!” He yelled

“Bro why did you even bring her anyways” Spider laughed

You flicked him in the head for his tone

“She’s such a cry baby” he said “your not allowed on the battlefield, I’ll tell mom if you don’t let me come!” Lo’ak mocked

“Don't pick on her” Kiri scolded the two for laughing

“You're just jealous she’s cuter than both of you” you chuckled hoping down onto the ground as a bone caught your eyes.

“Do you really need more teeth aunt Kxani?” Lo’ak sighed

“You can never have enough!” You looked over to see Tuk beside you also inspecting the tooth. It was a baby nantang tooth that one must have dropped. You handed it to her “This one's for you Tuk” you smiled putting into her hand.

The girl ran off to find her sister as the boys inspected a fallen helicopter. Unfortunately your gathering was cut short by the search for Kiri. She must have wandered off again like she always did. Spider was the one to find her in the end. On the way back Lo’ak stopped to look at tracts.

“Bro what is it?” Spider asked

“way to big for a human” Lo’ak paused “avatars but definitely not ours”

“What are you doing?” Kiri asked in a sharp tone

”shhh tracking” he retorted causing kiri tail to flick in irritation

Your heart raced the further you went, there were many tracts meaning it was a group. The sounds of talking reached your ears. You slowly unsheathed your knife, soon a group of bodies came into view.

“We need to leave now” you hissed

”bro we have got to check this out” Lo’ak smirked as he and spider moved forward

Tuk urged to go forward but you held her back, she pouted but stayed and hugged Kiri’s arm. It wasn't long before the two were back. You touched your fingers to your neck.

“Devil dog, devil dog this is echo wave over” you say

“echo wave send your traffic” jake replies

“we got eyes of some avatars, there’s six of them, over” you reply

”What's your position?” He asked

You glare at Lo’ak and sigh “we’re at the old shack”

”Who’s we?” He asked annoyance thick in his voice

“Me Spider, Lo’ak, Kiri” you paused “and Tuk”

”You listen to me very carefully Kxani, get out of there”

"See i told you!" Kiri said, rubbing it in his face

"Kiri stop" he hissed

"It almost eclipse come on-" Tuk started to say before she got grabbed by a avatar

Within moments you were all surrounded by these invaders. All of them yelling to put the weapons down. You threw your knife down on the ground.

"Put them down now" you said in Navi to the spider who thought he could fight back because his bow was still in the air.

As soon as he laid it down everyone got grabbed by their queues and pushed down onto their knees. Tuk cries made your heart ache, you hated hearing her like that. Fortunately Kiri got her to calm down the best she could.

The leader went around looking at everyone's fingers. He inspected yours only to see that I had 3. You hissed at him and bared your teeth. As a warning only for it to be met by a tug on your queue. He went over to loak next.

"Show me your fingers" the leader demanded in a low voice

Lo'ak being the smart ass he is raised his middle fingers up which only cause the leader to laugh at him "you his aren't you"

Lo'ak hissed at the invader

He grabbed him from the other invader. "Where is your father" he asked with a snarl

"Sorry I don't speak english to assholes" Lo'ak responded in Navi

"Where is your father" the leader responded back in Navi

As the leader pulled a nice out at him and tears went down your cheek as the male pointed his knife at kiri. Spider thrashed and yelled though it being nothing compared to the strength of an avatar. You whimpered at his struggle.

“What’s your name kid” the male asked

“Spider” he paused “Socorro”

The man gazed at him unbelievably because kneeling down to his level “miles?” He asked

“nobody calls me that” Spider spat

”well i thought they sent you back to earth” the male

“you can put babies is cryo dipshit” Spider said

It wasn't until then that you knew this avatar was Spider's father. Anger swelled inside you. This man had led the humans into war and abandoned his son. His son in which you cared about very much.

“You are a pathetic excuse of an avatar” you hissed out bringing the attention to yourself.

The mane got up and walked over to you. Looking you deeply into the eyes, before turning away again and speaking into his ear piece. They then dragged everyone to the shack and placed handcuffs on your wrist. You stared at the bright orange bands and could already feel the circulation in your wrists slowing. You looked over to see the tall man watching a video on a screen. It plays a video of the battle between him and Jake. You watched with a smirk as the last scene played, with Neytiri shooting him with 2 arrows to the chest. The man picked up his old skull crushing in between his fingers.

“Destroying the evidence does not destroy the burden” you said

“So she does speak English” he smiled dusting off his hand

You said nothing in response and only turned the other way. You felt awkward under his eyes, his intimidating gaze pierced through your back. After an hour the day transformed to night and it began to rain. You were forced to your feet and held close by your queue by one of the avatars. Every tug sent a sting down your spine. Though the pain was quickly ignored by a whoop in the distance. Neytiri was close, she and Jake were coming to save them. Your ears flicked with every call. And soon all hell broke loose.

An arrow hit an avatar next to Kiri and Spider. Killing them instantly, Lo'ak did something to make green gas disburse everywhere. As Kiri and Spider began to run away another avatar grabbed her. Only to be shot by another one and Neytiri's arrows. Lo'ak and Tuk bit their way to freedom and ran. You threw your head back and slammed it into the avatar behind you, causing his grip to faulted and you to escape. You caught up with Kiri and Spider. You looked up.

“Go! Climb!” You yelled

As the three of you quickly escalated into the trees, explosions went on around you. One knocked Spider out of the tree. Neytiri appeared next to you trying to drag Kiri and you away.

“Im sorry sister” you told her before jumping from branch to branch to get closer to spider, who was already surrounded

You jumped down on one man, knocking him to the ground before punching another in the face the best you could with your conjoined hands. It wasn't long before you were restrained once again. Spider was slung across the leader's shoulder and the same was done to you as you thrashed, screamed, bite, and punched. But it was no luck, you had gotten captured. As you got into the ship a ship sting went into your arm causing you to grow more tired by the second. Soon the world went dark.

—————————————————————————

You woke up to blinding lights streaming into your face. You tried to cover your eyes but found your arms and legs were locked into place.

“Ah good morning sweetheart” a voice said

You knew it from somewhere, but you couldn’t place who it was. With your vision still not working and your memory foggy you didn't form a response.

The man chuckled “where’s that sharp tongue now?”

Then it all came back like a hammer hitting your head. You hissed and thrashed against your restraints.

“Let go of me, demon!” You screamed

To your surprise it worked, your restraints unhooked and you got to your feet setting yourself into a low crouched position. While baring your teeth the man only chuckled and slowly walked towards you. The clicks of the teeth hanging from your tail echoed into the room. You lunged, only to get caught and pushed up against the wall with the man holding you arms above your head by your sensitive wrists. You yelled in frustration.

“So feisty” the man said “ i like it”

he then yanked you off the wall and led you out of the room. You saw Spider being dragged away to his cell passing you.

“My son!” You yelled “let him go”

it wasn't until later you realized you called him your son. You have never called him that before. You thrashed against the avatars. But no matter how hard you tried, your strength was nothing compared to theirs. They drug you along like nothing. Soon you were strapped to a vertical table. Your head was locked in place as she looked around and hissed at every human around you.

Only the vibrations of the machine cause you to stop. Soon a green light flashed and swirled around you. It stung your eyes causing them to water. If this is what they did to Spider, you understood why he looked the way he did. You shut your eyes tightly and gritted your teeth. You heard a woman speak to you but you paid no mind to her.

Soon you started to scream in pain. Your eyes felt like they were being pulled from your skull. Your body shook frantically from your muscles tensing for so long. Finally they removed you, your screaming must have annoyed them too much. The last face you saw before you passed out was the leaders that you still didn’t know the name of.

“You scream like a banshee, sweetheart” he said

This was the last thing you heard before you passed out.

———————————————————————————

Thank you for reading! <3

[grimsinnrs]

@bvrncubus asked: TEMPTATION LINGERS IN THE BACK OF THE SINNER’S MIND. she’s always wondered if playing bold would earn her a seat beside the television overlord. not many could say what really gets him to tick. aside from the rivaled radio demon, none makes him as heated. at least, saorise assumed from the latest passive aggressive broadcast. she wanders around the office with one thing in mind; how can she push her luck today? with her sentence issued— a gift from one overlord to the next, she’s meant to serve a purpose. ease that stress. it was her specialty. though, not all her work was made to be caught under the spotlight of a camera…some of it was meant to be caught in the flesh. it was a little after hours. with voxtek presumably off the air, the imp slithered her way into the other’s office. the door behind her shutting with a soft thud. the little imp’s feet carrying her to the edge of the room. funny, how he hasn’t noticed her just yet. going unnoticed, she finds her way into his lap. perched up rather happily. the edge of the smaller demon’s lips twist into a smile ❝ that was quite the show sir!❞ the half horn praises. hands clasping together, they clap. a mini round of applause. while she’s not screaming the obvious, rise wants to be noticed in the most painful of ways. slightly she readjusts in his lap, her bottom just grazing against him. whoops. CURIOUSLY, the hellborn’s tail rests down on his thigh. ❝you’ve always got a shine to you when you’re on .❞ an array of compliments come pouring from her lips. partially, she wonders if this is enough to keep his attention.

On the outside, it seemed as though Vox weren't paying attention to his surroundings. Too busy being plugged into his company's system to spare any awarness to what was around him. But he knew exactly what was happening in his office. He knew that Rise had entered. He'd let her in.

She may not realize it, but the only person that door responds to is him. For now, he was alright with her not knowing.

Though, he does feel content with letting her snoop. He didn't figure her as the "corporate/industrial sabatogue" kind of girl. He knew she had skills, but not tech skills like his. If she tried anything, she'd be fried. Which, again, fine by him. She wasn't an asset, she was a toy. And toys break.

But maybe she could surprise him, since in his state of not watching her, he found her suddenly in his lap. And that caused him to pull his conciousness back together and to glance down at her. Compliments and flattery, huh? All right there?

In his lap? Nestled so nicely against it like the good succubus she is? Either she can read minds, or she was lucky, cuz this is the kind of shit that does turn him on.

" Damn right I do. Glad someone around here notices it, even if you haven't been here as long as Val or Vel. " He's still plugged into his network, working away at his company, but he doesn recline back into his chair some, enjoying the feeling of her praise and her sitting in his lap. " But hey, also glad you finally figured out a way to make yourself useful around the office. Keeping an eye on you wandering around aimlessly gets boring after a while. "

[cyarskaren52]

Lift Every Chair And Swing! The Folding Chair And Black August Have X Lit

MadameNoire Featured Video

On the heels of the reparatoryMontgomery riverfront brawl, another video of a Black Detroit man whooping a white man with a folding chair and a video of an unknown Black serving a ballsy white woman a two-piece combo with a kick have emerged. Black August is in full effect.

Hotep King Tariq Nasheed posted a video clip to X, formerly known as Twitter, on  August 10. With the #BlackAugust, the caption read, “Another brotha got the folding chair spirit recently-this time in Detroit. What did I tell you about that #BlackAugustenergy?” 

In the video, the white man seemingly attacked the unidentified Black white man. After charging the dreadlocked brother, the man was clobbered with a bright yellow folding chair. Sustaining multiple blows atop his vulnerable head, the man was no match for the metal contraption and eventually dropped to the ground like a ton of bricks with his flip-flops flapping off his feet. Although the incident happened in Detroit, the people involved have not been confirmed. 

Black X users had a field day with the Black August footage. 

Tariq also posted another Black August video later that day on X with a Black woman putting hands on a white woman who thought it’d be a good idea to invade the sister’s workspace. In an undisclosed location resembling some sort of medical facility, the white woman could be seen storming around a semi-circle workspace to attack the Black woman. Wearing a knee-length sweater, the employee bodyslammed the misguided woman who swung at her after the WWE takedown move, the white woman tried to get her bearings, but the employee channeled her inner- Bruce Lee lobbing a powerful front kick to the woman’s chest. The Black woman was about to go ham on the foolish lady with a chair, but fortunately for her, an unidentified white man carried her away, saving her from another ass-whooping. 

“An aggressive Karen tried to come around the desk and get physical with a sista on her job. The sista delivered a Harriet Tubman Take-down. Followed by a Coretta Scott King Kick. She was about to finish with some Montgomery Chair action, but someone came to save the Karen #BlackAugust,” Tariq’s tweet wrote.

Black X users also weighed in on this brawl. 

The Montgomery Riverfront brawlseemingly inspired veteran actress Sheryl Lee Ralph to respond to the folding chair action.

“I got one thing to say,” Sheryl said to the person recording the video.

“Lift every chair and swing,” she sang with conviction. 

Sent from my iPhone

[age-of-moonknight]

How would you break down the alters' personalities?

Oooooh this is a really fun ask to receive! Thank you so much for sending it to me! :D I feel like I need to preface this though that the way each of the alters' personalities (and to a certain extent, their dynamic within the system) is presented fluctuates a bit with individual writers and mediums. Like, currently, I am wrestling with myself over how best to respond to this ask, because there's the part of me that wants to give the most direct possible answer to your question (how /I/ specifically might parse out the alters) and then there's the part of me that wants to take any opportunity I can to discuss the varying ways the guys have been portrayed across the whole expanse of Moon Knight comics. 😅 So I very well might do both???? For now though, I'll stick with the former because,,,,the latter will take considerably more time than I have at this very moment; however, please just let me know if I misinterpreted your ask as I would be MORE than happy to eventually produce something that's a bit more,,,,historical, if you will. Personal Feelings, Sir aka fair warning, this is entirely just my opinion and I tend to pull a lot from the first volume (but with all of the improvements made by later volumes), so please take the ramblings under the cut with a grain of salt.

MARC

Marc is....over all not a very happy man. He's incredibly tactically proficient with an infantryman's razor sharp sardonic wit and if you share a common goal, he's a great ally to have by your side, but...he's seen things that weigh on a soul and done things he's not proud of and you can tell. Like, there's just a certain intensity and hyperawareness that some combat veterans get that you can see in their eyes and I definitely feel like that comes through with Marc. Kinda taciturn, one might even say at times "brusque" (but he might argue "efficient/economical/laconic"), but there are those he genuinely cares for and he's not without a sense of humor. The issue is that he's definitely aware of his own lethal capability and views it not just as a learned skill but as an integral part of who he is, that "there was never anything kind or gentle about [him]" (Moon Knight vol. 9/2021, #5). Oh, and he's got issues with authority as well as an independent streak that could span the Chicago River that have from his time spent in his father's house to the Marine Corps to his mercenary days burned many bridges, so between that and the very real crimes against humanity he's committed, homeboy's got a lot weighing on him. But he's trying his best to be better from here on out and his degree of faith in whether or not he can actually be better may change with the day but he tries nonetheless, making all the difference.

STEVEN

You ever seen, like, a leopard seal hunting? That's how efficiently Steven navigates high society. He has a perfect handle on old money manners and old money charms and knows exactly how to utilize them. I wouldn't say he's "tactical" with the same connotation of martial violence of action that hangs over Marc, but he's definitely analytical. Highly analytical. I want to make it clear that none of the alters are by any stretch of the imagination dumb, but just by the nature of character dynamics, Steven always ends up the Superego even when Marc and Jake take turns being the Id. Whereas Jake is jovial and street smart and Marc was a CIA operative for a reason (even if his heavy guilt and, if you will, angst can still on occasion sneak up on him and take him out), Steven is the numbers guy. He's the one that takes care of the business end of things and sometimes that means being the level-headed one of the bunch as well. Now, I don't want to make Steven sound like a cold fish (or worse, a bit too much of a shark). I would be remiss if I didn't mention that sometimes, particularly in earlier issues, he can come across as a bit of a dandy, perfectly happy enjoying the finer things in life. More importantly, "the finer things in life" include friends and just genuinely positive relationships. He may have a perfectly crafted persona for society functions that includes a very convincing fake laugh, but he's also far more open to loving and being loved than Marc with all of his hang ups could ever possibly be.

JAKE

When Mr. MacKay described Jake as "avuncular" (Moon Knight vol. 9/2021, #14) and a piratical "rascal" (Moon Knight vol. 9/2021, #15) that took me the heck out because, YEAH! While Steven's the perfect party guest, Jake is the life of the party. He's a force of nature and a bit of a whirlwind, the kind of cabbie that can comfortably (both for you and for him) talk your ear off for the entire fare with the thickest Chicagoan accent you've ever had the privilege of hearing. He's a steadfast and steadying support to those he calls friends (of which he has many since he has a tendency to make them where ever he goes), but he's not above settling a matter with his fists if the situation calls for it. He's nothing if not scrappy after all, because hey, the streets of New York where he spends most of his time aren't exactly easy. Similarly, he's also, I don't want to say "a gossip" per say, but he picks up gossip and other bits of intel like a lint trap. He has a wide net of connections, and don't get me wrong, he loves people dearly, but he's very keen when it comes to knowing exactly which people to tap if he needs a certain line of information. He's honest and lovable and an absolute rogue that makes it very hard to remain mad at him, no matter what mischief he might get into.