#how long would it have to be though? how ridiculous would that be?

[sweet-hedonist]

Lessons in Restraint

Viktor x fem! reader

After losing a bet to your partner, you end up having to deal with the consequences of your actions, no matter how much you beg.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dom/sub dynamics, bondage

A/N: wrote this in a fugue state at 4am and finished it on public transit, I’m a god of creation lol. Not proofread at all but I like it. This is so horny and debauched have fun. Reblogs and comments make my day (I read every single one)

“You know, it’s incredibly satisfying to see you like this after talking such a big game.” His voice is lilting and thick and like a haunting melody that weaves its way into your brain and doesn’t leave, no matter how hard you try to expel it.

The smirk is audible and as you stare up at this man from your place on the floor, rage bubbles deep within you, flavoring the already cultivated desire that has been driving your instincts.

A bet. A stupid, idiotic, ridiculous bet was all it took to end up here: naked, bound, and kneeling before Viktor as if he were your king.

The bet had been simple.

“You have no self control.” He’d mocked you one late night in the lab as you lay draped over him on the small beat to hell couch they’d brought in for you. Basking in the post-sex glow, you laughed airily, your mind still a bit foggy and blissed out.

“Neither do you. Can you blame me? I’m a girl who knows what she wants.” You punctuated your statement by snuggling further into him.

A chuckle, then “Patience is a virtue. God you’re probably not even able to last a week without needing me.” His hands tracing lazy patterns on your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Is that a challenge?” Your eyes narrowed at him from your place on his chest.

“Perhaps.”

He’d been right of course. You didn’t last a week without needing him, folding just on the morning of day 6, practically begging him to fuck you, touch you, anything at all.

The smirk that split his face was so vile and hypnotizing that you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. Of course, he obliged and fucked you so good you couldn’t walk for a day.

“You need lessons in restraint, humility. And seeing as you lost the bet…”

Which led you to right now.

Two in the morning.

Completely alone in his lab.

At his mercy.

The soft rope around your wrists and ankles caresses your skin, knots only tightening as you squirm. Wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and just for an added kick in the mouth, wrist to ankle. Knees spread and back arched as Viktor sat in his desk chair, which from this angle looked much more like a throne on which an emperor sat.

Alas, it would not be the benevolent kind.

“What, no witty comeback or retort for me? Are you all out of fight? Or are you just learning to mind your tongue?” he leans forward, forehead almost touching yours but not quite. He hasn’t touched you in over an hour. Just lingering stares or fabric or even the occasional breath of air. Nothing else.

“Or…” he leans close to yours ear, “you’re just being quiet to avoid the shame?” White hot fear washes over you. It’s so hot it’s freezing and you want to simultaneously worm away from the sensation and also surrender to it.

“Pity. This is a lesson in humility. Obedience. Discipline. Trust.” His voice softens at the last word and there’s a brief moment where his gaze shifts, full of adoration and love and awe. It doesn’t last long though; enough for you to smile back, and give a quick confirmation that ‘yes you’re ok and want to keep going’.

“Well? Nothing at all?” He sits back up, towering over you and you cannot help but avert your gaze underneath his stare. It pins you to the wall like a pretty butterfly in a shadowbox.

“Unh-unh…” he tuts disapprovingly and it’s all the warning before the end up his cane is tipping your chin back up, allowing you to properly look at him.

“None of that. So rude, absolutely no manners. You should be ashamed of yourself.” He stares down the length of his cane at you, eyes molten and burning as he speaks.

“I…” but there’s nothing you can really say for yourself now. He’s right. As he usually is. You are ashamed.

“No? Not a thing in that pretty little head of yours is there?” He removes his cane from your chin and lets it fall to the floor, hands folding on his lap as he ponders what to do with you.

Eyes rove over your twitching body, no doubt a puddle of wetness below you dripping from your aching core. It’s pathetic and humiliating and some sick fucked up part of you relishes in it. He knows it too, head tilting as he looks down.

“Oh, poor thing. You’re just drenched aren’t you?” the mockery in his voice stirs a frustrated whimper out of you, pulls it from your chest like one would pull a hook from the stomach of fish who’d swallowed it. Bloody and violent and unable to do a damn thing about it.

“Such a pretty sound.” It’s not to you, just musing to himself. You whine again, roll your hips as you stare up at him, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Touch you.

“Viktor…you’re being cruel…” your voice is fucked out and ragged, despite the lack of stimulation. He’s brought you this close with barely anything but his voice and a few lengths of rope. A feat, really. He’ll brag about it for the rest of your life.

“Am I? Or are you just not prepared to accept that your actions have consequences?”

“I just wanna touch you…” you crane your neck up at him, staying rooted to your spot but reaching. He is a planet and you a mere comet pulled into his gravitational field, circling.

He thinks for a moment, you can see the gears working in his head.

“You want to cum?” No one, nor any amount of liquor could get you to admit how earnestly you nodded your head at his words, how desperately. With a quick move you weren’t expecting, he bends forward in his seat and wraps a pale hand around your throat. The sensation is near overwhelming as he hasn’t touched you in an hour, fingers now digging into the delicate column holding up your head.

“I think…” he tilts your head this way and that, ever the scientist, taking in every observation, every bead of sweat, every tremble, “…I have a compromise that will suffice.”

With a bit of a gentler hand, he pulls you forwards by your neck, his own rolling chair moving to meet you as you shuffle forward. He pulls you closer, closer, until his knee is flush with your sternum, and you’re situated directly over his shoe.

Fear washes over you, curls its fingers into your hair, your spine, your stomach.

“You want to cum so bad?” He jerks up his foot at the end of his sentence, bumping it against your clit in a way that has you nearly doubling over and letting out a strangled yelp.

“Go ahead, sweet thing.” Your neck is still in his grip, so you know he can feel the way your pulse races forward like an engine.

“B-but-“ a protest forms in your mouth but it’s squeezed out of you as his hand tightens.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not making the decisions around here. And that wasn’t a request. Do it.” His tone is icy and piercing and it scares you in a way that urges you forward, letting the humiliation continue to worm its way into your synapses.

He lets go, a little roughly, and straightens his back, looking down at you as if you were an amusing pet.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shut your eyes briefly and take a deep breath, pushing it out rather forcefully.

The first roll of your hips is torturous. It’s friction you haven’t had in hours, so sensitive and swollen that the leather and lace send fireworks through you.

But it’s something, and you’ve been so patient, so agonizingly horny that you’ll take anything. And he knows that.

And the motherfucker is laughing.

“Oh…wow…I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Just so eager to please and be pleased aren’t you?” A deceptively gentle hand caresses your cheek and you lean into it instinctively, the sweetness juxtaposed to his cruel treatment making your head spin a bit.

“What base creatures we humans are. Willing to throw pride and dignity aside all for a biological need to fuck each other like rabbits. All for the pleasure of climax. Slaves to our hormones; all the blood being sent to your swollen cunt, none left for your brain.” The last bit is a coo, a mocking pity that weighs heavy on your sensation addled mind. His hand on your cheek is a cool balm on your feverish skin, tracing your cheekbone in reverence as the words he spits tear at you.

You move faster, chasing the high that is slowly but surely building in the lowest part of your stomach. It’s a dull burn that exponentially increases in intensity and heat. Every word he says is a stoke to the catching blaze.

A low rumble of appreciation stirs from Viktor’s chest, and the pride that swells in you as you look up at his appraising gaze pushes much of the embarrassment aside. The joy of approval, the delicious praise that a mere look can bestow; you need it like you’ve never needed anything before.

“Oh you are splendid, sweet thing. Such a good girl, so eager to please.” His hand drifts to your open mouth, fingers dancing along the pad of your lip. With no other instruction, you lean forward and take two of his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits in such a lewd manner that the workers of the brothels would blush.

There’s a small intake of breath from your Viktor, a brief slip of composure as he stares at you in awe. His eyes sparkle with want and need and adoration.

“You…are perfect, so wonderful for me.” His other hand cradles your head as his fingers push in deeper, pressing down on your tongue slightly. You double your efforts at his sweet words, spurred on with renewed vigor. For me. Yes. For him, always for him, his, his, his, his.

“Oh you liked that did you? You like when I tell you how good you’re doing for me? How beautiful you look there on your knees, fingers in your mouth, truly you put fine art to shame. You were made for this, perfect, so perfect.” He muses, and the heat in your core grows hotter with every breath he takes to speak. Your poor hips are stuttering, so desperately close to cumming all over his pristine leather shoes. Moans spill forth around his fingers as you lose your grip on sanity, oh but what a sweet descent into madness it is.

“Go on. Go on darling, cum. That’s it, make a mess of yourself, that’s it, good girl, oh…” he marvels at you as you contract into him, the force of your orgasm pulling a strangled scream from your lungs. It’s wave after wave of white hot ecstasy, and your hips undulate a few more times as you ride it out, milking it for every last drop. His hand retracts from your mouth and he holds you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Wonderful darling, you did wonderful, absolutely perfect. So good, so good for me.” Fingers card through your hair, hands guiding your head to rest on his knee. You’re grateful for the support, it’s getting awful hard to keep your head up. The thigh of his good leg is sturdy and strong from baring the brunt of his weight. It’s grounding beneath you.

Slowly but surely, your breathing evens out, his hands petting your hair reverentially, holding you as you come down from your high. You stay like that for a while, until your knees start to hurt and your wrists ache, causing you to whimper at the newly forming pain.

“Are you alright lásko? Can I move you?” He whispers, hands never stopping his movements. You nod against his leg, weak but sure.

“M’good. Just go slow.” Your voice is hoarse and crackly from exhaustion. He bends down, kisses your head, and picks it up off of his thigh. With a twist, he adjust his chair so it’s a bit lower to the ground, closer to you. He reaches around, kissing your shoulder as he does so, and unties the ropes around your wrists and ankles. They fall away, and your arms instinctively reach for him.

“Soon, miláčku. Can you stand?”

“Mhm.” He grips your hands, helping you to your feet, and you’re alright for the most part, just a bit shaky. Viktor reaches for his cane, stands, and leads you by the hand to the couch in the corner of the lab. The leather is cool against your skin as he situates you in the cushions.

“I’ll be right back, just getting you water. Wrap the blanket around you alright?” You nod, his voice your tether to reality. In mere moments he’s back with water in hand, and not long after he’s sitting next to you, pressing you into his good side, arm an anchor over your shoulders. You curl instinctively into him, clutching the blanket around yourself.

“Are you sure you’re ok, sweet thing?”

“I’m sure Viktor.” Your voice has returned to you, as has most of your facilities. The weight of Viktor against you helps immensely.

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed.” He knocks his head against yours, and you laugh, snuggling further into him.

“I can’t say I didn’t know you had it in you, because you’re the most in control person I’ve ever met, but holy shit Vik.” The smell of his cologne and shampoo washes over you as you nestle closer into his neck, so ineffably him.

His cheek is pressed to the top of your head as he says , “I hope that is a positive ‘holy shit’.”

“Oh certainly.” You sit up slightly to look him in the eyes, “Vik. That was amazing. I…you were fantastic. It was everything I could’ve wanted.” A dopey smile spreads across your face and you can see the blush forming on his cheeks, the pride swelling in his chest.

“Thank you for trusting me with you.”

“Vik I trust you with my life.” You kiss his cheek, and he chuckles, a pretty sound that you wish you’d hear more often. But as the months go by, it’s starting to become a bit more familiar.

“And I trust you with mine.”

“Yeah but I just use that leverage to get you to bed at night so you don’t die of sleep deprivation.” He snorts as he pulls you in closer to him.

“Isn’t it common practice for someone in your position to nap after a scene?”

You laugh, but acquiesce and snuggle into him further, “you’re just deflecting, one day I’ll fix your sleep schedule.” But your eyes are already closing and his hands are playing with your hair.

“Sure, lásko. Sleep well. I love you.”

You smile, though you’re already halfway to sleep, “love you too.”

[ssa-dado]

The Ship of Theseus (prelude)

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort (?), pining - I really do suck at tagging Summary: Never fuck your boss. Never fuck your best friend. And definitely never fuck Aaron Hotchner. But you did anyways. And now you’re left with the post-coital edition of Mr. Practical and all the messy aftermath that came with it. And a makeout too. Apparently the big scary man fell asleep right into your arms. Warnings: It's mentioned that they fucked. Whoops. IDK. In doubt - +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. No actual smut, but it's STEAMYYYYY... way too suggestive. Also, some cuss words here and there. Hotch being a softie. Word Count: 4.1k Dado's Corner: It’s a Chekhov’s gun of Ethics but without the actual gun… unless, of course, we’re talking about Aaron’s GUNSHOTS - oh, wait, there it is! The gun! Aaron’s thick, throbbing GUNSHOTS - oh shit, that’s so cool

masterlist

If there was ever an Olympic event for post-coital efficiency, your dearest friend – and funnily enough – your boss Aaron Hotchner would be taking home the gold.

Truly, what a sight to behold.

One moment, he was wrecking you within an inch of your sanity, and the next - barely a minute later - him and his ridiculously long legs were back in your bedroom, carrying a towel in one hand, a damp washcloth in the other, like the world’s most disciplined housekeeper.

So proper, so effortlessly composed, even now.

Because of course Aaron Hotchner - former prosecutor, Unit Chief, insufferable neat freak - would handle post-coital cleanup like it was just another task on meticulously organized, color-coded to-do list.

Sex: Completed (highly successful, performance rating: exemplary)

Orgasm(s): Confirmed (3, official review pending, though “best orgasm of my life” was strongly implied)

Post-coital hydration: Pending (but water bottle is within retrieval distance)

Aftercare protocol: Initiated (warm washcloth acquired, towel deployment imminent)

Debriefing & emotional processing: Ongoing (mission parameters unclear, subject remains evasive yet sarcastic)

Sheets: Ruined (replacement required, but can be postponed in favor of further activity)

Boss/subordinate ethical violation acknowledgment: Not yet addressed, deliberately ignored

Cuddling: Proposal under review (high-risk scenario)

Exit strategy: TBD (complications may include the inability to leave this bed for the foreseeable future)

And, obviously, you could not let him get away with that.

"Look at you, being all domesticated," you teased, propping yourself up slightly as he walked over.

"Someone has to take care of you," he shot back smoothly, dropping the towel onto the bed and kneeling beside you like this was normal.

Like you weren’t both still bare, still caught in the strange, floating space that existed after.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

The teasing - the constant, insufferable push and pull - was easy. That was your rhythm. That was safe. But this was something else entirely.

Something that left you both a little flustered, a little unsteady.

Even you - you, who could talk your way out of anything, who thrived on throwing him off - found yourself at a loss, your mouth opening, reaching for something to say, for anything that would keep this from feeling like more than what it was.

But then he touched you.

Pressed the warm cloth to your skin with so much care, with so much intent, and whatever sarcastic remark had been forming on your tongue just evaporated.

It wasn’t fair how tender he could be, how his hands - capable of so much control, so much discipline - could be this gentle, this careful. On you.

"You don’t have to do that," you murmured, breathless and barely audible.

"I know," he said simply, his gaze flicking up just long enough to see you before returning to his task. "But I want to."

So you let him. Let him take care of you.

Let yourself watch him, tracing the way his thick brows furrowed with concentration because he wanted to get it just right, the way his jaw tensed and relaxed as he worked, annoyingly meticulous, like this was just as important as everything that had come before it.

Gentle. Steady. Intimate. Intentional.

In a way that made your chest ache.

In a way that made you terrified of what it meant - now that the lust had passed, now that you were both just... here, bare, with nothing but each other.

And especially when he started pressing slow, lazy kisses along your knee, your already-marked thigh, your hip - like he needed to, like he couldn’t help himself, like he wanted to remind you that he had been there, that you were safe with him, even now.

Every second was more devastating than the last.

When he finished, he set the towel aside and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a beat, then another, then another, until he could hear how fast your heart was pounding.

"There," he murmured, lips still brushing against your skin. "All set."

You shook your head, forcing a smile, forcing yourself back to safer ground. "So thorough, Hotchner. Truly, I’m impressed."

His mouth quirked, but apparently, he wasn’t done being insufferably tender, kissing your cheek up next. Wasn’t he just adorable?!

"I aim to please," it was so utterly him it made your stomach flip, but not even more Aaron Hotchner than when, suddenly, he was back to bossing you around in your own home.

"Now, we change the bedsheets, take a shower, and then I’ll see you back here so we-"

And then he stopped. Oh no. Cat got your tongue, bossman?

"We what?" you prompted, raising an eyebrow, watching with unholy satisfaction as the tips of his ears turned red.

He cleared his throat, hesitated in a way that was so unlike him it almost hurt to witness."We… could cuddle. If you want. Or talk. Or whatever you want to do, really. No pressure. I can leave, all you have to do is tell me."

The longer he spoke, the redder he got, his words tripping over themselves, and honestly, it was taking everything in you not to burst out laughing right in front of him.

"You’re adorable, you know that?" you said instead, leaning in to press a kiss to his flushed cheek, hopefully to calm him down – or at least that was your excuse. "Big, scary Aaron Hotchner, suggesting cuddling in the same breath as ‘no pressure.’"

You mocked him, because humbling him was your second nature, and judging by the glare he was giving you, you were winning yet another round. Still, you didn’t want him to just leave. That much was obvious.

He exhaled slowly, gaze steady. "So… what do you want?"

You pretended to think about it, dragging it out just to see that little furrow in his brow deepen.

"Well, I suppose I could settle for cuddling… " you mused, letting your fingers ghost along his shoulders, "but only if you’re the little spoon."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Little spoon?"

Oh, wasn’t it just glorious. 2-0

"My house, my rules," you said smugly. "If you don’t like it, next time we’ll do it at your place, and you can do whatever you want."

And the second the words left your mouth, you definitely wanted to die.

Next time.

As if this was a thing. As if you had even talked about what it was, what this meant. As if you had acknowledged that what you’d just done was completely, wildly, against every rule in the protocol - and common sense as well.

Especially because he was your boss.

"I’m joking, of course," you backtracked quickly, though you felt the heat creeping up your neck.

"Of course," he echoed, but there was something in his expression, something behind his eyes that said he wasn’t entirely convinced, probably because he caught you with your hands in the cookie jar. "This was…"

Great. The talk.

"An accident," you supplied.

"Against protocol," he continued.

No shit, Sherlock.

"Because you’re my boss-"

"We work together," he chimed in, but his voice was softer now, trailing.

"Could cost us our careers," you pointed out, waiting for him to acknowledge it, to confirm the obvious.

"When there’s a pattern of offending behavior," he murmured, almost to himself, slipping into technicalities - because of course he would.

But then - he smirked. Just the slightest tilt of his lips, still – he smirked.

Oh.

And that could only mean one thing.

"A pattern," you echoed, watching him carefully.

And just like that, because he was only a man - logical, brilliant, but still just a man - he reached the same inevitable conclusion you had, just a breath later.

His fingers found yours, intertwining, and it was stupid how calming that simple gesture was.

Or maybe it wasn’t the touch itself but the truth laced between your hands.

Or maybe both.

Or maybe it was just this - how the whole conversation had shifted without either of you stopping it.

It didn’t mean you wouldn’t push and pull anymore. Didn’t mean you wouldn’t still play cat and mouse. You would. Just differently now. With your lips on the other’s skin instead of just grazing the air.

"We’re very good at patterns," he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, pressing a kiss there.

"At recognizing patterns," you corrected, your breath hitching as you tilted your head, catching the corner of his mouth with yours.

"What is a pattern, after all?" His lips moved along your cheek, his hands sliding up your spine, settling against your back.

"A repetition," you answered, barely above a whisper, pressing a kiss just beneath his ear.

"A repetition," he echoed, voice rasping, pressing one to the curve of your jaw.

"Exactly that." You murmured as your fingers traced patterns over his bare shoulders.

"Depending on a series of factors," he continued, shifting slightly, pressing another kiss to your collarbone.

"Such as…?" You exhaled against the bruise you left on his throat.

"Subjects involved," he murmured.

"Location," you supplied.

"A very important factor," he agreed, flashing his intoxicating dimples, nudging his nose against yours.

"Fundamental in analysis," you teased, smiling against his lips.

"If the location changes," he murmured, pausing just long enough to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, "the recognition of the pattern could be…"

You barely heard him, too focused on the way his breath ghosted over your skin, but still - hearing him talk like that, with his voice all low and thoughtful and dangerous, made you shiver.

"Devious," you countered, barely referring to legal theory anymore.

No, he was devious - the way his mouth was just barely touching yours, his hands skimming your sides like he wanted to devour you but was forcing himself to behave.

You've had enough. You tilted your head, catching his lips in a kiss, cutting off whatever legal analysis he thought he was about to give.

"Faulted," he corrected, the words slipping straight into your mouth, delivered onto your tongue by his, deepening the kiss without hesitation.

"You can never be sure…" your voice faltered, swallowed by the way he pulled you flush against his bare body, his fingers digging into the skin of your lower back.

"…if it’s the same pattern," he finished for you, just before his teeth caught your bottom lip, just hard enough to make you gasp.

"Or a copycat," you murmured, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, feeling completely dizzy, straight-up autopilot - you barely even knew what you’d just said.

Judging by the way he chuckled, though, it was probably nonsense.

No, definitely ridiculous, because now he was repeating it back to you, still grinning, "…A copycat? You’re crazy."

Still, he never looked away.

Right… you definitely weren’t exactly talking about unsubs now.

"So one single act can still be admissible?" you asked, fingers idly tracing over his cheek.

"It was just a little lapse in judgment," he chuckled, but you could already feel the gears turning in that brilliant lawyer’s mind, already bending the rules in real time, looking for the inevitable loophole in the very system you both swore by.

"...At your place," he added, like that alone made all the difference. "And that’s just one location."

You smirked. "Not your apartment."

"To be precise," he murmured, his mouth brushing over yours, "it was just your bed… which means that technically-"

"Technically", you could still fuck each other everywhere else.

"Oh, I love the way your brain works…" you hummed, punctuating your words with another kiss, this time against the sharp line of his jaw. "So… not the shower."

And just like that, it became a game.

A list. A reckless, bucket list.

"The desk," he murmured, and fuck, you had to squeeze your thighs together at that one, trying so hard not to let your brain go there - not to picture which specific desk you wanted him to bend you over, not to imagine the feel of his hands gripping your hips, his voice low in your ear, telling you to keep quiet.

Definitely not the one in his office. No. That would be unethical.

"The kitchen counter," you whispered, voice already a little breathless.

"The floor," he added, lips dragging just beneath your ear, voice husky, teasing, unfair.

"Of all the rooms in this apartment…" you trailed off, tilting his chin just slightly so you could press a slow kiss right between his brows, smoothing away the tiny crease there.

"The couch," he murmured. Low blow.

You bit your lip, because that wasn’t fair, because now all you could think about was straddling his lap, sinking down onto him, rolling your hips while his hands dug into the flesh of your thighs, holding you in place, watching you come undone.

You had never wanted to ride a man so badly in your life.

"Against the front door," you suggested next

“The armchair” he added, and okay - so he really wanted you to ride him. Noted.

"The stairs," you countered, throwing something ridiculous just to regain some control.

"We don’t have stairs," he said, lips curving against your skin.

"Fine," you huffed. "The car."

"Backseat or front?" he asked, way too inclined to indulge in your proposal.

"Front if I’m driving," you mused.

He groaned at that, and you took the opportunity to press your advantage, brushing your lips over his throat, smirking against his skin as you felt something become quite… hard.

"My bed," he rasped suddenly, and damn, you knew you were done for the second those words left his mouth.

Because that - that was dangerous. The thought of being wrapped in sheets that smelled like him, tangled up in his warmth, surrounded by the scent of sex and sweat and that insufferable, frustratingly attractive man…

You would not survive it.

"The elevator," you rasped before you could stop yourself.

And that was when he froze - for half a second, you thought maybe he hadn’t heard you. And then-

"Jesus Christ."

"I don’t think that one’s possible, Hotchner.."

Still, his mouth parted, his pupils blown so wide there was barely any brown left, and for a second, you genuinely thought he was about to die right then and there. Would’ve been tragic, really - death by horny legal loopholes debate.

Explain that to Erin Strauss...

But then he groaned, deep and wrecked, dropping his face into your neck like he needed a moment to recover. Maybe he wasn’t going to die just yet.

"The elevator?" he muttered against your skin, muffled, bewildered, like he couldn’t quite believe he was having this conversation.

"The elevator," you confirmed, absolutely shameless.

"Jesus."

"I’d prefer it be just the two of us, if that’s not a problem for you," you deadpanned.

He let out a deep, suffering sigh against your neck, like he was physically restraining himself from debating elevator logistics.

"I don’t even know what to do with you," he muttered.

"I have some ideas."

He exhaled, then lifted his head just enough to look you dead in the eye. "We are never having sex in an elevator."

"That sounds like a challenge."

"That sounds like a lawsuit," he corrected, still so visibly distressed that you could not stop laughing.

"Thought you used to be a good lawyer, Hotchner," you teased, your fingers dragging lazily along his spine. "Wouldn't you know your way around a legal loophole?"

"Oh, I do," he sighed. "I also know how to avoid federal charges."

"You’re truly a prude."

"You're truly reckless," he shot back, eyes closed, mentally revisiting every questionable decision he’d made in the last hour… or maybe the last two…

Honestly, who was even keeping track at this point?

You smirked, shifting until you were draped half over his chest, resting your chin on your folded arms as you gazed at him. "Oh, c'mon, Hotchner, live a little."

His eyes opened just enough to give you a look.

You huffed. "Okay, okay, fine. No elevators. If you really wanna be lame about it."

"Thank you," he said flatly.

A pause. Then, you couldn’t help it. "The jet."

His entire body went rigid. You swore you felt his soul attempt to leave his body.

"The jet?" he repeated, voice hoarse.

You nodded sagely. "The jet."

"Oh my God."

You grinned, slow and so wicked. "Can you imagine it?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Small, enclosed space-" you started.

"Oh my God."

"-turbulence, you pinning me against the-"

"No." He cut you off.

You cackled, absolutely delighted by his suffering.

"The team is on that jet," he tried to argue.

"Not always," you countered, “sometimes Strauss is there too.”

His entire face drained of color. For a solid three seconds, he just stared at you, mouth slightly parted, horror creeping into his very being.

"Get out."

You wheezed, collapsing against his chest, “Of my bedroom?! You can’t really dismiss me here unfortunately for you.”

"I don’t ever want to hear the words sex and Strauss in the same sentence again," he grumbled.

"I believe you just said them yourself, Hotchner"

A slow blink. A deep sigh. He was so close to reconsidering every single choice that had led him to this moment.

And yet-

Instead of answering, he just exhaled, letting his weight sink into you, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder like admitting defeat.

Because you both knew exactly what this was.

A game.

A flimsy, shameless, beautiful excuse to keep doing this - to keep falling into each other, to keep breaking rules and bending logic, to keep pretending it wasn’t something more.

But neither of you said that.

Neither of you needed to.

Instead, you simply thrived in the ineffable, in the space where words didn’t need to be spoken. In the way his body melted on top of yours, drawn to you despite himself, despite the attitude, despite everything.

Because with you, he could just be.

Simply, truly, exist in his truth.

Not Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. Not the unshakable leader, not the man who carried the weight of everyone else’s burdens on his back, never allowing himself to falter.

Just Aaron.

The six-foot-two little spoon who swore he wouldn’t be, yet here he was, folded into you like he’d never belonged anywhere else, all because you’d jokingly set it as a condition for him to breathe this close to you.

At least, that’s what you told him.

But in reality a part of you wanted this.

A part of you wanted the man who always stayed close – from the victims, to the UnSubs, and everyone he cared about, always making sure he was the one who bore the weight so no one else had to - to have someone stay close for him.

To let him know what it felt like to be held.

Because the thought had been lingering at the edges of your mind for far too long now - unwelcome, unavoidable -

If he was there to protect everyone, who was there to protect him?

Not that you were volunteering. Not like that.

Actually if you said it out loud, he’d probably just laugh at you, and use that damned dry humor of his and tell you “How can you protect me if you can barely shoot?”

And you’d laugh, you’d tease him right back - and nothing would change.

But you knew the truth - you’d been his anchor for the past decade.

And so your fingers traced idle patterns along his back, thoughtlessly, feeling the tension unwind from his muscles, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

"You’re warm," he murmured after a while, rasping at the edges, making your heart ache in a way you didn’t want to think too hard about.

"You’re a bit heavy," you murmured, lips quirking slightly.

"Mhm." But he didn’t move, didn’t even try.

You smiled to yourself, dragging your fingers gently through his short hair, feeling the strands slip between them, coarse and slightly mussed.

"You don’t have to do that," he said softly against your skin.

"I know," you whispered, your hand still smoothing over his back, still holding him close, like you weren’t fooling either of you. "But I want to."

A pause. A deep breath.

Then-

"Thank you," he sighed, pressing a barely-there kiss to your shoulder, too tired to move, too tired to do anything but exist against you.

Just holding each other.

Just existing in the same space, in the same breath, with no expectations, no pressure, no future to consider beyond the feel of his heartbeat against yours.

"You know, there’s a philosophical dilemma called the Ship of Theseus-" you started, your voice a gentle hum in the quiet, earning a small huff from him in response.

"It questions whether an object remains fundamentally the same if all of its components are replaced over time. If every original part is gone, is it still the same thing? Because technically, it’s not… if identity is tied to its physical components and not something more abstract, like function or form."

You felt the slow, subtle curve of his lips against your shoulder.

"Which brings us to," you added, lips curving now too, " is this even the same bed if we just change the sheets? On some criteria, following this logic… it isn’t."

A beat.

No reply.

Just the steady, even sound of his breathing.

And - oh.

Oh.

He’d fallen asleep on you. Mid-philosophy. Unbelievable.

Great. So apparently, you were the boring one now. Perfect.

But before you could dwell too much on your bruised ego, he stirred, mumbling something barely coherent against your skin.

"Mmmh… we change the sheets… shower… come back here and-"

“’And’ what?” You sighed, your fingers still lazily running through his hair.  “Aaron, you sound like a low-battery version of yourself.” You huffed a laugh, shaking your head.

"M'practical," he slurred, as if that was a valid argument.

"You’re half-asleep."

"Still practical," he muttered.

"If you move, I’ll take care of the sheets. You go shower," you offered, voice quiet, fond.

He barely responded, just a low, unintelligible grumble against your collarbone before-

"Mm-mm… we don’t… shower together?”

You sighed. Of course that was where his sleepy brain went.

"Will we just shower?" you asked, knowing full well he wouldn’t have the energy for anything else.

A beat of silence.

Then, his voice barely above a whisper-

"What if we don’t?" he muttered, already half-asleep. "S’not against the rules…"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Aaron-"

"The ship… applies to your shower too…" his words trailed off lazily, completely nonsense, but you could hear the hint of a smile in them. "If you replace the soap… ‘s a different shower…"

Well, at least even in his on-the-brink-of-unconsciousness state, he was committed to following through with your logic...

"I’m saying this for your own good, Hotchner, because you really don’t have the energy for another round."

"I do," he grumbled, shifting, his arms tightening around you like you had to believe him.

"Sure," you murmured, kissing his forehead. "I’ll believe that when you make it to the bathroom without falling asleep in the doorway."

He made a low, unintelligible noise, like he wanted to argue, but his body had already betrayed him, too heavy, too settled against you.

"Go," you whispered, nudging him gently.

A deep sigh. Then-

"Fine."

He peeled himself off you with the effort of a man being dragged out of bed by force, his body moving like it was actively resisting him.

You bit back another laugh as he stumbled toward the bathroom, catching himself on the doorframe for just a second before disappearing inside.

And, of course-

When you finished your own shower and stepped quietly back into the bedroom, he was already collapsed against the bed, completely dead to the world.

Or so you thought.

Because the moment you eased yourself into bed, trying your best to be quiet, he shifted -

One sleepy, instinctive movement.

And suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you without thinking, his body curling into yours, his head tucking against the crook of your neck, snuggling.

Clingy.

"Annoying little spoon," you muttered.

You felt a muffled hum against your skin. "Next time… we switch."

You sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, letting your fingers drift through his hair one more time. "Go to sleep, Aaron."

He sighed against your skin, warm and content, the weight of him only settling deeper into you.

"Mmm. ‘M already sleepin’…" he murmured, words barely holding together.

A beat.

Then, even softer-

"You should too… two hours ‘til work."

Oh, he just could not help himself - spent a full minute reminding you, over and over, that you just fucked your boss.

Damn it, Aaron. At least he could try to pretend...

"Actually, it’s one and a half." you bit back.

A pause.

Then-

"Shit."

Shit indeed.

Phi's Corner: BOTTOM HOTCH RIGHTS!!!!!!!! Also don't worry filthy goyals, you will be fed with some actual smut tomorrow. And probably some context too... maybe?!?! hope you enjoyed this anyways...

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[jeonscatalyst]

https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/774212277059682304/httpswwwtumblrcomdearweirdme7742039285407416

“Serves them right for being idiots” then proceeds to make the most idiotic write up of all time. The fact that anyone can have a smart phone and internet these days to spew nonsense online is beyond me.

Hi anon,

There was a time when I used to think this was the most sensible Taekook blogger on Tumblr, but over time, my opinion began to shift. I haven’t seen a single insightful post from this blogger since AYS was announced. I used to frequent Taekook blogs because it was fun to read other people’s perspectives, but eventually, I stopped visiting their spaces because I felt like I was losing brain cells after every visit.

This particular blogger frustrates me because it’s evident they truly believe they are wise or introspective, when, in reality, they are just as misguided as any other Taekooker. I won’t go into detail about the differences between Taekook and Jikook, nor the clear evidence of who is closer, as I’ve already done that in a lengthy post in the past. You can read it here…

Instead, today I want to address a few things that Taekookers, and some Jikookers as well, still fail to understand, not only about the bond between Jikook and Taekook, but also about human relationships in general.

Let’s begin with the fact that this blogger claims the Jikook ship was created by BigHit. Not only is this the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever read, but it’s also a pathetic excuse for why another pairing gained recognition. Let’s not even mention that this blogger has only been in the fandom for a short time and probably caught up on content through YouTube edits, (you can tell they’re the type to fall for YouTube edits because they cite them as references), TikTok, and various conspiracy theories from bitter Taekookers trying to explain away the connection they see between Jimin and Jungkook. This person hasn’t been around long enough to form such strong opinions about the past, yet they act as though they lived through it all personally. Not saying one couldn’t be informed about a past they didn’t experience but we all know living through something is different from getting information about it second hand.

How exactly did BigHit create the Jikook ship when the primary reason for its popularity is the GCF Jungkook posted in November 2017? That video, which Jungkook made after a trip with Jimin to Japan, was not related to work. In fact, Jungkook explicitly stated that the trip and by extension, the GCF, was not work-related in any way. How could BigHit have created the ship when nearly every major Jikook moment came from Jungkook himself? If you were to ask any Jikooker on the street why they started shipping Jikook, you’d hear about things like the GCF, MMA 2018, the Rose Bowl, Hickeygate, etc. Not a single one would mention anything related to the company, and notice how all of these key moments were initiated by Jungkook?

This blogger also goes on to say that Jimin leans into fanservice more because he wants to please the company and the fans. I find it hard to understand how this isn’t anti behavior, especially since this blog claims it doesn’t harbor any ill feelings toward Jimin. Implying that Jimin lives his entire life to cater to fans and a corporation while disregarding the feelings of his friends is such an anti move especially because Jungkook himself describes Jimin as thoughtful and selfless. I doubt he would see Jimin this way if Jimin constantly disregarded his feelings and focused more on pleading fans and a money hungry coorperation.

The reason I mentioned that Jungkook initiates most of the interactions that Jikookers find significant is because Taekookers often argue that Jimin leans more into “fanservice” than Jungkook does and that Jungkook sometimes seems hesitant to engage due to his consideration for Taehyung. However, it doesn’t seem to me that Jungkook was particularly concerned about Taehyung when he singlehandedly kickstarted the ship with his GCF. He certainly didn’t seem worried about Taehyung during MMA 2018, or when he openly shared that his “bro” Jimin had bitten him on the neck while tipsy after a late-night drink knowing exactly how shippers would react. It doesn’t appear that he had Taehyung in mind when he revealed that he showers and sings with Jimin in the military fully aware of how fans might react to that information. By now, we have to assume that all the members are aware of what fans do, and Jungkook must know about both Jikookers and Taekookers. If he were truly concerned about Taehyung’s feelings regarding his “fanservice” with Jimin, I highly doubt he would have invited himself to shower at Jimin’s during a live, fully aware of how fans would interpret that.

This blogger seems to forget that it was thanks to Jimin that Jikookers didn’t have more moments to celebrate in chapter two of their bond. It was Jungkook who kept the ship alive during that time. If it had been up to Jungkook, we would have had many more moments to highlight. He was the one going live multiple times, talking about Jimin, watching and singing his songs. If Jimin had accepted when Jungkook invited him over for chicken and beer, we would have had a Jikook moment. If Jimin had shown up when Jungkook extended an open invite to any member to join him, we would have had a Jikook moment. If Jimin had agreed when Jungkook asked to come over, do a live, and shower at his place, we would have had countless moments to talk about for years. But alas, none of these things happened because of Jimin. Yet, somehow, he’s the one being accused of leaning more into “fanservice”?

These newer fans are incredibly fortunate to have encountered a quieter version of Jimin. If they had been around pre-2020, and witnessed how unapologetically vocal Jimin was about Jungkook, they would have disliked him (well, they dislike him now, but they wouldn’t have been able to hide it as they do now). They are lucky that they came in during a time when Jimin has become more reserved. If Jimin really wanted to cater to shippers he wouldn’t have said “no” when asked if he had eaten Jungkook’s ramen yet. He would have gone to Inkigayo just to give shippers something to talk about. He could have easily gone to Jungkook’s house anytime and taken photos, posted them, or even shared a video from when he spent the night with him before Jeju. He never lacked invitations from Jungkook; in fact, Jungkook asked him over multiple times. The only reason we didn’t see those moments was because of Jimin.

They claim Jungkook holds back because he’s concerned about Taehyung, but I didn’t see him thinking about Taehyung when he cuddled into Jimin’s lap and slapped his butt in AYS. The funniest part is, in AYS, Jungkook initiated more physical contact with Jimin than Jimin did. Nearly every time Jimin initiated anything, it was usually playful, but it was Jungkook who woke up and cuddled into Jimin, touched Jimin to look for mosquito bites, who “caressed Jimin’s smooth legs on the yacht”, who leaned on Jimin’s shoulder during the train ride. It was Jungkook who constantly talked about how much he loved the trip, describing it as the best trips of his life. Most of the significant Jikook moments from AYS were once again initiated by Jungkook, but Taekookers ignore these and magnify moments when Jungkook playfully pushes or shoves Jimin away when he’s being mischievous, claiming that it’s him setting boundaries. If he were really setting boundaries, he wouldn’t have cuddled into Jimin’s lap and slapped his ass. If he were setting boundaries, he wouldn’t have leaned on Jimin’s shoulder during the train ride. If he were really worried about Taehyung, he wouldn’t have told us that the trips with Jimin were the best trips of his life, especially after taking “private” trip with Taehyung. That’s insulting. So, I fail to see how Jimin is the one who leans more into “fanservice” when many Jikookers are still here today thanks to Jungkook.

This blogger’s concept of closeness is truly amusing and highlights their ignorance. According to them, Jimin seems closer to Taehyung simply because he called him a few times in chapter two. Wouldn’t it be nice if life were that simple and linear? Wouldn’t it be easier and less complicated if relationships were so black and white? This blogger claims that the things they’ve said themselves prove who is closer among the three, but I fail to see how Taehyung and Jungkook talking about not having deep conversations or feeling awkward with each other proves how close they are. I don’t understand how Taehyung saying that he only learned about Jikook’s trip through the group chat shows how close they are. How does Taehyung not knowing Jungkook was filming a show with Jimin demonstrate their closeness? And how does Taehyung not knowing Jimin spent the night at Jungkook’s before Jeju prove that they’re close? Mind you taekookers believe that everytime Jk was on his phone in AYS he was talking with Tae and they also believe that Taekook FaceTime a lot but my question is, what do they talk about on this numerous calls if Tae keeps finding out about Jungkook’s schedules from a group chat and not from Jungkook himself? If anything, these examples illustrate exactly how Taekook’s friendship and bond truly are.

Human relationships are fluid, multifaceted, and complex. Closeness and distance are influenced by factors like mental state, career shifts, personal growth, emotional needs, stress, and misunderstandings. It’s important to remember that a single period of time doesn’t define the entirety of a relationship, but it can reflect specific phases, changes, or circumstances that affect how people interact.

The fact that Jimin might have kept in touch more with Taehyung than with Jungkook during a particular period doesn’t necessarily mean that he feels closer to Taehyung. Let me illustrate this with an example, though this is not meant to reflect what happened in Jikook’s situation. If you have a friend and a lover, you would likely communicate more with your lover, depending on the circumstances. However, if you experience a misunderstanding, disagreement, breakup, or a period of distance with your lover, you might reduce or stop contact with them during that time but still maintain communication with your friend. Does this mean you’re closer to the friend you’re still in touch with? Of course not. It’s simply a matter of circumstances. This specific period doesn’t define your bond or who you feel closer to. This is the basic concept I’ve been trying to explain to for so long and I am honestly baffled people don’t understand this. I don’t know how everyone else does it but sometimes, when I don’t understand certain things, I put myself, my relationship and that of friends, family and acquaintances in that position to see it from a more realistic point of view because it is often so easy to view these people through a tunnel that blocks every logic out. Because these aren’t people we know personally it is very easy to watch them thinking we are watching movies or something.

Relationships and their depth are not defined by one single moment in time but by history, patterns, and consistency. And that’s something Taekook lacks. They don’t have a history that demonstrates they are or have ever been closer than Jikook at least not emotionally. There’s no consistency either. You’ll notice that Taekookers often cling to the solo era, referencing it as proof of their ship, because without that period in the 13+ years BTS has been together, they have almost nothing. There’s no evidence of Taekook knowing or hanging out with each other’s friends, little or no proof of them prioritizing time together outside of work, no evidence of them being each other’s biggest supporters, and no evidence of them seeking comfort or companionship from each other, except during fun moments. They literally have nothing else, and they know this, which is why they hold onto the solo era……it’s all they have. Taekook could come out of the military and never be seen together outside of work again, but Taekookers would still cling to that era. If you carve out that solo era period from the ship and ask taekookers to make arguments for their ship, they go back to slowed down edits, narratives about two lovers being separated and oppressed or counting moles on each others faces. Most of the arguments they have today they didn’t have before the solo era and they don’t find that straight. One of the funniest thing I ever read a taekooker on here write was that Taekook is real because they kept hanging out with each other when there was no contractual obligation. These are the same people who claim every time Jk mentioned Jimin on Lives he did it because of his contract or that he couldn’t say no to the travel show because of contracts. If Hybe could make Jungkook obey the contractual obligations to do fanservice with Jimin, couldn’t they stop takeook from hanging out? Yet they themselves send off takeook to premiers with body guards, send them off to concerts, post bangtan bombs of them on Valentine’s Day which they same tkkrs gosh about mind you. As if any of these boys ever had a contractual obligation to spend time with each other outside of work. I wonder what was said in the contract to make Jikook hang out all the times we know they did consistently for years.

This blogger claims that Jikook don’t need each other on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis, and suggests that Taekook does because they hung out during the solo era. First of all, there’s a big difference between two friends hanging out out of convenience and two people actually prioritizing each other’s company over everyone else’s. Taekookers believe Taekook prioritized each other, but that’s simply not true. Prioritization happens when circumstances don’t make it easy or you have other options but you still make the effort or choose each other. Other members were busy with their solo projects so who else was there for Jungkook to do those thrilling things with except Taehyung? Also notice how Jk was almost always tagging along with Tae and his friends and not just him and Tae together doing stuff which mean even Tae’s friends were always still more of a priority for him and Jungkook was an add on to the fun. For years, we rarely saw Taekook hang out outside of work, and we even confirmed that they didn’t spend time together during breaks, birthdays, or other significant days. We also confirmed that they grew a bit distant. So, now you think they prioritized each other just because they started hanging out when both of them had free time and mind you at a time when other didn’t? That’s not how it works. And it’s clear that wasn’t the case because as soon as they got busy with their albums, the hangouts stopped. They both still made time to frequently hang out with others, just not with each other as much. This is the simplest proof that if their schedules hadn’t aligned, we definitely wouldn’t have seen them together as much. They always talk about Jimin hanging out with Yoongi and Hobi but ofcourse. That was a given because 1: they are his close friends and 2: their schedules aligned way more than they did with other people. They were all working on their albums and were probably operating on the same wavelength as opposed to Jungkook who was on a rest and no work mode so it make sense that they kept more communication because they saw each other more so it was easier to do more stuff together. Also notice how Jimin wasn’t seen going to concerts or premieres and stuff like that with Hobi and Yoongi but occasionally had drinks with them, played games with them and talked with them on the phone. It’s really not the same things to compare.

What Taekookers have never understood about Taekook is that their dynamic is a fun and lighthearted one, primarily centered around shared activities. They click well when it comes to doing fun things they both enjoy. They have many common interests, particularly when it comes to engaging in entertaining activities. Their bond is more situational and activity-based rather than deeply emotionally intertwined. While they clearly enjoy spending time together, their interactions suggest a relationship built on fun, shared interests, and a natural ease in each other’s presence, rather than one rooted in deep personal connection or emotional dependence.

If you pay close attention, you’ll notice that Taehyung and Jungkook’s hangouts are almost always centered around specific activities or events, rather than deep emotional closeness or meaningful conversations or time spent together. This is evident from the fact that, almost every time we saw or heard about them being together in Chapter Two, they were engaged in some activity or having fun, only to part ways afterward and return to their respective homes. Even the one time we learned Jungkook was at Taehyung’s place, it wasn’t for intimate, one-on-one time, it was with some of Taehyung’s other friends, and Taehyung mentioned they were just playing games. On multiple occasions, we saw Jungkook hang out with Taehyung and then return home to start a live stream, which shows that he still craved a level of companionship that his previous outings hadn’t fully satisfied. You never just hear that they choose to be together just because….

Taehyung and Jungkook don’t have the continuous need to be together that one would expect from people who truly need each other on a daily basis, as this blogger claims. They meet, have fun, and once the purpose of the hangout is served, they go their separate ways. For instance, Taehyung didn’t feel the need to stay with Jungkook at the ski resort after enjoying the fun; he chose to leave with friends, leaving Jungkook behind. He didn’t feel any obligation to remain with him, as one would expect from a lover or a friend with a deep emotional connection.

Similarly, Jungkook didn’t feel the need to stay by Taehyung’s side after the musical and premiere, even though Taehyung apparently got drunk and fell asleep. A lover wouldn’t leave you alone in such a state, but a friend who was there just for the fun and company would leave without feeling any obligation to stay. Notice how every time you see or hear about them hanging out, it’s always centered around some fun activity and never simply because they wanted to spend time together. They don’t feel the need to stick together unless there’s something they both find fun to do.

This dynamic is very different from that of Jimin and Jungkook. I don’t need to list all the ways they differ, as I’m sure it’s already clear. Jungkook going to Jimin when lonely and bored just to sit there for hours with him doing nothing speaks volumes. Jungkook going to Jimin after a 3 day tiring concert to spend time with him, cook for him and seemingly spending the night with him just to be seen with him again the next day at a restaurant with friends shows the difference. We all know that these guys lived very busy, tedious and fast paced lives where they barely got a chance to spend any alone time together except at night as they were usually together as a group. So in cases like this, one would expect that the two people who are closest and possibly in a romantic relationship will prioritize those alone times together since they always had dozens of staff and cameras shoved in their faces all day with little to no privacy and we saw that the two people who actually did this were Jimin and Jungkook not Taehyung and Jungkook. Jungkook himself coined “all nighter friends” name with Jimin which spoke a lot about how much they spent their nights and quieter moments together.

Taekook share a laid-back, fun, and comfortable dynamic, which often gives Taekookers the impression that they are much closer than they actually are. A prime example would be Taekook at the Harry Styles concert. Anyone watching them together that night would assume they were the best of friends, which in a way they are. However, what people wouldn’t know is that at that very moment, Taehyung didn’t even know Jungkook’s hotel room number. What’s more telling is that, behind the scenes, whenever Jungkook felt the need for company, he repeatedly sought out Jimin, not the one he was seen comfortably hanging out with at the concert.

These moments reveal the complexity of human relationships and how different people fulfill different needs for us. The person you turn to for fun, thrill, and adventure isn’t necessarily the one you seek when your emotional needs arise. And if we go by what Jungkook has said over the years, it’s clear who he shares a deeper emotional connection with and who he has a more laid-back, fun, but less emotionally deep connection with.

I also find it frustrating the way Taekookers have elevated the Hawaii trip into something it wasn’t. That wasn’t Jungkook traveling to fulfill some emotional need for Taehyung. It was Jungkook traveling after receiving an invite to have fun with his friend…the one he clicks with perfectly when it comes to things like this. They were on the same wavelength at the time, enjoying each other’s company in their free time. Emphasis on FREE TIME. They always have fun together, and they share common interests. I’m sure Taekook would turn to each other for fun, thrill, and adventure, but I can bet my bottom dollar that they wouldn’t turn to each other for the deeper emotional stuff. They really never have, and history has proven this.

They didn’t prioritize spending time with each other over anyone else in the solo era. It was simply convenient for them to do so, and so they did. They both had the time to hang out, and they took it. But when we talk about true prioritization, we’re talking about Jimin flying all the way from Paris to spend one day with Jungkook, then heading back to Hawaii the next day. We’re talking about Jungkook choosing to use his limited break to take Jimin to Japan…something Jimin has always wanted. We’re talking about Jungkook, knowing full well that other members were available, yet choosing to spend his quiet peaceful time with Jimin every day, prioritizing him over anyone else. That’s prioritization…not Jungkook flying to Hawaii when he had time and money to have fun with Taehyung. This is something he could have done with any other friend if he had the time or money. Do you think if Mingyu or Eunwoo call Jungkook to join them somewhere fun in ant part of the world Jungkook has access to while he has the time and money he wouldn’t go? He will definitely go. Tae didn’t call Jungkook because he missed him in the way taekookers think. He might have missed his company and known that that is something they both would really enjoy doing since they relate like that and called him but it was definitely not because he missed his boyfriend. If that was the case, his “boyfriend” wouldn’t only have found out at the moment that be was in Hawaii.

Prioritization again comes in when Taehyung gets on planes to support his wooga, or his wooga putting everything else aside to spend time with him before his enlistment, or when he ensures he doesn’t miss important days for them. He never really prioritizes seeing Jungkook on his birthdays, and vice versa. He didn’t care to see Jungkook even for a single day during their 2019 break, choosing to travel with his friends instead even when Jungkook had a birthday yet we had Jimin flying all the way from Paris to see Jungkook for a few hours and head back yet, Taekookers claim they prioritize each other in that way? They don’t.

Two friends meeting up and hanging out when they have the time doesn’t equate to prioritizing each other, nor does it signify deep emotional connection or bond. Yes, they must like and care about each other to hang out multiple times, which we know Taekook do, but if their schedules had been less aligned, they wouldn’t have cared as much, and it wouldn’t have bothered them.

Unlike Taekook, Jimin and Jungkook have a long history of prioritizing each other, keeping constant communication, and staying fully aware of what the other is doing. A few months in a 13+ year friendship doesn’t change that. Real closeness isn’t about how many hangouts or fun activities two people can have, or how many cute pictures they take together, or where they sit during meals. True closeness and a deep emotional bond are about who you want to be with even when there’s nothing to do, who you turn to when you’re going through emotional moments, and who you think of watching when you can’t sleep at 4 a.m. These are subtle things, but they speak volumes.

Closeness is relative, and we can be close to people in different ways. There are ways Jungkook is closer to Taehyung than Jimin, and vice versa, but based on everything Jungkook has said over the years, and how we’ve seen them interact, it’s clear that his emotional connection with Jimin is and has always been much deeper. I guess it’s up for debate who you think he’s closer to. If you think a dynamic based on fun activities, camaraderie and ease is closer than one built on emotional depth and closeness, then I suppose you’d think Taekook are closer.

PS: AYS is still a very sore topic for taekookers. They claim AYS proved enough but if AYS really confirmed that Taekook is real and Jikook isn’t, why do they detest the show so much?

[sviebella]

✎ . 𓂃 @sviebella’s 𝐁𝐎𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐌𝐏 ֶ֢ ⸝⸝⸝

★ . . . dc, marvel & the bear!

⁺⠀⠀⠀◟⠀ DC UNIVERSE .ᐟ

I . 𝗝𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗢𝗗𝗗 : haven ( greekgod!jason )

❝ Brutality, devastation, violence — these were not mere facets of his nature but its very marrow, carved into the rhythm of his pulse and sealed with innocent blood. He was forged in wrath, the living embodiment of war’s merciless design. A boon from Zeus, or a curse laid bare by the deities: god of warfare and its violence. The mantle was his to bear. To long for aught beyond such a purpose would be only heretical. Or should be. ❞

II . 𝗝𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗢𝗗𝗗 : repression ( tw )

❝ It was no surprise Jason hadn't processed things well. Between looking after Sheila and scavenging for scraps, being adopted by a billionaire vigilante, being brutally murdered and resurrecting three years later, his mind had done what it had to: compartmentalize. The useless, the unbearable, all of it went into some rotting drawer deep in his head or straight into nothing. Maybe not a model of mental health, but did Jason care at all? He was alive and he had you. What's the whole point in bringing anything up, anyway? ❞

III . 𝗝𝗢𝗛𝗡 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗘 : off the rails

❝ Right, you could call John’s habits slightly self-destructive. Sometimes. Let’s face it, he had the self-preservation instincts of a moth flying straight into a bloody bonfire. When it came to himself, he gave as much of a toss as a gambler with nothing left to lose. But you? That was a different story. Sure, you could hold your own — he knew that damn well, or he wouldn’t have let you get tangled up in this demonic shit in the first place. Didn’t stop him from sneaking protection spells on you. Or from throwing himself headfirst into danger to keep those hellish bastards off your back. That’s what partners did. Last night, though, it all went to hell. ❞

⁺⠀⠀⠀◟⠀⠀THE BEAR .ᐟ

I . 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗘𝗡 𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗭𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗢 : costumer service

❝ Then there was you. Newly hired, smooth as hell under pressure, carrying the kind of calm most servers couldn’t fake. You handled people with this patience Carmy couldn’t really figure out — being polite without being a pushover, controlled even when the kitchen exploded into chaos. He trusted you. That’s why, when he heard yelling out front, his first thought was that you’d somehow managed to stay out of it, right? ❞

II . 𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗘 𝗝𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗩𝗜𝗖𝗛 : front staff

❝ Because every time you leaned in to explain something, he caught himself staring. Your lips, the way you moved your hands — it was distracting, fine? And when you told him he’d gotten something right? Jesus Christ, the high was just embarrassing. He felt like a puppy wagging his tail, desperate for a pat on the head. Ridiculous. All of it. This was supposed to be a lame punishment from Carmy, and now here he was, practically melting every time you said his name. What the fuck was wrong with him? ❞

⁺⠀⠀⠀◟⠀⠀MARVEL .ᐟ

I . 𝗙𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗞 𝗖𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗟𝗘 : when is it going to be my turn?

❝ You chose a lilac layette. Frank held your hand and followed you through every aisle, picking up blankets and bedspreads, tiny onesies that looked too small to fit even your palms. The diaper packs were neatly stacked on the cabinets you two painted together, though he insisted you shouldn't overexert yourself — not with the little baby curled up inside you. Sometimes, he'd run his calloused fingers over the clothes you bought, whispering about how she would look beautiful in them, and you would mumble a prayer to fate, to whatever force was kind enough to give them to you. ❞

𓄲 . thanks to @artyandink, @luvelykiki and @faiszt for helping me on this! i love you all 𖹭

[littlelamy]

Pouge!Reader x Rafe(season 4-isch): She has a crush on Rafe (maybe he comes somewhere she works, say café, bakery or whatever) and she thinks her feelings obviously are unrequited given that she is a pouge. Rafe is still at that point where he is struggling between the thoughts of ‘’Pouge-vs-kooks are ridiculous’’ but also caring. Perhaps he is having a crush on Reader but is finding his internal thoughts so he goes on a date with some kook girl and Reader see them somewhere, and her dreams are crushed since the girl is the complete opposite of her (expensive clothes, barbie pretty face and manicured etc) and she feels so stupid since she was clearly not even Rafe’s type. She says yes to a date with some random Pouge guy and….well…..Rafe sees them---the dude holding her hand, kissing her cheek and making her smile, and decides to talk to her when she goes off by herself

the salty tang of the ocean still clung to your skin as you adjusted your apron behind the counter of the little seaside café. it was nothing fancy—wooden tables scuffed from years of service, mismatched chairs that creaked whenever someone leaned back too far. but it was yours. well, not yours-yours, but a place you’d carved out a piece of yourself in.

you wiped your hands on a towel and glanced up just as the bell above the door jingled. and there he was. rafe cameron.

he didn’t belong here, not really. everything about him screamed kildare royalty—the sharp cut of his jawline, the too-clean sneakers that probably cost more than your entire paycheck, the faint whiff of something expensive and unattainable. and yet, he came here.

it started a month ago, the first time he strolled in like he owned the place, squinting at the menu board above your head. you’d fumbled with the cash register, your palms clammy. “can i get a black coffee?” his voice had been low, smooth, and it did stupid things to your stomach.

he’d been coming back ever since.

you told yourself it was nothing. he probably just liked the quiet, the way the café was tucked away from the usual kook place. but then there were the moments. the way his eyes lingered on you a second too long when you handed him his order. the faint curve of a smile when you tried to make small talk and ended up rambling about nothing.

but you were a pouge. and rafe? rafe was… not.

“uh, hey,” his voice snapped you out of your thoughts. he stood at the counter, hands shoved into his pockets.

“hey,” you replied, trying to sound casual even though your heart was doing somersaults. “the usual?”

he nodded, but his gaze flicked over you like he was searching for something to say. “yeah. uh, thanks.”

you busied yourself with the coffee machine, grateful for the excuse to not look at him. because every time you did, you felt it. that stupid, hopeless crush that made your chest ache and your cheeks burn.

when you handed him his cup, your fingers brushed briefly. you swore he hesitated, just for a second, before pulling away. “thanks,” he said again, softer this time, and then he was gone, the door jingling shut behind him.

it wasn’t long before the café became the place you dreaded most. because it was where you saw her.

the girl was flawless, all shiny hair and manicured nails and a wardrobe that probably came straight from vogue. she sat across from rafe at one of the tables by the window, laughing at something he said. the kind of laugh that sounded effortless, like she didn’t have a single care in the world.

you hated her. not because she’d done anything to you, but because she was everything you weren’t. and rafe? he looked at her the way you’d imagined he’d look at you in your wildest dreams.

you tried not to stare as you cleaned tables , your chest tight. but then rafe glanced up, and for a split second, your eyes met. he looked away quickly, like he’d been caught, and you wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it all was. of course he wasn’t looking at you. why would he?

you said yes to the date with ethan out of sheer spite. he was nice enough, a fellow pouge who worked on the docks, but there was nothing earth-shattering about him. still, when he held your hand and kissed your cheek, you let him. you let him because it felt good to be wanted, even if it wasn’t by the person you wanted most.

it was during one of those kisses, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth as you both walked along the beach, that you saw him. rafe. he was leaning against his truck, arms crossed, watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

you pulled away from ethan, your smile faltering. “i’ll catch up with you in a minute,” you mumbled, ignoring his puzzled expression.

you made your way over to rafe, your heart pounding. “what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

his jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. then: “he’s not right for you.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the raw edge to his voice. “excuse—what?”

“he’s not right for you,” rafe repeated, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “and you know it.”

you laughed, a short, bitter sound. “and who is? you? last i checked, you were pretty happy with barbie over there.”

he flinched, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away. but then he stepped closer, his voice low and strained. “she’s not you.”

those three words stopped you cold. you stared at him, your mind racing. “what are you talking about, rafe?”

“i…” he ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched across his face. “i can’t stop thinking about you, okay? every time i see you with him, it’s like…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “i don’t know. but it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

you opened your mouth, but no words came out. because this couldn’t be happening. rafe cameron couldn’t be standing here, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“why now?” you finally managed to ask, your voice trembling. “why are you telling me this now, rafe?”

he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. “because seeing you with him made me realize how fucking stupid i’ve been.” he looked up again, his eyes burning into yours. “and because i can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

you wanted to scream at him, to tell him he didn’t get to do this—didn’t get to mess with your head when you were finally trying to move on. but instead, you said nothing, the weight of his words sinking in.

“i need to go,” you whispered, turning away before he could see the tears welling in your eyes.

“wait,” he called after you, his voice breaking. but you didn’t stop. because if you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to walk away again.

lamy's notes: i hope you liked it!!!

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx

[mommyslittlebird]

A Room of Your Own

Married!WandaNat x Reader

Summary: After getting kicked out of your college dorm, you find yourself living with two older strangers. It was never meant to be anything more than a temporary arrangement born out of necessity, but as the semester continues, something new starts to grow.

CW: Homophobia, Getting Kicked Out, Slow Burn (No sex or romance in this chapter), Age Gap

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I’m back from the dead, though probably not in the way you wanted or expected. I had to take a (not so) little break from one-shots and smut for the time being for some personal reasons. But I’m still finding ways to write and enjoy myself. Some of you probably have already seen this. It’s been up on AO3 for a while now. But I figured I’d post it here too.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing any sort of slow burn, so we'll see if I can resist having them all fall into bed together in the first few chapters. I also don't know how to write an introductory chapter without making it boring as shit, so I at least made it short to spare you all. I promise it gets better.

Chapter 1 of A Room of Your Own

You sat, knees curled to your chest, on the curb in front of what used to be your dorm. It was late, a little after midnight, and absolutely pouring rain.

Three days. You had been in the dorms for three days and you had already been kicked out. You’d expect some pushback, going to a religious college and being queer, but nothing like this. Nothing like getting kicked out of your dorm in the middle of the night because you were making your roommates uncomfortable. You’d tried so hard to get them to like you. They seemed sweet. Not your type of people, sure, but you thought the three of you could get along just fine.

As it turns out, they were actually so repulsed by your presence they couldn’t even wait until classes started to kick you to the curb. Literally.

“Hey!” Somebody shouted from the doorway, holding a large umbrella. You turned to see her approaching and shrunk back in on yourself. You didn’t think you could handle anymore ridicule that evening.

When you didn’t respond or turn to face her, she sat down next to you, sure to cover you with the umbrella as well. She spoke softer now. “Hey. I’m sorry for what happened back there.”

You still didn’t speak, but you looked at her now, partially soaked from where she was sitting next to you on the wet concrete. “I’m Yelena.” She reached her hand out for you to shake.

You shook her hand. “Y/N. Nice to meet you.” You recognized her from your dorm floor, though you’d only ever seen her in passing.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” she smiled softly. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”

You nodded, turning your gaze back to the raining night.

“Do you have anywhere to go? For tonight I mean. I would offer you to stay in my room, but…” she turned back to the door of the building. You both knew you couldn’t go back in there.

You shook your head. You hadn’t even thought where you would stay tonight. You could always stay in your car. It wouldn’t be the first night you’ve slept in the backseat. Still, the sopping wet clothes would surely make for a morning full of rashes and blistered skin.

Yelena sighed, looking at the ground. She was silent for a moment before she came up with an idea. “Let me call my sister. She and her wife have a massive place not so far from here. They’ll have a bedroom or two to spare.”

Before you could form a rebuttal of any sort, Yelena pushed the umbrella into your hands and dashed back inside. You tucked the umbrella between your leg and the crook of your arm, resting your head on your knees.

It wasn’t very long before Yelena was by your side again. “Okay she’s on her way. She’ll be here in about 10 minutes.”

You didn’t look at her, facing intentionally in the other direction. You felt so horrible. You just wanted to curl up and disappear. And now you were going to be picked and taken to the home of some random classmate’s sister? You try to formulate a response, a reason that you will be fine on your own, but there was nothing. It was either this or the back seat of your 1993 Toyota Corolla. Somehow, you bet Yelena wasn’t going to take that as a reasonable explanation as to why she should call off her sister.

“Are you coming with me?” You asked weakly.

She sighed and put her hand on your back. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I will if you really want me to.”

You finally turned to face her. She didn’t look thrilled at the prospect of leaving. She was probably a freshman. It was her first couple days in the dorm too and everything was so new and exciting. The last thing she wanted to do was go back home with her sister.

“No it’s okay,” you responded. The last thing you wanted was to inconvenience someone else tonight, and it’s not like a freshman you hardly knew was going to bring you much solace anyway.

She patted your back. “They’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Before too much longer, Yelena stood up at the sight of headlights. She waved her arms in an “over here” motion. The car approached Yelena, stopping hard in front of the curb you were sitting on. The tires splashed you in rainwater and mud. Yelena winched, walking back towards you to usher you into the car.

She led you to the passenger door, popping it open and peeking her head in. “This is your girl,” she said, pointing back towards your soaked, mud covered figure. She motioned for you to sit.

You hesitated. The car looked nicer than any you’d ever been in before. The idea of ruining the nice leather seats made you want to shrink further into your ball of shame.

The woman in the driver's seat noticed your hesitation, but didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned with her seat. “Come on in,” she ushered. “Get out of that rain.”

You handed the umbrella back to Yelena, reluctantly taking a seat in the car. Yelena peaked her head back in to say “take care of her,” before closing the door and scurrying back into the dorms.

The woman looked at you, reaching up to pop on the overhead light. The sight of her in the light nearly took your breath away. She looked oddly familiar. Maybe you’d seen her around town. You sharply inhaled as the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen leaned over the console towards you. She frowned. “Oh you poor thing!” She reached out to wipe off your face. You cringed when you saw the mud smear across the sleeve of her jacket. “Let’s go home and get you cleaned up.”

You nodded and she turned the light off before pulling out of the parking lot. You fought the urge to curl up in her passenger seat, fearing further ruining her seats with the dirty bottoms of your shoes. When you didn’t speak, she offered up an introduction of her own. “My name is Natasha. I don’t know what Yelena’s told you, but I’m her sister. My wife and I have a place not so far from here.”

“I’m Y/N” you managed.

“A friend of Yelena’s?” She asked.

You chuckled a little. “I suppose you could say that. We met about 20 minutes ago.”

Natasha chuckled. “Of course. Leave it to Yelena to seek you out after such an injustice.”

You bit the inside of your lip. You wished you had heard the phone conversation so you could gauge just how much she knew.

It was as if Natasha could read your mind when she started next with the details of the phone call. “Yelena told me you got kicked out of the dorm by the other girls. They were uncomfortable because you were gay? I never expected to hear anything like that happening in 2024, but I guess I stand corrected.”

Well, that was one way of telling the story. At least Yelena had left out the peeping Tom allegations that got you chased off the floor by everyone who had to share a bathroom with you. They weren’t true, of course, but the fact that you’d made people so uncomfortable they were willing to name you a pervert without second thought made your skin crawl.

After a short, largely silent car ride, Natasha pulled the car into a garage. You hadn’t gotten a good look at the house, both because of the dark and getting lost in your own thoughts, but even by the state of the garage you could tell it was nice.

Natasha got out of the car, unlocking the door and leading you into the kitchen. You took your shoes off by the door, then decided to take your socks off too to avoid tracking muddy water through the house. The woman took your hand and guided you to the stairwell, then to a bathroom. She turned on the lights and opened up a cabinet, pulling out fresh towels and washcloths.

“I’ll get you some fresh clothes and sheets. The bedroom is through here.” She opened a door that revealed a sizable bedroom connected to the bathroom. You could hardly believe this wasn’t the master suite she’d led you too.

She turned to face you, exhaling as she once again took in your disheveled state. She picked some errant pebbles from your tangled hair and wiped it out of your face. “Now,” she started, “do you need anything else before I let you get cleaned up and off to bed?”

You shook your head. “No. You’ve done enough already. Thank you, Miss Natasha, for letting me stay here. It means a lot. Truly.”

“Of course.” She smiled. You didn’t notice the blush that crept onto her face at the formality. She swiped away the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes again. “We wouldn’t want a sweet girl like you sleeping out in the rain.” She booped the tip of your nose. “Now promise you’ll wake me or Wanda up if you need anything at all. We’re just in the room across the hall. Can’t miss it, it’s the only door on that side.”

You nodded slowly. There was no way in hell you were going to wake her or Wanda, who you assumed was her wife, for any reason. But you nodded anyway.

She smiled and rubbed your chin. “Good girl. Now go get cleaned up and try to get some rest.”

As she set off to her room, you hoped the mud had covered how pink your cheeks had gotten. You headed to the shower, sliding open the glass door and turning on the water. You decided to hop in with your clothes at first, hoping to get enough of the mud off that you could wear them again tomorrow. Then you wrang the clothes out and threw them over the door to dry. You took your time in the shower, letting the hot water warm you up from the cold rain. By the time you were finally clean, you grabbed the fresh towel Natasha had left for you.

Your clothes were, obviously, still soaked save for your underwear. You were thankful for the little time it had taken the thin silky material to dry. You put them back on and wrapped yourself in a towel before entering into the bedroom.

There was a maroon hoodie at the end of the bed. It had been there since Natasha first showed you the room, so it clearly wasn’t laid out for you. However, in lieu of other clothes, you decided the owner probably wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it for the night. You slipped the soft fabric over your head. It was much too big for you, going down to almost your mid thighs while the sleeves dangled over your hands. But it was, quite possibly, the softest material that you’d ever felt. It felt simultaneously brand new and freshly washed.

You crawled up into the queen sized bed, slipping under the covers. You held the fabric of the hoodie close to your face. It smelled nothing like the musky bergamot of Natasha, which had been equally as entrancing in its own way. This was distinctly different. It smelled soft and comforting like lying in a meadow on a spring day. The comforting smell and warmth, along with your own exhaustion, quickly had you asleep.

[leighsartworks216]

Claw Machines

Sylus x gn!Reader & MC

Raven deserves the world and more and I need to heal their inner child so so bad and who better to help than MC?

Warnings: fluff, silly, growing friendship, arcades, healing their inner child, kissing, swearing, banter

Word Count: 1,678

Main Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Third Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus was 'busy', but you're dead certain that was just an excuse to nudge you into bonding with Miss Hunter. When she'd called to invite him out, you saw the smirk that curled his lips. You'd glared at him when he said you'd take his spot. You'd even been tempted to ditch her, but you couldn't in the end, knowing how much she means to him.

The claw moves around the box, following the movements of the little joystick. She looks as if she's facing down a Wanderer, not a stuffed koala with a teddy bear. Her tongue pokes out of her mouth, head swivels to the sides of the box to make sure she's lined up properly, fingers tapping impatiently on the machine before she hits the button. The claw descends. Closes. And as it rises, the koala is stuck in its grasp.

"Yes!" Miss Hunter laughs giddily as she bends down and grabs her prize from the chute. She squishes its face, eyes shining brilliantly with glee. Suddenly, she turns to you. "Have you ever played before?"

You shake your head, appearing quite bored with the whole thing.

"Do you want to try it? I can give you some pointers!"

A relentlessly stubborn part of you wants to refuse. Stand around like her own personal bodyguard while she travels from machine to machine with tokens purchased with Sylus's card and a bag full of toys.

But... you're also curious. You'd peered through shop windows and seen kids with toys your whole childhood, without any hope of having one to call your own. You'd made peace with that a long time ago, aided in the fact you now have plenty of money to live comfortably, though you keep that money close to your chest. Now Miss Hunter's barging through that peace, eyes shining and full of childish energy. And you give in.

You step up hesitantly to the controls. She squeals in glee and stands right beside you, nearly leaning on your arm. "Okay, this is the joystick! You use it to move the claw around. And then when you're lined up with something, you push this button and it'll try grabbing it."

You quirk an eyebrow at her. She smiles deviously. "It's a lot harder than it looks, trust me."

You should have listened to her. She makes it look so easy; you have to wonder if she's somehow using her Evol to cheat. No matter what target you went for, it always slipped through. Sometimes in the most ridiculous ways - bouncing off the edge of the plastic surrounding the chute or flipping off into an unreachable corner. You're not usually one to give up on a challenge, but this is getting ridiculous.

Miss Hunter smiles apologetically at you after your target falls over, just out of reach of the claw. "Maybe this machine isn't calibrated well," she suggests, but it's a half-baked excuse. "Let's try another one."

So you do.

And another.

... And another.

It's agony. She'll take over, pleading with big round eyes and a pout that works like a charm on Sylus to play a round, and get a plushie on her first try. Her bag is almost overflowing. She considers asking for a second one, but she looks sorry when she says so out loud.

Another machine catches her eye and she dashes over like a child. You watch her go.

It's... confusing, contradictory, to see someone like her be so carefree and childish. Her life has not been a cakewalk, and she's been through things normal people would never recover from. Yet here she is, squealing and giggling with delight, while you stand amid the flashing lights and chiming bells, arms crossed and frowning.

You hate to think you could ever possibly be jealous of her. Jealousy was unnecessary when you had all the means to get what you wanted so easily. Still, it's difficult not to envy in some ways the ease with which she enjoys such simple things.

You sigh. You damn Sylus for having you take his place on this little playdate with Miss Hunter. Damn the machines and their stupid claws. Damn all the plushies that seem to hate you.

The arcade is relatively small. When you begin walking around the various machines, it's easy to keep an eye on her. After all, if something happened to her here, it would be your fault. And you don't exactly want a repeat of last time.

It's by pure chance you happen to glance over. Pure random chance that your eyes slipped onto a series of miniature claw machines, stacked 3-on-3 in an alley between the bigger machines. You would not have stopped if you hadn't then done a double-take to make sure you saw what you thought you saw. And sure enough, as you step up to the small machines, you see in one a tiny keychain in the shape of a crow.

It's adorable. Big eyes that take up half its body stare longingly out at the arcade, half-closed with an air of disinterest. A little white ruff wraps all around its body. Two little feet with three toes each stick out the bottom.

You glance around to find Miss Hunter. She's moved on to the Balance machines, where her skilled fingers shift the two-pronged claw to nudge the box off the poles. An employee already stands there, waiting to re-setup the machine, as they chat with familiarity. She seems safe enough...

After a moment of watching to make sure the employee doesn't try anything, you reach into your pocket and pull out the tokens she gave you earlier. You insert one, and a small LED display counts down a timer.

The joystick is tiny in your hand - you can only imagine how it would fit in Sylus's. You shift it over top the crow. After spending however long failing on the other machines, you don't have much hope, especially when these are designed to give the impression of being easier so people will want to try them even more. You push the tiny button, and the claw lowers. The crow is picked up, shifting slightly in its loose hold. It's carried to the chute...

A tiny jingle plays, similar to the one that follows Miss Hunter around every machine.

You... you did it?

You hesitate before opening the little hatch, as though you just imagined all of that and you're going to be woefully out of luck when you reach in to find it empty. But no. You reach in and your fingers touch soft fur. You pull it out. There he is - your very own tiny crow plush.

The crow's big eyes seem to stare up at you, unimpressed. But your mind says he's happy, free from his cramped little prison.

Footsteps approach and you're immediately back on alert. You'd been smiling without even realizing it, but that is wiped away for neutrality. Miss Hunter doesn't seem to notice, gushing over the prize in your hand.

"Awe, you won that! It's so cute!" She pokes its cheek with her finger, giggling. "I've never been able to win anything from these machines. How many tries did it take you?"

Something flutters in your chest. A feeling you'd only felt when Sylus praised you - pride. You really managed to do something she couldn't? It sounded impossible after seeing her win over and over again without fail.

You hold up a finger. She gapes at you.

"What? It only took you one try?!" She looks at the machines, and all the cute mini plushies within. She frowns, considering something, before pulling out a handful of tokens. "Maybe they made these easier, somehow? Let me try."

-

"Have fun?"

You dangle the toy in front of Mephisto. He stands in your lap, playfully pecking and nipping at it. He's careful not to damage or tear it - he's always such a good bird.

Sylus wraps his arms around you from behind the couch. His chin rests on your shoulder, large hands massaging your sides. He kisses your cheek. "You're smiling."

Your first instinct is to turn away, but he stops you. Fingers grab your chin and turn you to face him instead. Crimson eyes, smug and teasing, meet yours.

You sigh. You have to admit that it was fun, even if you'd love to be stubborn and say it wasn't. Maybe if you hadn't won anything, you wouldn't have to pretend you hated it. Unfortunately, the toy that dangles from your finger is evidence to the contrary.

"She's a menace on those machines," you say, voice low, like it's a secret.

He chuckles. "How many did she get?"

"I lost count."

You glance back at Mephisto and shift the toy to rest in your palm. He grabs it in his beak, cawing around the object in his mouth, and flits off to go put it with his little hoard. Or, well, you thought he would. Instead, he flaps off to his perch and, using his foot and beak together, manages to hang it by its chain on the end of it. They look like a matching set as he fluffs up and settles down to rest

Sylus kisses the corner of your smiling mouth. You feel exposed. How is it possible for something so small to catch your emotions off guard?

"I'm glad you had fun," he whispers sincerely. "If you'd like, we can go together sometime."

"We wouldn't win anything," you tease. You rub your nose against his, drawing out a soft look of love from his eyes.

He shrugs. "Then we'll steal one."

"How criminal. This may be your most dastardly scheme yet."

"Mhm. And I'll need my best man on the job to help me pull it off." He closes the small gap to kiss you. His thumb rubs over the ball of your chin. Another kiss and his hand shifts to your jaw. Another, then to your neck. He draws you in, over and over, languidly savoring you, like you have all the time in the world.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one

[goshikisbaee]

Spending Valentine’s Day With Haikyuu Characters (part 1)

content: Fluff

[ Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Kuroo, Bokuto, Akaashi ]

———-

TŌRU OIKAWA

Valentine’s Day with Oikawa is nothing short of extra. From the moment you wake up, there’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers waiting for you with a note in his neat handwriting: “For the most beautiful person in my life.” He insists on making the day perfect— though his definition of “perfect” may include a little too much of his dramatic flair.

He shows up to pick you up in his favorite casual but classy outfit, grinning like he’s just won a championship match. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you, my love?” he teases, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

He takes you to a cute café where he spends half the time holding your hand across the table and the other half bragging about how he managed to snag the “best date” in the world. The barista can’t help but roll their eyes at his antics, but you can’t stop laughing.

In true Oikawa fashion, the evening involves stargazing—because of course he has to incorporate something romantic and dreamy. Lying beside you, he points out random constellations, only half accurate because he’s too busy sneaking glances at you.

“I dont need the stars when I’ve got you,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Cheesy? Absolutely. But with him, it’s always endearing.

The night ends with him pulling you close, a soft, genuine smile replacing his usual cocky grin. “Thank you for being my Valentine,” he whispers, his voice quieter than usual. “I promise, you’ll always be my number one.”

HAJIME IWAIZUMI

Valentine’s day with Iwaizumi is simple but meaningful. He’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but he makes sure you feel loved in the ways that matter. When you wake up, there’s a nearly wrapped box on your nightstand—inside is a practical yet thoughtful gift, like a hoodie that smells like him or your favorite snacks. “Didn’t wanna get you something useless,” the note reads.

When he picks you up, he’s dressed casually, but you cant tell he put in a little extra effort—his hair is styled just right, and he’s actually wearing that nice cologne you love. He greets you with a gruff, “you look nice,” before quickly looking away, ears slightly red.

Dinner is at his favorite spot—nothing fancy, just good food and a comfortable atmosphere. He doesnt gush over you like someone like Oikawa would, but his small actions say everything: making sure you get the last bite, keeping his hand on your knee absentmindedly, sending a death glare at anything who looks at you for too long.

After dinner, he surprises you with a late night drive, ending at a quiet scenic spot. Sitting beside you, he lets out a deep sigh, looking up at the sky. “I know I dont say it a lot, but… I’m really lucky to have you.” His fingers find yours, squeezing them gently.

Before you part ways, he pulls you into a warm, lingering hug, resting his chin on your head. “Happy Valentine’s Day idiot,” he mutters, voice softer than usual. You smile, knowing that even without the over the top romance, every moment with him is real.

TETSURŌ KUROO

Valentine’s Day with Kuroo is fun—because, of course, he turns everything into an opportunity to tease you. You wake up to a text that reads; “Happy Valentine’s Day to my favorite nerd. Yes, you’re my favorite. No you can’t tell anyone.” A few minutes later, another message: “wear something cute. Not that you need help looking good, but, you know… for my sake.”

When he picks you up, he greets you with his signature smirk and a ridiculous gift—maybe a cat plushie because “it reminded me of myself. Handsome, charming, and definitely your favorite.” But before you can roll your eyes, he hands you something real—your favorite snack or a small thoughtful present that proves he actually pays attention.

Dinner is at a casual yet surprisingly nice restaurant, where he spends half the time making flirty comments and the other half pretending to listen while secretly just admiring you. “You know, I’d let you ramble about anything if it means I get to keep looking at you.”

After dinner, he takes you somewhere unexpected—maybe a late night arcade or a rooftop with a city view. Sitting next to you, he finally drops the teasing for a second, nudging your shoulder before saying, “you know, I joke around a lot, but I mean it when I say you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Before the night ends, he pulls you into by the waist, looking down at you with that lazy grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day, babe. Hope you’re ready for many more.” And with that, he finally gives you the kiss he’s been holding off all night.

KŌTARŌ BOKUTO

Valentine’s Day with Bokuto is non stop excitement from the moment it begins. You wake up to a spam of texts:

“HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!!”

“WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS???”

“IT’S THE DAY I GET TO SPOIL YOU, DUH.”

When he finally picks you up, he’s practically bouncing with energy, holding a massive bouquet—probably way bigger than necessary. “I didn’t know which flowers to get, so I got all of them!” He grins, handing them over like he just won an award.

Your date is a mix of everything fun—he takes you to an arcade, a cute café, and maybe even a spontaneous adventure like ice skating (which he’s surprisingly good at). Every few minutes, he reminds you, “BEST. DAY. EVER.” And insists on taking a million selfies.

At dinner, he’s a mix of loud excitement and soft admiration, stuffing his face one second and staring at you like you hung the moon the next. “I’m so lucky,” he sighs dramatically between bites, before pointing his fork at you. “Hey. You know that, right? That I love you?”

The night ends with him wrapping you in the biggest hug ever, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. “Best Valentine’s Day ever,” he declares, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. Then, with a cheeky grin, he adds, “same time next year? Actually, scratch that. Every day should be like this.”

KEIJI AKAASHI

Valentine’s Day with Akaashi is quietly romantic, filled with soft gestures that show just how much he cares. You wake up to a neatly written note left at your bedside—“happy Valentine’s Day. I hope today is as wonderful as you are.” A little later, he texts: “Are you free? I have something planned.”

When he picks you up, he hands you a small but meaningful gift—maybe a book you mentioned wanting, or a handwritten letter sealed in an envelope. “I wasn’t sure what to get you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “so I just got something that reminded me of you.”

Your date is simple but perfect—maybe a quiet bookstore café, a scenic walk, or a cozy home-cooked dinner. He pays attention to everything you say, responding with soft hums and amused smiles. “I love listening to you talk,” he admits, twirling a piece of his food with his fork.

At the end of the night, he lingers at your doorstep, eyes gentle but hesitant. “I, um…” He exhales, gathering his thoughts before finally meeting your gaze. “I just want you to know that I’m really, really happy with you.”

Before you can respond, he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs, lips curling into the faintest smile. “I hope I get to spend all of them with you.”

———

[cloverapple]

hiii! i came across your blog yesterday, and i love your advice. that's why i feel like you would be the best person to ask these questions that I've been having for the longest time (sorry, long read ahead).

I've studied LOA for the past 2 years or so, and even though i have a good understanding of it, there are some things that always trip me up when it comes to shifting.

how do i deal with waking up to the 3d? yes, by assuming that you are in your dr and that you shifted last night. that's the most logical answer. but even though i know that, sometimes it is a lot easier said than done. for example, a few days ago i wanted to manifest shifting by simply deciding i could shift on command and that i am there. i could be 100% sure the day before that it would happen. the whole day, and even a few days after that I'd stay in that state of being a master shifter, and i would feel amazing because of it. but it's like there always comes a point where i wake up to the 3d and i get discouraged (yes, i acknowledge that i am manifesting that reality by saying this, but i finally have to get this off my chest). my thoughts get all messed up and i start spiraling, returning to my previous state. i start questioning myself a bit and feel down. the main reason for that being time.

it took me so so long to figure out this issue about myself. I'd be like: how long is it gonna take? when will it happen? i know i have it in the 4d but when will it appear in the 3d? having it in the 4d isn't enough, i need to have it in the 3d right now. stuff like that. i find it very difficult to formulate my thoughts, but basically I'm in a spiral of:

watching a video/reading a post about LOA/shifting that reminds me of how easy it is -> applying LOA to shifting/any desire in a way that feels good for a few days at most -> starting to question myself after a few days because it hasn't shown up yet in the 3d (which is caused by me forgetting the role the 3d plays and how LOA works) even though i did everything "right" (e.g. letting go of control or the outcome, deciding, not wavering, etc.) -> falling back into a state where i question how i can shift, what i am doing wrong, etc. -> repeat

how can i break out of this cycle?

i think the main problem here is time and in general the 3d.

i know that the 3d is not a measure of my success, only made up of my current assumptions etc. i know that. but it's like i forget it once i step into the state i wanna be in and stay there for an extended period of time.

i always hear people say that "time isn't real" but i still don't really know what that means, how to apply it or how to internalize it. i really need that mental "click" to finally understand it and use that concept in my favor. because my problem is that with manifesting/shifting, after a while i start asking questions about why it's taking so long the 3d. for example, most nights i fall asleep with the assumption that I'll wake up in my dr (while letting go of control and not wavering) the next morning. but when it doesn't happen eventually, i start to question why, because since time comes from consciousness aka me, it should work in my favor.

I'm honestly so lost right now and i would really appreciate some help because I'm spiraling again. I've known about shifting since 2020 but only realized how ridiculously easy it is after joining tumblr this year and yup, i acknowledge that i am desperate to shift, preferably right now. it's not something i admit to anyone or myself because that's basically continuing to tell a story i don't want to experience (a surefire way to fail), but it is unfortunately the truth as of right now.

thank you for reading, i know this was a lot to get through!! (*^^*)

So pause for a second, because I’m going to tell you something I hope to ingrain in the mind of everyone who sends me an ask—and that you need to remember before reading everything I’m about to say:

YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW TO SHIFT. The ability is inside you right now. The moment you read this, your mind already knows how to shift. Everyone does.

The moment you accept this, you solve half of your problems.

And then you tell me, "But if I know how to shift, why isn’t the 3D reflecting that?"

Well, yeah. You painted the house, and now you’re sitting there watching the paint dry.

Look, watching the 3D closely and looking for results isn’t a problem for some people. Some can assume, “I’m already in my DR,” open their eyes, and BAM—they’re in their DR.

Some people assume, “I will shift tonight,” and just like that, they shift that night.

Some people let go of their DRs, stop putting them on a pedestal, and they shift.

Some people clutch their DRs close to their heart until their knuckles turn white—and they shift.

It sounds a lot like you’re forcing yourself into a method of applying the Law of Assumption that doesn’t serve you. Why?? If you recognize that your issue is focusing on time and constantly checking the 3D, work around it. Remove time from your shifting journey.

I don’t like assuming I already have something, then checking the 3D and not seeing it there. Hell, I can shift on command, and yet, if I were to lay in bed right now and tell myself, “I’m in my DR,” I guarantee you I wouldn’t shift. Why? Because that doesn’t work for me.

My dude, change the way you affirm. If affirming in the present (“I already shifted”) doesn’t work for you, change it! Say, “I’m going to shift.” If even that hasn’t been working, let go of implementing time into your affirmations.

Change “I’m going to wake up in my DR in the morning” to “I’m going to wake up in my DR at some point because I KNOW I can shift.”

Change “I’m in my DR right now” to “I can’t wait to be in my DR.”

Remove time from your affirmations and assumptions, because that’s clearly the problem here. Instead of trusting that you’ll shift tonight, trust yourself because you already know how to shift. Or trust your mind because it knows how to shift. Trust your awareness because it knows how to shift.

“I fall asleep with the assumption that I'll wake up in my DR (while letting go of control and not wavering) the next morning.”

If this were completely true, you wouldn’t be sending me this ask. You wouldn’t be doubting yourself as much as you just did in everything you typed. Truly letting go means releasing the need to see results in the 3D.

So, take time out of your assumptions. From now on, say “I will shift.” Or say, “I already know how to shift.”

Your brain then goes: “……???….uh….” looking at the 3D all confused “When? We haven't shifted!”

And you tell it, “It doesn’t fucking matter because I’m going to shift eventually.”

Now, let’s say hypothetically, one week passes and you haven’t shifted. One month passes, and you haven’t shifted. Two months pass, and you haven’t shifted.

And then you come back and say, “Clover, why the heck haven’t I shifted yet? It’s been (insert amount of time). You told me to remove time as an expectation, so why haven’t I shifted yet??”

And I’ll smile at you and ask, “So you’ve been counting the days?”

Let me tell you something about letting go—and hypothetically, ignoring the 3D.

Treat your ability to shift like your fortune. You have a fortune sitting in your bank account right now, and you’re rich. Do you think a rich person checks their bank account every hour to confirm they’re still rich?

"Well yeah, Clover, because a rich person’s reality already reflects that, they’re sitting in a mansion with all their riches."

Your fortune, what makes you rich, is your ability to shift. You already know how to shift. Shifting isn’t something you learn how to do, just like breathing isn’t something you learn how to do. Just like chewing isn’t something you learn how to do. It is an integral part of every human being. If you have awareness, then the ability to shift exists within you.

You don’t learn shifting—you learn yourself.

You learn what makes you shift. What makes you manifest easily. What makes you assume easily. What kind of affirmations your subconscious doesn’t argue against. What makes your self-concept skyrocket.

Because everyone is different, everyone shifts differently. What works for Person A might not work for Person B. What works for Person B might not work for Person C, and so on.

Even my reply to you, it might not resonate with you. But that’s not my fault, and it’s not yours. If that's the case, your job is to look elsewhere—and, in the best-case scenario, look internally because that’s where the answers always are.

Let’s go over your fix options because I just yapped a lot:

YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW TO SHIFT.

Remove time from your affirmations and assumptions. Removing time from your shifting process makes it so you have nowhere in the 3D to look.

Stop paying attention to the 3D and pay attention to yourself because what’s going to shift is your awareness, not the damn 3D. Every time you catch yourself thinking, “Oh, but it’s not showing up in the 3D,” remind yourself:

A) You already know how to shift.

B) Shifting is something you can do.

C) It could happen at any moment, so why should anything else matter?

If you were promised a million bucks from a 100% trustworthy source, would you spiral?

One more thing before I wrap this up:

It could be that actively using the Law of Assumption isn’t what works best for you. Maybe you work better with visualizing. Maybe you induce the feeling of being in your DR or being a "master shifter." Maybe subliminals work better for you. There is a world of options out there, and it is completely useless to force yourself to do something that's only bringing frustration in the end. Because there is no singular way to shift. There is no singular way to manifest. And sometimes—for some people—while the Law of Assumption is always true, focusing on it directly isn’t what serves you.

[blue-aconite]

For Blurb Night: “You do have a stupid face.” with Jake ♥️

It's here! I swear I thought I could pull of a blurb night but turns out I couldn't.. Thanks to @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over ❤️

Blurb Night Masterlist

She smiled politely at another one of his anecdotes, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her disinterest. A quick glance at her watch told her it had been over two hours. 

Two hours of the man in front of her droning on about himself and all his supposed adventures. He had yet to tell a story where he wasn’t the hero. At this point, she was sure that more than 90% of what he said was fabricated to fit his own narrative. 

Hamish didn’t seem to take notice of the fact that she wasn’t listening, continuing to animatedly talk about a recent business trip where he made good on an important deal with another company. 

“.. and then, he asked if I wanted to join him for a night out on his yacht. He really should have been more specific because what he showed me was not a yacht, but a small boat. I never would have agreed to go along if I knew -“ 

She interrupted, seizing the chance before she could wither away from boredom. “You know what? It’s getting quite late. How about we call it a night? I do have an early morning tomorrow.” 

The lie fell easily but she couldn’t be bothered to care. She’d do anything at this point to make him stop talking. 

“Right, of course. You need your beauty sleep.” Hamish winked, standing up and offering his hand. She debated just standing up on her own but took it anyway, not wanting to seem rude. 

She really didn’t want to get back into the car with him, so she quickly caught Penny’s eye from behind the bar, begging her to interfere. 

Penny quickly caught on and hurried over to where they were standing. “Oh, are you leaving? Could I borrow you quickly before you go? It won’t take long, just … -“ 

“Sure, no problem.” She turned towards Hamish again. “Why don’t you head out? I don’t want to keep you waiting.” 

“Alright then. I’ll call you later.” Hamish kissed her cheek before heading towards the doors. 

Both she and Penny watched through the window as he got into his ridiculous car and drove out of the parking lot. 

“I thought he’d never leave.” Hangman appeared out of nowhere, pool cue in hand. 

Penny patted her on the shoulder before going back towards the bar, Jimmy waving cheerily at her. She waved back before turning around to face Hangman, raising one eyebrow. 

“And have you been keeping track of him all evening? I must say, I’m surprised. Didn't you know you were so interested in what I’m up to?” 

Hangman rolled his eyes, grabbing her elbow and steering her towards the pool table. “I haven’t seen you look that bored since the last briefing you guys were forced to join.” 

He made no attempt to deny that he had been watching her and her date, which brought a warm feeling in her stomach. 

There was a time where the two of them could have been something, but neither had been ready for it. Now, she wondered if they should have taken the leap anyway. 

“Well, to be fair, it was almost three hours and even Cyclone looked bored, and he was the one holding it.” She countered, accepting the pool cue he handed her.  “You sure you’re ready to lose?” 

Hangman snorted, leaning over to make the break. “I never lose, sweetheart.” 

“Guess there’s a first for everything then. It’s going to be entertaining watching the smirk fall off your face.” 

He shook his head. “I’ll enjoy watching you try. And if I can entertain you, what’s the harm? Better that than what that stupid-what’s-his name could ever come up with.” 

He was joking but she could read him easily enough at this point. “Are you jealous?” 

“I don’t get jealous. Especially not over someone named Hamish. Stupid name, stupid face.” 

She took her shot, sinking a solid before answering. “You know, I don’t mind if you are. It’s cute. And even though he’s the most boring person ever, his face was nice to look at.” 

She tried to get around the table for her next shot but Hangman crowded her against it, trapping her between his body and the table. “Mine’s much prettier to look at.” 

His breath was warm on her face, his lips inches from her ear as he bent his neck slightly to look down at her. 

She tried her best to come up with a witty comeback but him being so close distracted her. 

“Nothing to say?” Jake smirked, leaning even closer. 

She took a breath, willing herself to get it together. “You also have a stupid face so I’d argue that you’re pretty much the same.” 

Jake straightened up but his eyes never left hers. “I take offence to that. And I’m nothing like Hamish. I’ll prove you wrong.” 

“And how are you going to do that?” They were headed into dangerous territory but the butterflies told her it would be worth it, as did Jake’s smile. 

“Guess you’re just going to have to stick around and see.”

[sexsylexi]

Young Justice boys Valentine head cannons.

Wally West,Richard grayson, Conner Kent, Will Harper,Kaldur x reader.

Wally West

● Wally is the type of guy who would act super casual about Valentine's Day at first but secretly puts a ton of effort into making it special for you. He wants everything to be perfect but fun.

●Starts Planning Early – He may procrastinate on a lot of things, but when it comes to making you happy, he starts brainstorming weeks in advance. (Though, he might leave actually executing the plan until the last minute.)

●Big on Classic Gestures – Expect chocolates, flowers, and maybe even a stuffed animal with a cheesy pick-up line. Something like "I must be The Flash, 'cause you make my heart race!"

●Personalized Gifts– He always finds a way to make the day unique. Maybe it’s a scrapbook of your adventures together, a mixtape of songs that reminds him of you, or even a home-cooked meal (which may or may not end in disaster).

●Exciting Date Ideas – One minute, you’re having a simple picnic, and the next, he’s taking you on a whirlwind trip to different places. You might end up watching the sunset from the Eiffel Tower (just a quick trip, no big deal).

●Loves to Show Off – He’ll use his speed to do cute things, like zipping away and coming back in a second with a fresh bouquet or writing "I ♥︎ You" in the sand at a beach before you even realize he’s gone.

Flirting and Teasing – The entire day is filled with Wally’s playful flirting. Lots of winks, casual arm slinging, and whispered sweet nothings just for you. He loves making you laugh and will pull out all the stops to see you smile.

●Always Puts You First – If there’s a mission that day, he’ll groan and moan about having to be a hero on Valentine’s Day but will promise to make it up to you tenfold. And he always follows through.

●The End of the Night is the Best Part – Whether it’s cuddling on the couch, watching cheesy rom-coms, or lying under the stars, Wally just wants to be close to you. He might get a little more sentimental as the night winds down, holding you tight and mumbling about how lucky he is.

●Super Speed Kisses – He loves peppering your face with a bunch of quick kisses in under a second before finally slowing down for one long, meaningful one.

●Would definitely Say Something Like – "Valentine's Day should be every day if it means I get to spend it with you."

Richard Grayson

●Secretly a Hopeless Romantic – Dick plays it cool, acting like Valentine’s Day is no big deal, but in reality, he goes all out in ways you wouldn’t expect. He just prefers to keep it low-key and personal rather than flashy and grand.

●Mysterious Plans – He refuses to tell you anything about what he has planned, teasing you with cryptic hints like “Hope you’re not afraid of heights” or “Wear something comfy, but also maybe dressy… or not. You’ll see.”

●The Smoothest Flirt – From the moment you wake up, Dick is laying on the charm. Smirks, winks, casual touches, and compliments that leave you flustered. He loves making you blush and will definitely call you out on it.

● Date Night – He’s a master of planning the perfect date. It could be something extravagant, like a rooftop dinner overlooking the city, or something simple but meaningful, like a movie marathon of all your favourite films—complete with homemade popcorn.

●Loves a Bit of Thrill – There’s always an element of adventure. Maybe he takes you zip-lining through Gotham’s skyline or sneaks you into Wayne Manor for a candlelit dinner.

●Handwritten Notes – He’s got a way with words, and while he jokes around a lot, his Valentine’s note is ridiculously sweet. It’s heartfelt, a little poetic, and something you’ll treasure forever. (You might even catch a tiny hint of his love for romantic quotes.)

●Gifts – Dick pays attention to the little things, so whatever he gives you will have deep meaning—maybe a locket with a picture of you two, a book with a handwritten note in the margins, or even a custom-made gadget from the Batcave if you’re also a vigilante.

●The “Accidental” Acrobatics Show – He won’t say he’s showing off, but he totally is. Random backflips, effortless parkour, and maybe even catching you bridal-style just because. If you call him out, he’ll just grin and say, “What? It’s impressive, right?”

●Protective but Playful – He’s always looking out for you, but on Valentine’s Day, he gets extra soft. If you’re out in public, he keeps a protective hand on your lower back, but if you tease him about it, he’ll just smirk and say, “What? Can’t a guy keep his Valentine close?”

●Knows Exactly How to Make You Melt – At the end of the night, he pulls you close, murmurs something way too sweet in your ear, and presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead before finally kissing you properly.

●Will Say Something Like – “I don’t need a holiday to remind me how much I love you, but hey, if it means I get an excuse to spoil you, I’m all in.”

●Cuddles Are Mandatory – After all the excitement, the night always ends with the two of you tangled up together, whether it's on the couch or in bed. He’ll trace lazy patterns on your skin, occasionally murmuring something soft before eventually dozing off with you in his arms.

Conner Kent

●Acts Like He Doesn’t Care (unsure of how to actually process the day)– Conner plays it off like Valentine’s Day is just another day, but deep down, he really wants to make it special for you—he’s just not sure how.

●Struggles with Romantic Gestures – He’s not the best with words or grand displays of affection, so he spends weeks stressing over what to do. Expect a lot of “Hey… uh, what do people do for Valentine’s Day?” questions.

●Gift Giving is Awkward but Sweet – He doesn’t like expensive flashy gifts, so whatever he gives you is deeply personal. Maybe it’s something simple like his iconic shirt or something he made himself, like a small, hand-carved wooden trinket.

●Protective and Soft with You – Conner is naturally protective, but on Valentine’s Day, he gets extra gentle. He’ll walk close to you, keep an arm wrapped around you, and if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, his signature Superboy glare activates.

●Not a Fan of Crowds – He prefers to avoid busy restaurants or loud places, so expect a quiet, intimate date. Maybe a home-cooked meal (which he’ll try to make himself—whether it’s good is another question), or a cozy night watching your favorite movies.

● He Blushes So Easily – He may have been a clone of superman and lex , but his true feelings show when you surprise him with a heartfelt gift or compliment. For example If you say something like “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me”, expect him to turn red and mumble a quiet “Tch… whatever.”

●Affection is Subtle but Meaningful – He’s not huge on PDA, but he’ll hold your hand, rest his forehead against yours, and occasionally press a lingering kiss to your temple when no one’s looking.

●Might Go Overboard on the Protective Instincts – If he senses even the slightest inconvenience during your date, he’s ready to solve it with his strength. (“The waiter’s taking too long? I can just—” “CONNER, NO.””)

●Super Strength Used for Cute Things – He’ll lift you effortlessly just to carry you to the couch or reach something high up for you.

●The Most Genuine “I Love You” – Conner isn’t great with words, but when he does say “I love you,” it’s soft, deep, and full of meaning. No extra fluff—just pure sincerity.

●Will Say Something Like – “I don’t need a special day to care about you… but I guess if it makes you happy, I’ll do this Valentine’s thing.”

●Ends the Night with Cuddles – He may act tough, but Conner is a huge cuddler in private. He’ll let you rest against his chest while he strokes your hair, occasionally pressing soft kisses against your forehead until you both fall asleep.

Will Harper

● Plans Everything – Will pretends to be super casual about Valentine’s Day, saying things like “It’s just a corporate holiday, babe”—but behind the scenes, he’s making sure everything is perfect.

●The Definition of Thoughtful – He may not have much, but he knows what makes you happy. Whether it’s a small but meaningful gift or just making sure you have a stress-free day, Will puts real effort into showing you he cares.

●Probably Teases You About It – He’ll smirk and say, “You’re not expecting something sappy, are you?” while literally pulling out the most heartfelt present ever. If you get emotional, he just grins and pulls you into a hug.

●A Simple Yet Perfect Date – Will doesn’t do over-the-top romance. Instead, expect something comfortable and intimate, like a homemade dinner, a quiet rooftop picnic, or just a slow dance in the living room with music playing in the background.

●Dad Mode Activated – If Lian is involved, she 100% helps him plan something cute. Maybe she hands you a crayon-drawn Valentine’s card that says “From Daddy and Lian”, which makes Will insanely proud.

●Subtle but Sincere Affection – He’s not the type to gush about his feelings, but he’ll hold your hand the entire night, pull you close when you least expect it, and kiss you in that slow, lingering, “I mean this” kind of way.

●Gives the Best Gifts – They’re not extravagant, but they’re always exactly what you wanted—sometimes before you even realize you wanted it. Maybe it’s a book you mentioned once, a custom-made bow and arrowif you’re into that, or something sentimental like an old photo of you two framed.

●Wears His Heart on His Sleeve (With You, at Least) – Will might act tough, but you know he’s got a soft side. He’ll mutter something like “I’m not great at this romance thing” right before doing something stupidly romantic.

●Night time– If the weather’s nice, he’ll set up a blanket, bring some drinks, and just sit with you under the stars. He likes the peace of it—and the way you look when the moonlight hits your face.

●Will 1 Say Something Like – “I don’t need Valentine’s Day to remind me how much I love you… but if it means an excuse to love and spoil you, I’ll take it.”

●Ends the Night with Cuddles – Whether it’s on the couch or in bed, he’ll pull you against his chest, wrap an arm around you, and murmur something sweet before falling asleep. And if Lian crashes the cuddle session? Even better.

Kaldur

●Deeply Thoughtful – Kaldur approaches Valentine’s Day with quiet sincerity. He doesn’t need grand gestures; instead, he ensures every moment with you feels special and meaningful.

●Old-School Romantic – Expect heartfelt words, deep eye contact, and gestures that feel like they belong in a love story. He’s the type to take your hand gently and press a lingering kiss to the back of it without a second thought.

●Plans Everything with Care – He takes his time choosing the perfect way to celebrate. Whether it’s a quiet secluded beach picnic, an underwater adventure, or a candlelit dinner with Atlantean cuisine, he makes sure it reflects your interests and hism

●Gift Giving is Symbolic – Kaldur believes gifts should hold meaning. Maybe he gives you a beautiful shell or stone from Atlantis, something crafted with bioluminescent coral, or a handwritten letter expressing his deepest feelings for you.

●Speaks with Pure Emotion – When Kaldur tells you how much he loves you, he means it. His words are poetic yet natural, filled with warmth. (“You are the current that guides my soul, the light that leads me home.”)

●Surprisingly Affectionate in Private – Though composed in public, behind closed doors, Kaldur is tender and openly affectionate. He’ll wrap you in his arms, rest his forehead against yours, and take his time showing you just how much you mean to him.

●Loves Peaceful, Intimate Moments – Instead of a loud, extravagant celebration, he prefers quiet togetherness. Maybe you’re watching the ocean waves, swimming under the stars, or simply holding each other in a tranquil setting.

●Will Say Something Like – “My love for you is as endless as the tides, unwavering and eternal.”

●A Perfect Slow Dance Partner – Even if there’s no music, he’ll take your hand and sway with you in the dim light, moving with effortless grace while holding you close.

●The Night Ends with Cuddles and Deep Conversations – As the night winds down, expect quiet whispers, soothing touches, and an unshakable feeling of warmth and love. Kaldur cherishes every moment with you, and it shows in everything he does.

Should I do season 2 boys or season 1 girls next? Also thank you for reading! 😊

[eisforeidolon]

During her appearance as a guest on the spnthenandnow podcast, Cindy claimed the Dean was Ben's father, even though Jensen and Eric refuted this.

Yeah, some over invested Dean/Lisa shipper wrote up a whole ridiculous article about it [X] a while back.

Like, especially with the show going on fifteen seasons, often revisiting things, and having such an active fandom? I get how fans came to fixate on random characters or storylines they personally liked or wanted to see more of. Even (or especially) when those things were a very minor part of canon - or actually just their own fanfic and not canon at all. Including things TPTB explicitly shot down, because the show was on long enough to change who TPTB were multiple times. Meanwhile, fans feeling entitled to have media they like catered to their personal wants or they'll throw massive tantrums is an unfortunate overall trend in recent years across fandom, not just an issue with SPN. Not likeable, but I see how it happens.

What I haven't really seen outside of SPN, though? Is such a slew of entitled minor supporting actors trying to claim greater importance to a canon they were barely a part of for their own aggrandizement and hopes of being brought back. Like, the boon of ongoing cons isn't enough for them, they see all that SPN $$$ and want more of it directed their way.

You have Kim declaring she would just refuse to appear if they killed off Jody. You have Kim and Brianna bragging about deserving a spin-off where they'd show the boys how it's really done -and then throwing embarrassing public tantrums on SM when the network gave it the pass it deserved. You have Rob and Rich doing a podcast where it's not only obvious they don't actually like or respect the show? But they can't even be bothered to pay attention as they 'watch' it to milk the fandom through promises of insider info. Which aside from their own barely-there and therefore hardly expert insider status? Includes such, uh, gems as Cindy randomly claiming years after the fact Ben was actually Dean's kid and she totes played it that way - despite the canon and despite Kripke's explicit denial back when it was remotely relevant (as well as Jensen's).

All of this from people where not a one of them was involved in more than around 20ish of 327 episodes. But saying things certain over-invested fans want to hear gets them attention, $$$, and just might make them seem like 'fan favorites' that should be brought back! Yeah.

[gimmebackmyskeeball]

MEET LATINA POGUE READER!

latina pogue reader who looks nothing like the crap she likes.

latina pogue reader who is a certified eco warrior, the most expressive girl in The Cut, surfer, stoner & most likely a vegetarian totally has nothing to do with her body dysmorphia, loves a good dirty joke, a ridiculously forward person, looks like a total black cat but actually the biggest golden retriever when you get close to her.

latina pogue reader who has beautiful curls but always straightens them cause it looks ‘more sleek.’

latina pogue reader who totally swings both ways (sometimes she barely cares who she hooks up with, let alone the gender.)

latina pogue reader who always looks and smells rich even though she’s probably the poorest between the pogues (which, considering JJ, is saying a lot.)

latina pogue reader who likes Diet Coke, cherry cigarettes, weed, pineapples, cats, surfing, tanning and sunshine, the color yellow, pink and red, LDR’s music, old camp shirts, physical touches, long hot showers, swimming, skinny dipping, bikinis, surfing, mushrooms, musical movies, slurpees, hot guys, hot girls, her mom, seashells, gold jewelry, waking up late, R&B, sunsets, Bob Marley and Elvis Presley’s music, street lights and riding the dirt bike.

latina pogue reader who never really learned how to drive but forced JJ to teach her how to ride the dirt bike just to get better and spite him.

latina pogue reader who had a tumblr blogger phase in 2016 and sometimes still logs back her account (which is named some ridiculous shit like curvybaby17 or smth) to look at her and Kie’s old pics.

latina pogue reader who has insane daddy issues but truly believes she’s the best of the best, not in an egotistical way, she knows she pulled through all the troubles life gave her, making it all on her own and she’s confident that she can handle everything.

latina pogue reader who has insane motherly nature (being constantly called ‘mama’ by her favorite blonde), her comforting game is top tier— would recommend.

latina pogue reader who absolutely loathes Rafe and The Chipmunks and has bitch slapped Topper on the face before. one of her favorite moments in life.

latina pogue reader who could be an absolute bitch when she wants to…and some of her words are definitely controversial but you couldn’t pay her to care.

latina pogue reader who doesn’t handle disrespect very well and will make your life a living hell if you cross her. (bonus points if she trusted and cared about you to begin with.)

latina pogue reader who is the most confident freak you can meet.

latina pogue reader who is always the loud, opinionated one. she would never let a man beat her in anything. and I mean anything.

latina pogue reader who needs people to perceive her intelligence. she needs them to know that she's smart and not ‘trailer trash’, that she has something important to contribute to the society.

latina pogue reader who is the biggest softie underneath her loud mouth, scary attitude and maneater aura.

i love her and have a whole ass arc for her :(

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Yeah, another long wait 😅 But hey, at least it's here now!

How the plot thickens, and how the shenanigans, on a 1-10 scale, go from a 9 to an instant 30...

___

Abel Impulse [Part 2]

(Disclaimer: two of the characters in this story do not belong to me. Casey Clowes was created by my amazing friend, @insane4fandoms.)

(Now, as for the fanegos who do belong to me: for more information on Azalea, go here. For more information on Phoenix, go here. For more information on Caliban, go here. For more information on K.O., go here.) 

(Trigger Warnings: implied kidnapping, implied murder/death, mentions of gunshots, medical attention, knives/blades, violence, blood/gore, mentions of poisoning, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of fire/smoke, mentions of arson/burning/melting, descriptions of illegal business, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

___

At first, Casey couldn’t tell if he was awake. 

He’d experienced similar stuff in the past—drifting in and out of consciousness at odd hours of the night, dreams blurring and mumbling because apparently his brain just couldn’t make up its damn mind. 

Everything was shrouded in darkness. It was like his eyes had sunken all the way to the back of his skull. Like the end of each lid had gotten caught underneath, forcing the sockets to wrap themselves shut far too tight.

But as the seconds ticked by, he felt his brow furrowing, felt the sore muscles in his neck protest as he tried to shift. 

And the pain wasn’t far behind at all.

Some kind of drumbeat that wracked his abdomen. It started out with pinches, like a hand topped with sharp, ragged, dirty nails groping around at his guts. And then those nails melted and started seeping deeper and deeper into his flesh.

Burning and stinging with a shaky flare, like mosquitos drunk on the ashes that flew off of a crackling firepit.

If noises could be captured and distilled into physical feelings, then this would qualify as the reincarnation of a scream.

A deranged, hopeless scream that went on far longer than it should’ve been able to, perhaps until it forced vocal cords to snap like guitar strings.

“You there, Casey?”

The voice called from what had to be just a few feet away. It was low but not deep, thoughtful but not quite focused, and almost a bit raspy around the edges. Not pointing to cigarettes, though smoke was definitely responsible in some other way.

Worst of all, it was familiar. 

Familiar enough to send a chill down Casey’s spine, which mixed with the burning in an awful way. 

It really shouldn’t have been familiar. 

It’d been years upon years since he’d heard that voice…then again, that was just a technicality. He’d heard it a few times after that one branch of his life. 

Those few times had been set in fear and hate, filtered with the stench of metal and oil, full of verbal arsenic (as in, insults and threats and the hollow horror that came along when ear-splitting, sadistic laughter mixed itself into enraged shrieks…)

Spots danced in Casey’s vision, bright little sparks that faded away in a millisecond. He had to blink a couple times with a bit more force than strictly necessary. At least the new light around him was dim.

The pain in his stomach didn’t stop—if anything, it ate up his awareness like fire to dry newspapers—but a different type of ache thrummed on one side of his head. Dull, lukewarm, almost sweaty. 

The left half of his view remained stubbornly blurred, as though he was peering through a glass fishbowl full of cloudy water, while he took in the walls. 

Each one was covered in a fine layer of dust (which was just ridiculous. Walls were vertical! Why couldn’t they act like it?!) that didn’t do much to hide a dull yellow tint. 

He tried to sit up, only to hiss through gritted teeth as another flare raced through his guts and up to his ribs.

His elbow brushed against brown leather that had taken on that weird scratchy-yet-velvety feel that could only come from years of less-than-gentle use.

The couch it covered looked like it’d once belonged to an animal shelter, having been set up for playful kittens (read: the ones that you’d think somehow got a few drops of Red Bull in their kibble) to tire themselves out.

A coffee table stood before the sofa. It was low to the matted carpet and coated in white paint, though as Casey’s aching eyes wandered over it, he discovered awkward little cracks and bumps, making the material uneven. Like the table had been flipped or thrown on at least three separate occasio—

A shape lay discarded on top; the dim light flickered, coaxing out a familiar, metallic glint that practically slapped Casey across the face.

His half-respirator!

Alertness crashed over him like a wave.

It’d taken so long for him to find that thing, for him to find one that could give extra protection without slowing him down. He couldn’t afford to just lose it!

The pain seemed to blink, not quite fading but still being pushed aside as he reached out. 

The floor creaked, fabric shuffled, and then another hand was there, wrapping around his wrist in a firm, cold grasp.  

“Hey!” The cry was guttural, instinctive. Casey tugged his arm back, but his hand wasn’t released. He craned his neck to glance over, only for a shuddering flare to drag its way down his heart heart before moving on to his lungs. 

“Oh, finally!” That same voice announced, with a joking edge that did not belong here.  “For a second there, I was worried I’d have to get an ice bucket.”

The man looming beside him had clearly been put through the ringer. (More than one, if Casey was honest.) 

His face was horribly scarred—almost the entire left side was splotched with an angry shade of pinkish-red. The texture might’ve looked wrinkled from a distance, but this close, it nearly gave the impression that he’d taken one of those loop tools used in sculpting and just raked it along his forehead, his cheek, his chin over and over again.

Maybe that analogy wasn’t so far off, considering how some of his fair skin had been spared. The burns stretched over, but only a bit, leaving patches on his face’s right side that were big enough to not render him completely disfigured. The wound almost seemed like it’d been placed by an artist. Granted, there’d have to be some sick, macabre thoughts involved to make it work, but still.

Especially for his eyes. 

One of them really should’ve been fused shut and hidden under the blistered tissue, but nope. The socket was crooked, like it’d been ever-so-slightly pinched. But as Casey watched, it blinked, which meant that it could still move and…he couldn’t be certain that seeing was an option, since it was dull gray and boasted a texture that reminded him of a withered grape. 

But its counterpart…well, it didn’t look healthy, what with the way a bag had long-since formed underneath it, or just how bloodshot it was. But it was still functioning, still alert, still alive. 

Alive enough for its pupil to shrink down to a pinprick.

Alive enough to showcase how the brown iris had a peculiar orange sheen about it.

Alive enough to drill an invisible hole into Casey’s head.

Casey shuffled, grinding his jaw as he leaned back. 

Mad took that as an invitation to move himself, now leaning over his captive, still holding onto his wrist. “Here, let me get a look at you.” 

He then tilted his head, his free hand moving to nudge a navy-blue blanket aside.

Casey made to snap again, to keep struggling. As his eyes followed along, however, he stopped short.

His jaw dropped at the sight of bandages wrapped around the lower-half of his bare chest in a tight layer.

The white gauze was stark against his brown skin, but a dull, dark red stain just underneath one section was the thing to really set it off.

And as he tried to regain focus, he saw how his right forearm had been dressed in a similar way. The burning and stinging felt muffled, but not by much. 

“Hmm…” A few long seconds ago, Mad’s mouth had stretched into a grim, uncertain smile with a corner of his mouth twitching. But now, he was pursing his lips in a frown. “Well, patching things up never was my forte, but—”

“Stop! Get away! Let go!” Casey interjected, nearly screaming with another attempt to free his wrist. “What did you do to me?!”

An interesting mixture of anger and confusion (as well as…wait, was that actual, genuine concern?) stirred around in Mad’s eyes. “I didn’t do this!”

His grip tightened as he jostled by the couch, trying to shift his weight against his captive. “Hey, hold still! You’re gonna mess up the wraps! It took me forever to stop the bleeding; we can’t give it a chance to start again!”

“Don’t give me that BS!” Casey spat, trying to twist his arm and having to wrench his eyes shut as another bolt of pain flared under the gauze. “You don’t clean up messes! You just cause ‘em! That’s all you EVER do!”

“Not this time! It wasn’t me!” Mad protested. “Come on, Casey! These are bullet-wounds, and since when have I ever used guns?”

Casey froze in place, the upcoming retort dying on his tongue. Loathe as he was to admit it, that defense was an accurate one. 

It was common for serial killers to develop signatures—personal quirks, things to make their grisly work unique to them and them alone. Sure, a lot of them knew the merits of keeping a varied inventory, but sometimes they still wound up getting attached to a particular tool or weapon or process.

Sentimentality could be a strange, horrifying thing. 

Mad was a prime example of that, even when improvisation ended up not working out so well for him. But at the end of the day, he had his own handmade Ol’ Reliable. Casey had only seen it in action once or twice, but there was no doubt that it was devastating…

Watching the realization cross Casey’s features, Mad offered a smug nod. 

“I didn’t see the whole thing,” he proclaimed, his gaze wandering about the room. “I was out and about, working on some of my own stuff—” Mad pointedly pretended not to see the way Casey snarled at that phrasing, “—but then I heard shots from just around the corner. I got curious, and when I snuck over to see what was going on…”

Slowly, his eyes went back to boring into Casey’s again.

For the first time in recent years, there was no rage, no ulterior motive, no sadism to be seen. In all honesty, Casey didn’t know what he was looking at, but he couldn’t take any chances in guessing. 

Mad heaved a disappointed sigh. “I couldn’t make out what the guy looked like. He was halfway down the street by the the time I realized it was you lying on the ground.”

“An extortion racket,” Casey murmured without quite meaning to, putting the pieces together as the memories finally started filtering back through his head. “My latest client works at one of the stores around here…said that someone was threatening their boss in order to get free goods…using a mask and everything…”

Mad continued on, either because he hadn’t heard him or didn’t care for details right now. “You were out like a light. And you were just bleeding so much. Too much for me to waste time on a chase and then come back to you—”

He didn't trail off, but his words grew blurry, as if echoing from somewhere far away, while Casey racked his brain.

Getting shot out in the open was bad enough. Even if he’d made relative peace with all the danger he exposed himself to for his cases, it was still a nightmare scenario. 

Part of his mind flashed to all the powerpoints and books he’d had to study for training. Some examples had been much more shocking than others, of course. If there was one part of that he knew for certain he would never, NEVER forget, it was the Bystander Effect.

Such a simple yet awful phenomenon.

He’d read so many reports about the targets of mugging (or something even worse) being left to bleed in a ditch or alleyway, wailing for help so loud and for so long that it’d be a miracle for their poor throats to not go raw. 

And yet, no matter how loud those victims were, any other people who happened to be near were likely to just. Not. Answer. 

Casey couldn’t wrap his head around something like that.

The most common excuse was that most bystanders believed plenty of other people were around to help. (Funny how that logic apparently applied to those other people too, hmm?)

Perhaps those bystanders had a reason to think it was some kind of elaborate trap. Maybe they had a reason to fear that if they helped, then unfair blame for what happened would be cast onto them. 

But why was something like that so universal? 

Why was it just accepted that people would go out of their way to avoid taking responsibility for bad things out in public?  

It truly felt like some kind of Yin to the Milgram Experiment’s Yang…

Mad was the absolute last person Casey would expect to help him. 

If anything, Mad was the type of person to take advantage of the Bystander Effect, whether he was hiding his victim or aiming to snatch one up and drag them into the night, sealing their fate himself just because he was in a bad mood.

“—Aaaaaaannd that’s how we got here!” Mad finally concluded with an awkward, sweeping gesture of the room. With his free hand, mind you. Since he still hadn’t let go of Casey. 

The staring contest resumed (then again, had it ever really paused?) for another long, uncomfortable moment.

Casey took a quiet deep breath. “...What’s your game, then?” 

“What do you mean by that?” Mad asked, his brow furrowing. 

“You know what I mean. I’m not playing around with this,” Casey replied in a terse tone. “You’ve obviously brought me here because you want something. So, you might as well just tell me and get it over with already.”

Mad scoffed and pouted at the same time, which would’ve looked kind of funny if it weren’t for all his burn-scars. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. You took one bullet to your stomach and another to your arm! You’re pretty damn lucky that I managed to get them both out and dress the wounds.”

He paused, a small chuckle crawling up from his lungs. “Besides, that was only half the struggle. You’re not exactly a pocket-watch anymore.” He glanced over Casey again, and even lying down, it was obvious to anyone how he was much taller than his captor. “Makes me glad I got all that teasing out back when I was still able. Because I just knew the tables would turn someday.”

“Don’t.” Casey growled, deep in his throat. “You don’t get to use that to try and manipulate me. Don’t you dare talk about old kid stuff.” He chewed his lip, then heaved a sigh. “Like it even matters anymore.”

“What?” Mad’s lips peeled back in a sneer, his much more typical anger flaring back to life in his narrowed eyes. His grip tightened around Casey’s wrist as he leaned a couple inches closer.

“Give me one good reason why I can’t,” he demanded through clenched teeth. 

The challenge hit Casey like a .44 slug. He stared at his captor for a long few seconds, blinking as his own anger set his mind to a rolling boil.

“...One?” He asked, spitting the word out like it was a rancid piece of meat. “ONE reason?! You really think there’s just ONE?” 

The pain didn’t even give him much trouble as he propped himself up against the couch’s armrest, returning the favor via almost getting in Mad’s face. 

“Susie, Gabriel, Jeremy, Fritz,” he listed off, his heart aching at the memories of each Missing Child report. “Not to mention how many came AFTER them! Or the ones that came BEFORE them! I can only think of one time when the person you went after was an adult!”

He let out a mirthless, infuriated chuckle that came dangerously close to a sob. “But hey, I’m sure you’ve already updated that part of the list. The bodies just haven’t been found yet, huh?”

Invisible needles dragged along his brain as older memories played.

Glass shards slathered in red, glistening in the darkness.

The stench of iron swallowing up the typical smell of wood-polish. 

A huge grandfather clock laying on the floor, broken beyond repair.

The horrific, pulpy mess crushed beneath all that weight.

Bits of brain and skull sticking to the once-glossy finish on the sides. 

Red, red, so much RED…

Mad’s eyes flickered; Casey could see those exact images reflected—only from a much different angle of things. Almost as if his memories had been spinning through a film projector. 

But that was just it.

Vague recollection was the only thing Mad’s eyes had to offer right now. 

No guilt.

No sadness.

No shame.

No remorse—one of the most important ingredients to a person. 

Mad wasn’t feeling sorry about the fact that he’d done any of those things. 

Only sorry that he’d ever gotten caught.

“Oh, wait, did I catch you off-guard with that?” Casey wondered, his voice dripping with false apology. “Did you forget all those times; those names?”

Mad’s mouth opened and closed with no words coming out.

Part of the emotions on his face looked proud, looked nearly, disgustingly nostalgic.

Another part was seething, in a way so dark and rotten that it could've been infested with maggots. 

“I guess that makes sense,” Casey continued, rolling his eyes quite pointedly. “Because you don’t care to remember. You just can’t be bothered to! That’s why you think you can just make a hobby out of hurting others! YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYONE OR ANYTHING BUT YOURSELF.”

Without warning, Casey felt the pressure ease around his wrist; Mad’s grip had finally slackened. It was obviously a subconscious, accidental gesture, but it was better than nothing. 

Not intending to waste any chance he could get here, he tugged his arm back once again. 

Mad noticed, of course, but he was too slow to retain his hold. 

Casey peeled the offending had away, then shoved it toward the lunatic in front of him…only to freeze in place. 

Way back when, Mad’s palms were rough and bumpy, pretty much always boasting a few callouses. One time Casey had caught him tearing the little clumps of dead skin off with his fingernails. He remembered his worry taking on a gross, itchy feeling that churned around in his stomach at the sight. 

He didn’t feel any callouses now. Didn’t feel any nails, didn’t feel any skin. 

All he felt was something hard, smooth, and cold. 

Time seemed to slow down as his eyes wandered over the prosthetic.

A clutch of five digits sculpted from some kind of plastic.

A tangle of thin, tiny wires wove out from the base of each “knuckle,” simulating the tendons that were supposed to reach all the way up to the elbow and give fine motor-control. 

They all connected to a metal band, which encircled Mad’s wrist, just barely jutting out from whatever scarred skin remained. 

Casey’s focus darted over, confirming that the hand’s counterpart was in the exact same condition. 

It seemed the shock on Casey’s face was the key to finally convince Mad on the important of personal space. He snatched his hardware away and stumbled back, blindly groping at the armchair positioned by the couch.

After a painfully awkward moment passed by, he produced a pair of thick black gloves. He shoved them on, one after the other, as if that would somehow magically turn his hands back to flesh and blood and bone. The way they should’ve been.

Casey had to hold onto his anger—his needed to. 

He couldn’t let himself get caught up in anything. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. That was exactly what Mad wanted. 

But even as all those horrible, monstrous things kept echoing through his head, he couldn’t help it when his voice tapered down to a whisper: “Did…did you do that?” 

Mad stared at him, his expression now unreadable. The seconds felt like hours as he offered a hesitant nod. 

Casey’s eyes bulged from their sockets. A tidal wave of screaming questions crashed over his head, but he could only drag one out into the air. “Why?”

Mad’s features twisted in a scowl that was made even worse by how it stretched the scarred, burned tissue around his lips. 

“Because I had to,” Mad replied, his tone dripping with ice. “Business had taken more than enough hits. People were asking too many questions. I needed to get away. To start over.”

And just like that, Casey’s fury resumed its festering path around both his brain and his heart. 

The statement rang through his skull like a rusty, broken church bell. 

“The disaster at that one Freddy’s…They said two bodies were found. The owner and an employee,” Casey murmured, remembering the news story he just so happened to find while flicking through TV channels one morning. “That was you. You’d left some evidence around the place that couldn’t be covered up or cleaned off. So you decided to just send it to high-heaven.” 

Mad folded his arms across his chest, sighing through his nose and rolling his eyes like a stereotypical teenager. Despite this, you could still catch his eyes twinkling with sick, arrogant pride. 

“Afton,” Casey continued, putting piece after piece together. “That was the guy’s name. That was the latest fake identity you were using!”

Mad looked like he’d been about to say something, but a small, hitching gasp seeped through his teeth instead. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. 

“You killed someone else before it happened, didn’t you? You cut off their hands, got rid of them, and then you—you left yours behind with the body.” Casey felt his chest tightening, felt the new gash in his torso burn and sting so bright it almost felt fresh.

“That way, if anyone came sniffing through the wreckage…they’d have no choice but to connect your fingerprints to the victim. Your records, too. They’d think you died in that explosion.”

Casey had seen his fair share of criminals going out of their way to make things…elaborate. Sometimes that just made them easier to catch, but other times it left him feeling cold, scared, almost helpless depending on what exactly he was looking for. 

The scheme Mad had apparently cooked up was a very labored one.

It was a long-con, a true gamble.

And, worst of all: it was infuriatingly, horrifically clever.

Now it was Mad’s turn to whisper, his voice dangerously close to shaking. 

“H-how…how did you do that?!”

“It’s really not that hard with you, Mad!” Casey fumed, throwing his hands up in the air and wincing as the muscles in his bandaged arm screamed. “Keeping track of everything you’ve done? That’s painful for sure. But you always have your damn tells!”

Mad gripped the arm of his chair, his hand shaking as his digits sank into the leather. 

“Shut up.” The warning came out as a hiss. 

It fell on deaf ears.

“Why else would you keep running around with fake names, ruining different people’s lives, causing wanton destruction?!” Casey shouted. It felt like a section of his brain was about to bash its way out of his skull. One hand subconsciously reached for his head, soon touching down to rake across his black hair, almost digging his nails into his own scalp. 

“Shut. UP,” Mad repeated, his breathing now ragged.

Casey wasn’t deterred. “It’s not just because you get a kick out of it! It’s because you can’t even take responsibility for crimes, of all things! You really think you’re some kind of mastermind, but if it wasn’t for all the high numbers and missing cases and flash you’re so obsessed with, then you’d just be another low-level, dime-a-dozen scumbag!”

“SHUT UP!” Mad shrieked, practically jumping out of his chair. 

In a swift, blurry movement, he grabbed one of the coffee table’s legs, raised it up, and hurled it across the room. 

It hit the opposite wall with a dull, deafening WHAM! before falling to the floor.

(Oddly enough, it stayed in one piece, though there were some brand-spankin’-new cracks in the white paint. Not to mention a fresh dent in the wall.)

Casey stared at the display, only for a violent flinch to sear through him as the shifting continued in his peripheral vision. He braced himself, clenching his jaw, gripping at the couch cushions.

Mad stormed further away, approaching a door that waited right on the living room’s border. He ripped it open, using so much force that it was a miracle he didn’t rip it off its hinges.

Then he ducked into the next room and slammed it shut, making the wall shake for a long few seconds. His angry movements grew muffled, fainter (not by very much of course), but didn’t stop altogether.

Somehow, this new, relative silence felt worse than the screaming. 

Casey swallowed a lump in his throat.He chewed his lip, glancing all around the space—there. 

A hollow threshold on the other end of the living room, almost perfectly opposite of wherever Mad had retreated into. 

He had no idea how much time Mad would take to sulk, to get his aggression out, to be unable to watch him. 

He had to move quickly. 

Casey sat upright, feeling his shoes touch down on the carpet. 

Even after steadying himself, he still had to screw his eyes shut and suck a sharp breath in through his teeth as he stood up.

The room swayed, and the pain drain that right up. 

Agony raced up and down his legs as he began to walk, but he couldn’t let that stop him. He shifted his weight with each step, making as little noise as possible. 

Once he was close enough, Casey reached out and pushed his hand onto the wall, haf-leaning against it to keep his balance.

He had to get out of here, but he couldn’t just leave. 

After all, where exactly would he go? He didn’t even know how close this house was to the area he’d been attacked at.

Wandering would be useless; Mad could track him down and re-capture him easily 

If Casey truly wanted to escape, then he’d have to be smart about…

___

Azalea dug around in her bag and fished out a familiar, pink-stained wooden container. She popped it open and gazed inside, silently reading the labels on the little glass vials she’d taken samples from a few minutes ago.

She’d used up the Japanese Giant Hornet venom for the job—so, that left four types of hype for her to work with, each ready to go, filled with clear, oh-so innocent-looking liquids. 

She settled on potentially incriminating a Gila monster, grabbing the appropriate syringe and spinning it between her gloved fingers. 

Those lizards were considering to have one of the most painful bites in all of the United States, though lethal cases were almost unheard of.

The same went for the other toxins she’d brought. 

Arizona bark scorpion, platypus, bullet ant…oh, they offered side-effects that were agonizing, but not technically fatal. 

Just enough juice to incapacitate someone for a while.

Though, they couldn’t exactly knock someone unconscious. Sure, the shock and pain could potentially make the unlucky victim pass out, but it was still a gamble. 

A gamble that Azalea wouldn’t have to worry about with certain other substances in her collection.

The same ones that she’d somehow forgotten to bring along. 

Hell, she’d even neglected to bring a trusty dart gun! It wasn’t impossible to pull off stealth-based work without one, but still...

Caliban pushed off from the top of the fence, landing beside her with a light thump on the grass. He dusted himself off and began stalking forward…only to stop short, seeing the self-aimed disappointment on her face. 

“Hey, c’mon, don’t beat yourself up about it,” he assured, giving her a light pat on the shoulder. “We’ve improvised before, so we can do it again.”

“I know, I know,” Azalea replied, offering a gesture that was half-nod-half-shrug as the two of them crept through a very unkempt backyard.

She was grateful for the morbid optimism; he’d already heard her slight panic-rant back at the motel, and yet he wasn’t getting snappy.  “It’s just…you’ve got more history with this guy than the rest of us. I don’t want to make things any more stressful.” 

“Well, yeah.” Caliban admitted, chewing his lip with a nod of his own. “But since when does random stuff like this not have any stress?”

A wide grin then spread over his features, showcasing the way his teeth looked a bit too sharp. “Besides, most jobs tend to get more fun sooner or later.”

Azalea chuckled, the syringe already feeling lighter in her grasp.

It was very late in the night. The sky had been completely swallowed up by clouds; the moon’s glow just barely managed to peek out through a few of them, but that only made so much of a dent in the darkness. 

This wasn’t a problem, really. More than enough time had passed for them to adjust to nocturnal schedules, to learn how to make their way with limited vision.

Maybe that was why Azalea could see her brother’s eyes glinting almost as much as his teeth.

Much like the ones on her face, Caliban’s eyes were brown. And yet, right now, they almost seemed to take on a shade of yellow that would’ve been creepy to most other people. 

(His eyes always did that when he had a lot of adrenaline. Even more so when he was hungry.) 

Though there was a decent amount of space, the house didn’t have much in the way of a back-patio. 

The siblings ducked as they passed a couple windows, soon approaching a door. It seemed a hole had been cut out, since there was a wide plastic panel adorning the lower-half. A typical doggy-door. 

“Does he have any pets?” Azalea asked, eyeing it cautiously. “Have you ever seen him with one?”

Caliban shook his head. “Doubt it. He doesn’t seem to like most animals, if the faces he's made at Snare are anything to go by. This probably just came with the house.”

He fished through his jacket’s pockets and brouth out a couple lockpicks. It took a moment of shifting them about in the keyhole, but a small click rang through the air soon enough. 

He twisted the knob and started to push, only for the door to stop less than halfway.

After flinching in near-perfect unison with Azalea, he carefully wormed his fingers through the crevice between the door and its panel. 

“What the—?!” Caliban whisper-shouted, moving his wrist up and down. “...There’s latches!”

Azalea furrowed her brow. “Plural?”

“Yeah! I can feel four or five of ‘em!” The cannibal gave an aggravated growl. “This has to be the one thing he’s actually thorough about.”

Azalea pursed her lips, tossing an anxious glance over her shoulder. 

Pre-planned jobs already came with their own time-crunches. Stuff like this only tightened that leash even more. 

K.O. had agreed to create a distraction after waiting two minutes; the siblings couldn’t afford to waste even a few seconds if they wanted this to work. 

She glanced down at the doggy door, raising her foot to give it a little kick. The plastic flap yielded easily. There was nothing behind it. 

After that, Azalea let out a sigh. “Alright, hold these.”

She pushed her bag and the syringe-container into Caliban’s hands without waiting for an answer, then dropped down to her knees to push the flap up and out of the way. 

Her shoulders made entry a little awkward, but she was petite enough to make it through just fine. She picked herself up, glancing around at an empty garage. 

Or, mostly empty, since the car Caliban’s rival apparently used was parked outside. A desk had been set up in the far-corner, cluttered with sheets of paper and various tools. A few strange, glinting shapes hung on the wall nearby; either weapons or more pieces of equipment—or both. 

The smell of metal, motor oil, and old blood hung heavy in the musty air.

Azalea turned back to the door, making short work of the nearly comedic amount of latches that had been installed onto it. 

The threshold was shut as quickly as it’d been opened, Caliban scurrying through to join her. 

“You didn’t see anything,” Azalea stated, squinting up at him as he handed her stuff back.

Caliban raised one hand in a small salute…though that didn’t stop one corner of his mouth from twitching in that way you just knew meant a giggle was being pushed down.

Another door stood at attention just a few feet away. 

The two of them crept toward it, only briefly jumping out of their skins at the sudden cacophony of shattering glass, followed by the unmistakable wailing of a car alarm. 

“There!” Caliban proclaimed, struggling to keep his voice low. “There’s the distraction!”

Azalea nodded, racing up a short set of concrete stairs. She pressed her ear against the door, listening carefully. She managed to catch frantic footsteps stampeding somewhere inside, though they were quick to disappear.

She was silent while turning the knob, swift as she pushed the entrance open. “C’mon, c’mon..!”

Her brother followed her lead into a laundry room, then into a small kitchen.

With the overall dingy vibes and the aged light buzzing and flickering above, you’d think there would be dishes piled up in the sink. But no; there were only knives.

“Where do you think he put him?” Azalea whispered as she sidled past the dining room table. “There’s a chance this place has a basement.”

“Maybe, but this floor can’t be that big—” Caliban started, then cut himself off. He turned his head, craning his neck in a sharp, sudden way. “Wait..!”

He took in a brisk breath, his nostrils flaring in a way that was almost similar to the near-constant twitching of Snare's nose. “I smell blood. Think it’s fresh.”

Azalea was right behind him as he trekked forward.

They came upon a much wider space—a living room, complete with a sofa here, an armchair there, and a small white table to seemed to have had a brief exchange of principles with one of the walls.

 A metallic gleam caught Azalea’s eye; Casey’s half-respirator, lying vacant right by the crash site. She tip-toed over and plucked it off the floor, winding the head strap around her free wrist. 

There was another door across the room, but the short corridor stretching out to the right seemed a bit more interesting..

The siblings kept going, turning a corner just in time to discover a closet; one that had been installed on a track, not touching the floor or ceiling by less than a single inch. 

That itself wouldn’t have been much to look at.

No, what really got their attention was how the door was sliding open.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

A dark eye shone through the crack, widening as it stared at them.

Neither Azalea nor Caliban had much of a chance to stare back. 

As if on cue, hollow space grew wider, allowing an arm to lash out. It wrapped around Azalea first, just touching along her back, then stretching to grab a handful of Caliban’s shoulder. 

The two of them let out twin yelps of panic as they were drawn forward, soon colliding with a number of hanging coats and miscellaneous clutter as the door slid shut behind them.

And now Azalea could smell blood too; Caliban had learned to track certain scents almost like a shark, but it was stronger in here

The figure responsible for this was taller than both of them. 

Even in the darkness, it didn’t take much time at all for both of them to recognize his face from so many near-misses in the past. 

But if anything sealed the deal, it was his voice. 

“I knew it!” Casey proclaimed, clearly struggling to whisper. His tone was strained by something more physical, though; like he was biting back an acidic tinge somewhere. “You guys have connections with him!”

The investigator raised his arms again, attempting to pin Caliban to one of the narrow walls. “Mad couldn’t get what he wanted from me, so called you in to take care of the rest!”

Even through the new chaos, the siblings still had a chance to exchanged confused glances.

“That’s not true at all!” Azalea snapped right back, tugging at one of Casey’s arms. “It’d be a clear break of the family’s rules!”

“The hell are you talking about?!” Caliban hissed, struggling against the other man’s grip like a bag of angry cats. “That guy’s a total parasite! I wouldn’t even put his cuts on my table, let alone work with him!”

“Likely story,” Casey growled. “Why else would you have come here?!”

“Because we’re trying to help you!” Azalea shoved her way in-between Casey and Caliban, forcing the former to release his grip. Caliban staggered back, catching himself against the opposite corner of the cramped space.

Casey gawked at the two of them, slowly shaking his head. “...No. No, you aren’t—”

“Yeah, we are!” Caliban protested. “There’s no time to explain! Just go with something..!” His eyes passed over something behind all the hanging stuff, only to freeze in a neck-snapping doubletake. His voice suddenly wavered, hitching. “...for once…”

Azalea felt a wave of something cold and prickly slide over her shoulders. 

“Cal?” She called, trying to keep her voice soft. “Cal, what is it?”  

Her brother didn’t answer. He just kept on staring. 

Azalea shuffled closer, pushing everything aside to see for herself. 

She automatically wished that she hadn’t. 

The closet’s back-wall was, to be frank, falling apart. A large hole marred the paint, revealing crumbling drywall and even a bit of a support beam. 

Caliban audibly gulped, his already-wide eyes growing even wider to accommodate the rotten memories now circulating through his head.

Azalea knew, because those same memories were doing that exact thing to her. 

Caliban stepped away, pressing his back against one of the closet’s doors.

“Cal,” Azalea repeated, finding it even hard to keep her tone even. “Cal, it’s okay—” She reaching up to grasp his shoulder. “Look at me, not at that.”

Caliban swiveled his head to face her. His eyes were still full of that strange, yellow-looking gleam, but his energy wasn’t excited anymore. Now, it resembled that of an animal caught in a trap, just about desperate enough to chew off one of its legs to escape. 

“This isn’t the same as that was,” Azalea told him. “We’re not—” She had to take a shallow breath, had to stop herself from shaking. “We’re not back there.”

“I-I know,” Caliban replied, nodding frantically. “I know, I know…”

“We’ll get out of here soon enou—”

“Shh!” Casey (who had apparently just been polite enough to stand by for this little scene), jolted in place, his focus darting back over to the doors.

The three of them fell silent.

Somewhere else in the house, a door let out a long, low squeal. 

Floorboards creaked softly. 

That might be K.O., part of Azalea’s mind whispered. He could’ve ditched Mad and circled back here to help us.

But that couldn’t be the case.

K.O. wouldn’t have been walking so quietly, so carefully. Not if he’d led a threat far enough away, at least.

Closer…and closer…

“Casey,” an unfamiliar voice called, dripping with bitterness and dread. “Casey, come on—you shouldn’t be hiding from me.”

Casey edged away from that spot where the door met the wall. 

Caliban slid closer to Azalea, eyes still wide, fear draining away. His features would’ve been completely unreadable to almost anyone else. 

“You said what you said,” the voice continued, even closer than before. “And I said what I said…”

In her peripheral vision, she saw him reach into his jacket, saw something shiny with a wooden handle appear in his grasp.

She brushed her arm against his, shifting the syringe to her opposite hand. 

“I know you’re around here somewhere!” The voice was full-on shouting now, desperation hanging in thick tangles around the words. “Doing this won’t prove anything!”

Azalea peered over at the detective, just in time to see him lower his head, shivering and clenching his jaw.

The closet door was flung aside with a grating whoosh!

A new figure loomed in the hall outside, dressed in a tan suit smeared with red stains.His eyes were narrowed at first, only to nearly pop right out of his head as he noticed the new guests in his house. 

But that only lasted a split-second. 

Caliban leapt out with an ear-piercing war-cry, his favorite cleaver a blur as he raked it against the other man, who shouted with unintelligible rage and hatred as he lashed right back. 

In a matter of seconds, they both disappeared back around the corner.

Azalea didn’t hesitate. She surged out and down the other side. Casey struggled, trying to move on his own terms, but she kept a deathly grip around his wrist. She could still hear her brother, hear his shouts of fury and pain mixing with that other voice, hear the subsequent thudding and shuffling of limbs against the walls and floor…

Coolness seeped over her, making goosebumps sprout all over her arms.

At the end of the hall, she discovered another door, wide open, letting the fresh, nighttime air filter on through. 

K.O. raced across the threshold, skidding to a halt upon seeing one of his accomplices. 

“I tried to draw him away, but he just went running back here before we could get far enough,” he reported in-between gasping breaths, panic thick in his voice. “What’s going on?!”

“Change of plans,” Azalea replied, somehow just as breathless.

She pushed Casey toward K.O.—yes, the latter was shorter than the former, but he was also one of the strongest members of The Pentas Family. He was their very own underground fighter, after all.

“Take him back over there!” She instructed, pointing past his shoulder at the abandoned motel, her heart sinking as the background noises grew fainter for a millisecond. “I need to help Cal!”

“Don’t I get a say in this?!” Casey demanded, still jostling unsteadily as K.O. took hold of his arms. 

Before either of his technical captors could respond, a new sound sliced through the air.

Azalea couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard something like it, but her instincts were already shrieking and clawing at the interior of her skull. Judging by K.O and Casey’s expressions, they knew to recognize it, too. 

A chorus of rapid, buzzing, mechanical revving, almost like a car’s engine.

Almost.

Except for the fact that most cars didn’t come with a long, spinning line of teeth.

“GO! HURRY!” Azalea shouted, feeling the blood rush through her ears as she retraced her steps, sprinting past the closet, back to the entrance of that kitchen from what felt like hours ago.

The noise felt like nails being drilled into her ears now.

Mad had his back to her, holding that same shape she’d seen in the garage. The noise it made now felt like nails being drilled into her ears. 

And in front of Mad, lying on the floor—Caliban. 

The screaming suddenly felt muffled, except for a slight ringing along the edges.

Azalea could practically feel her blood start to boil in her veins. 

Her brother had been backed into a corner…and now, some filthy bottom-feeding child murderer was AIMING A CHAINSAW AT HIS FACE.

Caliban was holding up a chair, using it as a shield. The chainsaw’s teeth sputtered and jumped at the obstacle, but that would only last so long. 

Before she even realized it, Azalea was running, jumping onto Mad’s back.

Mad let out a guttural yelp, swinging his weapon up and away from Caliban. 

He tried to sway from side-to-side, tried to thrash his new attacker off. 

But he didn’t move fast enough. 

In a hazy, fluid movement, Azalea’s arm lashed out, then came arching back toward him. 

The needle glinted hungrily as it sank into his shoulder. She pressed down on the plunger, her white knuckles cracking from sheer force. Part of her almost expected the syringe to break apart in her hand.

Mad froze in place, lowering the chainsaw in a subconscious, almost mechanical way. He started trembling, his breathing growing even more ragged. 

She jumped away from him just as he dropped his toy (which apparently landed right on its OFF switch, Thank God). 

Then, he crumpled to his knees, and started screaming. 

A confused, raspy, keening distress-call.

He writhed in place, clawing at his shoulder as tears streamed down his face. 

Caliban was back on his feet in an instant. He raised the ruined chair over his head, then swung it down onto the chainsaw’s engine about half-a-dozen. That didn't seem to inflict too much damage, but it was better than nothing. 

Once he was satisfied, the cannibal turned his sights back to Mad. 

Lowering his head and squaring his shoulders, he charged with another bloodthirsty scream, holding his former shield like a battering ram.

Mad’s neck was caught between the two front legs, and though he reached up to grab at them, he couldn’t stop the new momentum. 

Caliban shoved him forward, making him skid across the floor until he was against the wall. 

He didn’t stop until the chair’s legs dug into the adjacent wall, causing little wisps of dust and drywall-crumbs to come flying out. 

And just like that, Mad was pinned to the wall. 

For a few long seconds, Caliban didn't let go of the chair's back-post. Instead, he loomed over his opponent, panting like a dog, his eyes feral as they rolled around in his head.

"You look like a tuna melt," the cannibal declared.

Though this didn't stop Mad from all his kicking and squirming, a flare in his eyes made it clear that comment had struck some kind of nerve.

"...I HATE tuna melts," Caliban added, his snarl quickly shifting into a grin so wide it almost seemed to split his face. A dark chuckle seeped through his bared teeth. "HATE 'EM!"

He pulled away, throwing his head back to let out a loud, ragged high-pitched cackle, his teeth practically gnashing at the air.

While Azalea was normally happy to see her peers getting some well-earned stress relief, she still knew very well that this impromptu timeout-trap wouldn't hold Mad forever.

Sure, the pain from the Gila venom would slow him down, but even that could only last so long. The side-effects varied from person to person; sometimes they'd linger on for hours. Other times, however, they might start wearing off in forty-five minutes...

With that in mind, she felt her free hand tug at her brother's jacket, then heard the speed of the world whistling past the two of them.

She finally, finally managed to blink, and she was outside again.

She didn't have to guide Caliban along; he readily ran beside her, unhinged chortles still leaking out from his lungs in-between breaths.

Her lungs were threatening to burst open and tangle themselves all over her ribcage, but she couldn't think about that right now.

Azalea just had to focus on running, had to focus on how Caliban was still breathing, had to focus on the two other, very familiar figures up ahead.

Casey, who was being half-carried-half-dragged, and K.O., who was halfway through the entrance of that decrepit motel...

@sammys-magical-au @the-matpat-ever @lexusinsannus @b-is-in-the-closet @im-a-weird0 @lampsforsocks

You changed,

You haven’t

A follow up to our lovely collab with @wouldntyou-liketoknow, this is more of a flashback to kinda get into the relationship between Casey and Mad through Mad’s eyes. It may never erase what he’s done, but it may show a glimpse as to why he can’t seem to let Casey go.

Has always been, and always will be known as a monster, yet one soul decided to take a chance, to hold his hand and make him feel something more than just a monster. He was more in that person’s eyes, and he never wanted to let go of that feeling. The simple single touch of another who never views him as nothing more than a…

Shame he no longer can feel the touch.

@crazy-obsessed-enby @iswmperson @lexusinsannus @sammys-magical-au @wouldntyou-liketoknow @the-matpat-ever

He can only dream.

[wereshrew-admirer]

marrow creek

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent images I suppose ~