#which is how i feel about ALL OF THEM!!! ... except ...

[bucketsorbueckers]

Trouble - 7

Warning: language

WC: 8K

a/n: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

any mistakes are none of my business!!

Paige’s POV

Azzi was still in her shirt. Which didn’t matter.

Except it really, really did.

Because every time Paige looked at her, all loose curls and bare legs, she had to forcibly remind herself that this wasn’t anything. That it couldn’t be. That Azzi was 23 and off-limits and—

“Can we—can we eat after we talk?” Azzi asked, quiet. 

Paige blinked, tearing her gaze away from Azzi’s mouth and forcing her brain to catch up.

Paige turned to her fully then. And stilled.

Because Azzi stood there like she was bracing for bad news. Like Paige might turn her kindness into a condition. Like this was a test she wasn’t sure she’d pass.

And that did it.

Paige’s posture eased. The edge she didn’t know she’d been holding in her shoulders gave way to something warmer, quieter. The kind of softness she didn’t let show often—except maybe, apparently, with Azzi.

“Yeah,” she said, voice lower now. Gentler. “We’ll talk. Then eat.”

Azzi nodded, still fidgeting. And Paige reached out—without thinking, really—just touched the back of her arm. Light. Reassuring.

“You don’t have to look so scared, Fudd,” she added, a small tug of a smile at her mouth. “It’s just me.”

Azzi gave her a look that said exactly, and Paige felt something tug behind her ribs so sharp it almost knocked the air from her chest.

Azzi eased back into the couch too cautiously. Paige watched her from the corner of her eye, then finally cleared her throat—quiet, almost hesitant.

“So,” she said. “How are you really doing?”

Azzi shrugged. “Fine.”

Paige didn’t even blink. “Don’t lie to me.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

She stared at her lap instead, fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt. Paige watched the way her shoulders curled in slightly, the way she blinked too much like she was holding something back.

“I mean…” Azzi finally said, voice quiet. “I’ve had better days.”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

A long pause stretched between them.

“I just feel…” Azzi trailed off. Sighed. “Exposed, I guess. Like I made one dumb decision and now everyone has a think piece about who I am.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Paige said immediately. “You called someone you trust. That’s not a scandal.”

Azzi gave her a look—equal parts frustration and disbelief. “It is when that someone is you.”

Paige didn’t blink. “I know. And I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot. Especially when you didn’t ask for any of it.”

“No—” Azzi stumbled, rushing to fill the space. “You don’t owe me an apology, Paige. You were doing me a favor. Like, I know you didn’t even want to—”

“If I didn’t want to do it, I wouldn’t have,” Paige said, firm. Calm. But her voice gentled at the end, like she couldn’t help it with Azzi. “I’ve never struggled with saying no.”

She paused. Let it settle between them.

Except to you, she didn’t say. But she thought it. Hard. 

“I just—I feel like I should be the one apologizing,” Azzi said, her voice soft, tugging at a loose thread on the hem of her borrowed shirt. “I was the drunk girl you had to keep upright, and now everyone thinks…” She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. The tips of her ears went pink, and that was enough.

Paige exhaled a laugh—gentle, not mocking. “I’ve had worse things assumed about me than being into you, Fudd.”

That made Azzi blink. Straighten. Her eyes caught Paige’s for half a second before she looked down again, teeth catching on her bottom lip. And, well. That lip should be illegal. Paige looked away before she could start thinking anything else that dumb.

“With that said,” she continued, keeping her tone even, like her stomach hadn’t just done something completely humiliating, “it’s just noise. It’ll die down as soon as someone else does something mildly interesting. Which, in this league? Any minute now.”

Azzi swallowed. “You seem so calm about this,” she mumbled. “I thought… I was scared you’d be mad at me.”

The last part came out quiet. Raw. Like she hadn’t meant to say it but couldn’t keep it in. And it hit Paige in the gut—because she hadn’t considered that. That all day, while Paige had been pacing her apartment and staring at walls, Azzi had been sitting with that fear. Thinking she’d messed up. That Paige might be angry. That she might’ve ruined something.

Paige looked at her—really looked at her. And Azzi’s eyes were big and dark and just a little too shiny, like maybe she hadn’t slept. Like maybe she’d been bracing for something worse than internet discourse.

“I’m not mad at you,” Paige said, soft as anything. “Not even close.”

She hesitated.

“Not sure I ever could be.” Paige hadn’t meant to say it. Not out loud. Not like that.

She dragged a hand over her face, like she could shove the words back in with enough pressure. Rolled her shoulders once. Tried to reset.

“Anyway,” she muttered, “I’m used to this by now.”

“You get used to it?” Azzi asked quietly.

Paige let out a soft breath. “I did. But that doesn’t mean you have to.”

Azzi’s jaw shifted, a flicker of tension tightening her expression. “I just don’t want this to mess up my season. Or how the team sees me. Or how—” She cut herself off. Looked away. “I don’t know. I’m probably just being dramatic.”

She started to retreat into herself, Paige could it. See her pulling the walls up, talking down on her emotions. So, Paige reached out gently. Hooked two fingers under Azzi’s chin and lifted, not forcing—just asking. Azzi met her gaze, and Paige saw all of it. The fear. The shame.

“You don’t owe any of those people an explanation,” Paige added. “And this isn’t going to change how the team sees you.”

Azzi didn’t blink this time. She just looked at her—eyes wide, open in a way that made something in Paige ache.

“How do you know?”

Paige let the corner of her mouth lift, something quiet but certain. “Because I said so,” she murmured. “And because I’ll take care of it.”

Azzi studied her for a second longer, like she was searching for any cracks. But Paige held her gaze, unshaken.

“I’ve got you,” she said simply. And she meant it. ‘Now, you gonna be alright?”

Azzi nodded once, and Paige let her hand drop back to her lap. Her fingers still buzzed faintly from the contact.

“If you find that you’re not,” Paige added, “you have my number. Assuming your phone’s charged.”

That got a laugh out of Azzi. A real one this time.

“I swear I’m usually more responsible than I’ve been lately,” she said, groaning.

“Yeah? I’ll believe it when I see it,” Paige replied, standing. “Now, do you have a microwave in this place, or are we eating cold hibachi?”

Azzi blinked. “You brought hibachi?”

Paige just shrugged, already heading toward the kitchen. “I don’t show up empty-handed.”

Azzi was still smiling as she followed her in.

—-

They’d agreed on chopsticks. Mutual decision. Mutual disaster—at least on one end.

Paige was fine. Better than fine, honestly. She’d mastered the skill sometime in college when she decided eating takeout four nights a week shouldn’t look quite so sad.

Azzi, on the other hand, was…struggling.

It had been ten minutes of war. One girl. One pair of chopsticks. Zero pieces of chicken successfully consumed.

“Forks exist, you know,” Paige said casually, not looking up from her plate. “They even come free with the meal.”

“No,” Azzi said, deadly serious. “I’ve got this.”

Paige smirked and let her eyes flick sideways—just in time to catch Azzi attempting a new method that looked more like a science experiment than a technique. She was trying to scoop rice now, holding the bowl close, hunched in focus, lips pursed like she was in overtime.

And she looked so fucking cute.

Paige immediately wanted to punch herself in the throat for thinking it. Cute wasn’t safe. Cute wasn’t smart. Cute got people in trouble.

She went back to her food. Took a bite. Chewed. Didn’t look.

Looked anyway.

Azzi’s cheeks were pink. Her jaw was tight with concentration. She was failing. Spectacularly. And trying so hard to pretend she wasn’t.

It was unfair—how endearing it was. How easy Paige found it to just sit here beside her, pretending like this was normal. Like it wasn’t the most fun she’d had in a month.

She took another bite. Didn’t say anything.

But maybe later, when she was home and alone, she’d let herself choke on the memory of it.

“Ugh, how are you so good at everything?” Azzi groaned suddenly, holding the chopsticks like they might betray her at any moment.

Paige smirked, cocky and slow. Picked up another piece of chicken and popped it into her mouth without breaking eye contact. “Natural talent,” she said.

“Natural, my ass,” Azzi muttered, brows furrowed in frustration as she went for another bite. She pinched the piece of chicken between the chopsticks, lifted it toward her mouth and then watched it tumble.

Paige caught the chicken with her hand before it hit the floor—barely—her reflexes still decent despite her brain shorting out.

She should’ve just dropped it on a napkin. Tossed it, maybe. Acted like she wasn’t entirely unraveled by the way Azzi looked right now—legs folded under her, face flushed from the warmth of the room or maybe just from being near Paige, that oversized UConn shirt swallowing her whole.

But Paige didn’t move. She just looked at her.

And then, because apparently she’d abandoned all common sense, she lifted the chicken back up. Slow. Intentional.

“Need help?” she said, her voice low. Even. The kind of calm she only ever used when she was one bad decision away from complete collapse.

Azzi’s gaze flicked up. Steady. Curious. Her mouth parted like she was considering saying something, but didn’t. Instead, Paige watched her tongue dart out—just briefly—before she leaned in.

She took the chicken into her mouth, slow and unblinking, her lips brushing Paige’s fingers with a softness that felt dangerously intentional. Or maybe that was just Paige’s problem—how easy it was to mistake softness for invitation when her whole body was strung tight like a live wire.

Her breath caught. Not just from the touch.

But from the way Azzi looked at her, still looking at her. Steady. Unflinching. Like she knew exactly what she’d done. Like she was daring Paige to react.

And Paige didn’t move. Couldn’t.

She sat there, spine locked, fighting the white-hot pull that had haunted her since the second she stepped through Azzi’s door. Because if she so much as leaned in—if she let herself want out loud—it would all unravel.

But god, she wanted to. More than she’d wanted anything in a long, long time.

Because Azzi’s lips weren’t just pink—they were warm now, and Paige knew their shape, the way they moved, the way they felt.

Because their knees had been brushing all night, subtle but constant, and Paige hadn’t pulled away once.

Because Azzi Fudd was beautiful in that devastating way—like something meant to hurt you slowly.

And Paige wanted more. Terribly. Shamefully. Irretrievably more.

Paige swallowed, clearing her throat that sounded more like choking on something she shouldn’t and pulled away. She sat back like she needed the space just to remember how to breathe. Her spine stiffened, legs stretched out in front of her, like posture could protect her from the chaos still humming beneath her skin.

But her knee wouldn’t stop bouncing.

Paige stood then, taking the empty containers to the trash. On her way back, her eyes flicked toward the open door off the hallway—and froze.

Azzi’s room.

The mattress was on the floor, no bed frame in sight. The comforter was rumpled, a stack of books sat beside it, and frames leaned against the wall.  Paige didn’t mean to stare. But something about it stopped her.

Because she knew Azzi could afford a bed frame. Knew this wasn’t about money. It was about being too busy. Too overwhelmed. Or maybe just not expecting anyone to care.

And Paige felt something twist in her chest. Quiet, but deep. The kind of feeling that made her want to fix things she had no business fixing.

She looked back toward the couch where Azzi was still sitting, watching her.

“Fudd,” Paige said from the hallway, her voice slow with suspicion. “Where’s your bed frame?”

Azzi froze “Oh. Um. Haven’t gotten around to it.”

There was a pause.

Then Paige poked her head into the bedroom like she already knew what she’d find. Her eyes swept the space once, then landed on the mattress on the floor. No headboard. No rug. Just a stack of books beside it acting as a makeshift nightstand and a lamp tilted at an angle that said I gave up halfway through trying.

“You’re kidding,” Paige said flatly.

Azzi appeared and leaned against the doorframe. “It’s not that bad.”

“You’re a professional athlete. Not a college kid subletting off Craigslist.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Paige stepped fully into the room, hands on her hips. “What are those boxes in the corner?”

Azzi rubbed the back of her neck. “The frame. It just… looked complicated.”

“Jesus Christ,” Paige muttered, already crouching. “You’ve been sleeping on the floor for how long?”

Azzi laughed, despite herself. “A few weeks. It’s honestly fine.”

Paige stood in the doorway of Azzi’s room, arms crossed, staring down at the mattress on the floor like it had personally wronged her. The box with the frame leaned half-open against the wall, untouched.

She exhaled. “I can’t, in good conscience, sleep in my own bed tonight knowing this is how you’re living.”

Azzi hovered behind her. “I was gonna do it tomorrow. Maybe. I don’t know.” Her voice dropped, like she was embarrassed to admit it.“I don’t know. I suck at building stuff. I always end up with extra screws and rage issues.”

Paige shot her a look, already stepping into the room.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m emotionally stable and great with an Allen wrench,” she said, crouching in front of the unopened box. “We’re building it. Now.”

Azzi crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Well aware,” Paige said, crouched on the floor and already halfway through dragging the box open. “And yet, here I am. Voluntarily choosing to spend my Saturday night helping you. So, I’d just accept what you can get.”

She tugged a tangle of metal pieces free and shook her head. “God, this company’s really bold with how few instructions they think people need.”

For only a beat, Azzi lingered like she was unsure but then finally, she came and sat on the floor beside her. 

“Are you sure you’re good at this?”

Paige smirked, “I’m good at everything, Fudd.”

Azzi’s POV

Oh my god.

What was she doing?

In the last twenty-four hours, she’d called Paige crying, passed out in her bed, woken up on her chest, spiraled into tears again like a toddler on the verge, admitted—out loud—that she was scared Paige might be mad at her like some needy, spineless idiot.

And now?

Now she’d just eaten chicken out of Paige’s hand like some hopeless, hormone-fueled degenerate.

Like some girl who didn’t know better.

Like some girl who wanted to know what her fingers tasted like.

Azzi pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

She was going to implode. She was going to combust. Or throw herself out the nearest window. Whichever option got her further from the quiet, steady way Paige was still looking at her  Like she hadn’t just ruined her entire carefully constructed sense of cool in under thirty-six hours.

Like she was inviting her to do it again.

“Are you going to help, princess, or just stand there and observe?” Paige asked, one brow lifted, lazy and amused and entirely unfair.

Azzi’s whole body lit up with secondhand embarrassment. This had to be a hallucination. Some fever dream conjured from exhaustion and sexual frustration—because there was no actual way Paige Bueckers was sitting on the floor of her half-built bedroom, casually offering to assemble her bed frame like it was just another Saturday night.

God, she was going to die. And she was going to do it while wearing Paige’s shirt.

“I’m more of a supervisor,” she said eventually.

Paige snorted, shook her head without looking up. And that was it. That sound.

Azzi froze. Because hearing Paige laugh like that—low and real and careless—felt like catching sunlight in your hands. Like getting away with something you weren’t supposed to have. It wasn’t the kind of laugh she gave to interviews or press conferences. It was quieter. Private.

Earned.

And Azzi, like a complete, hopeless idiot, felt her stomach do something humiliating.

Cool. Just her, sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching the love of her life alphabetize screws and laugh like it was nothing.

She was so down bad it was actually offensive.

Midway through tightening a screw, Paige paused. She reached up, readjusted her hair in one hand, and twisted it into a quick knot—loose, a little messy, like she’d done it a thousand times without thinking.

Azzi watched the whole thing like it was slow motion. The way Paige’s forearms flexed, the tendons in her hand shifting under smooth skin. The way her shirt tugged up slightly as she lifted her arms, revealing even more of her toned stomach. The way the little baby hairs at the back of her neck curled slightly with sweat.

God.

Azzi was actually going to die.

Because there was no earthly reason for something as simple as Paige putting her hair up to feel so obscene. So hot. And yet, here she was—heart racing, mouth dry, brain officially short-circuiting.

She had to look away. She had to say something. Or maybe just throw herself into the wall and hope that knocked some sense into her.

“Fudd?”

Azzi’s head jerked up. Paige was looking at her—expectant, a little amused. Definitely caught.

“Can you hand me the smaller Allen wrench?”

“Y-yeah,” Azzi said, voice embarrassingly uneven. Her fingers scrambled over the scattered tools, trying to find the right one without completely losing grip on her dignity. Which was difficult, considering her brain was still short-circuiting from the image of Paige’s hands. Paige’s forearms. Paige’s everything.

“Of course,” she added, like that would somehow make her seem normal. Like her hands weren’t literally shaking as she passed the tool over.

Paige took it without question, fingers brushing Azzi’s for a second too long. Just long enough to make Azzi’s breath catch—not audibly, thank god, but enough that she had to look away before she did something stupid. Like stare at Paige’s hands again.

Or worse, her arms. The muscles in her forearms flexed as she adjusted the wrench, her sports bra peeking out as she worked. Her hair was half-tied now, some loose strands falling out, and when one slipped into her face, she pushed it back with the heel of her palm in a move so casual it made Azzi want to die a little.

It shouldn’t have been hot. It was just hair. Just hands. Just a stupid bed frame. But Azzi could feel the flush creeping up her neck again, pooling behind her ears. Because there was something about the focus on Paige’s face—the quiet concentration, the easy strength, the steadiness—that made Azzi’s entire body go soft and stupid.

“I’m, uh—gonna get us water,” she said suddenly, already scrambling to her feet.

Paige looked up, surprised. “You okay?”

“Yep!” Azzi called over her shoulder. “Just—hydration. Very important.”

She made it to the kitchen, gripped the counter, and let her head fall forward with a quiet thunk. She was not okay. Not even a little.

When she came back, Paige basically had the bed built. 

“Where’s my water?” Paige said, tracking Azzi’s empty hands. 

“I - Oh -”

“Kidding Fudd. I’m good. But come on, we need to put the mattress on.”

Azzi blinked. “Right. Yeah. Mattress.”

Like that was a word she knew how to process.

She crossed the room and grabbed one end, trying desperately not to trip over her own feet or her own feelings. Because now Paige was standing at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips, looking entirely too competent and entirely too…there. Like in her space. In her bedroom. In her life.

“Lift on three?” Paige asked. Azzi nodded mutely. “One, two—”

They hoisted it together, dropping it onto the frame with a dull thud. Paige adjusted the corner, her fingers brushing the sheets. She looked up, her face inches from Azzi’s.

Azzi didn’t move. Paige didn’t either. And suddenly, the mattress didn’t feel like the most intimate thing in the room.

"We make a good team," Paige muttered.

Azzi barely registered the words. Not when Paige was looking at her like that. Not when every breath felt shared.

She leaned in—barely. Just enough to shift the air between them. To see if gravity might be on her side tonight.

Paige didn’t move.

And for a breathless second, Azzi let herself believe it. She’s going to kiss me.

But then the world tilted back into place. She remembered who she was. Who Paige was. And how ridiculous it sounded—that Paige Bueckers, of all people, would kiss her here, in a half-finished bedroom that still smelled like stale air and clean laundry. When she could have anyone. Be anywhere.

So Azzi blinked, steadied herself, and eased back. Just a fraction.

Offered a soft smile like nothing had happened at all. Like her heart wasn’t still racing. Like she hadn’t just risked wanting something she wasn’t sure she could have.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “I guess we do.”

The next few hours were a blur of half-finished projects and quietly loaded glances. Paige moved from one forgotten task to the next—tightening the loose hinge on the bathroom door, replacing a dead lightbulb in the hallway, assembling the wobbly IKEA side table Azzi had been pretending didn’t exist.

Azzi mostly hovered nearby, offering directions she barely understood and pretending it was supervision.

“Lefty loosey, righty tighty,” she said at one point, and Paige didn’t even look up.

“Please never say that to me again,” Paige replied, straight-faced.

Azzi smirked and leaned against the doorframe, watching the way Paige’s fingers moved—precise, sure, like she fixed things for a living.

And god, she kind of did.

Azzi didn’t know what unnerved her more: that Paige had stayed this long, or that it felt so normal to have her here. Too normal. Like they’d done this a hundred times before. Like the late hour and the soft yellow light in the apartment weren’t building a world that Azzi wasn’t sure she’d be ready to leave.

Paige was standing across the room, leveling something against the wall, when she paused. Azzi didn’t even look up at first—she was too focused on stuffing sweatshirts into the one bin that barely fit under her bed.

“You want this hung up?” Paige’s voice broke the silence. Not teasing. Not soft, exactly, but…something close. She was holding a photo.

Azzi’s stomach flipped.

It was an old one—grainy, slightly overexposed. From a random off day in summer. She, Jana, and Caroline had driven an hour just to find this stupid sunflower field Jana had seen on TikTok. Her hair was windblown. Caroline had been yelling at bugs. Jana had taken the picture and somehow managed to catch Azzi mid-laugh, eyes closed, head tilted back.

She hadn’t meant to leave it out. She’d unpacked it and meant to tuck it away. 

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Azzi stood slowly, brushing her hands against her thighs. “That was from last year,” she said, like that mattered. 

Paige looked at it for another beat. “You look happy.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away. There wasn’t anything to say, really. Because she had been happy. Or at least lighter. Less watched. Less responsible for keeping herself composed all the time.

“They’re my best friends,” she said finally. “Jana’s basically my full-time bully. Caroline pretends to be the voice of reason but she’s just as bad.”

That earned the smallest smile from Paige, who carefully set the photo back down.

“Reminds me of Bridget and Courtney.”

Azzi nodded, arms crossing. She noticed it. Paige asking, listening. Wanting to know something real about her. She knew not to miss an opportunity.

“Were you guys always close?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, turning back to the shelf she was stacking. “Even before the league. Kinda hard not to know each other. Women’s basketball is a small world.”

Azzi let out a quiet breath. “Guess I’m just surprised we didn’t meet sooner.”

Paige paused. Just for a second. “We did. Well sort of.” she said.

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“You wouldn’t remember,” Paige added, not turning around yet. “But I came to one of your games. Think you were a college sophomore. USA Basketball.”

Azzi’s heart hiccupped. That game. She remembered the nerves. The feeling of being the youngest one there.

“I sat courtside,” Paige continued. “You had on these white and blue kicks, and you hit three corner threes in a row,” Paige laughed to herself.  “You were the youngest on the court and cocky as hell. I left thinking you were going to be a problem.”

Azzi couldn’t breathe. “A problem?”

Paige’s smile was slow. “In the best way.”

Paige’s POV 

She was such a fucking idiot. Bringing up that game she had watched like some lovestruck loser. 

It was a memory she hadn’t revisited in a long time. Mostly because she didn’t like thinking about those days—how she was still getting used to being so visible. The way her presence at games could eclipse everything else. Whispers trailing her through the stands. It had felt unfair. Distracting.

She remembered not wanting to go.

She’d told Bridget and Courtney that showing up to watch college hoopers felt performative, unnecessary. That the attention should stay on the players. But they’d dragged her anyway, saying she needed to stop acting like she was allergic to joy.

And then Azzi had stepped on the court.

Paige had known who she was, sure. Everyone in the circuit did. But that was the first time she really saw her.

White and blue sneakers. Corner threes that could make a grown man weep. Calm. Lethal. Eyes sharp and steady like she didn’t even register the crowd.

Paige remembered thinking—she’s unshakable. And she thought that had been the end of it.

But it wasn't

She hadn’t meant to keep watching after that. But she had. Quietly. From a distance.

She told herself it was just professional curiosity. That anyone who loved the game would’ve paid attention. That it didn’t mean anything.

But still—she watched. Not obsessively. Just enough to notice how smooth her game was. How the ball left her hands like it wanted to.

There was something about it. Something easy. Something that didn’t need to prove itself, even when everyone was watching.

She’d never admit it out loud. Wouldn’t even let it sit too long in her own head. But she remembered.

“And then, of course,” Paige said, finally turning to face her, voice just this side of casual, “I knew you because you broke my all-time three-point record.”

Azzi’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Paige added, a wry tilt to her mouth. “You single-handedly rendered me irrelevant in that moment.”

Azzi snorted—sharp, involuntary. “Yeah. Like Paige Bueckers has ever been irrelevant.”

Paige lifted a brow, her smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “My ego could never handle that, so, thank God for your mercy.”

She nudged the final book into place on the shelf, letting her hand linger there for a beat. Then she stepped back, gave the room a once-over, and exhaled.

“Alright, Fudd,” she said, glancing over at her. “I think we’ve officially made this place a home.”

Azzi nodded, slow smile spreading as she looked around. “Thank you, Paige. You didn’t have to do this at all.”

Paige shrugged, one hand still resting on the back of the chair she’d just moved, fingers curling against the fabric. “I’d be morally questionable if I let you keep living in…whatever this was.”

“Yeah, well,” Azzi murmured, rocking slightly on her heels. “I still feel bad.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but it was softer than it should’ve been. “Don’t.”

Azzi looked at her then. “Well, at least let’s say I owe you now.”

That stopped Paige. Not entirely—but enough. Her arms dropped to her sides, fingers twitching against her thigh. Her gaze found Azzi’s and didn’t budge.

“And how exactly do you plan on settling that debt?”

Azzi blinked, caught for a second—then her mouth curled, slow and deliberate. “What kind of payments do you accept?”

It hit Paige like a flash—bare skin, flushed lips. Desperate, desperate hands. Her stomach flipped, sharp and uninvited.

She looked away, jaw tight, breath catching as she dragged it in slow through her nose. Tried to remember she was older. Supposed to be above this. Supposed to be better.

“I’ll let you know,” She finally managed. 

—-----

Paige was already in bed when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a name she didn’t expect to see this late.

Azzi Fudd.

She tilted her head, thumb hovering for a beat longer than it needed to. 11:03 PM. What in the world could Azzi possibly be texting about at—

Oh.

It was a photo.

Azzi, half-buried in blankets, the old UConn t-shirt still on. Curls splayed out on the pillow. A smirk tugging at her lips like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Another text followed a second later.

sleeping like a baby tonight (not a college frat boy) thank u againnn 💤

Paige stared at the photo longer than she should have. Then zoomed in—just a little. On Azzi’s face. The curve of her mouth. The way her lashes cast faint shadows over her cheeks.

God, she thought. She’s so fucking beautiful.

It wasn’t fair. How someone could look like that at 11 PM, in a blurry photo, in a shirt Paige had had for years. 

She let her thumb hover over the screen before locking it and setting the phone down face-down on her chest. Then she exhaled. Real slow. Like maybe if she breathed carefully enough, it would cool the heat climbing up her neck.

But then—because she was weak and because self-restraint was a skill she only possessed in theory—Paige opened the message again.

Zoomed in again.

Azzi’s smirk. Her stupid perfect cheekbones. The way her collarbone peeked out from the stretched neckline of the shirt. Paige groaned into the silence of her bedroom. Embarrassed for herself. Alone. At 11:07 p.m.

She tapped out a reply anyway.

I thought Bruins were supposed to hate Huskies?

The bubbles popped up immediately.

Then disappeared.

Then came back.

Paused.

Disappeared again.

Paige stared, heart doing something ridiculous in her chest. Like it was waiting to be called into the game.

Finally, the reply landed.

i make special exceptions for those who build me furniture :)

Paige read it twice. Then a third time.

Her mouth curved before she could stop it.

She let her fingers hover over the keyboard for a second—just long enough to almost think better of it.

Then she typed:

careful. that sounds like the start of a very dangerous reward system.

And sent it before she changed her mind. 

—--

The first preseason game came like clockwork.

Paige felt old—her knees a little tighter, her body needing longer to warm—but she also felt…good. Settled, almost. Not just because she knew the system, not just because they were coming off a championship. This year felt different.

Maybe it was because it was her fifth season in the league. Maybe because the stakes didn’t rattle her the way they used to. Or maybe—probably—it was because she wasn’t so alone anymore.

Because her mornings weren’t quiet stretches of solitude. They were shared now. Filled with the sound of a ball echoing off hardwood and Azzi’s voice teasing her when she missed free throws.

And her nights—well. Her nights weren’t as peaceful as they used to be. They were full of thoughts she shouldn’t be thinking. Full of the shape Azzi made in her bed, the way her voice got soft when she was tired. The memory of her lips brushing Paige’s fingers.

But on the court, none of that mattered. Her and azzi played together like poetry. And it made them lethal. 

Around her, the locker room was humming—music thudding from the overhead speakers, shoes squeaking against the tile, teammates half-dressed and hyped. Paige sat in the corner, headphones on, legs stretched long in front of her, already half-zoned out.

This was her ritual. Stay quiet. Stay focused. No eye contact. No chatter. It was the only thing that ever stilled her mind before games—letting the music drown out everything else until all that was left was the court.

She let her head fall back against the locker, eyes slipping shut, breath slow. In. Out. In. Out. Easy.

But something kept poking at the edge of her awareness.

It wasn’t the bass. It wasn’t the shouting. It was movement. Small, tight. Repetitive.

She cracked one eye open and found Azzi across the room.

Sitting on the bench. Elbows on her knees. Hands clasped together too tightly. Her foot was bouncing like it was trying to outrun her own thoughts.

She looked like she was trying not to be sick.

Paige shut her eyes again. Forced herself to stay in her lane. This wasn’t her problem. Azzi was a grown-up. A pro now. She’d be fine.

The foot kept bouncing.

Paige tried to ignore it. She really did.

But then Azzi looked up, just for a second. And her face was doing that thing—trying to hold everything together, just barely.

Paige swore under her breath and tugged her headphones down. Pushed off the wall and crossed the room, crouching in front of her before she could talk herself out of it.

“You breathing?” she asked, quiet.

Azzi blinked like she hadn’t even noticed Paige move. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Paige gave her a look.

“Okay,” Azzi muttered. “Maybe not fine fine.”

Paige tilted her head. “You’re nervous.”

Azzi tried to shrug, but it barely passed as a movement. “Just…first game. First real one.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Paige said. No hesitation. “You’re incredible, Fudd.”

Azzi blinked again. But this time, it stuck. Like she didn’t know what to say to that.

“You work your ass off. You play smart. You’re a problem,” Paige added, a small smirk tugging at her mouth. “Trust me, I know. You give me hell in every scrimmage.”

That earned a tiny laugh from Azzi. “You hate when I beat you.”

“The fact that you ever beat me should give you enough confidence for the season.”

Azzi’s hands finally unclenched. Her leg stopped bouncing.

Paige stayed crouched for another second, just to be sure.

Then: “Now go out there and ruin someone else’s afternoon.”

Azzi smiled, for real this time. “Yes, ma’am.”

Paige nearly choked.

It hit harder than it should’ve—low and sharp, like a gut punch she didn’t see coming. She masked it with a cough, knocked her knuckle gently against Azzi’s knee like that would settle something.

It didn’t. She tugged her headphones back on. 

But she kept her eyes on Azzi.

In warm-ups.

In the pregame huddle.

Even when the lights dimmed and her own name was called for the starting lineup.

Azzi smiled more easily now. Seemed more grounded. But Paige could still clock the tension in her jaw. The way her hands flexed and unflexed at her sides like she was holding something in. Pressure. Nerves. Wanting to get it right.

Paige didn’t say anything. She just bumped her shoulder as they passed on the way to the baseline.

Then the whistle blew. And the Lynx got to work.

It was violent from the jump. Not actual blood but close. They pressed full court, forced back-to-back turnovers, moved like wolves who’d gone too long without a kill.

By the end of the first quarter, they were up nineteen.

Courtney hit a transition three and screamed something guttural. Bridget stole an inbounds pass and laid it in without blinking. And Azzi? Azzi was flying. Two steals, a block, and a baseline jumper so smooth it made the crowd gasp.

Paige didn’t smile.

But god, she wanted to.

Because Azzi was torching them. Floaters. Corners. Catch-and-shoot threes. And she was moving like she’d finally exhaled. Like her body had remembered that it belonged here.

But Paige had seen this story before. Knew exactly how it went.

When games got like this—when the lead ballooned and the scoreboard turned lopsided—the other team didn’t usually go down with grace. They got petty. Got mean. Started bumping harder on screens. Talking more than usual. Trying to knock rhythm loose with cheap contact.

And if there was one thing worse than getting blown out, it was getting blown out by a rookie.

So when Paige saw the opposing forward shift mid-rotation—too quick, too deliberate—she moved. Called it. Tried to rotate across.

But it was a step too late.

Azzi rose for a jumper and got clobbered midair. Hard. Arms swiped through, body upended. She hit the court with a crack that made Paige’s chest clench.

The whistle blew. Finally. But Paige was already there.

“Fudd? You good?”

Azzi groaned but nodded, shaking her arm out. Paige didn’t touch her—she just stood close enough to be felt. Then she turned. Found the defender still lingering nearby.

“Can’t keep up, so you gotta knock a rookie around?” Paige said.

The girl shrugged, smirked. “Just playing the game, Bueckers.”

Paige stepped in, close enough their shoulders brushed.

“Try it again,” she said “And I’ll make sure you don’t finish the game.”

“Who would’ve thought you got a soft spot for a rookie?” The girl argued. 

At that, Courtney was tugging back. 

“Fudd is fine,” she muttered. “Don’t start a fight.”

But Paige’s first were still curled. 

“It was dirty.”

Bridget joined, raising a brow, arms folded across her chest. “It was,” she said. “But why is it your business? Every rookie gets their welcome to the league moment. You know that.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were locked on the far end of the court, where Azzi stood alone at the free throw line, shoulders square, jaw tight, shooting her flagrant shots.

Swish.

Paige exhaled.

“Yeah, well,” she said finally, voice even. “Fudd’s rookie moment came from me. She doesn’t need another one.”

Courtney’s mouth twitched. “Your rooookie,” she sang under her breath, dragging it out like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Paige didn’t dignify it. Just rolled her eyes and dropped into the seat beside them, gripping her towel a little tighter than necessary.

But her gaze never left the court. Not for a second. Not while Azzi sank the second shot and jogged back to the bench giving her the cutest thumbs up she’s ever seen.

God, Paige was fucked.

The game continued. And Paige didn’t plan it. That was the thing.

It wasn’t like she spent the next quarter fantasizing about revenge. She was focused. Composed. Doing what needed to be done. But the second that same defender cut across the lane—shoulder down, eyes sharp—Paige stepped in.

Not subtle. Not even close.

She met her mid-stride. A clean foul, technically. But there was weight behind it. Purpose. The kind that knocked the air right out of your lungs.

The whistle blew before the girl even hit the hardwood. Paige didn’t flinch.

She didn’t offer a hand, either. Just bent at the waist, leaned down slow enough to make it count.

Her voice came quiet.

“Keep your shit off my rookie.”

And then walked away.

-----

The Lynx won by forty-two.

It was the kind of win that shut people up. That made analysts backpedal and headlines rewrite themselves mid-paragraph. It was domination, plain and simple—fast breaks, lockdown defense, a highlight reel’s worth of buckets that left the other team looking stunned by the third quarter.

And Paige?

She hadn’t even played her best game. But Azzi had.

Which might’ve been why Paige couldn’t stop looking at her.

Even now, in the quiet of the training room, as steam drifted off the surface of the ice bath and her own muscles throbbed in the best kind of way, Paige clocked the wince before Azzi even said a word.

Her game shorts swapped for tight spandex, hair tied up, but her jaw tight. Too tight. And her stride—confident, sure—stuttered just slightly as she stepped further in.

Paige narrowed her eyes because she recognized it.

“Hip?” she asked, already knowing.

Azzi hesitated. “It’s not a big deal.”

Paige sat up straighter. “Did the trainer see it?”

Azzi gave a weak shrug, like that was an answer.

“You’re allowed to ask them for help. That’s literally their job,” Paige said, her voice a little sharper than she meant it to be.

Azzi sighed. “I know. I just…” She looked down, picking at the seam of her sleeve. “I didn’t want to alarm anyone. My hip’s always been a little sensitive. And with how fast the transition from college was—there wasn’t really time to rest. I figured it’d go away.”

Paige’s jaw flexed.

“You’re not a machine,” she said finally, softer now. “You don’t get extra points for pretending you’re indestructible.”

Azzi gave a small, almost sheepish smile. “Yeah, well.”

But Paige couldn't stand it. She was out of the tub in one smooth motion, water sliding off her skin, towel knotted low on her hips. She didn’t give Azzi a second to protest—just took her hand and dragged her towards the table. 

The room was mostly cleared out. Just low fluorescent hum and the quiet pad of Azzi’s feet behind her. Paige didn’t look back until they reached the table.

“Up,” she said. Azzi hesitated. “Don’t make me drag you.”

Another beat, and then Azzi climbed on, palms braced behind her, trying to look casual even as Paige watched her wince with the movement.

Paige stepped closer. “Where’s it tight?”

Azzi waved in the general direction of her hip. “It’s not that bad.”

“Let me guess,” Paige muttered, crouching beside her, “you haven’t said anything about this to anyone since camp started?”

Azzi didn’t answer. Paige didn’t need her to.

She pressed her thumb lightly into the muscle. Azzi flinched.

“That’s not nothing,” Paige said.

“It’s been worse,” Azzi offered, like that meant anything.

Paige rolled her eyes and adjusted her angle, bracing herself with one hand on the table, the other firm against the source of the tension. 

She worked slow, methodical. Thumbs pressing into the tight muscle just below Azzi’s hip bone. The room was quiet except for their breathing and the occasional shift of Paige’s knuckles against skin.

And it was skin now. Because Azzi had rolled her shorts down a little, murmuring something about better access. Paige had nodded like it was nothing. Like it hadn’t made her mouth go dry.

Her hands flexed, dragging across the warm curve of Azzi’s hip, brushing just shy of the waistband. And Azzi didn’t stop her. Didn’t flinch. She just watched.

Every time Paige looked up, those eyes were there. Half-lidded. Heavy.

But her body was tense.

“Relax,” Paige said, her voice lower than she meant.

Azzi did—her legs shifting wider on instinct, hips tilting slightly toward her. Paige felt her pulse spike. She kept going, kept dragging her hands over soft skin, calloused fingertips grazing sensitive spots she probably shouldn’t know were sensitive.

“Better?” she asked.

Azzi nodded again, but it was slower this time. Less about agreement and more about something else. A hum beneath the surface. Her lips parted like she was going to say something, but nothing came.

Paige’s gaze dropped—first to Azzi’s throat, the way it moved when she swallowed. Then lower. She caught herself, barely. Forced her eyes back up. It was impossible.

Because Azzi was perched on the edge of the table with her shirt bunched up around her waist, legs slightly apart, eyes wide—but not afraid. Just waiting. Like she wanted to be looked at. Like she didn’t mind Paige’s gaze lingering.

So Paige stepped in closer. Slowly. Carefully.

Her fingers pressed into the space just above Azzi’s hip, thumbs tracing along the edge of a muscle that had probably been tight for weeks. Azzi hissed softly through her teeth—whether from pain or something else, Paige didn’t ask.

“You gotta tell me if it’s too much,” Paige murmured, voice lower than she meant it to be.

Azzi nodded. Didn’t speak. Her lashes fluttered as Paige dug in deeper, thumbs rolling in slow, practiced circles. She’d done this for teammates before. This wasn’t new.

But nothing about this felt familiar.

Azzi’s skin was warm. Soft. A little damp from the game, but Paige couldn’t focus on that. Couldn’t focus on anything except how every shift of her fingers felt like pulling a thread she wasn’t supposed to touch.

Azzi made a sound—barely there. A soft exhale that caught at the end, and Paige’s pulse skittered.

She moved lower. Slowly. Fingertips brushing the inside of Azzi’s thigh, pressing into the stubborn muscle just shy of dangerous.

Azzi’s knees parted another inch.

And Paige nearly lost it.

She kept her face blank. She was good at that. Good at pretending she wasn’t shaking. That her hands weren’t trembling a little as they moved higher again—this time under the curve of Azzi’s hip, thumb grazing the faintest dip of her lower stomach.

“Here?” Paige asked, too quiet.

Azzi nodded. Said nothing. But her eyes fluttered shut for a second, and when they opened, she looked dazed.

Paige pressed again. Slow. Careful.

Azzi bit her lip.

“I should probably stop,” paige whispered. "Tell me to stop,” Paige said.

Her thumbs pressed gently into the soft skin just below Azzi’s hip, not hard enough to hurt—just enough to make her aware of every single point of contact.

Azzi blinked. Swallowed. Her breath caught in her throat, and Paige watched the movement of it. The flutter in her pulse. The pink flush starting to bloom up her neck.

“And if I don’t want you to?” Azzi said.

Paige went still.

For a second—just one—her hands hovered, unmoving. Her breath faltered. That was all it took.

The thought hit her like an elbow to the sternum. The weight of what Azzi was saying—not just the words, but the way she said them. Barely above a whisper. But there was heat in it. Want.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t inch closer. Didn’t give herself that out.

Instead, she let her thumbs circle one last time. Slow. Focused. Like she was mapping a memory she had no right to want. Every inch of her body was buzzing—electric with restraint. A beat too long. A breath too sharp.

She dragged her hands away like it hurt to do it. Because it did.

Then—finally—she stepped back. Let her hands fall away.

Azzi exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time.

Paige didn’t look at her right away. Didn’t trust herself to. But when she finally did, Azzi’s cheeks were flushed. Her mouth parted. And she was staring at Paige like she wasn’t sure what just happened—but she wanted it to happen again.

Paige cleared her throat. “You’re good,” she said, the words landing rough.

Azzi nodded. Then—quietly: “Thanks.”

Paige only nodded back. Then turned, walked toward the exit like her blood wasn’t on fire. Like she hadn’t just touched something sacred and walked away.

Barely.

Just barely.

[blooddlusts]

HOW CAN I SNOOZE ⋆｡°✩ ot7

( I CAN'T LOSE WHEN I'M WITH YOU ) ── sleepy boys want to stay in bed with you

enha x fem! reader (established relationship, fluff, kissing skinship, suggestive comments, them just being clingy boyfriends and just wanting to stay in bed while cuddling you)

word count: 1.23k

kiara yaps: taking nine credits in the spring semester was NOT a good idea, definitely regret cramming in a four month course work into two months lmaoo —this has been in my drafts for a minute and i apologize that i've been offline :(

LEE HEESEUNG

as soon as your alarm goes off that man has you in a chokehold. well, not literally, but it might as well feel like it. heeseung has his arms around your neck, his legs wrapped around your torso and he's putting his whole body weight on you. there's no escape from his grasp as he's placing kisses on your cheek and begging you in his morning voice to stay with him bed. it's adorable, it's cute. and you can't help try to pry his arms off of your body; not like it works, he's only going to hold you tighter. and while he's holding you into his arms, pressing his body against yours begging for you to stay —he's whispering the most dirtiest comments in your ear to make you blush. heeseung may not be fully awake, but he knows how to press his lips to your neck and just beg for you to stay in his arms.

"heeseung please, i have to go to work,"

"just five more minutes,"

PARK JAY

you don't even have to touch your alarm because jay is already turning it off. he's grabbing your phone and already calling the number of your boss from muscle memory so that you can stay home. don't even think about trying to protest and trying to snatch your phone back. he's literally going to wrap one of his arms around you, place a kiss to your forehead and tell you to go back to sleep. putting up a fight with a man who could shower you with all of the gifts you want in the world is pointless. the only reason why he dares to be extra is to secure more hours with you in bed. once he calls your boss, it's game over. your boss is afraid of jay to even say anything back (he threatened to buy the company), which means there's a smile lingering on his lips. you can whine, you can beg to go to work, you can plead with him to let go and get out of bed —but jay is going to hold on to you like you're the only person in the world.

"jay what did you say to my boss?"

"don't worry about it, my love,"

SIM JAKE

once your alarm goes off, he's burying his face inside the nape of your neck while begging in his morning voice for you to say in bed. if that doesn't work, he's going to start placing kisses down your neck in hopes that it will make you stay. and if that isn't convincing, consider his thumb stroking your cheek while he plays with your hair as his next attempt to make you stay in bed. most of the time, just burying his face in your neck is enough for you to smile and lean into his arms that beg for an embrace. there's something adorable about turning around and seeing him give you a sleepy smile before kissing you on the lips. you have to give jake some credit in how convincing he is for you to linger in his arms just a little longer. work can wait, seeing the corners of his lips break into a smile as he falls asleep holding you makes everything better.

"you're lucky i love you, jake,"

"just shut up and let me hold you,"

PARK SUNGHOON

he's already not a fan of alarms. much to having a punctual schedule and being on time to things, sunghoon is willing to make that exception when it comes to you. he thinks the alarm you have set every morning is aggravating —like it actually pisses him off. consider it a diabolical act, but once you're already asleep, he'll disable your alarm. which means he gets as many hours as he wants with you the next morning since you'll sleep through the "alarm" you've set. okay, maybe it's a little mean. but he'll at least make sure that you're up so you have enough time to come to work without being horrendously late. the way he groans in the morning when you wake up, how he immediately wraps his arms around your waist and tells for you to stay —he just wants you to linger just a little bit longer.

"sunghoon, did you turn my alarm off again?"

"i don't see you complaining,"

KIM SUNOO

when your alarm goes off, sunoo gets grumpy. like his hair is all messy, he's squinting because the sun is in his eye and more importantly he doesn't want you to leave. instead, he grabs you by the wrist, and pulls your hand up to his hair. consider yourself screwed because there's nothing that boy loves more than you playing with his hair. sunoo has no filter in the mornings, he'll say things as it is which means you have to snatch your phone away from him before he cusses at your manager for making you go to work. he's so stubborn that he's going to be holding you in his arms, planting kisses down the side of your face with such tenderness that you're just melting in his embrace. consider your efforts to go to work wasted —you can't win the battle against sunoo.

"how long are you going to keep doing this?"

"when you quit your job and decide to stay in bed with me,"

YANG JUNGWON

he doesn't being reminded every morning that you have to go to work. as soon as you sit up in bed to stretch your arms or try to process that you're awake —he's taking you down. no, like literally. somehow jungwon has secret wrestling skills that you don't know about because he has arms wrapped around your waste and throwing you back into bed. and that's how it's going to stay, his arms around your waste, him resting his head on your chest as he cuddles up to you in bed. all you can do is accept your fate and run your hands down his back as he holds you tightly in his arms. if you're lucky, he'll give you some time to get ready for work. but if that doesn't happen, just accept the fact that there's going to be a cheeky smile on his lips as he's humming tunes in his morning voice.

"you really have to stop tackling me, babe,"

"then stop going to work,"

NISHIMURA RIKI

oh you are so screwed. consider yourself in one of those "escape horror" video games that gave you nightmares when you were a kid. niki is not one to be trifled with when it comes to waking up to your alarm early in the morning. there's something about that glare that he gives you that makes the hairs on your neck stand up. but the fear is immediately replaced with giggles as he throws his whole body weight on you. that man is laying on top of you like you're his personal pillow. there's no escape, just him laying on your chest, wrapping his arms around you and literally snoring while you just lay there trying to shimmy your way out to get to work. of course, you give in and press a kiss to his head while you start to stroke his hair. you have to give him some props when it comes to making you stay in bed with him —even if it means becoming a human pillow.

"niki, can you get off me now?"

"let me think about it —no."

reblogs, feedback, likes & comments are appreciated!

[smashinbeetlessinceorson]

I'm a fiber nerd for similar reasons to you, headspace. If you'll humor me, I have a few unsolicited suggestions for looking for natural fibers in thrift stores (other than looking at the tags, naturally, but also since I don't always trust the tags, since fabric fraud or mislabeling isn't uncommon, and tags can be missing or hard to find).

Bast fibers like linen and hemp usually have a fair number of slubs and are usually woven for durability, because lightweight knits tend to unravel near the slubs just around the same time that the wear level starts to get Perfect.

If you're running through the racks and find a nice hand, remember that synthetics tend to absorb water poorly. Holding the fabric for just a moment and then rubbing the fingers together usually tells me if the moisture was absorbed, or if my hands are still sticky. Fabric softener and dry cleaning can fool me sometimes.

Same as the above, synthetics tend to reflect heat. If a fabric feels soft to the hand, hold onto it a moment. Silk and wool warm up slowly, but synthetics feel "warm" almost immediately. Plant fibers also warm pretty quickly in the hand, but will still absorb water.

Silk and wool are HEAVY on the thread level. A tightly woven silk jacket is way heavier than a poly or nylon one of similar thread gauge.

And although your assessments are largely excellent, pyroteknich, I have a few nits to pick:

Cotton gets WET and holds 36x its own weight in water, compared to ~6x for bast fibers and a little more for wool and silk. When it's wet, the water clogs the gaps in the clothes and prevents airflow. I mention this because I live in a humid subtropical area and sweat basically doesn't evaporate. Cotton means a swampy underside, or all-over-side if you're working hard enough or get caught in the rain. A notable exception to this is very loose and billowy clothing like gauzy skirts. I generally avoid cotton entirely because of its water-holding capacity.

Silk does wear like iron unless it gets wet, then it's very weak and abrades easily. Normal activities in my area will cause sweat to build up and that moisture will shred silks. Again, the solution is loose and billowy, and being choosy about which fabrics during particular times of year. I tend toward bast fibers in the warmer months and silks in the cooler ones. Reconstituted cellulose fibers like "bamboo", ramie, rayon, and so on have similarly poor durability when wet. Silk also stains very easily and HATES being in the sun to dry or for too long period, as UV light breaks it down, just something to be aware of.

And also unsolicited, I would like to share a few tips I've picked up for keeping natural fibers in good shape so they can get to that delightful broken-in level. We have very, very soft water in my area, so your mileage may vary.

If not handwashing, a top-loading washer, filled up completely with cold water, is pretty close to handwashing, on delicate settings.

Most of the time, "dry clean only" is a bunch of nonsense, except with suits or dresses made with water-soluble interfacing. People washed these pieces for how many centuries before dry cleaning existed? Yeah. Unfortunately, I don't know an easy way to find out if interfacings are water-soluble, except to give the piece a wash. I've restored dozens of stinky natural-fiber pieces that were discarded because the original owner's dry cleaning didn't remove the water-soluble odors, and I "restored" them just by giving them a nice wash. Sometimes a pair of suit pants or a jacket will start poking out the plastic interfacing after the wash, so yknow. Caveat washor.

Even if handwashing, strongly alkaline detergents or high heat will cause protein-based fibers like wools and silks to denature and degrade rapidly during the abrasion of washing. Vinegar will help, and mild curd soaps are best. If only washing wools, a little liquid lanolin mixed well with hot water and curd soap prior to adding to the wash water will help restore the fibers, making the garment more water-repellent, stronger, and more durable. Small amounts of detergents can be used to boost the efficacy of the wash if there is a lot of oil in the laundry soils.

Inversely, plant fibers prefer hot water and can withstand alkaline detergents well, making washing soda and borax viable additions, but hot water will often cause stains to set. I like to help remove the alkalines from the fabric by using vinegar in the rinse. Machine drying, even on "air dry" settings, will still cause static buildup in the fibers, making them slightly water-repellent and for myself, an extremely unpleasant sensory experience. I try to line-dry everything, which is difficult when showers and storms are unpredictable and frequent, and the humidity is 70%+ most days during the hottest part of the day. Still worth it, and indoor line-dry is an option.

Wools and silks are magnets for carpet beetles and clothes moths. When I'm storing clothes for the season, I wash them, gently lanolize the wools, make sure they're 100% dry, then heat up an oven with a baking stone to 200F (90C), line a metal sheet pan with parchment paper, cut the oven, and then leave the clothes in the oven for 30min to kill any eggs. Then I wrap them tightly with plastic bags and put them in plastic bins for storage, and I've never had a problem with insects since. I got the idea from bedbug treatments.

I hope that fellow sufferers from fast fashion and the electrostatic nightmare that is synthetic clothing can get a little something out of the years I've been working on this. I have pieces I've been wearing regularly for 15 years using these techniques.

The closest experience I've ever had to discovering "the vitamin" was buying a 100% wool outfit and wearing it in the winter.

Not only was I not freezing anymore, I was not sweating and overheating either. The horrible sensory nightmare of winter clothes disappeared.

In particular, I bought a pair of wool pants. They were a thrifted pair of fancy dress pants like you would wear at an important office job, and they were easily the most comfortable pair of winter-appropriate pants i'd ever worn. I wore them Every Single Day.

From that point on I realized a lot of my clothes were making me feel bad, and the common thread was polyester. Especially polyester blends.

It's a trap because the polyester clothes are the ones that always feel sooooo silky soft when they are in the store, whereas cotton, linen and wool can feel comparatively rough and scratchy. But when actually wearing them for hours throughout the day, it's the natural fibers that feel more comfortable.

Maybe the secret to sensory comfort is not about the presence of softness, but the absence of overloading sensations. Or maybe the sensory stress and agony is not triggered by texture of the fabric, but by how it breathes and regulates temperature.

Then there's the problem of clothing life span: polyester blends, no matter how soft they seem at first, become rough and scratchy and covered in hard, itchy pills after wearing them 10 or 20 times, whether or not they have been tumble-dried or even washed at all. (I tested it!) Linen and cotton become softer and more comfy the more you wear them, polyester but ESPECIALLY polyester blends become a constant stressor. Polyester blend t-shirts I used to love for their softness now feel bristly and irritating.

So now I'm trying to change my wardrobe to as many natural fibers as possible, and the more natural fiber clothes i have the more I realize that the plastic fibers stress me out. It's so easy to overheat or freeze in them and they're always degrading and becoming less comfortable and it sucks.

[reflectingiridescent]

The Side Job: an episode where we come full circle, and full circle has always meant Parker

So so so full of spoilers - read at your own risk.

"I don't feel things the way other people do, so I was using their feelings to look at mine. Everyone kept asking me why I was doing this, but they wouldn't let me answer. They just kept guessing why I was doing it. Always my feelings, through them. And then I thought, 'Do I even know what I want?' So I had to get away. Because I do have feelings. One a lot...anger...Because when I was younger...Anyway, now I'm strong and you're weak. So what am I going to do and why am I going to do it?"

People likely have been doing this to Parker her whole life. But let's focus on this episode. Everyone in this episode tries to understand Parker, but their understanding is informed by who they are as people (and, for those who have known Parker longer, it's informed specifically by common touchstones in their history).

With one notable exception. But before we get there, let's talk about everyone else first. The show sets this up in order of decreasing permeability of boundaries.

Sophie comes first, and while Sophie and Parker's relationship is allowed several lenses in the Leverageverse (I've written about this here), maybe more than anyone else's, I think it's significant that right before their major interaction of the episode, we are presented with Harry's struggle with boundaries with his mother. Sophie's come a long way from last season's "Everything I do is from them" line of thinking, but she's always going to feel a little responsible for Parker, Hardison, and Eliot.

And so Sophie guesses it's because Parker doesn't want to deal with well thought-out plans every once in a while and wants the adrenaline of not having everything planned out. This makes sense because this is Sophie's style of masterminding. The entire first episode of Redemption season 2 deals with this. This is not to say that Sophie has bad boundaries with Parker. Just the boundaries in their relationship are more permeable than anyone else's. This is made clear by the way that Parker ropes Sophie in (or the way that Sophie presents herself to be roped in, intutitively).

Breanna guesses it's because Parker wants to change up the way that they do cons, which is a reflection of how she has new ideas and, like her brother, is drawn towards a slightly different style of work than the rest of the crew. Breanna does bring a new energy to the crew, and it's actually that energy that helps Parker out of her rut in s1. It also challenges her.

Harry guesses it's because Parker wants to use this experience to see if it's possible to change, if change is possible in general. And like, that's Harry's entire arc on the show (he doesn't have as much material to draw from...but like yes if you were to sum it up in a sentence, that'd be it).

I think it's important to note that no one here is completely wrong. They all have pieces of the truth. That's why Parker replies, "Something like that." to each of them. Parker is in fact taking a risk (how calculated the risk is left up for our interpretation, but on Leverage, the best cons are based in truth, and we are told that over and over again), trying something new, and testing herself.

Sophie and Parker have always been able to bond over the adrenaline rush of a job and a plan made up on the fly. Parker's risks tend to be more physical, and Sophie's tend to be more emotional. But their most significant beats involve this concept. (Sophie using a rig to get Parker off the roof in exchange for the David, "Maybe that's why they call it falling in love," Parker willingly stepping back into pure theft on this specific team and letting Sophie call the shots).

The new energy Breanna brings to the team does help Parker rediscover her passion and get in touch with a different side of herself.

The parallel in Harry wondering if change is possible and Parker, Hardison, and Eliot's "we change together" is directly referenced in Harry and Parker's scene.

So who's the exception? It's Eliot. Eliot doesn't offer up anything, even a piece, of what's going on with Parker. He just holds up a mirror and affirms her choice, referencing their shared history but never once deviating from that affirmation. It's not that he isn't worried about her - he clearly is, almost as much as Sophie. He just knows what she needs.

Speaking of Sophie, let's go back to a moment with her, because it speaks volumes, especially on a rewatch.

Harry: You don't trust Parker? Sophie: With my life? Always. With her life? Usually.

It's a lovely statement, right? It speaks to the depth of their relationship and how Sophie really cares for Parker. And it's also not really what Parker needs right now.*

*It's also not something that makes Parker upset. Parker has a very good understanding of the people around her and the way that they relate to each other. As Sophie points out, she doesn't shut them out and actually makes use of this in her plan! And she also knows that this is part of the reason why not everyone can be around when everything comes down to the wire. After a long time with our families, we get used to the way they do things. It's never completely good but it's also never completely bad. It's the way it is.

Eliot, who ran red lights to stop Parker from maybe killing a guy rolling Nanas, knows what Parker needs right now. And that's someone who has her back. And also has some distance between them.

(Hardison isn't in this episode much, but it's significant that Parker's entire self-examination is prompted by him.)

And finally (because I've gone on way too long, but you all indulge me sometimes, so I'm going to keep going until I'm finished), let's talk about Parker's only other significant relationship, which is present in this episode even though the character is no longer on this mortal plane.

Like, it's Nate, right?

Nate, who also had one emotion a lot: anger. Same as Parker! Nate, whose decision to make Parker his heir was made with input from the whole team (whether or not they were aware). Nate, who trusted Parker's judgment but also backed that reasoning up by saying that she didn't get emotional. Nate, who never fully understood Parker but like so many others close to her, understood pieces of her. And that was enough.

In many ways but not all, Parker was raised by and informed by Nate. She is not Nate. She doesn't have his upbringing or his baggage. Eliot makes that crystal clear.

I feel like a broken record, but it bears repeating. Leverage is a story about Nate. It is also a story about Parker.

And Leverage: Redemption is a story about Sophie. It is also a story about Parker.

One common thread: Parker.

What Parker decides to become and do is the most important question of the Leverageverse. Always has been!

Actually, in their respective stories, Nate and Sophie both address this in episodes that are EXTREMELY THEMATICALLY SIMILAR.

Archie: I made her unique. What is she now? Nate: I have no idea what Parker is now. I doubt she knows. (Leverage, The Inside Job, 3x03)

In both episodes, the answer involves them having no idea. However, the vibe is that they're both supportive of her figuring that out for herself.

Sophie: She's been three steps ahead of you the entire time. And you gave her 30 minutes to set it up. Alexandra Bligh: To set what up? Sophie: I honestly don't know.* But it's going to be fun. (Leverage Redemption, The Grand Complication Job, 3x05)

*Okay, Sophie is a professional liar. She sort of kind of knew what Parker was doing in this situation because she was stalling so Parker would have time. It is however on theme. We know Sophie loves a theme.

Leverage ends with Parker repeating Nate's speech from the pilot, which is basically the thesis statement for the show, the explanation for what they do.

The Side Job ends with Parker answering why she does what she does. (It's also why the team does what they do, but for Parker, this is deeply, deeply tied into who she is as a person.) Redemption means being the best version of herself and helping other people, and for Parker, that's intimately linked to her doing crime. And she expresses that - in word and action - in a very Parker way.

This show is famous for treating every season finale like it's the end of the show. I deeply crave more Leverage, but if this was the last episode we ever get, it's a pretty damn good place to end.

[upon-sunflower-trails]

tenna headcanons

sfw and nsfw relationship headcanons for tenna!

never doubt me because when i have a hyperfixation i don't PLAY

The sweetest to you, he will do just about anything to keep you happy. Giant bouquets of flowers, broadcasts dedicated to you, extravagant dates, the whole works

Makes sure everyone within a ten mile radius knows the two of you are an item. You're so so dear to him <3

Pet names for you consist of sweetheart, honey, sugar, and muffin. He goes overboard sometimes, and probably uses these nicknames more than your actual name

He gets veeery insecure, so he needs a lot of reassurance. Whether it be about himself or your relationship, he will constantly ask you for your favorite things about him, the reasons you're with him, if you would love him if he were a worm

Expect to play minigames with him constantly. He likes to take you on little game dates, where he leads your avatar around the beach and takes pictures of the two of you together

Anyone who asks about you will be subject to a six-page thesis in real time about how amazing you are and everything Tenna loves about you

When he's flustered, blush pops up on his screen and you can swear that you see him switch to static for a minute

He would be the one to confess first, no matter how worried he was that you would reject him

Even though Tenna is flashy, his confession of love would be incredibly personal. He would almost shrink a little as he admitted to his feelings, getting emotional as he accepted the fact that you would most likely reject him

He, of course, was overjoyed when you reciprocated. Returned to normal size as cheerful music blared, scooping you up in his arms and pressing kisses all over your face

He loves everything about you, and he thinks you're perfect. He has to sneak in at least one reference to you every time he's on-air

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

I see him as a switch; he prefers being a service top but he'll bottom when he's feeling particularly down on himself

When he's upset with his employees, dom all the way. Probably the kind of guy to bend you over his desk to blow off steam

To him, there's no better way to spend his night than with his face between your legs. Much prefers giving oral than fingering, in my very humble opinion

Will lightly toy with the idea of exhibitionism, in the way that he'd have you under his desk and sucking him off while in a meeting or something

Horrific praise kink. Please tell him how good he is, what a great job he's doing, how badly you needed him. He will increase his efforts by tenfold.

I headcanon that his antennas are super sensitive, which you likely either find out by accident or in the heat of the moment. He'll beg for you to touch them while you ride his face or fuck him

Vocal as hell (especially if you play with the antennas), he is practically incapable of staying quiet. He whimpers and moans when he's being more gentle or subbing, and lets out groans and hisses while pounding into you during his more dominant moments

Loooves to tease you, both with pet names in the moment and overstimulation. He can be unrelenting when he wants to be

Not big into pain (both giving and receiving), but will tug on your hair when particularly lost in blowing off steam

Lowkey has a breeding kink, even if he may never acknowledge it. Just can't get enough of filling you up.

Whether his comment to Mike about kids is true or not, if you are able (and want) to carry children, it'll become his newest fixation. The second you give him the go-ahead, yeah, he's creampie-ing you for weeks

He prefers to actually fuck you instead of just jacking off, but if he doesn't have any other options, he'll gladly pump himself to the thought of you while at his desk. Free hand covering his mouth while his monitor practically burns, whines of your name spilling from his lips

Size kink is basically a given with him. I mean, he towers over everybody, so you are of course no exception. Holding your much smaller hands over your head as he pins you against the wall to obliterate your insides is one of his guilty pleasures

hope you guys enjoyed reading :) tenna my beloved i hope i did you justice

[wcnderlnds]

sober ★ choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: seunghyun's way to deal with your breakup is to drink his feelings away so you have to come and save him from himself ・❥・word count: 1.7k ・❥・warnings: alcohol consumption, angst. ・❥・ authors note: this is track six for the MADE event which you can find here. i mostly focused on seunghyun's verse. i also haven't proofread because headache but <3

The breakup had happened barely three weeks ago. Everyone said with time it would get better but when would that happen? Everyday Seunghyun woke up with a weight in his chest, feeling like something was missing. It felt like there was a hole in his head, like he would never be whole again. He’d heard all the stories about how much heartbreak sucked, the pain that came with it but he had never believed it until the day you had left. Waking up to the empty space beside him in bed every morning brought a fresh wave of pain. It felt like he was drowning with no way to reach the surface.

Seunghyun had known you practically his whole life. It had started out as an innocent friendship but as the years passed by and you grew older, it blossomed into something more. Love was messy and complicated but with you it had always felt easy. Seunghyun thought you were the most beautiful person inside and out. Nobody had ever captured his heart like you had. Every smile in his direction, every laugh that was just for him, the way you had looked at him like he was the only person in the world – it made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

Then the breakup happened.

His whole life had been falling apart and no matter how much you tried to be there for him, he had done the one thing he shouldn’t have and pushed you away. He hadn’t wanted to drag you down with him but in turn he had ended up losing you completely. The day you had broke up with him had been the worst day of his life. He had lost the one good thing in his life and blamed himself entirely.

Seunghyun knew it wasn’t the best way to deal with it but drinking numbed the pain. It was better than being sober because at least then he wasn’t haunted by his thoughts. Most of the time he opted to drink at home, having a few glasses of wine – TSpot, of course – just enough so he didn’t have to think about you. Not that really helped. You were always on his mind, it just made him feel lighter. Today, however, he had called Jiyong and asked if he wanted to go to their favourite bar. Never one to miss an opportunity to spend time with his best friend, Jiyong had immediately agreed.

So, that’s where they were. Sat at the bar, four shots in. Well, Seunghyun was. Jiyong had given up after two opting to move to beer instead. Seunghyun had ordered himself another couple of shots, downing them one after the other, his words slurred with every word he spoke. Jiyong sighed, patting his friend on the back as he talked about you. There was only one person who could help now. Jiyong excused himself for a moment to make the one phone call he had tried to avoid making.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It hadn’t been any easier on you. Leaving Seunghyun had been the single, hardest decision you’d ever made but there came a point where you had to put yourself first. No matter how hard you had tried, Seunghyun had kept shutting you out whether he realised it or not. The walls he’d built around himself were too strong, he was too scared of letting people in but you’d always assumed you’d be an exception to that. You were wrong. It got to a point where you couldn’t do it anymore even as much as you wanted to. Feeling like you couldn’t help the person you loved the most was one of the hardest, most painful things to go through. You felt useless because there wasn’t anything you could do. Nobody wanted to feel useless. It didn’t help that at that point, there wasn’t even much of a relationship. There were no date nights, no intimacy – Seunghyun had closed in on himself, not wanting to do anything with anyone. So, you had made the painful decision to end things. He had to fix himself first before your relationship could be fixed.

Your way of coping with losing your person was to cry yourself to sleep every night. Not that you got much sleep, it was hard to really sleep without Seunghyun by your side. He had been your comfort, your home for so long and now you didn’t have that, it felt like nothing had any meaning. But, you had to keep going on, no matter how hard it was. Even when Seunghyun had text you, called you, left you voicemails. That made it harder because you wanted to reach out, to tell him everything would be okay but you couldn’t. It was only when you got that call from Jiyong did you finally cave.

Seunghyun needed you.

As you stepped into the bar, the stench of alcohol and smoke hitting your senses, you scanned around the room to find Seunghyun hunched over at the bar, downing yet another shot. You sighed, feeling your heart skip a beat in your chest. Seeing him like this, so broken, so defeated; it broke your heart even more if that was possible. Your feet carried you towards him, silently sitting in the stool next to him. He turned his head slowly to face you, a stupid smile on his face, eyes glazed over.

“Jiyong, you’ve changed,” he giggled, laughing at his own joke. It took him a moment to really focus on you and when he did, his eyes widened, body stiffening. Were you really there or was he imagining you? It wouldn’t be the first time. He tried to act cool, his head resting on the hand that was propped up by his elbow on the bar.

“Seunghyun,” you spoke gently. Your hand reached out, hovering over his free one but you pulled back. “What are you doing?”

“Drinking,” he replied back shortly. 

“I can see that,” your eyes scanned across the shot glasses scattered in front of him. 

“Hmm,” he hummed. As he reached out to grab the one shot he had left, you moved quicker, grabbing it before he could and pulling it away from him. He pouted at you, his lower lip jutting out like a child. “Hey, I was going to drink that. Don’t be mean.”

“I think you’ve had enough, baby.” It had slipped out before you could stop yourself. Seunghyun instantly straightened, turning away from you.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can’t call me that when you don’t even love me anymore.”

You frowned, feeling tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Seunghyun, I still love you. I love you so much.”

“Then why did you leave me?” He asked quietly. The way he sounded so sad and defeated made the first tear fall from your eyes. When he turned again to face you and saw it, he reached out with the pad of his thumb to wipe it away.

“You wouldn’t let me in. You pushed me away and I didn’t know what to do anymore. It was never a question about loving you. I’m always going to love you but I can’t show you that if you don’t let me,” you closed your eyes at the feeling of his touch. It had only been three weeks but you had missed it so damn much.

“I know.”

The silence lingered between you, the air thick with tension and all the unspoken words that neither of you could bring yourself to say. It was hard not to throw your arms around him at that moment. The way his eyes looked at you so soft, gentle like you were the most precious thing in the world. Your felt your heart rate quicken as he cupped your cheek, resisting the urge to lean into his touch but you couldn’t. You pressed your cheek against his palm, selfishly revelling in the way his skin felt against yours.

“Why are you drinking?” You asked gently.

“So I don’t have to think about you,” he pulled his hand away from you, looking down at the floor. “If I’m drinking then I don’t have to realise how badly I messed up, that I lost the one good thing I had.”

“Seunghyun,” you sighed. This time you did reach out to take his hand in yours. “I know it hurts. It hurts me too but what hurts the most is seeing you like this. Things are hard, I know but this isn’t you. You’re strong, you’re determined and… you can get through this. I’m not just talking about the breakup, I’m talking about everything else.”

“Yeah, not so sure about that,” he mumbled under his breath but you caught it.

You stood up, tugging at his hand to pull him up to his feet, too. Jiyong, who had been sitting away from you both to give you a moment, rushed over to help you. Each other you threw one of Seunghyun’s arms over your shoulders to help him stand because there was no way he could walk on his own two feet. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Seunghyun didn’t even protest, instead he nuzzled his head into your neck, closing his eyes. You had never been more thankful for Jiyong in that moment as he helped pull Seunghyun into the cab. He had asked you if you wanted him to come with you but you shook your head, telling him you’d be fine and you’d call him in the morning to let him know how things were. 

“You’re still so beautiful,” Seunghyun mumbled drunkenly as you helped him back into his apartment. Without Jiyong, it took you twice as long but you managed to drag him into his bedroom, placing him down on his bed. He laid back, allowing you to pull off his shoes. He was mumbling to himself but you didn’t quite catch it. When you were finished making him more comfortable, you were about to leave but he reached out, grabbing your wrist. “Stay with me?”

The pleading look in his eyes was too hard to refuse so you nodded your head, climbing onto the bed beside him. He wrapped his arms around you, sighing contently as he nuzzled into your hair. “I love you. Don’t leave me.”

“Let's talk in the morning when you’re sober, okay?”

Seunghyun drifted off to sleep quickly and, unsurprisingly, so did you. It was the first sleep you’d got in three weeks and it was all because you had your person. Maybe, just maybe you really would be able to fix this.

event tag list

writers: @namsgyu @mashtatosworld @gds-daisy @gdinthehouseee @ldydeath @eru-vande @emmiesoverthemoon @breakmeoff @makeitworse

readers: @seungttttop @keiraryan @moontabi @mintandmuse @steponupbabe @heartubeatusalon @thanosspills @aizshallnotbefound @burningheartdetective @soragojo

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @gdinthehouseee @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @forevervibezzzz1 @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @septywitch @melanatedhorrorqueen @l5byrinth @tabibabib @moontabi @loonybunn

[shy-writes]

ooh thank uu this is so fun!! i feel like i do chia for these things a lot so let's interrogate clay instead this time

Oh she hasn't even fully realized what love is, let alone lust, and she DEF can not tell the difference

Clay doesn't really get the whole romance thing. She's never been particularly selfless, either, so most romantic gestures she does is based out of her own desires. Which makes her kind of genuine, sort of...?

Clay has never really looked for a partner at all. Before meeting Chia, she'd never considered it.

Clay doesn't really have thoughts about her physical appearance, except where it's useful for her (i.e. tall = intimidating)

She has trouble understanding how others feel, but probably yes if it was for something she considered important

She definitely has a moment of heartbreak (or a few moments, I guess) with Chia, and they're mostly Clay's fault. Clay is changing so much, I don't know if she would know what "recovery" looks like now

I think saving her lover from an interdimensional magical god and then kissing them for the first time in months is definitely up there

Clay's never thought about it, but she finds out in Nyx that she is in fact quite monogamous (and possessive)

"Tall and Strong. I am on a Mission from My Gods and I will Save Your People from Damnation. Seeking Underlings for my Divine Machinations." with that exact capitalization, absolutely no grammatical rules, everything they type reads like a very long title

Clay doesn't have a type, per se, but I think she's normally partial to people who follow the rules and are faithful to the Rune, which does not match Chia AT ALL, so she was def surprised by her feelings for them

Definitely, and she had absolutely no clue

She realizes her love for Chia when they go missing and she realizes how violent and ruthless she's willing to be in order to find them again

Absolutely not

It's honestly never even crossed Clay's mind to impress Chia, since she already knows they're in love with her.

Oh no she's a huge asshole and really stubborn and also very dense

i'll tag @sarnai4, @meharker, and @humbly-a-doppelganger!!

A Short Ask List About Love.

Does your OC have any difficulty distinguishing between love and lust?

Is your OC at all romantic themselves? Or is romance something they expect others to perform for their benefit?

What does your OC look for in a romantic (or perhaps purely sexual) partner? Is this always healthy?

Does your OC consider themselves to be attractive? Do they put much effort into achieving this?

Would your OC ever take advantage of someone's romantic feelings in order to manipulate them?

Has your OC ever had their heart broken? Have they ever truly recovered?

What is the most romantic gesture your OC has ever performed? Alternatively (or additionally), what romantic gesture would they most like to perform?

Does your OC pursue only monogamous relationships? Or are they open to other, more creative, options?

If your OC were ever to fill out a Dating Site (or pamphlet or newspaper) profile, then what would they include?

Does your OC have a type? Have they ever been surprised by their feelings for someone who doesn't fit this?

Has your OC ever been the object of someone's affections that they did not (or could not) reciprocate?

If your OC were in love, how might they recognise this? Or would they be too much in denial?

Has your OC ever written a love letter (or text message or whatever the case may be)? Perhaps they have even composed a love poem or song dedicated to their beloved?

If they wish to impress someone for whom they have romantic (or at least sexual) feelings, does your OC attempt to present themselves as more confident, wealthy, popular or otherwise impressive, than they truly are?

Is your OC easy to love? If not, then what are the barriers?

[sqgeism]

If I may make a request?

I saw your vampire reader x Anaxa fic and absolutely loved it! Would you be willing to do it the other way around? (with Anaxa being the vampire) lowkey obsessed with the idea of vampire Anaxa. I can just imagine him doing another wild experiment on himself again and accidentally turning himself into a vampire. So now his S/O takes care of him by letting him feed off them.

Also happy birthday!! Hope your day is wonderful!

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 l - i - licky - c - k - licky - y ! | anaxagoras x gender neutral reader

love mail — 🍒 ⨾ hiiii thank u for the bday wishes!! cw suggestive.. 🧘‍♀️ thank u anaxacannibalau for helping me w this when i asked lol ❤️‍🩹 more vamp stuff coming eventually when i lock in.. also this was supposed to be short but i got carried away (*´▽｀)

coming home to your husband as a vampire should have been one of the things you had expected from the young genius, but you didn't. so now you've walked in on him draining a dead dove in the living room, how.. symbolic.

but he seemed to be relatively the same, just sharper teeth, red eyes, and far too much strength for him to need. oh, also the blood issue, that was always a concern.

you began unintentionally studying anaxa's behavior ever since he turned, taking down notes on things that may be helpful for research or understanding his new.. form. something of note was his reaction to his 'diet'.

animals and alike were working but anaxa never seemed to like them, not so big on their flavor and he always needed some sort of drink to 'wash away' the flavor, since he seemed much more relaxed after a glass of water. human blood bags were better, but he always grumbled that they were cold. never quite comparable to the real thing.

however something of note, was that the one and only time he fed on fresh blood, yours, was probably the best he had ever been. he was stronger, not at all crabby about it, and seemed to really like biting you. he got pretty into it until he could feel your pulse almost weakening, and immediately pulled away to care for you.

though since then, it seems he's trying to punish himself for almost 'killing' you. his vampiric urges won over his humanity, which almost scared him, he knew he still held great control compared to his bloodsucking kin. it still doesn't erase the fact he almost lost it, though, and has refused to drink from you ever since.

except you've always been a stubborn little thing, wouldn't be you without constantly worrying for his well-being, insisting he take the bite—to drain you, as if he's the victim. as if he didn't do this to himself and is just a helpless fledgling.

no, he was an intelligent man—with heightened senses and means of reading someone.

so yes, he could see right through your concern.

and yes, that means he knew your real intentions.

you wanted him to bite you, you were into it.

and by the titans he couldn't agree more.

even so, he still held some sort of restraint. whereas you began to wear much.. looser clothing around the house, exposing skin that was just soft to the bite, he stayed together.

till he didn't.

"titan forbid a man wants a little restraint around you." he huffed, pushing you down onto the bed firmly but not quite forcefully. "i want you safe," he says, making sure your head is comfortably rested on the pillows. "protected," one of your legs is lifted onto his adjacent shoulder to it. "but here you are. testing me like i'm some kind of hypothesis to study, do you really value yourself so little?"

breathless, you reply. "it isn't endangering myself if i know you wont hurt me."

seeing him looming over you, his eyes softly glow in the darkness of the room and there is nothing stopping him between the major vein behind your knee, and his teeth.

he then whispers quietly. "are you sure you trust me?"

"with my life, anaxa. with everything i am."

the chuckle he lets out shouldn't be attractive, but it very much is. especially with the fact he's leaning down to your thigh to bite.

"just tell me when it starts to hurt."

he presses a delicate kiss to your thigh, and you listen to the quiet hiss he lets out before biting.

while he could undoubtedly rip off the flesh from your bones, anaxa loves you too much to let his urges do so. and so he almost nibbles, and sucks on your thigh so gently you could mistake it for a kitten.

"mmgh." he grumbles, his brows furrowing as his eyes close shut—lost in the flavor of your blood, in you. but when is he not?

how is he supposed to ignore how pretty you are when you're forcing yourself to keep quiet, biting your bottom lip and making the prettiest noises. all while you still reach for his hand, for his comfort, which he's happy to give through reaching out to you and gently caressing your leg. "doing so well, dove. so well."

"an— anaxa— it hurts.."

then he's off just as quick as he bit, licking the mark and softly applying pressure to it. "good dove. now let your mind and body rest, i'll take care of you."

the most tender kiss is placed on the bite, slowly lowering your leg as his kisses trail upwards, all the way to your lips. "thank you, my sweet dove. sleep well."

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[massiv3tr33p3rsona]

Sweet | Terry Richmond X Toni (Black Fem OC)

Part I.

Sweet II You (Part II)

Pairing: Terry Richmond (Rebel Ridge) X Stonia ‘Toni’/‘Sweet Tooth’ Vikes/Gillian Scott (Woman In GIF: Gina Torres)

Summary: After one of her dealers was wearing a wire, the feds came and shut down Toni’s million dollar drug empire she worked hard on. After taking a plea deal to avoid prison, she is enrolled into the Witness Protection Program, where Terry is assigned to protect her.

Warnings: sexual tension, age gap (older woman, younger man), mastrubating, titty playing, slight subToni!, slight domTerry!, spanking, slight worshipping, slight BDSM, angst, emotional feelings, daydreaming, mentions of death, cursing, drinking

Dividers Made By: @thecutestgrotto

A/N I: When I had my old account, this was called something else and Nicole Beharie was originally the headcannon, but it was never published as I deactivated, but now, I’m happy I got to publish it. Lowkey, I do wanna see Aaron and Gina work together in an age gap film, specifically erotic thriller or erotic drama because the tension between them is how they about to make the most money ever in their lives (delusional about the last sentence, BUT Y’ALL GET IT!!).

THIS IS MY WORK, SO PLEASE DO NOT STEAL IT.

Stonia ‘Toni’ Vikes was the biggest drug queenpin in the country, known to many under the name, ‘Sweet Tooth’. Earned the nickname off her main source of selling whatever she had well, she was also a good talker, managed to avoid being caught for so many years.

Capitalizing a yearly profit of $4 million, she lived a very lavish lifestyle: acquiring cars, houses, clothes, jewelry, and even investing into some companies under alias.

All of that came crashing down as ChiChi, one of her top dealers that she came up with in the business, was working with the feds to avoid going to jail for a long time, having her fall into their trap, effectively ending her run.

Following all the delays which led to a long trial, she was about to be convicted on all charges until they offered her a plea deal of walking away free in exchange to revealing her distributor.

She agreed, throwing them under the bus, and she received her ‘get out of jail’ card.

Now a target over what she did, she is enrolled into the witness protection program, where she is now to be accompanied by a bodyguard everywhere for the rest of her life.

She’s assigned a new name: Gillian Scott, has dyed her hair to a dark brown color, back to natural curls instead of straightening her hair, and now has thin brows. She is truly unrecognizable from afar, shedding her queenpin image.

Now here she is, riding in the back of an escort with two FBI agents, beginning a new life as a normal woman in loss of her luxury lifestyle.

Well, not most of it.

While she had to give up the cars and the houses, she was allowed to keep her clothes and jewelry, except for a few watches and necklaces.

And she was allowed to keep one of her savings accounts, but that had to get moved to a new one + a 10% fee to avoid being spotted.

But only one person can access it if she needed something and that person is whoever they assigned as her bodyguard that’s waiting at the house. Curiosity lingers as she thinks of ideas of what the bodyguard looks like.

Is it an older man with tattoos? A woman with a strict sense, but a softie? Maybe someone a bit younger than her?

Or worse: an ex law enforcement officer. She can’t do that due to the long standing history between them and drug dealers.

Her mind is interrupted when the car pulls into a driveway of a big house that sits on a lake.

Parking the car, the agents get out, with the male one walking to the entrance with a briefcase and the female one opening her door, help her out of the car.

“This way, Scott.” she said, ushering her to walk.

Toni grabs her purse and walks ahead, looking at front of the house.

Brick architecture, a double garage, a porch with a net and chairs, and there’s a grey truck parked in the street? This is a little low for her standards, but this is her new life now.

Standing at the front door, the female agent knocks on it, patiently waiting for them to be let in. The door opens, with the male agent standing there, moving to the side as the women walk in.

“Bates and Pearson are their way with your stuff. They’re just stuck in traffic.” he said, adjusting his tie.

Toni nods, walking into the house, with the female agent following.

Inside this three story house, it has white walls covered in many frames of artwork, family pictures, and some Marine Corps stuff.

Walking past the brown themed dining room, she enters the living room, standing in the middle. Black furniture surrounds as a flatscreen tv sits on a stands, with sliding doors to access the back porch, the lake, and backyard accompanying it.

“Whoever owns this place has an interesting taste in the design of it.” said Toni, now standing in the living room.

“Glad you took notice.” said an unfamiliar deep voice, making Toni turn around.

Standing in the kitchen stood a 6’3, chiseled man, wearing a sleeveless grey hoodie, which showed some arm tattoos, and some light grey shorts, holding a bottle of water. His skin had a slight brown tone to it, which definitely came from being in the sun, as his slightly baggy eyes were a mixture of a blueish-green, staring at her with an intense gaze. His lips are a very dark pink color, a curve to the bottom one as he took a sip of his water.

He had to be no older than 32, but no younger than 23. Damn, I’m old enough to be his mother or aunt, Toni said in her head, looking away.

“I see you guys assigned a baby to me.” she said, looking at both agents.

The man chuckles, walking over as he takes in her looks, arms crossed.

“Not used to being around people you can easily manipulate?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

Toni cuts her eyes to him, not saying anything before going back to the agents, making him nod at the no response.

“We figured he would be a better fit since he’s in the area we chose to put you in.” said the female agent.

“And he’s actually really good. Has a great resume and experience while in the Marines.” the male agent added.

“Anyone who only worked the grounds by doing the laundry, feeding everyone, or organizing whatever they were assigned probably had the same good experience.” said Toni, placing her bag on the couch.

“Not very sweet, I see.” the man said, making her laugh.

“I am. Just not wowed easily, that’s all.” she replied, looking back at the agents.

“Of course. You lived an upscale, illegal lifestyle after all.” he responded, drinking some of his water.

Toni rolled her eyes, ignoring the last part he uttered.

“You’re gonna introduce him or do I have to figure it out myself?” she asked, watching him move closer to the agents.

“This is Terry Richmond. One of our finest veterans who has great skills of defense and leadership, so he’ll protect you very well.” said the female agent, making Terry nod.

“I see.” said Toni, leaning against the couch.

“And this is Stonia Vikes. Also known as Toni, previously ‘Sweet Tooth’, and now her new name, Gillian Scott. One of the best cocaine traffickers we fought hard to track, not knowing what she looked like for years or was it a man we were looking for.” said the male agent.

“Poor management.” she replied, looking at Terry.

“Which is why she was so good at getting herself out of things or selling: just by talking. Lived the best life for a good time. Now she has to hide in the dark to live out the rest of her new life cause her once allies-turned-enemies wants her dead.” said the female agent, walking to the kitchen.

Toni looks away as Terry stepped a little closer, examining her features.

“Doesn’t seem like she’s fearful.” he said, backing up a bit.

“Nothing scares me. Not even a skilled Marine.” she said, looking at him.

Terry smiles, walking away to sit on the couch as the female agent walks back into the room with water bottles, handing one to the male agent.

“The men are almost here with your things, so we might as well go over the rules.” said the female agent.

“Have a seat.” said the male agent, pointing at the couch.

Toni turns and walks to sit on the couch, a few feet away from Terry as the agents sit in the lounge chairs.

The male agent opens the briefcase, takes out a file folder and handing it to Terry, who takes it.

“You probably were given a quick rundown of Vikes, but that includes a lot of things about her.” he says, feeling her eyes burning into him.

“Noted.” said Terry, reading the file.

“First rule: Using the new name we gave you while in public. You are Toni in here, but when you two out, you are Gillian Scott and Gillian Scott only. We don’t know if they have people out there blending in to take out, so it’s best to keep your true self hidden.” said the female agent.

“So….the same thing I been hearing since I took the deal.” said Toni.

“Second rule: daily inspections.” said the male agent, which made her roll her eyes.

“Shocker.” she mumbled.

As they continued discussing the rest of it, Toni looks at Terry reading, noting his calm demeanor as his finger traces over each word he reads.

Veiny, smooth hands. Etched calves. Thick thighs. Toned arms to match that big chest of his.

“Mr. Richmond, as you read through, you will notice that she has a….alcohol problem. Has ways of sneaking it, so make sure she doesn’t have any of it throughout her time in the program.” the female agent stated.

Toni scoffs, annoyed that they would include that part in her files, which she felt like its unnecessary.

“Fine with me. I don’t drink at all.” he replied.

“Could’ve added a detox program if you’re gonna do this.” said Toni, rubbing her head.

“So you can relapse immediately after finishing?” asked the male agent, eyebrows raised.

Toni looks away, not wanting to say anything. Even though, that comment hurt her a bit, which Terry took notice of.

“Last part was very unnecessary, O’Blac.” he said, eyeing him down.

O’Blac looks at him, caught off guard by his defense, but doesn’t say anything back.

“Apologies, Ms. Vikes.” he said, looking at her.

Toni ignores him, focusing mostly on the female agent.

“Twice a day: morning and night. Just make sure she has no weapons, drugs, unless it’s medication, or whatever you have prohibited from being in here.” said the female agent, continuing on.

Terry nods, going back to reading her file.

“Third rule: no contacting to anyone you’re prohibited from contacting. You’re not allowed to have a phone or any other device in your possession. No access to your bank account unless you go to Terry and ask him to take out some money that only be used for personal use, with some restrictions.” she added.

“Anything I’m allowed to do?” Toni asked, adjusting herself into her seat.

“You don’t have to wear an ankle monitor, so you’re allowed to walk around the property.” said O’Blac.

“But if you’re planning on walking around the neighborhood, I have to be present.” said Terry, looking at her.

“I don’t have a curfew?” she asks in a sly tone.

“Nahh. A little too young for that.” he replied.

Toni looks away, wanting to laugh but is not gonna fold in front of him.

“Violate any of these will get you sent to prison. So be cautious with how you’re living around here.” said the female agent.

“And treat Mr. Richmond well. You may think he’s mean on the outside, but he’s actually really nice.” said O’Blac.

Toni looks over again, seeing him smile a bit as he concentrates very hard at reading her file before closing it, placing it next to him.

“Understood, Vikes?” asked O’Blac.

Toni looks at both agents, nodding with amusement on her face.

“Good.”

The doorbell rings, making both agents get up.

“That’s Bates and Pearson. We’re gonna go talk to them as they bring in your things. Terry, why don’t you tell her more about what the property has while we’re gone.” said the female agent.

Terry nods at them as they walk out, leaving him with Toni.

Silence fills the room as Terry stands up, grabbing the folder with him.

“There’s a home gym downstairs if you don’t like waking outside. Has a treadmill and a few other equipment. There’s a garden on the left side of the house as well. I plant flowers mostly, but if you want to use it for something else, I’ll move to give you some space.” he said as he walked into the kitchen.

Toni nods, watching him move around the space.

“You from around here?” she asks, which makes him look at her.

“Lafayette is where I’m originally from. Was temporarily in Shelby Springs before I moved back.” he replied.

“How come?”

“I, uh…had a little situation with the police department out there that involved family.” as he leaned against the counter.

“Won a huge lawsuit.” he added.

“Must be nice.” she replied, rubbing her leg.

“How about you?”

“I do have an answer, but I don’t think I’m legally allowed to say.” she replied, making the both of them laugh.

“Right, right…” he mumbled.

“This your first time doing this?”

“Yeah. Protected people before. But never like this.”

“Hm.” she said, standing up.

“What do you think of me?” she asks, walking to him.

“Excuse me?” he replied, confused by her question.

“I mean, you’re a vet….working with FBI to protect a ex-queenpin who should be sitting in a cell.”

She turns around the corner of the island, feeling his eyes following her every move.

“And is notorious for getting things her way.” as she stands in front of him.

“Yeah? You’re nothing different from what I read on your file.”

“And that doesn’t make you feel….a little inexperienced?”

Terry laughs and nods, realizing what’s she’s getting.

“I see. I’m the young unaware ex-Marine who can’t handle the more feisty mature drug goddess’ standards after her fall from grace in your eyes. Right?” as he smirks, leaning up to stand, towering over her.

Toni smiles a bit, keeping her gaze on him as he looks down.

“Glad you see it.” she replied.

“But that’s not true. What I believe is what stands in front of me is a gorgeous older woman” as he examines her features, taking in her smile.

“Pretty eyes. Perfect cheekbones. A smile to die for. A physique I can’t describe or else, I feel like I’m overstepping.” as he pushes her hair back, seeing more of her face.

“…..who lacks discipline, dignity, and self awareness. Her charmed looks and usage of certain words always worked on a lot of people she fucked over, hence why she was able to run for so long.” as his smile fades a bit.

Toni stares at him, a bit of anxiety coming through her while keeping eye contact.

“That part of your life is over. As long as you’re in my presence, you’re not running things. And don’t even attempt to run over me.”

“And if I did?” she asked, folding in her arms.

Terry moves closer, backing her into the counter, cornering her. He leans in, putting his hand against the cabinet behind her, which makes her turn her head away.

“Trust me….you will regret it. So keep it short and sweet, Stonia.” he whispered, very close to her ear.

Toni snaps her eyes on him as the latter backs up, winking at her and smiling.

“I’m not afraid of you, Richmond.” she said.

Terry sucks his teeth, looking her up and down.

“Should be. I’m not one to attempt a leash on. Especially from you.”

Toni glares at him, astounded by that comment.

“You’ll learn.” he whispered, walking out.

What did he mean by that, she said to herself, watching him.

The door opens again, with footsteps being heard.

“Ms. Vikes, can you come to the stairs, please?” said O’Blac.

Toni listened, walk to where everyone was, grabbing her bag in the midst of it.

Getting to the staircase, she sees Terry, O’Blac, the female agent, and the two extra male agents, Bates and Pearson, standing there, holding her bags.

“May you show her where she’ll be sleeping, Terry?” asked the female agent.

He nods, walking up the stairs.

“This way.” he said, motioning her to follow him.

Toni obliges, following after him as the agents follow behind them.

Unlocking the door, Terry steps aside, letting Toni walk in first.

Examining it, she takes note that it’s a master bedroom: a big king size bed, a ceiling fan hanging over it, a three sided window that gives her a view of the lake with curtains, two nightstands, a vanity perfect to place her jewelry and makeup, a tv hanging on the wall, and a bathroom with a connected closet.

“Taken you like it?” he asked, a smile on his face.

“I do. Hopefully you’re not crowded in yours.” she replied, placing her bag on the bed.

Terry shakes his head. as he walks in, with the two men carrying Toni’s bags following, placing them on the floor carefully before walking out.

“Thought the diva needed the bigger space. Mines is spacious though.” he replied, making her squint her eyes at him.

“How generous.” she replied.

O’Blac and the female agent walk in, handing him a closed envelope.

“That’s includes the card to her bank account, medical reports, tax documents, and other things.” said O’Blac.

He takes it, holding it in front of him as they continued talking.

Toni didn’t hear the rest, walking up to the windows as she watches the sun reflect over the gorgeous water, slowly setting.

She imagines how nice it would be to sit on a boat, tanning and drinking in the cool breeze, as she discusses the next steps for sales and distributing to her crew.

“We’ll be going now, Ms. Vikes.” said the female agent, snapping her out of her daydream.

She looks back, nodding her head as if she everything they were saying.

“Let this be the last time you see us. Cause next time, we’ll be back with cuffs to take you away.” said O’Blac, sending her a warning look.

“Understood, agents. I’ll be on my best behavior.” she said in a smart tone.

They nod before looking at Terry and bidding farewell, leaving immediately afterwards.

Hearing the door close, Terry places the envelope on the vanity before turning to Toni, who patiently waits for his next move.

“Which bag did you want me start with?” he asked, looking at them.

“Up to you. You’re in charge.” she replied, sitting on the cushion lying on the window ledge.

Terry nods, kneeling in front of the first bag. Turning it on its back, he unzips it and lifts the flap, revealing a variety of shoes packed nicely in there.

“You got a lot of shoes in here.” he said, moving them around to see if anything is hidden.

“That’s the first bag of them.” she replied, making him look up.

“They let you keep all of them?”

“Can’t really smuggle anything in things that is sewed thinly.” as she crossed her legs.

Terry lets out a soft chuckle, continuing his inspection.

“First one’s clean.” he replied, zipping it back up.

He moves it to the side before grabbing the second bag, unzipping it.

“Wow. *More.” he said as he sees more shoes in the bag.

After looking through that one, he zips it up and moves it to the side, grabbing the next one.

He continues doing this for the rest of her bags as she watches, entertained by his objective of completing his first task with her here.

He looks adorable doing that, she said, smiling a bit.

Finally, he stands up, brush off any lint around his knees before walking to her bed, about to grab her bag, which makes her get up and snatch it.

“Uh, what do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her eyebrow slightly raised.

Terry looked at her confused, stepping closer to her.

“The inspection includes your purse.” as he wraps his hand around it, making her look down.

“Come on now.” he mumbled in a deep tone.

“I think you’ve done enough.” she said, pulling back a bit.

Terry exhales, getting closer as he stares at Toni, watching her boldness go down a bit. A pleading expression comes across her face as he wraps his other hand around hers, feeling her flinch a bit.

“I’m not gonna ask you again.” he utters, gently removing her hand, pulling the bag away from her.

She was about to protest, but stopped herself, remembering that she is not only being protected, but following his rules or go to prison.

She turns away as he dumps the contents of the bag on her bed, not wanting to see his reaction.

“Oh.” he said, holding back his laugh.

What’s inside? Bras. Panties. Her gummies that help with iron, hair, and energy. And her personal favorites: her five vibrators, each being the color of the rainbow.

“My bad for assuming the worst. Turns out, you might be the best.” he said in a joking tone, which makes her angry.

“Get out.” she said.

Terry looks at her in confused way, wondering if she was serious or not.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Get out of my room.” as she turns to look at him, arms folded.

“I think your little inspection is done.” she added.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to be rude about it.” he replied.

“I do what I please when my privacy is being violated in front of me.”

“Privacy?” as he laughed.

“You’re a criminal who’s whole career was selling something to people for them to feel a different high that they couldn’t rest from. Probably sold a lot of personal items, ruined relationships, even OD’d just so you can live it large and continue distributing it.” he added, watching her mouth clench.

“You don’t know that.” she said, feeling his scowl.

“You don’t think their privacy got violated? Considering most probably bought it in public or you sold it to them around others that watched?”

“You would know, huh?”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

Toni smirks, watching him slowly get mad as she leaned closer, more to his ear.

“How brutal was the training for the Marines? Did you have to get waterboarded? Random drills in the middle of the night? Spanked with a plank board on your ass?” she whispered as she traces over his arm.

“Or was it easy because you did favors? Got praises for being a good boy? Cause you seem like the type to receive that.” she added, a coy smile coming across her face.

Terry nods, an unreadable expression on his face. She hears him growl a bit before brushing past her, grabbing the envelope off the vanity.

“Strike 1.” he said.

“What?!” she exclaimed.

“I don’t tolerate disrespect or negative comments about my Marines background. Don’t let your mouth get you trouble around me again, Vikes.” as he walks to the entrance.

“No way you’re that sensitive.” she mumbled, rubbing her head.

“What was that?!” he asked, marching fast towards her.

She stood still, taken aback that he heard her. He stops in front, anger now all over his face.

“What did you say?” he asked. “I wanna hear it.”

Toni looks at him with no hesitation, not giving in. He nods, a stiff laugh coming out, creeping her out a bit on the inside.

“Thought so.” as he leans forward.

“Know your place.” he utters, patting her on her arm before walking out, closing the door.

Toni sighs loud, annoyed at what just happened as she began putting her stuff in the closet and drawers.

“This is going to be long road for me, isn’t it?” she asked quietly.

As much as she hated it…..she was very enthralled by how easily irritated he gets when she does something he doesn’t like.

Maybe if she continues pushing his buttons….

Wait.

No.

It would get her sent away. She’s a little weary because she wants to, but she also knows what consequences come if she goes too far.

After finishing filling her last drawer with her bras, underwear, and vibrators, she lays on her bed, slowly drifting to sleep.

For the next few weeks, she tries to find something worth caring for.

Her and Terry have gone shopping for not just groceries, but for her to buy things that she thinks it’s worth trying to entertain her and grow a huge likeness for.

She tried knitting. Found it boring and she’s only in her 60s.

She tried crocheting. Found it complicating.

She even tried puzzles and building sets. Found it too hardworking.

Reading, cooking, and journaling seems to be the only things she’s enjoying, but even that gets stale after a while.

Now here she is, lying on a lounge folding chair, tanning as the cool Louisiana air blows around her.

Wearing a black sheer kimono, sunglasses, and a white two piece bikini, it is a very nice day to be outside and do nothing, just watch time pass by.

A slow R&B song is playing on the speaker near her as Terry is kneeling in the garden, pulling weeds out from his section of flowers.

Wearing a sun hat, grey tank top, capri pants, and boots, he focused very hard as Toni watches, making sure he doesn’t accidentally touch her side, which contains herbs.

Cooking herbs, by the way.

“Having fun over there?” she asked in a cocky tone.

Terry looks at her, sending her a small smile as he stands up, looking out towards the lake.

“What a view.” he said, taking it in. “Gorgeous shine to it.”

“Thank you.” she said happily, making him look at her narrowly.

“Now, you know I’m not talking about you.”

Toni says ugh! as she looks at him, disbelief that he ruined the moment.

“Whatever you say, Richmond!” she said, adjusting her kimono.

“Would be nice if I had some help!” he replied, removing his gloves.

“You the one who decided to take on that, not I!” she responded, hearing him laugh.

“Because it’s relaxing. Always wanted a garden too.”

“Really?” she asked in an amusing tone.

“Yeah.”

“Well, make sure you’re not messing up my herbs, flower boy.” she said, looking forward.

He nods his head before removing his soaked shirt, tossing it somewhere before he resumed his yard work.

Toni looked over, taking in the body of a man who is also her bodyguard.

“My God….” she whispered, amazed by how etched his abs were, how sculpted his back was, along with how veiny the lower half of his body is.

“Like what you see?” he asked, interrupting her dazed look.

She squeals before turning away from him, hearing him laugh a bit.

“Ain’t nobody’s paying attention to you!” she replied.

“Right….” he said in a sly tone.

Terry left to go grab some tools from the garage, leaving Toni in the backyard.

As she was readjusting her spot, a suspicious boat passes by, nearly close to the land. An unidentifiable man that was driving it stares her down, mapping out her face.

She felt uncomfortable and was about to call Terry, but he was already on the move, walking up quickly and hiding something behind him.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked loudly, which made Toni get up and stand next to him.

The man looks at him. before turning away driving off fast.

Terry shakes his head, before locking the gun he was hiding and putting it in his pocket.

“Did he look familiar to you?” he asked, looking at her.

“Never seen him in my life.” she replied, shaking her head.

“Anything look off?”

“Just dark.”

He nods, turning to the garden.

“For now on, tan on the second level of the house.” he said, walking off.

Toni watches him resume his work as she lays back down, thoughts racing about who the hell that was on the boat.

Eventually, the man returned at random times over the next few days, which made Terry get the feds involved and Toni having to stay inside most of the time to avoid seeing the man reappear.

They did their best with finding solutions, from suggesting a new location, which will take up to three years to happen or going out in disguise, which she found pointless.

This caused her to develop a lot of anxiety, not knowing where else is she gonna see him since he had good memory of identifying her.

The only way she could cure this feeling was by drinking.

Whether it was hot or cold, it helped calmed her. But, it does get a bit out of control if she sips too much, which was why it developed into an addiction later on.

But now, she has no access to getting it. Unless she steals it and sneaks it in while they’re out shopping and he isn’t looking.

Which worked.

She managed to steal a peach-mango wine cooler from their recent grocery store trip, hiding it in random places she knows he won’t look when he does his daily inspection.

Wearing a red nightgown that stopped just above her knees and a matching robe, she watches him look between the mattresses of her bed for the last time before he stood up, wiping his hands.

“Clean.” he said, looking at her.

Toni smiled, satisfied with his report as she stood up from the ledge.

“Anything else you need from me, Terry?” she asked, batting her eyes.

He shook his head, walking to the door.

“Just be up by 10 tomorrow. We’re going grocery shopping again. So think of something you want. Or restock.” he replied, standing in the entrance.

“Alright.” she replied, walking towards her vanity.

He watches her sit down, putting her hair up before grabbing an anti-aging face cream, opening it.

“You don’t need that.” he said.

She looks at him through the mirror, his eyes giving her an admiring look.

“Well, I can’t afford Botox in the moment, so this shall do.”

“Don’t need that either.” he replied.

“How else am I suppose to keep my youthful looks then?” she asked, turning around to face him.

“By being you. Not to mention, you don’t look your age, which is a good sign that you don’t need it.”

Toni smiles faintly, closing the cream before putting it back on the counter.

“You tell this to the women you see?” she asked, leaning back a bit.

“You’re the fifth one.” he replied, making both of them laugh.

“Ahh. You have requirements when it comes to you.” as she nods her head, turning back to her vanity.

Terry steps up, moving a bit closer to stand behind her, a little smile on his face.

“Don’t we all?” he asked, watching her cut her eyes to him.

“I’m open minded. As long as you have something I like, I’ll follow whatever you want me to do.” she replied, grabbing her moisturizer.

“Even if you haven’t tried it?” he asked in a sultry tone.

She stops, raising an eyebrow at him.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

Terry laughs quietly as he walked back to the entrance, leaving her confused.

“You been good these past few weeks, Vikes.” as he stops his movement.

“Following and obeying my rules. That’s what I like in a woman. Older or younger. Keep it up.” he replied, grabbing the doorknob.

“…..obeying, huh? Like you in control?” she uttered, watching his mouth twitch.

“I am. That’s why you here.” he replied.

She scoffs, looking away to begin her skincare.

“And you a good listener too. That’s another thing I like in a woman who knows her place.” he replied with a smirk.

Toni snapped her head at him, shocked at what he just said.

“Good night, Toni.” he added as he shut the door, turning off the lights.

With the vanity bulbs shinning on her, Toni closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down as she feels her body getting a little hot from that exchange.

No way I’m turned on by that, she utters, fanning herself.

She resumed her skin routine, finishing with a lock-in oil to hydrate her skin, looking at herself in the mirror.

Noticing a few wrinkles, some puffiness, and slightly baggy eyes, she took in what he said. He was right: she really doesn’t look her age. Maybe she should lay off the….

Wait.

Is she really following his orders? Oh my god, he was really seeing everything she does!

She shook her head as she got up, heading into her closet.

She walks to where her many pairs of shoes were, move some to each side until she found what she was looking for.

Hidden behind them was the wine cooler, standing tall against the wall.

She grabs it and walks back to her vanity, sitting down.

She opened it, which made a loud POP! sound, making her look at the door to see if he might bust through.

He didn’t, which meant the coast was clear.

She begins sipping the cooler, which felt real nice as it spilled down her throat, leaving a nice sting that made her moan a bit.

“Godly, have I missed tasting you.” she whispered, enjoying the taste.

She took a few more sips, feeling herself getting a little more hazy as she begins tracing over her legs, her heat growing hotter and hotter.

She looks at herself in the mirror, enjoying this new hunger that’s coming out as she closes her eyes, throwing her head back as the heat grows, yearning to be touched.

She feels a hand tracing over her chest, which made her look up, seeing Terry looking down at her, a glowing gaze from his eyes. He lowers his head as he gently wraps his hand around her throat, pulling her up from her seat.

“You know what I said about alcohol in the house.” he whispered in a tensive tone, hearing her whimper.

“What are you gonna do about it?” she replied, feeling his grip tighten a bit.

He leans in, inhaling her scent before crashing his lips onto hers, with the latter succumbing to it. He tastes the peach, mango, and wine on her tongue as she slides her hand over his bulge, squeezing it.

She closes her eyes, hearing him moan as he pushes her against the counter, not breaking the kiss.

When she opens them again, she’s back into her seat position, with no sign of Terry around her. She realized that she was hallucinating that, making her laugh in embarrassment.

“No wonder they don’t want me drinking.” she said, picking up the cooler, examining the ingredients.

“But you’re not listening to that rule for your own needs.” said a familiar male voice, making her jump.

She turns around and sees Terry standing there, his arms crossed as he has a disappointing look on his face.

“Terry…it’s not what it looks lik—“ she begins to ramble, but he cuts her off.

“I just told you that you were being good with following everything I tell you to do.” he said, beginning to walk up.

She attempts to stand up, but he stops her, motioning her to stay where she’s at.

“They are depending on you to not relapse and do away with drinking because they actually believe in you.” as he stops in front of her.

Toni becomes a little bit scared of him, not used to seeing this side of Terry.

He snatches the cooler out of her hand, startling her with how quick he was.

“And you decide to throw all that away just to taste…..this?” he asked, a disgust look on his face.

“A shame that you would do that.” he added, watching her look down.

Toni stands up, nodding her head as a remorseful look overcomes her.

“I know, I know. I gave in a little too easily with choosing…..that.” as she looks at the cooler.

“It won’t happen again. I promise. Hell, I can pour it down the drain if you want just to show that I can follow the rules so I don’t go back to prison.” as her robe slides down her arm, exposing her shoulder a bit.

She traces over his arms as she steps a little closer, distancing the space between them as he watches her, a small smile coming on her face.

“Even better: I’ll do whatever you want for now on. I’ll commit to trying out the cold turkey method. Just please…..please don’t tell them about this.” she said, a little pity in her tone.

Terry looks her up and down, leaning in a bit as he wraps his arm around her waist, turning them so her back is to her bed. She gasps, weary on what he’s gonna do next as he steps back, looking at her.

“Turn around.” he said, a commanding presence taking over his body.

Toni does what he said, turning around.

“Are you wearing underwear?” he asked, curiosity in his voice.

“What?” is what she replied with instantly, but immediately regrets it.

You would say that while in an awful position, she said to herself, very flustered.

Terry sighed, trying to not crack as he steps forward a bit.

“I said are you wearing underwear. And I want an actual answer, Stonia.” he replied, her name coming out in a thicker tone.

Toni breathed harshly, caught off guard by this new side of Terry. She doesn’t know if she should fear him…..or actually want him.

“….y-yes.” she replied, a bit pitchy.

“Why the stutter?”

“….youre making a woman a bit nervous here.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be that if she followed the rules. Especially if she has history of not following them.”

Toni clenched at his authoritative stance right now, wanting to see his face, but refuses to get herself into even more heat.

She hears him move around, opening some drawers, wondering what he’s doing behind her.

“Bend over.” he said.

She looks back at him with a muzzled expression, but turns around immediately as he walks to her.

“That was an order that you didn’t follow.” he said, standing behind her.

Then, she felt a hard slap come across her left cheek, forcing her to hold back a moan, shocked by this.

“Now. Bend over.” he repeated, waiting for her.

Toni obliges, bending over until her face is lying on the bed, arching her back to keep herself from falling forward.

“Hm. You were telling the truth.” he said, tracing over the underwear as he gently rubs the sting away, feeling her relax a bit.

Toni fights back to the urge to moan, not wanting to show that she was enjoying this as he places a few kisses over it, filling his hot lips tickling in her skin.

“Alright. Do apologize for going a bit too far.” he said, removing his hand as he stepped into her view.

“However….. that strike two for you.”

She lifts her head up, appalled that she did all that just for him to not let it go.

“And you better not anything unless you wanna go to strike three right now.” he said, watching her close her mouth quickly.

He nods, impressed with the way she immediately obeyed him. He walks over to her vanity, grabbing the cooler before walking to the door.

She watches him, noticing a bouncing bulge in his pants as he stood in the entrance, grabbing the doorknob.

“Another thing: don’t touch me against my will unless I say so.” he uttered, looking back at her.

He takes in her flustered look, waking at her before closing the door behind him, walking to his room.

Toni grabs one of her pillows and puts her face in it, screaming into it.

She was so close to getting a taste of him under those clothes and yet, she still got bamboozled in the end, leaving her hot and bothered.

She realized that she has met her match in Terry Richmond.

Inside the busy grocery store contained many different shoppers, looking for different things they need for their place or somewhere they’re going.

Toni and Terry are walking down the grocery aisle that contained pasta and its ingredients, looking at each type of noodle in front of them.

Wearing sunglasses, a striped top, black jeans, and black latex boots, with him matching to blend in, she’s a little distant, but not too far from Terry, the thrilling feeling from last night still reeling over her body.

“How about a Louisiana Creole Chicken Rigatoni this week?” she asked, looking at him.

“What the hell is in Creole chicken?” he replies, his eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know, you the expert since you’re from here.” she replied, watching him chuckle.

“Real funny, Gillian. You should be a comedian.”

“You gonna come be my bodyguard if I do?”

Terry shakes his head in a laughing way as he grabs two of the rigatoni pasta boxes, placing them in the cart.

“If the Feds let you do that.” he replied, grabbing some spaghetti pasta as well.

Toni rolls her eyes as she walks forward, examining the pasta sauces.

“You feeling tomato, garlic, and onion or just tomato?” she asked.

“That goes into the rigatoni?” he replied, eyebrows raised.

“No, we have to get ingredients for that in produce. This is for spaghetti.”

“Ohhh. The first one, then.”

She grabs two jars, placing them in the cart. She grabs a bottle of olive oil, placing it next to them.

“We’e out of that too.” she utters.

“You sure it isn’t because it looks like a wine bottle?”

Toni looks at him, annoyance on her face.

“Don’t piss me off, Terrance.” she said, walking forward.

“Don’t call me by my real name then.”

“Or what? You’re gonna drag me to the bathroom and tease me again, leaving me all hot and bothered?”

Terry pauses, looking at her with shock. He walks up slowly, greeting the worker passing by with a smile before going back to his stoneface demeanor, scaring Toni a bit.

“Don’t say that again. Unless you want me to get you to regret it. Understood?” he asked, whispering low.

Toni smirks, turning away as she walks forward, watching people past them.

“What’s next on the list?”

“Kidney beans. We used the last of it for last week’s chili.” he replied, reading the list.

Toni nods, walking to the aisle next door as Terry followed behind with the cart.

They continued like this for the next few aisles, picking up simple things like water, seasonings, chips, cookies, paper plates, and napkins to newer things like garlic chili crunch oil, rosemary loaf bread, and horchata infused protein powder.

Well, the latter was for Terry since he said he wanted to try a new flavor.

During this, Toni always notices him staring at her for a while, from her face to her hair and even her ass. When she turns, he looks away immediately, pretending he was occupied with an item in the aisle.

After finishing finding what they needed in the aisles, they head to produce, picking up fruits and vegetables they need.

“Onion, green pepper, garlic, and petite tomatoes is what we need.” she said, looking at him.

He nods, walking over to get a few plastic bags as Toni waited with the cart. She watches him walk to where the items were, looking around before picking it up.

“And make sure you get good ones!” she said, making him look back at her.

“Don’t want a bad one messing up the dish.” she said, smiling.

Terry squints his eyes at her, resuming what he was doing before coming to her, placing the bags in the cart. She picks them up, examining each one as he watches, shaking his head.

“Is that really necessary?” he asked.

“That’s how I always made sure the product was good to go out or I get a complaint from one of my distributors.” she replied, putting the green pepper down.

“Natural instincts.” she added, watching him nod.

“Right….” he said.

“What’s next?” she asked, looking at the list in his hand.

“…Deli.” as he read it.

She nods, grabbing the cart as she walks to it, with him following her.

He watches her place the order of a half pound of provolone cheese, half pound of honey smoked turkey, half pound of white cheddar, and half pound of roast beef, noting to slice it sort of thin so it’s not too thick to eat.

The worker nodded before walking off to do the order, with her turning around, walking to the cart.

“You place an order in such a precise way, I’m impressed.” he said, crossing his arms.

“That’s how I was taught. Place an order very clear and directive, unless you want to get a terrible one.” she said, applying lip balm.

“Hm. So how did a woman like you get involved with the drug world and got away with it for a while?”

Toni looks at him, walking closer so she can lean in his ear so no one can hear her.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a personal question to ask in public?” she whispered.

“It’s not like anyone is paying attention to us.” he replied.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Richmond.”

“And you like it.” he said in a sultry tone.

Toni gasps quietly as he traces his hand over her waist as he pulls her close, making sure no one is staring.

“You gonna answer the question or do I have to make you?” he asked, moving his hands up her back.

Toni pushes him back, a quaint look on her face as he smiles, turning to face the counter.

“Grew up as the youngest of three in a little city outside of Phoenix. Was the only daughter in the house. Eventually became the only girl as my mother passed when I was 11.” she began, looking around her surroundings.

“They were all very protective of me, especially my dad. So I couldn’t live a fun and normal life most girls do as I wasn’t allowed to hang with friends, going out to places I wanted to see, not even spend the night. I was always smart, the one who manages to get herself out of her trouble, and even coming up with quick solutions to problems. Which my brothers hated. So, they did everything they could to make sure I don’t go off on my own when it came to applying for college. And it worked.”

“It did?” asked Terry, which she nodded.

“I got accepted to a lot of schools outside of Arizona and full ride scholarships, planning to go to Rutgers. My dad was against it and said I shouldn’t go to school after I graduate because he needs someone to take care of him. My brothers convinced him to choose me because he needed his “heirs” to continue running his landscape business is or one of them is going to be stuck doing with all the hard work he does while I have nothing much going on. Mind you, I wanted to work in medicine.”

“That explains a lot.” he said, smiling a bit.

“I don’t mean a pharmacy either. Like actual making the medicine. Pills, liquids, powder, you name it. I knew how to measure, label, and packaged stuff correctly, so I knew this job would be worth it. But no. He just couldn’t see it and it just made our relationship even worse. So what did he do? He went behind my back and rejected all of my offers, lying to them by saying “she’s not interested anymore” and I didn’t find out until three months before my graduation. We got into a huge argument, with him saying “you’re staying here, whether you like it or not” and barred me from going out. So what did I do? Packed everything I owned, including my personal documents, and left, vowing to never come back.”

“Here’s your cheeses and turkey, ma’am.” said the worker, making Toni look up.

She nods, walking up and taking it before going back to the cart.

“One of my girlfriends got me a bus ticket to San Diego, using some of the money from her job to buy it for me. She said het older cousin, Chino or ChiChi, will be waiting for me in a 1984 gold Hyundai Accent, having a job opportunity in hand. I was a bit skeptical, but she promised me it wasn’t nothing weird as he’s not into that type of work.” she continued, shrugging a bit.

“So, I woke up, bid farewell, and got on that bus to San Diego. Took 7 hours, so when I woke up, we were about an hour out. We arrived, got my things, and got off, walking around to see if I could find him. Which turned out to be very easy. He was about your height, just two inches taller, heavily tatted, a bit thick and muscular. Wasn’t in style back in the 80s, but he was definitely trendy before it happened.”

“And here’s the roast beef.” said the worker, holding it out.

Toni was about to go get, but Terry moved before her, grabbing it before heading back to the cart.

“That’s all?” he asked.

She looked at the list, reading over and seeing they got everything they needed.

“Yeah.” she replied, showing his the list.

“Alright. Let’s go to self-checkout. You can continue your story.” as he begins pushing the the cart.

She follows behind, standing close as she turns around, no noticing an unfamiliar man staring at the both of them, particularly her.

She ignored as she continued walking, getting in line with him while looking back to make sure the man isn’t behind.

“I got into his car, identified myself as the person he was waiting for, and he began driving, stopping to get us McDonald’s. He asked how old I was, I said I’ll be 18 in the summer. Have I ever worked, do I have a rap sheet aka a lengthy record, associated with the Feds, and do I owe debt to anyone? I said no to all them, and he said “Perfect. Boss might like you.” We came to this really dark, but tall house in Grant Hill, where you can see the bridge. The decor was very much like Scarface, but once again, it was the 80s. ChiChi was getting mad because one of the guards ordered me to take off my clothes to make sure I’m not wearing a wire and he immediately was like “I checked her already, why do you want to see a naked teenager?”, almost fighting him. It ended when the boss came out, asking why y’all fighting in his house this late?” as he’s wearing this silk robe.”

“What was the obsession with silk back then?” asked Terry.

“Luxury. Very soft. Shining. Easy to clean. Was also cheap back then. If you owned anything that had that, you were looked upon as someone who has money.” as she makes the money gesture.

“And in this instance, Angél Keita was very rich. Or El Padrino Negro y Marrón: Black Brown Godfather. One of the most well known drug lords that managed to never get caught nor charged in his lifetime. A whole Afro-Mexican running his own business and allegedly a hothead, but he seemed normal to me. He came down and cursed everyone out, until he got to me. Asked me who I was, with ChiChi telling him I was the new worker that was coming in. He ordered me and ChiChi into his office, closing the door behind him. Asked me the same questions ChiChi did, hand over my documents, explain what he’s expecting in someone who’s a packer, since that’s what I started out as.” as she sees the line moving, making her step forward.

She watches Terry move the cart up as the man she doesn’t recognize gets in line, just a few customers behind.

“Can we switch?” she asked, looking at Terry.

“Something wrong?” he replied, a concerned look on his face.

She leans forward, making sure the man doesn’t see her talking to him.

“There’s a tall, brownish black man, about 4 customers behind, that keeps staring at me. Wearing an olive green polo shirt, black sweats, and Adidas stripes sneakers. I think he’s been following us the whole time, but I’m not sure.” she whispered, looking back a bit.

Terry nods as he switches with her, him now standing on the side and Toni standing behind the cart.

She notices his grip tightening on the basket, his veins slightly popping out around his hand as he looks at the man, who then looks away.

“I’ll call O’Blac when we get home.” he said, exhaling loudly.

Toni traces over his veins, hearing his breath skip as he looks down, seeing her face looking mesmerized.

“His hands looked exactly like yours. Angél’s hands, by the way. Much older, but seemed to still have his youth spirit in him. He wanted me to follow his demonstration of how to properly identify, weight, fill, and pack the product. Which I did. Did it so effortlessly. Then, he told me to do it myself to determine where he’ll put me since he has four different groups of packers. Group 1 was the experts, meaning he can rely on them for most of the product. Group 2 was great, but timing is what holds them back and that’s where ChiChi was. Group 3 was decent, but 50/50. Meaning you’re good at two of the four, but suck in the other two. And Group 4 was bad, meaning you only excel at one of the four or suck in all of them.” she said, removing her hand.

“So you wanted to avoid being in the last two groups.” he said, intrigued.

“Correct.” she nodded, moving up a bit as the line moved again.

“So I did my test, with one minute as my time. Identify the product as MDMA since it was circular and had his initials on it, had to be under 5 oz, which I poured the correct amount. Didn’t overfill or it would be the one to mess up the weight scale as he was strict about that. And put the correct label on it. Finished with 42.1 seconds left, which impressed ChiChi but wasn’t sure if Angél was agreeing since it’s hard to map out his expressions. He looked at everything, thought about it, and said after a few more minutes of waiting: Group 1.” she said, smiling a bit.

“He was impressed with how fast I identified the drug, how careful I filled it into its container, and how accurately I placed the label. Said I beat someone’’s time by 8 seconds and he’ll keep a close eye on me. Spent about…4, maybe 5 months as a packer before I got moved up to seller with ChiChi. He said selling was gonna be hard as I had to make sure I wasn’t selling to a customer who was working with the Feds, on a rival’s territory, and in a way that is gonna make the customer either come back or refer me to some other people. So I went out, roaming around the area to figure out a good strategy to sell without getting caught.”

“You two can go to the one on far end right.” said the cashier, pointing at it.

They listened, going down to the right, parking the cart in front of the scanner. Terry grabs the first item and begins scanning, carefully placing it in the bag.

“What did you do?” he asked, placing the first two bags in the cart.

“There was this strip club him and ChiChi frequented. It was called Tastee’s. I went in there, watching how the girls interacted with their customers, seeing some managed to take them into a private room. I came there a lot, a popular one noticed me on my next trip. Her name was *Honey. Gorgeous, sun kissed brown skin, sculpted like a goddess, an Afro so big and poofy, wore 70s styled makeup, and she always had gold glitter on her body and hair. Smelled very sweet, fruity, and floral. I can see why she was popular: she owned it. She thought I was interested in being a stripper, but I told her no as I’m just trying to figure out a way to sell drugs without getting caught or having people come to me to buy. I was expecting her to tell me to go, but she offered to help.”

Terry stopped, astound by that as he scanned the water underneath.

“A stripper helped you become Sweet Tooth?”

“Yes. She told me that his rival’s sales were becoming stiff because he raised the price on all his stuff, hence why they never see any of the sellers around here anymore. She was also cool with Angél and ChiChi, which is why I think she wanted to help me. She noted that since it’s most likely gonna be men as the customers, you have to dress, wear a scent, and act in a way to get them to buy. They loved short dresses, anything sugary and spicy, and when the woman is being sweet. Put all of that together and a smile: Sweet Tooth.” she said as she hands him the sugar.

He takes it and scans it, placing it in the bag as he sees the man in line, being second up.

“My first sale was there. I saw this guy Honey just took money from who definitely takes ecstasy since he was a frequent customer. I got up, fix myself, and pretending I accidentally bumped into him to get his attention, which worked. He was interested, indulged with my charm and the way I complimented him. I showed him the product and he rejected it at first, saying “I ain’t pay $7 for that.” and pushed it away. Told him that’s not who I work for and we sell ours for $4, which got him even more interested. Bought three off me before Honey came to get him. Left and dropped off how much I made to Angél, which I told him it wasn’t a lot but he said it was fine since it was your first day. Went back the next day…..made $5,000.”

“Damn. You went up that fast overnight.” he said, scanning the last few items.” he said, watching her nod.

“Had a good experience taking that, he told his friends and other customers about me. Went from $5,000 a night to $8,000 when he allowed me to go to other places around the areas. “Look for this Sweet Tooth woman!” “Sweet Tooth is who you need to go see!” “Hey, Sweet Tooth! You got some white girl and skunk on you? How much?” “Lend me some of that magic, Sweet Tooth.” Went from being on the bottom of the barrel to the top of pyramid less than a year working for him. Then I was able to travel to different cities across California to sell. Then to other neighboring states. Eventually, he chose me to run his Ensenada, Mexico section by ‘88. Made the most money I have ever seen out there. Met some nice guys too.”

Terry watches her lower her head as she closes her eyes, with her seeing the memory of Angél on his deathbed showing.

“Was his best seller for 12 years. We didn’t see it coming at all when they told us to come back to San Diego for an emergency meeting. I told ChiChi that doesn’t sound good, but he reassured that it was probably them opening a new spot. Instead, when we got there, he was laid out on bed in the middle of the floor, hooked to a machine. He told us that he had been secretly battling lung cancer for the last years, with the last few months increasing it from stage 2 to stage 4 and he knew he didn’t have much time left. So he told us that we will find out who’ll take over the business after the funeral, but he wants to say his goodbyes to each one of us privately so he can leave with everyone he cared about on a good note.”

She opened her eyes, seeing him watching with somberness in his eyes.

“When it was my turn, I went in. Telling myself to hold it together…..but I knew I wouldn’t by the end. He thanked me for giving him the most sales he has ever made in his life, saying I came at the perfect time when he thought he was about to go under like his rivals did. Said after his wife of an amazing 45 years, their three girls who he loved to pieces, I was the third most important woman in his life. I asked “Over your mother?” and he told me she been dead for a while, she’ll live.” she said, making the both of them laugh.

“Always saw me as his fourth daughter and was very protective, but not to the extreme. Truth is, I thought he was a better father to me than my own. Which says a lot. He said he hopes what I do continues on after his death, kissed my hand, and told me to get home safe. Left there with tears falling. About an hour later, he was gone.”

Terry paid the bill, grabbing the receipt as he motioned Toni to come, pulling the cart. She sniffles, taking out a tissue to wipe her tears as they walk out.

“Funeral came and the next day was the read of his will. Had everything divided between the people he wanted to leave something for. Gave his wife the house they stayed in, a lot of the older cars, a lot of money, and a lifetime warranty of going to the Bahamas for the rest of her life. His daughters got most of his jewelry, condos, money, and most of the newer cars he just bought. ChiChi was assigned as second in command of the business, gifted the big mansion in Miami, and the rest of his massive cigar collection. Lastly, it was my turn. He left me the house in The Hamptons, the house in Jamaica, the house in Puerto Rico, two Cadillac Fleetwoods, and a big diamond necklace he didn’t get to wear.” as she blows her nose.

“We thought that was the end of the reading until his lawyer said “And the person who will taking over the Keita Enterprises business will be….‘Sweet Tooth’ Stonia Vikes. Effectively immediately.” I was shocked, couldn’t believe he didn’t go with any of his longtime business partners, but with me. I cried about it for a few days, being afraid to be running something he was so good at. But ChiChi boosted me up, saying I’ll be a good transition from him and the business will go up.”

They stop at the car as Terry opens the trunk, beginning to place the bags in as she helped him, watching their surroundings.

“He was right. I ended up having the greatest run I never thought I had. Enjoyed that lifestyle. But I always wondered if my growing addiction to drinking contributed to losing everything……or maybe I just thought I was invincible.”

She finished placing the last bag in, closing the trunk as she looks Terry, who was leaning against the cart.

“Oh well. Life doesn’t turn out how you wanted. Tough pill for me to swallow.”

“……do you hate him? For what he did?” he asked.

Toni shrugs, not sure how to answer that.

“Ask me again in a few months.” she replied, walking to the passenger side of the car.

Terry watches her get in before pushing the cart to a holding station, placing it in there. He sees the man walk out of the store, heading in the opposite direction.

He takes out his phone and takes a few pictures of him, zoomed in and all before walking back to the car, getting in.

Toni finishes wiping her face as Terry starts the car, looking over.

“Craving anything? I know you hungry after all that crying.” he said, watching her smile a bit.

“….a spicy chicken sandwich. And some fries.” she replied, looking at him.

“Think I know a place that has that.”

“Well, hurry before the frozen food defrosts.”

Terry nods as he looks both ways before pulling out, driving to the fast food place he has in mind.

Few Months Later

Toni is sitting outside, looking out to the lake, scanning for details with her binoculars.

Wearing a white lace cut out sundress, hair in beach curls, and no shoes, she enjoys the breeze against her skin as the sun beams down.

She sees two swans floating on the water, both having a bright orange-pink gradient beaks, forming a cute little heart.

Perfect, she said, seeing them float away, cuddled up.

She smiles before dipping her dry paint brush into the cup of water, dipping it in white paint, and begins the outline of the swans on her canvas.

Toni finally found something she enjoyed doing as a hobby: painting.

She picked it up when her and Terry were walking downtown, exercising as Agent O’Blac and his FBI team investigate the stalker a little more at the house. They haven’t seen him anywhere since that day, wondering if he’s hiding or he ran off because Terry saw him.

They ran past an arts store, which caught Toni’s eye, making them stop.

She saw a wheeled paint brush set being on clearance for $100 displayed on the window front, containing different brushes, 150 colors (50 each for water, oil, and acrylic), 20 glitter colors, a easel, a pack of 20 canvas (five for each size), a palette, sponges, and five different sized paint knife.

She convinced him to let her buy it, in which he did. And now here she is, on her third painting.

This time, the lake is her muse. She detailed the water perfectly with its green-slight blue tone, capturing its reflecting with some white and silver lines.

The trees that stretch to the shore that’s not far from the house are encrypted on the edges in black to draw out the bark and branches.

Some brown tones are used as lines to bring it out more, and colorful leaves of different shades accompanies it.

The pink-orange sky sets the mood, with cotton candy like clouds floating, used with the sponges to create.

She’s in her element that she was looking for. peace and sober. She hears movement, which makes her turn around.

Seeing the living room sliding doors open, she watches Terry wheel out a cart with different foods on there: marinated ribs, marinated steak, chopped onions and peppers, burger patties, hot dogs, both hot dog and burger buns, cheese, and corn tortillas, heading to the grill.

“Need some help?” she asked loudly, watching him look in her direction.

“I ain’t know you was out here.” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Better yet, why are you not on the second level like I told you to be on?” he asked, crossing his arms.

He’s wearing a white wife beater, blue flared jeans, and a pair of black boots. Dressed like a cowboy working on his farm.

This is also the fourth time they have worn the same color, different outfit styles.

“Thought it was safe since we haven’t seen the man.” she replied, looking back at her canvas.

“Also wanted to get a closer look for my painting.” as she continued painting the swans.

Terry smiles a bit, coming down slowly to see her work.

“I’ll let you slide this time. Next time, stay on the second level.” he replied, getting closer.

Toni nodded, hearing his footsteps behind as he stops, leaning over a bit.

He’s impressed with how fast she accustomed to painting, her style matching her real well as she dips the brush in the water, cleaning it off.

He looks at her right shoulder, noticing a small bird rest on a flower tattoo on it, examining it.

“You have a back tattoo?” he asked, making her look back.

“Mmhm.” she nodded. “Got it during year 2 of working for Angél.”

“What’s the meaning?”

“Our state bird and state flower: a cactus wren and a saguaro cactus blossom.”

“May I?”

She nods, feeling him move her head to the side as he traces over it, feeling his soft fingers gliding against her skin.

“Why it feels like I’m learning something new about you every week?”

“Cause you’re slacking on your job maybe.”

“Trust me…I’m not.” as he leaned into her ear.

She looks up, seeing his eyes glaring at her in a ferocious way, making her wanting to touch him. But she doesn’t, slightly brushing her shoulder past his leg, making him laugh a bit.

“You know what you can do to make the water pop out more?” he asked, leaning in closer as he looks at the water detailing.

Toni looks at him, watching him pick up the glitter watercolor palette.

“Maybe add a bit of glitter to it. So whenever a source of light shines, it brings out a reflective effect. Just like how the actual lake looks right now.” he said, a brightness coming out of him.

“Hm. What color do you suggest?” she asked, putting her paint brush in the cup.

“Silver might be a little too clunky. But, if you mix a bit of this teal and orange, you might have a pretty gradient to it.” as he points at both colors.

Toni reaches over to grab two clean brushes: one for the teal and one for the orange. She picks them up, dips them in the cup to wet them before swiping over and adding the colors to the canvas, seeing it bring out the water a little more like he said.

“Wow….it looks prettier now.” she said smiling, adding more to the rest.

“Glad you liked it.”

“Thank you.” as she looks at him. “I appreciate the suggestion.

He nods as he watches her turn forward and resume painting. She becomes more intrigued, adding some of her flair as he walks back to the grill, leaving her to be.

She finished most of the painting by the time he was done grilling.

Finished the swans, the water, added some bugs and birds to the trees, and add an unfinished black circle to bring out some of the fireflies when it’s night out after it dries down.

The two are in the kitchen, putting the leftovers away and washing the dishes. She finishes the last one, placing it in the rack before washing her hands.

Drying them off with a towel, she turns around and sees Terry watching at her, leaning against the refrigerator.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, tossing the towel onto the counter.

“No.” as he shooked his head.

“White looks great on you.” he added as he walks up.

“Thanks.” she said, eyeing him down.

He stops just a few feet away, watching her move a bit.

“What do you want?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Dodge my hit.” he said, backing up a bit.

“What do you m—“ she began to ask.

She’s cut off when she saw his arm swing at her, ducking just in time.

“Good. At least someone uses their survival skills.” he said, helping her back into position.

“What was that for?!” she said, pushing him back.

“Just a test. In case something happens when I’m not around.” as he put his hands into his pockets.

“….and that’s all?”

“Yeah. Unless you don’t know how to defend yourself from being put into a hold.”

Toni looks away, not responding to that, which Terry took an immediate note of.

“You don’t know how to defend yourself….” he said in a shocked way.

“That’s a job my men did to protect me. And only defense I knew was how to use a gun.” she replied.

He nodded, still in disbelief as he grabs her hand, pulling her gently with him.

“What are you doing?” as she tries to snatch her arm, but his grip tightens.

“I’m gonna show you what to do in case someone tries to put you in a hold so you can’t move or run.” he replied, walking them to the living room.

He lets her go before moving the table back a bit, giving them space. He turns his attention back to her, who’s waiting with annoyance.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

She shrugs as he claps his hands together.

“See this distance between us? That’s the good amount of space you should have when you come across an intruder or an attacker. However, if they run up like *this.”

Suddenly, Terry was just a few feet away from Toni, dashing in a blink of an eye.

“Be prepare to fight. That was the main thing my instructor wanted us to remember whether we were gonna be on the field or see a potential threat somewhere in the streets.”

“So if they grab you like this…” as he grabs her arm.

“What’s the first thing you do?”

“Slap them.” she replied quickly, which made him laugh.

“Yeah, that’s usually the first move. But that’s also a move you want to avoid as they can potentially grab your other arm after you pull your hand back.”

“Oh.” she uttered.

“So. When they get attached of your arm, try to use your free hand to push their hand off by poking their socket and that will loosen the grip fully or a bit.” as he demonstrates, bringing her free hand to his socket.

“If you got sharp nails, fake or not, you might have to claw as well. Some people got a grip you can’t get out of.” he added, watching her laugh.

“Okay. What’s next?” she asked.

“You have to be very fast with the next move or you get trapped. As you feel or see that the grip is loose or gone, grab his arm tightly. Duck underneath it, but don’t let go. Bring it to their back, keeping it in a holding lock until you’re able to either put them in a hold or pin them to the ground or to a wall until help arrives.”

She nodded, trying to take all the instructions. He just laid out into our mind. Which seems like a lot.

“Wanna give it a try?” he asked.

“Yeah.” she said softly, watching him step back a bit.

She watches his whole demeanor as he walks up, stopping at a certain spot. He grabs her arm quickly and she tries to loosen the grip, but was a few seconds late as he turned her around fast, having her arm against her, bringing her into a hold.

“Too slow.” he said, feeling her pant hard against his body.

“You’re too fast.” she replied, feeling him let her go.

“Let’s try again. Go slow, but not too fast.” he said. repositioning himself.

She nods as she fixes her dress, repositioning herself.

The scenario starts over again, with him walking up and stopping in the same spot he was in.

He grabs her arm, having a tight grip.

She moves at a good pace, poking his socket, which loosen a bit. But she didn’t move fast enough and once again, he got her into a hold.

“Fuck.” she whispered, feeling him smiling a bit.

“You didn’t push deep enough into the socket.”

“This is not going to work, is it?”

“Don’t say that.” as he leans down, resting his head on her shoulder.

“You’re almost there. Just move fast when the grip is loose or gone, Toni.” as he rubs her other shoulder.

He lets go of her, and they get back into the positions.

“One more time.” he said, clearly his throat.

She readjusts her hair, now having a determined expression on her face.

It begins again as he walks up, in his same spot.

He grabs her arm, having a much tighter grip.

Toni pokes his socket very hard, which loosens up his hold as he groans, ducking under his arm immediately while grabbing it.

She pulls his arm behind and holds it, trying to wrap the other one, which he’s trying to fight against. He looses his footing, making the both of them tumble to the floor, with her landing on top of him.

Toni lifts her head up, laughing as Terry follows behind, laughing too.

“I got you this time, just you didn’t want me to grab the other arm!” she said, tapping his chest.

“Mmhm. I’ll let you win this time, but next time, act like you want them out.” he replied, tracing over her leg.

She nods as she sits up, was about to stand up until she felt a pair of hands hooking under her thighs, lifting her up.

She looks down and sees Terry standing up, holding her until he was off the ground, putting her down on her feet.

The two stared at each other for a few minutes, gently tracing over each other’s bodies as Toni looks down, nearly jumping back.

Down around his lower half, poking through the fabric was the most thickest and slight curve dick she has ever seen, jumping through.

“Oh.” he said quietly, pulling away and hiding it with his hand, which covers most of it.

Damn, he got some big hands, she uttered, watching him back away slowly with a slightly flustered face.

“Didn’t know that happened. And sorry if you may have felt…” he begins, but he’s cut off by her hand.

“Stop. Its okay. I um….have that effect on men.” she said, watching him smile.

“Well, still. Especially from a respectful stance.”

She nods, understanding where he’s coming from. He turns away, heading towards the stairs.

“Have a good night, Toni.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna check my room?” she asked, but he waves it off.

“I’ll skip for the night. I’ll just resume it in the morning.” he said, walking up the stairs.

“Ok. Good night, Terry.” she added, watching him walking to his room.

He opens and closes the door very fast, locking it before moving more.

“I could’ve helped, you know.” she said, walking out.

Toni giggles as she walks to where her shoes were, sliding them on before heading to the living room doors.

Sliding one of the doors open, she steps out, leaving one open, so she can come back in.

Tiptoeing quietly, she heads over to the garden, looking up to where Terry’s room is, making sure he’s asleep. His light wasn’t on, signaling that he wasn’t up.

Kneeling down, she feels around the willow bushes, searching for something she hid that she needed it right now.

“Come on. I know you’re in here because he didn’t even check today.” she said, making sure she wasn’t loud enough for him to hear.

Finally, she felt something cold, picking it up.

“There you are.” she said, bring it to her face.

It was a bottle of Rochioli Chardonnay, her favorite white white that she took from their recent store trip a few days ago without him or them noticing.

She smiles as she begins opening it, quietly uncorking the bottle before taking a big sip, feeling it burn a little.

“Damn. You still taste so good even after hiding for a while.” she said, laughing a bit.

She walks to one of the side chairs, taking a seat as she begins drinking more of it while checking to see if he’s not awake.

Although she was happy with being sober, she just wanted to scratch the itch of tasting alcohol one more time before committing to a sober life for good.

She never done anything stupid besides act a bit flirtatious and loud, but she can also see how it starts to affect the way she ran things, which is why she stopped for a while before resuming again.

And this time, she’s gonna stop. After she finishes this bottle.

After drinking for the next hour, she shook the bottle hard. Feeling that it had nothing left in it, she tossed it into the lake, hearing it PLOP!

“Alright……le-let’s go to bed!” she utters, getting up.

Off a buzzy and kindled feeling , she nearly fell a few times as she walked, but kept her balance, closing and locking the doors quietly.

She noticed the lights were off, but can’t remember if she turned them off before she went outside or not.

Didn’t matter to her because she was in the house at least.

Heading up the stairs, she damn near struggled with it as she almost fell a few times, which made her laugh obnoxiously. She finally made it to the top, walking to her door.

Opening the door, she walks in, closing the door and taking off her shoes in a stumbling way, giggling.

After doing that, she looks up and sees a shadowy figure sitting on her bed, making her jump back, hitting the door.

“Stay back!” she yells, holding up her hands.

The figure gets up, slowly walking to her, which makes her even more uncomfortable.

“Don’t….don’t make me get my bodyguard to fuck y…you up!” she yells, hiccuping a bit.

The figure steps into the light coming from the moon, revealing itself as Terry, making Toni drops her hands and her fear skyrocket.

“Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right, Stonia.” he said, a livid look on his face.

She tries to open the door, but gives up as he blocks it, locking the door before dragging her away, tossing her on the bed, making her scream.

“Where were you?” he asked, standing on the bedside.

She looked at him, not sure if she should defy or tell him the truth.

Or should she have fun with him.

A/N II: Had to divide this into two as I got hit with a limited characters message. However, this means part two is on the way very soon. Didn’t realize O’Blac sounds like O Block. Promise that was not on purpose. But hoped y’all liked this! Part II is coming though!

🏷️ : @iloveekeiarah @childishgambinaax @ziayamikaelson @ssamm1984 @turbulentvoids @fadingcherryblossompeach @angryflowerwitch @amethyst09 @motheroffae @cerya @thatitbitch @darkfairymoon @j0ysyndr0m3 @blaqueberryk @theogbadbitch @megamindsecretlair @zillasvilla

[lnfinity-survivor-choco]

Hi! Thank you for clarifying.

Nothing of what is said there I disagree much with, I'd like to perhaps point out that most people would understand masking as integrating with neurotypical behaviour in ways in which you don't stick out, that's the overall definition of masking I was going with, but, it doesn't mean this nuanced, in depth one is wrong.

It does extrapolate on the one I referred to, but my stance is still the same.

Not everyone can mask, let me give my thoughts on each point.

"Masking isn't something only people with low generalized support needs do."

No objections, also, let's remember MSN autistic people too, it's not only low or high needs

"it's something that every kind of autistic person can possibly engage with in some form."

I don't love the dividers of every "kind." There's more nuance than just low, middle, and high support needs, implying everyone can engage with feels a bit reductionist, to me. This would also depend on what you mean by can, can they mask safely?

Can everyone regulate themselves to fit without it backfiring and ending up worse? or it being just as unhealthy or more as being forced to unmask?

No. Not everyone. There's people who can in any of the groups refered to, low medium or high support needs, but implying all kinds can do it pushes the idea that everyone can mask and do so safely, and I disagree.

"Masking may not be as successful for some, but that doesn't mean it's not happening and having a lot of effort put into it. It doesn't mean that it can't still cause pain and have long term consequences."

This point actually aligns with mine, being forced to mask can cause pain and have long term consequences.

"Masking just doesn't look like the same set of skills for everyone. "

Also true.

"For some it's attempting to blend in with the crowd and being "normal" and average and unexceptional."

*nod-nod"

"For others it's changing or adjusting things like movement or speech patterns - and not always in an attempt to appear neurotypical."

Agreed!

"Some might lean hard into a stereotype as a form of masking, because it just makes it easier for people to understand their immediate needs that way."

That implies the NT environment is attuned to the autistic person's masking or understands it's being done which is blatantly false, even psychologists often don't, unless they're ND themselves.

"Others still, could suppressing certain traits but not other traits, even if it seems counterintuitive to an outsider the traits they do and don't suppress."

This is indeed masking, yeah.

"Sometimes its masking one "unusual" trait with another. "

✅

"It can look like someone who usually communicates a lot with noises and gestures and big movements being very still and quiet."

Yep!

"It could be things like using more "adult" or "serious" looking tools even if it's not necessarily what the autistic wants or finds most accessible, like using text-based or keyboard AAC systems instead of symbols or grids, because some view symbolized AAC as something to grow out of.x"

Not every autistic person can do this.

"It's things like staying silent because one knows they will blurt out something inappropriate for the situation or infodump or have the wrong volume or odd cadence - even if that silence is also something that gets noticed and seen as unusual."

True. Except not every autistic person can or will be able to know or tell the moment correctly, and then it becomes twice as awkward and upsetting for them too. Reminds me of the "secret rules that are ok to break" thing in which an autistic person may either obey when they're not expected to, or not do so thinking it was an approved exception.

"Masking isn't only when you "pass" as 100% neurotypical successfully and it's not some all or nothing thing."

That's why terms like high masking are used in academia sometimes to distinguish how much someone can mask, it's arbitrary and slightly stupid but it's the best NT's got so far.

"It's not only about the output, it's the internal state of the person doing the masking that's important too."

Exactly! Which is why I make my original point anyway, not everyone can safely mask, just like not everyone can safely unmask, neither is inherently more privileged.

"There's no one "thing" that autistic people do that is exclusive to one type, and masking, as it's often borne of trauma, is certainly not one of them."

Except everyone's trauma is different and exclusively theirs, and while "types" help find a lot of common ground and the ability to relate, everyone's disorder affects them differently, just because someone could mask doesn't make it safe, it's pitted against the risk of not masking, in which depends on person and situation to pick what is safer.

I hope I made sense with my explanation, also, these weren't bad points at all, I'm just providing a different perspective.

Unmasking isn't safe for some autistics to do, especially those in certain minority groups. It's a luxury, so before you tell an autistic person to "just stop masking" please check your privilege.

[spitdrunken]

'Ant' Tenna x Reader (Deltarune)

Notes: Horror undertones, but they're for things Tenna also does canonically. Happy ending...? I keep seeing people saying that this guy is going to be the new Tumblr sexyman, but I don't see anyone being feral about him yet. So. Here you go.

You’d gotten the TV from Toriel, practically for free. She’s well-known in the little town you’re renting a single-room apartment in, and had practically insisted you take it. (“My son… Is also a student, but he moved out. If he needed something, I would be happy knowing he got help from someone too,” she’d told you with a smile.)

Because, yeah, you are a struggling student, with a commute lasting about 4 hours a day, but you couldn’t afford any other place and were desperate enough to get away from home to take it. The town is beautiful and quiet, the rent is dirt cheap and the people are nice, though you can tell it’s not the same compared to if you had grown up here.

Your half a day long commute prevents you from doing much socializing, you’re always thinking about what time you’ll be home, how busy it’ll be on the roads and what the hell you’re going to be eating for dinner that night. Though, to be fair, even without that added hurdle you’ve never found approaching people the easiest. Like, ever. So, you spend a lot of time in your apartment, alone, doing homework or being online, either on the couch or in bed (which, considering they’re in the same room, kind of feel like the same thing). And, now, you have a television to add for entertainment.

It’s old. Toriel had warned you about ‘images that wouldn’t leave the screen’, and as soon as you turn the thing on there’s clear burn-in from the logos of kid’s tv channels and other things, an unfadeable memory. You can’t do a whole lot with it except watch cable… It doesn’t even have a HDMI port.

Still, you’re thankful for it and the old game consoles you’d brought with you from home out of pure nostalgia. Now you can finally dust them off and use them, remember what you loved about those games you played for hours and hours, on your own, as a kid. It feels warm and you find yourself smiling, face illuminated by the screen’s light.

But it always comes to an end. You turn it off, eyelids drooping, and the stress of your day-to-day with its rising expenses, loneliness, student debt and an already dead future career, rushes back to you all at once. You don’t want to leave your room, sometimes. It’s crushing. You don’t have any say in the matter, though, so you get up and keep going, every day practically the same. With a flicker of hope that it will, eventually, someday, get better. That’s what you’ve always been told.

One night, you fall in sleep in front of your television and have the strangest dream, one that feels as real as reality but surely cannot be. There, you’re chaperoned by a man(?) named ‘Ant’ Tenna, treated like the star of the show, the contestant in a quiz that has questions tailored specifically to your personal niche knowledge, and you absolutely blow it out of the park.

You’re not used to being the center of attention like this… Even if the crowd seems more like a mass of moving audience members, rather than actual people. Your knees are trembling for the first five questions and, even after, you struggle and stutter from time, but the host never calls you out on it. It’s surprisingly… Nice. To get this attention, to feel like you’re being acknowledged.

You linger after the show is over, unsure of what to do in the Green Room. You’re not really hungry or tired, which makes sense considering you surely must be dreaming. You wander outside, led by red carpet, and almost run straight into Tenna. He’s huge, absolutely towering over you, easily twice your height. You pull and tug a bit at your clothes as you crane your neck and smile up at him. “I wanted to say—Um, thanks for having me, mister Tenna! It was… Really fun!” Bright, white teeth shine at you from the screen that is his face. He folds his hands behind his back and leans forward, just a little. “Oh, sweetheart, just Tenna is fine! We don’t have to be all formal with each other, do we? I already feel like I know you so well!” You feel a little bit of heat rising to your face. The quiz had been perfectly finetuned to your interests… But that all makes sense, considering this is all happening in the safe confines of your brain, and this man is just a figment of your imagination. It’s all good. Tenna claps his hands in front of his body and you’re jolted from your thoughts. “If you were having such a good time, how about another round?”

And you do. You play and win at a whole variety of games, until your head is spinning—The dream seems to drag on, and on and on. More than anything, you’re having a good time shooting quips back and forth with Tenna, feeling seen and listened to. You don’t think anyone has ever laughed this hard as something you’ve said… Ever? It’s certainly flattering, to say the least, to have someone be so interested in you.

All good things must come to an end, though, and eventually you do get tired, and the life that you had temporarily left behind starts calling to you again. In your mind, it’s inevitable, so you might as well get it over with.

“Leave?” It’s the first time Tenna’s smile wavers during your… Day? Session. “But we’ve been having so much fun—” He laughs, stuttering over part of the noise. “Why do you want to leave?” His hand drums on the back of his head, making a dull clanking noise. “I can think up some more games, some more fun quizzes?!” Tenna’s voice shoots up in pitch. “We can save that for next time?” You say with a smile. This notion, the thought that you’d like to return, seems to settle Tenna somewhat. His hand drops back to his side, swaying back and forth. “Oh! You’d like to return… I mean, of course you would!” He beams at you. “I’ll—I’ll have some more time to think things over, for them to marinate! It’ll be great!!” “Yeah,” you say, a little breathless. “Thanks. Again. This was fun. I don’t…” you trail off and swallow. “I don’t really talk to a lot of people anymore. So this was really nice. Thank you.” You don't know why you say it. Perhaps because you don't think any of this is real. You've never been this vulnerable around anyone in real-life. Before you completely realise what’s happening, he lowers himself in a crouching position and pulls you into a tight hug. “I know,” he says softly. “I know. Me neither.”

You wake up with a sore neck and dried spit on your chin. It takes you a while to will your body to move. It’s heavy and sluggish. Unlike other dreams you’ve had, it remains crisp in your mind as ever. The world around you seems more gray-toned than ever in comparison to the bright colours and flourishes of the world you’d entered as you were dreaming… One where you didn’t have to worry about anything, with someone who has eyes just for you. Well, if he has eyes at all. Maybe that kind of saying would be considered offensive.

When you fall asleep that night, you do it on the couch in the exact same position, as if that were the reason behind the dream you had the night before. It takes ages for you to drift off. Embarrassingly enough, you’re so excited that your heart keeps racing. You fall asleep, going there again and again, a personal little place of peace you return to every single night. Maybe it’s all some kind of illusion your brain has conjured up to help you to cope and, if that’s the case, you could still have peace with it. You drag yourself through the days for the nights that offer relief.

“Why don’t you just stay here?” Tenna asks, eventually, uncharacteristic in his stillness. He’s an entertainer by his very nature. Even when he’s not on the stage, he’s always moving, always loud, always working to keep your attention on him. Now, he grabs your interest with nothing but quiet. “I know you’ll come back. You have so many times, but—Why even leave? What’s still waiting for you out there? A bleak future? People who don’t appreciate you? Stay with me…” For the first time since you met him, Tenna physically shrinks down in size, becoming close to your height. His head is hung low. “Please. I’d like, no, love for you to stay.” You reach up and stroke the glass of his face. “Me too. I’ll do it.” “You promise?” “Yeah. Definitely.”  He swoops you up and you screech as he suddenly increases in size once again, carrying you high up in the air all at once. As he breaks out in silly, impromptu dance moves, laughter bubbles up from your throat and fills your entire body. This is a happy ending, you tell yourself, though a little lingering bit of doubt retains. (Is this the easy way out? Have you chosen stasis over a life of infinite possibilities?) But… Well, if it’s lazy or weak or too easy, you decide that you deserve an easy life.

[bunni-v1]

OOOO do i have a request for you 🤭

THIGH👏RIDING👏

Colonel Caleb in full uniform while MC is grinding desperately on this thigh, wearing absolutely nothing except his hat. She’s all desperate and needy but he’s paying her no mind as he focuses on his work.

+ Caleb being all smug when he walks out of his office with an obvious stain on his black pants after

AGAFAFAGJA

Save a Horse Ride a... Colonel?

🍓I was actually about to stop writing for tonight cause I'd done so much of it but I saw this and fell to my fucking knees. Unfortunately, I don't have the willpower to do a full fic, but please take this humble drabble and kiss my little forehead for my efforts.

TW: Caleb is a little mean, which is a little OOC imo, but y'all can judge; thigh riding; NOT EDITED

Info: Caleb x Reader; NSFW

MDNI

Caleb's uniform was one of your biggest turn-ons recently. While it symbolized some rather unpleasant things for both of you, he looked so fucking hot in the damn thing that it was unfair. The cleanly pressed fabric fit him perfectly, sharp edges giving him an air of command that had you weak in the knees. It was a symbol of power, the literal representation of his ability to control, and you wanted nothing more than to ruin the damn thing.

Caleb was aware of this, of course. What about you wasn't he aware of? The way your touch drew itself along the collar of his jacket. The way your eyes lingered on his hat. Dead giveaways. He didn't press the issue, though. Content to keep you wanting and needing for this, especially since he'd rather feel you skin to skin.

Yet, when you waltzed into his office unannounced with a big smirk on your face, he knew he wouldn't last long. Prancing around like you didn't have an evil little plan brewing, letting you think he was none the wiser to your scheming. He was right, too, when you came over and sat in front of him like the papers he was working on weren't there.

"You need somethin'?" He chuckles, hands finding their place on your thighs.

You don't respond immediately, plucking his hat off his head and resting it on your head with a smirk. His eyes linger on your lips for a little too long, watching the way you seem to glow with pride. You were cute when you thought you were getting away with your silly little schemes. It almost broke his heart that he'd have to hit you with reality sooner or later.

"I was thinkin'," you drawl, and he loves to hear it, cause that's how he talks. You talk like him now, and isn't that just everything a guy could want, "the whole save a horse ride a cowboy thing... could the same apply to a Colonel?"

"You propositioning me, pips?" He hums, leaning forward a little.

"Just wondering..." you sigh, "I know you're busy, though. Don't wanna get in the way."

A dry sigh pushes past his lips, "I am pretty busy, but I think I know a way we can both get what we want."

"Oh yeah...?"

He reaches up to straighten the hat on your head, smiling softly at the sight, "Strip."

The demand is so jarring when pitted against his soft eyes, you almost think you don't hear him right. But his expression falls a little, and he repeats himself, more direct this time.

"Take your clothes off," he pulls you off the desk, tugging at the end of your skirt.

You step back, eyeing him nervously as he leans back in his chair. Legs spread wide, showing off his erection shamelessly, not that he had any reason to hide it from you in the first place. He gestures for you to go ahead when you don't start, so you try and give him a show.

First, your shirt goes, crossing your arms over your body and tugging it over your head inch by inch. His eyes slide over the exposed skin, leaning his head on his hand like he was bored. The bra goes next, dropping to the floor and letting your tits bounce freely. You see his eye twitch at the sight, but he remains stoic otherwise. Shoes and socks get kicked to a forgotten corner of the room, then you focus on sliding your bottoms off.

You take your time with them, knowing he loves to watch you wiggle them down your legs in a struggle. They squeeze the fat of your thighs as you work them down, skin pillowing over the fabric on its way to the floor. You kick them to the side, then step forward between his legs, knowing he would like the honors of removing your pretty lacy panties you wore just for him.

With clinical precision, he reaches up. The leather of his gloves ran against the skin just above the lace, hooking them with his thumbs and sliding them all the way down to the floor. Unlike the rest of your clothes, he slides them into his pocket for later use. Then, almost innocent, he tilts his head at you.

"What do you think you're gonna do, hm?" Its spoken in a whisper that gets your spine tingling.

Your lip catches between your teeth, "'m gonna ride you?"

"Close..." he hums, repositioning you so you're standing over one of his thighs, "since you seem to like my uniform so much, you can use it to take care of yourself while I work. You can do that, can't you?"

You nod adamantly, already sitting yourself down on him. He holds you still as he readjusts his workspace to accommodate having you there, and all it takes is the tap of his fingers against your lower back for you to start grinding down on his thigh.

The feeling is odd at first - the slightly textured pattern on the fabric rubbing against you uncomfortably. It's not smooth like you thought it would be, but the more you drag your slick along it, the better it seems to feel. A simple back-and-forth motion is enough to get you wet, skin warming with each movement. It's not quite enough to do anything significant, though.

So, you change the angle at which you're moving, choosing to roll your hips into him instead. It makes you shudder at how much nicer it feels, head rolling back with a happy little sigh. The texture of his slacks pressed into your little bud deliciously, spoiling you with how nice it felt.

Caleb makes no move to help you get off, either. The scratch, scratch, scratch of his pen signaled the focus on his work. It made you a little dizzy, knowing that he was ignoring you. Letting you use him as your personal sex toy, griding your pussy into his thigh, and getting off all while he gets his work done. He's so good at coming up with solutions like this, it makes you want him more.

You had to be good though, or else he won't let you cum. If you distracted him too much, he'd send you home to be dealt with later, and you didn't want that. You wanted to gush all over his thigh while he worked so hard to provide for you. You needed to fuck his thigh good and hard and come undone all pretty for him, like the good girl you were.

You lean back a little for a new angle, Caleb subconsciously supporting your back with his hand, always so worried about you, even when he was trying not to be. You use that hand as leverage to press your clit directly into his leg, whimpering when it rolled deliciously against his suit over and over again. You could feel the orgasm building, so you chased the high instead of fighting it.

Giving up the position for a new one, leaned over him so that as much of his uniform was pressed against your naked body. His hand returns to his work like nothing had happened prior, and yours curl into his uniform as you push and pull your hips against him. You focus on pressure more than speed, making sure each roll is deep and impactful.

You're moaning his name into his ear, legs shaking with the effort you use to fuck yourself against him. You can feel how close you are, trying to speed up the pace to get there faster. The pleasure curls up your spine and falls out of your mouth uncontrollably, mumbling incoherent pleases and thank yous over and over. Caleb does not give you a reaction, and you don't need him to. You're already falling over the edge with one last harsh roll into his leg.

Your body trembles with all its might, hips stuttering in their pace, jerking a few more times before they still in a final slow drag. You sigh out his name, thanking him for letting you take care of yourself. It's when you slowly start coming back down that he sets his pen down, easing you into a sitting position where he is supporting your back. The softness in his gaze when you look at him is unearned after what you just when through, but you can't find it in you to voice that.

"Feelin' better, Honey?" He asks, pressing a little kiss to your nose.

You nod, "Mhm..."

"You did good," he compliments quietly, "why don't you go lie down on the couch over there, let your body rest while I go to a meeting, yeah?"

He eases you to your feet, guiding you to the couch carefully, like you might collapse. Carefully, he tosses a blanket over your bare body - one he'd only stored because of your surprise visits and complains about how cold the ship was - pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sigh at the affection, closing your eyes in bliss when he removes his hat and straightens out your hair.

"I'll be back soon, rest up," he hums one last time, and you are lulled to sleep by the gentle sound of his boots crossing the room and padding down the hall.

---

The Colonel's demeanor is unusual as he strides down the hall. Head held tall and proud, shoulders squared back like he was showing off, and strides long and confident. That was mostly to be expected, though. He didn't get where he was without confidence in himself. What really caught the eye of the officers around him was the giant stain on his normally perfect uniform.

They tried not to stare too hard at it, but it was painfully obvious. The dark patch on the apex of his thigh was jarring in comparison to the usually perfectly groomed Colonel they were used to seeing. Stupidly, they whispered to each other about it. Curious as to how it got there, why he seemed to be showing it off, and so on and so forth. It was almost funny, if not for him overhearing a pair of them whispering.

"Is there a problem," he bites, short and sharp.

The two men shake their heads, stiffening into formation, "No, Sir!"

"Why are you whispering about me, then? Do you think I'm stupid?" He presses.

They hesitate for a second, then one speaks up, "Your uniform is extra sharp today, Sir."

They expect him to bite at them again, scold them for being stupid. But instead, the impossible happens. Their Colonel smirks, "It does, doesn't it?"

[secretress]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞? 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡.❞

What are you? (Detailed).

Masterlist.

Author's note,

I did this reading for myself and it healed my heart. I thought I could do the same for you.

Divider.

Pile I.

There is a child riding his bike to school each morning. In these mornings, it is pouring rain, and each time he makes it to his school building, it thunders badly. Each time, each morning, each day, he gets saved by the same route he took. Each time this route is cleaned and taken care of, but on a Sunday morning, it was closed off by a falling tree that was hit by thunder. This child had a bad feeling in his tummy about going to school, but his mother insisted. He begged his mother to stay home, even cried about it which was unusual for the resilient child. But nonetheless, the mother did not listen to him, scolded him, and so he went out in the rain on his bike and rode to school. Each movement he made riding to his school building made his tummy worse, and his breath hitched. His mind told him to stop, but his mother's scolding scared him, so he ignored it, after all, it was just a stomachache and nothing more. As he gets closer to his school building, thunder hits right in front of him, swerving his tires with a screeching sound—his heart is beating fast, adrenaline entering his body, and as he looks at his angle, he is reminded of his mother scolding again. It was in this moment, he had a choice: listen or follow his own guide. Follow.

Follow your intuition, follow the inner voice that has been leading you since you were a kid. Follow them, follow them, they hold the key to the fruits of labor, they know you, they know all of you—they love you. Do you love them? Do you care enough to bear that, to show them a new world? To help craft their world into inner peace? To show them something special, to be their mentor as they helped you in another lifetime? To cater to their every whim, to make them feel unique and to put yourself down? Do you prefer to be with them all the time because you are afraid of challenging yourself to become better? Do you like hurting yourself for them because you are too scared of getting to know yourself and finding out your worth is deemed by how many people talk to you? Do you like shutting down and breaking the bond you seem to create each time you meditate or journal things? Do you prefer it if you were friends with every single person in a village rather than with yourself?

The people you hang out with are those that take without giving. They are the people who are taking pieces of your soul that you keep rebuilding when angst appears. Each person that you know, except those who love the color red or associate themselves with the color, is not your friend or someone you should speak with. They don’t mean well and you already knew that, so why didn’t you listen to me? You have a lot of love to give, a lot, and I don’t mean that lightly—your heart is so warm that a red heart is bursting into flames, and the flames are instantly transformed into hearts. Someone in your family used to surround themselves with red or gold but has or will pass away; they mean the world to you, and you have been hanging out with the wrong people as a coping mechanism. Subconsciously though, you put yourself into red to cope.

Red is affiliated with danger, a warning, anger, and violence, but deep in your heart, you have made it into intense love, passion, devotion, warmth, and peace. In your world, red is peaceful and unique and it just has to mean something. And it does, each color represents others’ experiences and the love (good or bad) they have received. And in this world, it was good and cherished, but now that you have lost or will lose them, your mind is subconsciously holding control of what red meant to you and rebelling because of fear. You need to let go of your fear, or you will let these people steal all of your soul. Stop rebuilding what your soul used to be, and leave red. Leave everything about it and make another red. When they pass or when you visit them (their grave, urn, a memory, etc) tell them about the new red you made with their memory, your experience, and who you are now.

Masterlist.

Pile II.

Trigger warning: dark themes.

A man is staring at himself in a mirror. His reflection is blurry, though there is something staring right back at him. What is staring back at him isn’t who he wants to be, isn’t what he thought he looked like, and doesn’t feel like him. Something feels incredibly wrong. Who’s that staring back at me, he wonders but never does anything about it. Throughout the day, he feels another presence peering down at him as he reads the Bible, but the cross turns upside down, and something breathes heavily on his neck. It sounded like a demonic laugh. Who’s that staring back at me, he wonders but never does anything about it. As the day goes on, these thoughts linger in the back of his mind, rooted deep in his noggin, begging to be taken care of and have everything solved, but he never does anything about it. What was that staring at him? Who was that? What was that? Did it have any harmful intentions with me? These thoughts lingered rapidly and started to intensify within him, yet again, he never did anything about it.

Let him wonder what those thoughts are about; after all, this is a false reality he created within his mindscape when things became hard. Yet a mindscape should be your comfort area. Why is your mindscape a torturous area where you were bullied to death, where you allowed others to step over you when you got bullied, where you did everything wrong, where—where—WHERE—

Your mind is your greatest sin. Your mind has stopped being your friend. Your mind sees you as unholy, and you must be fixed. You are the reflection, you are—what’s wrong? You are what’s wrong, y—.

Each time I try to channel your reading, your inner thoughts become crazy and change the storyline of what you are supposed to hear. What is hidden? What are you hiding from yourself? What are you keeping harshly to your heart? What makes you feel the need to sabotage everything for yourself? Do you crave this feeling, the nagging sensation to sabotage—”the world would be a better place if everyone sabotaged each other, oh fuck, it would be fun.”

Your obsession, this obsession, this mindfuck that you do with yourself is obnoxious. It’s pathetic. You’re being pathetic with yourself. Is it hurting your feelings that I am telling you to get a grip? Good. You need to get a grip on yourself and reveal what you are hiding from yourself. But then again, I could tell you, would you read it? No.

VII of cups.

You’re being sloppy with yourself, you are not allowing yourself to move forward. How can you expect opportunities in your life just because you received the Seven of cups? That’s not even for you. That’s not even what the card means in your case. You want opportunities coming your way with this mindset, how can that be? Would you want to act that way, yeah, the way your mind is right now, with the people you genuinely care for? Do you think they will love you as you love them? You think they will even allow that around them? That crazy toxicity around them. You think they want you to even feel that crap? You think they are going to think it’s okay? And I don’t care that you don’t care about what others think about you. Great, then why are you reading this? If you don’t care about what others think about you, why are you reading this pile? You obviously care and were drawn to this in the first place. Another part of you just knows something is wrong and must be fixed.

You cannot control every little thing about yourself, or else you will rebel against yourself as you are doing right now and cause yourself pain. “An eye for an eye” appeared in my mind, and the same can be said with how you treat yourself. You believe in justice and how others should be hurt just as they did to the same person; you believe someone is unworthy of your presence if they disrespect you completely. These are fine because these are your beliefs based on what you went through, and no one should judge you based on what you went through. But I am not here to compliment you on the work you did to yourself. You are supposed to work on yourself, not shame yourself, not judge, not humiliate, not—not become your own demon.

Did you like becoming this self-obsessed, self-hating, and controlling person with yourself because you didn’t accomplish what you wanted? Did you like diminishing your worth for this materialistic aspect of your life? Did you like diminishing your entire existence because you failed in something you worked so hard to learn? Did you like ruining your concept of what you should have been for an ounce of anger and disgust with yourself because you got rejected by someone? Did you like it? Did it make you happy? Are you happy?

Do you feel happy with who you are right now? Do you feel cute, pretty, handsome, or lovely? Who do you think you are now? What are you now? He wonders but never does anything about it.

Masterlist.

Pile III.

IX of pentacles, VI of wands, the emperor, and the hanged man.

It’s your first time learning how to rollerblade, this place is filled with so many people that you are starting to feel dizzy. Music is playing in the background, but they have started to sound like noise, white noise to be exact—a white light is flashing at you, “hey! Hey! Hey! Over here, yeahhh, notice me, thanks!” Someone calls out to you as they did a spin with their roller skates and zoomed out from your view. Someone else grabs your hands and wants you to dance with them, but you suggest you cannot, pointing at your blade, but they won’t listen. They grab your hand to take you for a dance only for you to slip and flip around, falling face first. People laugh at you, but you stay still thinking about the best way to get up without causing more pain to your body. The person who wanted to dance with you wanted to see you fall, but your main focus is yourself—you weren’t worried about anyone, not even the white noise in the background. Simply the white light.

The light follows you around again as you are still lying down, and the same voice pops back up, ‘’hey! Hey! Hey! How come you didn’t give me attention?” You deadpanly say, “I’m on the ground, do you think I can focus on you when I have to get up?” But as you spoke those words, you suddenly woke up to an empty room in bright white light. Everything is white—the hospital bed, the IV bag, the chairs, the door—hell, even the ceilings and windows except for what is out the door. You get up and go to it, only to enter a hospital room. You pause and look around and see your close ones. Not your friends, not your family, not your close ones—just you. The one that is cheering you on, the one that is by your side each time, the one that mourns your past selves and the wrongdoings that they had to deal with, the ones who would do anything to make sure you are okay. They are telling you to come closer, but each time you try to walk to them, your view is pulled away and they become farther and farther. Each time you try to run to them, they start to fade into white noise.

You cannot chase something you have to let go. It’s time to let go of your past and who you are now. Shed your skin as a snake would. Improving yourself to follow your goals is okay, but when you are overdoing it like you are now.. you make it harder for yourself to find things that are actually worth it. You following this goal is the white light asking for your attention, and yes, you are giving it each moment of your life—this obsession you have with it is killing your excitement in life and causing you depression. Whether or not you want to accept it, you are healed. Yes. You have healed. You are done healing. You have such powerful cards, everything fits, it does, but you are stalling from this power you have. You need to come to terms that you are done with your goal, you are done healing, and you are healed—you healed both your shadow self and your inner child. You have healed the light side of you, and now your higher self is calling out to you, but you are treating it as white noise.

Masterlist.

[gayofthefae]

Screen time reminder that every time Mike and Will are together they're one on one almost the entire time, except for the the occasions Mike was "ignoring" him aka still spending all his screen time with him but with other people there. The only time they were apart was season 1 and Mike talked about him the whole time.

Meanwhile Mike and El's screentime is almost exclusively in a group setting (again, something considered so crazy and offensive to Byler that it consistently builds to them having fights about it because it is so different from normal), and they spend 2 entire seasons apart without contact with one if not both of their main plotlines not even mentioning the other during that time.

And just because I've counted and mentioned it before, I will also be noting that the number of episodes in which Mike and El are romantically together, physically together, AND happy (in the context of their relationship, I am not factoring supernatural stress) is.............three. 3. 1x08, 3x01, and 4x09. In all other episodes they are not yet dating, broken up, only pretending to be happy, or openly fighting. We also only really see them one on one when it is meant to upset other people - s1 Lucas, s3 Hopper, s4 Will and consistently in those scenes themselves those characters are revealed to be upsetedly observing the one on one scene.

The show itself dedicated its screentime to saying:

"Mike and Will are like a couple: happy spending lots of time together one on one and unhappy when they don't. Similar to the screen time of Jancy, Jopper, and Lumax."

"Mike and El are like friends: happy spending lots of time together in a group with occasional one on ones. Similar to how they are seen interacting with other party members. Mike, for example, is very close with Lucas and Dustin but mostly spends time with them in groups with only the occasional one on one with Lucas in season 3 and Dustin in season 4. But this does not undercut the fact that they are still deeply close."

In screen time is divided and awarded, Mike and Will are treated like the couples. Mike and El are treated like any two members of the party - any two friends.

And I would like to repeat one more time because this is the real new observation and it's a crazy contrast:

The primary way Mike and El spend time together, even portrayed as romantic build up at times, when applied to Mike and Will, deeply upsets the characters in how distant and unromantic it is, to the point of it repeatedly almost tearing apart their relationship.

Remind me again the last time you saw the claim by a show that if the best friends were to act like the "endgame" romantic interests they would feel not close enough to each other? Oh right, never.

Impersonating your "main couple" for a few days almost tore real love interests apart at the seams. Will thinks he wants Mike to treat him how he treats El, but Mike has before and Will HATED it because of how deeply platonic and romantically rejecting it felt.

In screentime, this is El when Mike treats her, as I described, how he might treat Lucas or Dustin.

And this is Will when Mike treats him the same

Gee I wonder what the ideal nature of their relationships to create a happy ending would be...

I also acknowledge the specifics of the behavior are different but with that once again, it's all about associations. With that behavior, they are associating that negativity with a lack of one on one time between Mike and Will. And, of course, because it is so abnormal for them, the only thing that would motivate that distance in the first place for Mike would be that snarkiness or avoidance. El is happy because to Mike, that is closeness with her so he is doing well. Will is unhappy because to Mike, that is distance from him so he is being avoidant.

They also consistently associate one on ones with El with unhappiness in a way that Will does not experience them.

Mike treating Will like El makes Will feel discarded and distanced from. Mike treating El like Will makes her feel forced and lied to.

Because that is what's happening. We aren't the only ones correctly assessing that that behavior is wrong and that is why what works for one does not work for the other. They are observing Mike correctly, that he is putting in effort to do those things. Will feels Mike actively pushing away and El feels the effort required of him to force himself closer. They can feel that these are not relaxed decisions or passive states in this relationship, leaving Will to think he must want to leave to put such effort into it and El to think he must be reluctant to be around her if he has to try so hard.

Because what they are trying to tell us is that this alignment is wrong. And specifically, of course, hint to us that it needs to be switched.

That is why they have NAILED the so often fumbled "these two getting together WILL solve all their relationship problems". Because every problem in both relationships comes from simply forcing pieces that don't fit into the wrong slots. Switch them, and it's easy. It's simple.

(this is also why so many people blame Mike, thinking he should -and COULD- just go back to what he was doing when it worked and that it's contrived and pointless of him to have changed it in the first place - not realizing that the reason he stopped was because he realized the deeper meaning of why *that's* what worked, a reason most viewers haven't even realized exists)

[princeapollyon]

YEYSESYESYES MY TIME TO SHINE!!

TRIGGER WARNINGS:‼️

mentions of heavy fictional drug use, cannibalism, and general moral depravity.

alrighty so. one of, if not THE most integral part of my courier six’s story stems from the consequences of his head wound.

first off, i took what was implied by doc mitchell’s remark if you pick low charisma, “Huh. Must be some frontal lobe damage,” and just ran with it.

it makes sense that, when Benny shot you in the FRONT of the head where you could still see him, that some permanent damage could have occurred. for Dagger, (my oc!) this means frontal lobe damage, which affects his decision-making skills, primarily between determining right from wrong and other morality-based decisions, causes complete impulsivity in most cases, and has caused his empathy gene to logg-off, permanently.

frontal lobe damage can also affect specifically autobiographical memory, which makes sense for the game, since the courier’s action can post-accident be completely different in character than from before the injury. for my courier, this manifests in some pretty serious permanent amnesia, where he’s not able to remember anything from before the accident except the accident itself, and vague feelings of familiarity when he travels to places he likely had traveled to before all of this (implied by being able to speak the Dead Horse’s language in Honest Hearts),

also, Dagger can vaguely understand that he’s changed completely since getting shot in the head, at least emotionally. he senses some type of loss, recognizing that he’s physically limited now from his brain injury, although he doesn’t feel much other than slight annoyance over this fact.

effectively, this wound has given him “aquired sociopathy,” so while he knows that he’s changed, he doesn’t have the emotional depth to mourn it, especially since he’s now fully convinced of his superiority to other people and things only really go up for him after the initial run-in with Benny.

BUT ALSO!! THERE’S MORE! :D

not only did the gunshot wounds cause a complete lack of empathy/moral understanding and emotional regression to that of an impulsive 13-year-old, but they are also the source of frequent, excruciatingly painful migraines, which explains his affinity for/addiction to drugs.

in-game, i would deliberately leave my head untreated if it became crippled from combat, because the boughts of swimming vision and high pitched ringing seemed realistic to my courier’s injury. my thinking is, if getting popped on the head in-combat could cause it, why wouldn’t lasting effects of TWO LITERAL GUNSHOT WOUNDS cause permanently the same effects?? mostly, i just thought it added more flavor, and when i make characters, i like what they do to make sense. i knew that i wanted my courier to be a drug fiend and a cannibal, and the cause if the first made most sense to me if he was to experience chronic pain and have a heightened thrill-seeking temperment, and the latter if he had a completely distorted sense of morality. all of this criteria is fulfilled and explained by severe frontal lobe damage; he uses drugs to cope with extreme chronic migraines, and justifies eating corpses with the thought process of “this is survival and they’re already dead” mixed with seeing it as triumphant superiority, where if someone were to die at his hands, then they’re basically no better than livestock, thus he can and should eat them. what a weirdo lol

anyway, that about sums up and accounts for pretty much all the decisions Dagger has made in-game, and which ending i plan to get with him. he sees others merely as tools for his self-betterment, using then how he sees fit and saying whatever he needs to to manipulate them to get the job done. he respects marginally those who have displayed exceptional martial prowess, but still is always looking at people through the lens of “what can this guy do for me” rather than “i want to ally myself with these people and their cause.”

i also think that if you play through the Old World Blues DLC, that the doctors there (if you get the goid ending) can repair your brain better than doc mitchell, so some of these negative effects may be somewhat alleviated. in particular, since your head no longer gets crippled, i’ve interpreted this as the migraines no longer being a thing (but it doesn’t matter since at that point Dagger’s already an addict, so his drug problem still stands lol). perhaps he’s a little more nuanced in the decision-making department too, but i doubt that even the best doctor can repair literal holes in your brain completely lol

YAY OKAY THAT’S ALL!! sorry for the rant i just love my courier so much and have thought n researched SO MUCH about this, so i had to say my piece >:3

Currently very interested in Courier OCs who have actual in-story consequences from the brain injury. I wish everyone a very please tell me about your Couriers.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

how do you think the boys yearn/deal with a crush? I’m trying to envision a dynamic between a hunter reader and the two brushing off their feelings

Oh I LOVE this question with all my heart! Thank you, anon, for sending it in! ❤️

It's kind of a shame we never got to see either of them really with crushes. Out of all the romantic scenarios the show didn't have (which is fine, not complaining at all, we wouldn't have that much amazing fan fic if it did, is my theory) them yearning/pining is the thing I would have loved to see the most.

Dean just becomes a puppy dog, I think. He's all smiley and giggly around her. Hangs on every word she says. That woman can do no wrong. Extra points if she's a bit of a trouble maker, and Dean gives her a pass on everything, which reeeeally weirds out Sam, cause he wouldn't get away with half the stuff you do!

It's only when she puts herself in real danger that Dean's super protective side comes out. He can't contain the worry, gets grumpy. He's angry at whoever hurt her, and they'll get what's coming to them, but his fear for her safety translates into a bad mood. No assurances from her side that she's fine are gonna calm him down, either - it takes hours for him to get out of that state, and at some point, when all her wounds are taken care of, he'll probably isolate himself, stew a bit. Love's great and all, but it's exhausting. He doesn't know how to make her his, and he doesn't know how to be around her when that's all he wants to do. Maybe at some point he'll try to take a step back, keep some distance. But at the first sweet smile or inside joke, he's right back where he was before.

Sam's kinda similar, except that he makes sure to keep his distance the moment he realizes there's something going on. He's seen the show too - well, he lived it - and he knows he's no good in that regard. Plus he's got better self-control than Dean. Still, he can't help being drawn in my the little things: you sharing your excitement about something you read, you getting a little cocky and playfully flirty once you've had a drink. When he reaches for something for you and passes it down, and you look up at him with that look that tells him you know he enjoyed that. But it can never be. Sam knows that.

He gets jealous as hell, but doesn't allow himself to express it. He doesn't have any right to you, he knows that. Doesn't matter how much he imagines things could be different, how much he wishes they were. He lies awake at night, one arm tucked behind his head, deep frown on his face while that big brain goes over the problem he's trying to solve again and again. There is no solution. He rolls onto his side and tries to sleep, but only dreams of you.

And I know you didn't ask for this specifically, but if they're both down bad for you? Oh man. They can read each other, know each other so well, so they immediately know what is going on . There's no way either of them is going to get in the way of his brother getting what he wants, getting something good - and you are the best there is. They'll both try to keep their distance, failing, of course, miserably. Cause how can they stay away when you make them feel so alive so good? Something's gotta give, but whether it's an unplanned kiss after surviving a life threatening situation, you taking the initiative or confronting them about acting like absolute weirdos - only time will tell.