#and then no one offers to help me pay for it.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ million dollar man ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x girlfriend!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! this story takes place in an alternate ending for squid game where sang-woo wins instead of gi-hun! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ it had been over two weeks since you last heard from cho sang-woo. no calls, no texts, not even the smallest acknowledgment of your existence. the silence weighed on you, growing heavier with every passing day. sang-woo, your long-term boyfriend, the man you had imagined spending the rest of your life with, had seemingly vanished without explanation.

˚ ༘♡ he was everything you had dreamed of, handsome, intelligent, educated. in your eyes, he was near perfect. you had moved to south korea a year and a half ago. the two of you met only a month after your arrival in seoul. you were standing at a convenience store counter, struggling to buy an iced coffee before work. the cashier’s words blurred into a language barrier you couldn’t break through, leaving you flustered and embarrassed.

˚ ༘♡ then there he was. cho sang-woo, with his neatly pressed suit and square-rimmed glasses, stepping in to translate with a calm assurance that immediately put you at ease. he went further and insisted on paying for your coffee, brushing off your protests with a polite smile. “you can pay me back with your number,” he had said, his tone light but his warm gaze unwavering. you gave it to him without hesitation, your heart racing as he walked away with a casual, confident stride that lingered in your mind for days.

˚ ༘♡ what followed was akin to a fantasy. your first few dates were sweet and unassuming, dinners at cozy restaurants, walks through bustling markets, late-night phone calls that stretched into the early hours of the morning. before long, it became more than casual. he wasn’t simply a charming man in a suit, he was someone you trusted, someone you leaned on. yet, as your relationship deepened, so did the flaws.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo treated you well in many ways. he insisted on paying for meals, even when you protested. he offered to help with rent when he noticed you were stressed about expenses. his job at joy investments afforded him a lifestyle of financial stability, one that he willingly extended to you. however, beneath his polished exterior, there was an undeniable distance.

˚ ༘♡ it started small, little things that nagged at you but seemed too insignificant to bring up. his phone was always locked, the screen flashing dark whenever you glanced at it. he would leave suddenly, without warning, offering only vague explanations that never quite satisfied your curiosity. “work,” he would say, brushing off your questions as though they were irrelevant. and no matter how many times you pressed him for the truth, he never admitted anything.

˚ ༘♡ those moments of secrecy chipped away at your trust, leaving an uneasy ache in your chest. you told yourself it was nothing, that you were overthinking. but the fights that erupted when you brought it up told a different story. his calm facade would crack, and he would grow defensive, his words sharp and cutting. “don’t you trust me?” he had asked more than once, the accusation in his tone a slap in the face.

˚ ༘♡ despite the arguments, despite the unanswered questions, you loved him. you loved the way he smoothed a hand down your back when you were upset, the way his voice softened when he called you by name. you loved the rare instances of vulnerability he let slip, the heartfelt glimpses of the man beneath the polished exterior. you loved him enough to forgive, enough to overlook the secrets that cast shadows over your relationship.

˚ ༘♡ as you sat alone in your apartment, staring at your phone with an empty inbox mocking your worry. two weeks of silence was unbearable. the man you loved, the one who had promised to protect you, had left you with nothing but questions and a ache where his presence used to be.

˚ ༘♡ the doorbell rang, cutting through the quiet of your apartment as though it were a sharp blade. it wasn’t merely unusual, it was unsettling. who would come at this hour? you glanced at the clock on the wall, its glowing numbers reminding you that it was well past midnight. your stomach churned uneasily as you stood up, your fatigue from a long shift at the café clinging to you.

˚ ༘♡ working from sunrise to sunset every day had worn you thin, but you had refused sang-woo’s offers to help you financially. he had already done so much, given so generously, and the thought of taking more was crossing a line you couldn’t bring yourself to breach. it would be an abuse of his kindness.

˚ ༘♡ the hallway was dark as you approached the door, your bare feet silent on the cool floor. you hesitated before unlocking it, your hand hovering over the latch. “hello?” you called out cautiously as you cracked it open, peering into the dimly lit corridor.

˚ ༘♡ before you could register what was happening, a hard shove sent the door crashing into you, knocking you backward. you stumbled, barely managing to catch yourself against the wall. your heart leapt into your throat as the figure who had forced their way inside quickly shut the door behind them.

˚ ༘♡ your confusion turned to disbelief as the light from your apartment fell on their face. it was sang-woo.

˚ ༘♡ his chest heaved with each labored breath, his shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the collar, his dress pants scuffed and slightly torn. his glasses, the ones you always teased him about for making him look too serious, were nowhere to be seen. instead, his face bore the evidence of recent hardships, bruises, faint scars, and scabbed-over cuts that marred his formerly pristine appearance. even his hands, the ones you’d grown so used to seeing holding a pen or a glass of wine, were scratched and battered.

˚ ༘♡ he looked like he had aged years in the short time he had been gone.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you stammered, your voice unsteady with equal parts confusion and fear, “what the hell are you doing? it’s the middle of the night, and… why haven’t you been answering my calls?”

˚ ༘♡ he opened his mouth as if to respond, but the words didn’t come immediately. instead, he leaned against the door, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the world was pressing down on him. “i…” he started, his voice hoarse and raw, but he seemed unable to finish.

˚ ༘♡ without warning, he crossed the room in a single stride and pulled you into a tight embrace. his arms wrapped around you with a desperation that felt almost suffocating, his head burying into the crook of your neck as he clung to you.

˚ ༘♡ you stood unmoving, the shock of his sudden appearance warring with the affection of his touch. part of you was relieved beyond words to have him back, while another part was angry. angry at his disappearance, at the unanswered calls and texts, at the fear and doubt he had left you to wrestle with.

˚ ༘♡ “i missed you,” he murmured against your shoulder, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

˚ ༘♡ his words tugged at your heart, but they weren’t enough to quell the storm of questions brewing inside you. “sang-woo,” you said, your voice softer now but still laced with frustration, “what’s going on? where have you been? what happened to you?”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer right away, his grip tightening, as though the very act of holding onto you could keep him grounded. his breath was unstable, his chest rising and falling against yours in a way that betrayed the turmoil beneath his silence. the room felt oppressively quiet.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo!” you exclaimed, your voice sharp, desperate for clarity. the sound seemed to jolt him, his body stiffening before he reluctantly pulled back.

˚ ༘♡ his hands were shaking as he reached into his pocket, the movement clumsy and hurried. when he withdrew, he thrust a thick stack of cash into your arms, one hundred million won, neatly bound and unnervingly out of place in your modest apartment. the weight of the money startled you, as you stared at the crisp bills in disbelief.

˚ ༘♡ “listen to me,” he said, his voice shaking but steadfast. “after this, after i take care of everything, i’ll buy us a beautiful home. somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. hold onto this for now.”

˚ ༘♡ you blinked at him, your mind struggling to process the sudden shift, the money heavy in your grasp. “sang-woo,” you said, your tone rising with vexation and confusion, “where did you get this money?”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer, his eyes avoiding yours, and that only fueled your frustration. “tell me!” you demanded. “where have you been? do you have any idea what I’ve been through? i thought you left me for another woman or fled the country!”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw clenched, his expression fading as guilt flashed across his face, but he said nothing.

˚ ༘♡ you pressed further, your voice strained with a mix of hurt and fury. “i talked to your mother. she said you haven’t called her in ages! i went to your work. they haven’t seen you in weeks! your friends? same thing. no one knows where you’ve been!” your hands tightened around the cash, your knuckles white as your chest heaved with the distress of your tone. “how could you do this to me? how could you leave without a word, without an explanation?”

˚ ༘♡ his silence hurt more than any words could have. he looked at you, his expression a painful mix of regret and something darker, something you couldn’t place. his lips parted as if to speak, but he hesitated, the words caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears began to sting your eyes. “please. i need to understand.”

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll tell you everything soon, i promise, sweetheart,” sang-woo murmured, his voice unsteady, as if it pained him to speak. his hand, calloused and trembling, reached out to rest gently on your cheek, his touch delicate. your heart ached as you met his gaze, those dark, exhausted eyes glistening with unshed tears. it was a look so raw, so unfamiliar.

˚ ༘♡ “you have to trust me,” he said, his tone soft but pleading. “you have to listen to me. i’ve already given you what you need to cover your expenses.” his hand lingered against your cheek for a monthly moment before falling away, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. “i have urgent legal and business matters to deal with, but once they’re resolved… we’ll have the life we’ve dreamed of. everything we’ve talked about.”

˚ ༘♡ his lips brushed against your forehead, the kiss light but filled with a quiet desperation that made your chest tighten. “nothing could ever keep me from you,” he breathed, the words barely audible. “promise me you’ll do as i ask.”

˚ ༘♡ everything about this felt wrong, the way he avoided your questions, the haunting exhaustion in his voice, the bruises that lined his hands and face. you wanted answers. you wanted to demand he tell you everything right then and there, but the way he looked at you, so broken, so unlike the composed sang-woo you knew, kept you from saying anymore.

˚ ༘♡ uncertainty clouded your mind, nonetheless you nodded, your voice hardly above a whisper. “i promise.”

˚ ༘♡ his shoulders sagged slightly at your answer, the tension in his body loosening, though not entirely disappearing. “good,” he said softly, almost to himself. he was still nervous, his eyes darting toward the door as though expecting someone to burst through at any moment.

˚ ༘♡ “i have to go,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance. “but i’ll come back. i swear, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ “okay,” you replied, unsure but unwilling to push him further.

˚ ༘♡ he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting, tender kiss that left you yearning for answers. then, without another word, he turned and left the apartment, closing the door behind him.

˚ ༘♡ you stood there, the silence of his absence pressing down on you, dread engulfed your thoughts. your mind churned with questions, with doubts, but one thing was certain, you were relieved, no matter how strange the circumstances of his return, to have seen sang-woo again. the agonizing ache in your chest told you that his departure had left you with far more questions than answers.

a/n: my first sang-woo fanfiction!! is it controversial for me to say i love his character and he’s my favorite one in squid game? please let me know if you have any requests! 🤍

[theoneblogicareabout]

Lots of tags stating that a lot of this was just not communicated to the people because of the media and they are not wrong! However, it fails to address the other pressing issue which is that it was mostly too little too late.

Unemployment was at an all time low. But the gap between unemployment and underemployment grew. More people had jobs, less people had job satisfaction or could meet their living expenses with only one job.

Federal workers wages went up but a lot of people are not federal workers. Additionally, those who started at $15/hr and are now making $17.75? To keep up with inflation in these last four years they should be making $18.29. Still not technically a living wage, and definitely not the majority of workers.

$25k for a down payment is helpful for houses valued at $250,000. My hometown has 800 people in it and the closest Walmart is 20 minutes up the highway. The cheapest house there is currently listed for $590,000. They’re probably dreaming but honestly, what does that $25k do for people who can barely save $5k to afford a moving fee and rental deposit?

We all agree medical debt should end. She wasn’t president and they didn’t do that so why would we care until they make actionable progress on that promise?

Prescription prices and home health care were great starts. It doesn’t affect the millions currently paying hundreds a month in premiums and not on prescriptions or in need of home health care. These aren’t bad policies! They just don’t hit a majority of people.

Biden was able to get the debt forgiven for many of the people who applied for the PSLF and that’s amazing! For people not in public service, they didn’t see a dime. For people who haven’t finished the 10 year requirement (like myself) there is no guarantee that the protections put in place to grant those people the debt relief they deserved will last another 6 years to get to my turn. In the meantime, I and my contemporaries are still paying hundreds a month and not even covering the interest.

THE DEMOCRATS HAD GOOD POLICIES I’m not saying they didn’t! I’m just saying we can’t lay all the blame at the media’s feet. Party leadership hasn’t been pushing sustainable, wide-scale change like a supposedly progressive party should. It’s been stopgaps and bandaids and it hasn’t reached the vast majority of Americans. Even if the media didn’t cover democrats well, if the policies had hit people they would’ve felt the change, and they didn’t.

If the dems want to be a viable party in the near future, they need to have policies that will tangibly affect mass amounts of people. I will say, I voted democrat because the other option was so demonstrably worse, but I did not see any policies or proposals from them that would actually affect my quality of life. Not that those policies were bad, but they would just not affect me. From that perspective, it’s not hard to understand why other people with less financial or emotional security might look at that and think the dems had nothing to offer them. Meanwhile the reps are (falsely) offering them superiority. It’s not entirely the media, some of it is our fault and once we accept that we might be able to move forward in an actually progressive way.

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Lucanis (and also Spite and the Crows) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: the list isn't 100% exhaustive. I may have missed something or didn't write something down because I had heard about it before or considered it common knowledge. If you think there's something that can be added to the post, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from)

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, the rest to be added later this week

About Lucanis: 

Family and the past:

Lucanis learnt to cook while helping the kitchen staff at the villa when he was a little boy. One of his motivations was learning how to make churros

Side note: Lucanis mentions that cioccolata calda was his favourite drink when he was a baby, and he serves churros to a romanced Rook who picks cioccolata calda as their favourite drink. It’s all coming together! 

Lucanis wanted to be a Crow when he was a child (at least most of the time)  

All of Lucanis's relatives were Crows as well, and all of them were killed by a rival Crow house

Lucanis says Caterina would be proud of Illario hiding his plans well, as well as killing her 

Lucanis says that the hard part about setting Illario free would be convincing Caterina 

Lucanis says that nightlife was more of Illario's thing, and he never got out as much

On Crows and Antiva:

Viago still stares daggers at Lucanis for throwing his (Viago's) pet snake out of the window in a dream

Lucanis doesn't like it when people confuse murder and assassination ("Murderers are hobbyists, we are professionals")

Lucanis has taken contracts in Orlais

Lucanis doesn’t know Treviso as well as he once used to 

Heir didn’t train Lucanis

Lucanis says he has never killed an innocent “by his count” (other people may disagree) 

Lucanis doesn’t think of the Crows as a “big organisation” (unlike the Inquisition) because they stab each other too much

Lucanis became a mage-killer at Caterina’s behest (she wanted to tap into new markets)

The nickname “The Demon of Vyrantium” came from Tevinter news-sheets, though Lucanis thinks Viago started it

Lucanis says that there aren't any special tricks to killing mages. Though, if nothing else works, you can try pissing them off, as that could attract a demon that would eat the mage

Lucanis once killed half a dozen venatori while stuck inside an elevator 

Lucanis doesn’t consider himself a gentleman assassin, manners are less important than getting the job done

Lucanis sometimes spares his targets. He mentioned letting go of a servant who killed her master, as well as a 14-year-old boy. He thinks it’s wrong to kill people so young because they still have time to change

Lucanis doesn’t accept contracts without merit, and the merit is decided by the talon of the house

General:

Lucanis can make bread

Lucanis has never been to Ferelden

Lucanis isn’t interested in killing wyverns, just looking at them :)  

Lucanis has a pet snake 

Lucanis stays awake at night by cleaning his gear, exercising, studying Orlesian and knitting ("it’s just another kind of blade work") 

Lucanis doesn’t understand a lot of things people find attractive

(In a conversation with Harding) Thinking about cooking was one of the things that helped Lucanis stay sane in the Ossuary (the other was thinking about killing his enemies) 

(In a conversation with Davrin) Lucanis survived the Ossuary by shutting down and not thinking about anything except escaping

These two points sort of contradict each other. Either an inconsistency or Lucanis describing his experience differently to different people. 

The Wetlands ruined at least one pair of Lucanis’s boots

(If Rook chooses to save Treviso) Lucanis offers to pay for any supplies the Shadow Dragons may need 

Lucanis doesn't get a better bed because he's afraid of accidentally falling asleep 

Lucanis can identify the killer’s weapon and the height difference between them and the target just through the blood splatter left at the scene

Lucanis considers Grey Wardens dangerous 

Lucanis doesn’t like necromancy, because bringing people back to life is a waste of hard work

Lucanis finds the ice coffee from Minrathous offensive (Harding describes it as “snow, but made of coffee, sweet, and with cream and toffee sauce on top”)

Lucanis had never been in a romantic relationship before Rook/Neve

Relationships with other companions: 

Lucanis gets into reading Bellara’s serials (very passionately - they chat about it a bunch)

Lucanis is outraged that the Veil Jumpers don’t get paid for their work and offers Bellara his contract negotiator

Lucanis made biscuits for Assan

Lucanis is sceptical that the griffons will be safe with the Wardens

Lucanis think that Assan shouldn’t go soft (referring to the time he took care of a halla) because he is a predator at heart

(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Lucanis offers to hold a funeral for Manfred

Lucanis and Harding talk a lot about dreams (mostly silly things like showing up naked for the job, getting chased by someone/something etc.)

Lucanis thinks Harding is deadly with her bow

Lucanis offers to pay Harding for being his lookout/aide at the rate of 6000 gold per contract

Lucanis offers the help of his contract negotiator to Neve after he finds out she doesn't have one

Lucanis made deep-fried peppers for Taash

About Spite: 

Emmrich can hear Spite even when he doesn’t take over Lucanis’s body (at least from a close distance)

Spite is impartial to Emmrich, believing him more than Lucanis

Emmrich says it’s impossible to separate Spite and Lucanis without killing them

Emmrich encourages Lucanis to read to Spite to bring them closer. Lucanis agrees to let Spite pick a book

(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Spite asks if he and Lucanis can get rid of their skin too 

(If Manfred is revived at the Necropolis) Spite asks Emmrich to teach him how to use fire magic. Lucanis isn’t thrilled by the idea

Emmrich sets up wards to prevent Spite from leaving the room when Lucanis is asleep

Spite no longer sleepwalks after “Inner Demons” because he apparently understood the concept of space

By the end of the game, Spite has agreed to stop sleepwalking completely

Spite controls the wings (confirmed in banter with Harding) 

Spite wants to try swinging off the astrolabe at the Lighthouse

Spite is very excited about Manfred having hands and feet (Curiosity. Has. Feet!)

Spite finds the wisps in Neve’s room unnerving (as do Lucanis and Neve)

Spite likes to play with whetstones Bellara got for Lucanis (Bellara got them from the Irelin who supposedly got them from somewhere in Arlathan) 

Spite wants to try eating self-lightning candles at Blackthorne Manor

About the Crows: 

Crows frequently visit Nevarra and have received 20 contacts to assassinate the king. The King has been poisoned 7 times

Crows get a lot of contracts for Divine Victoria

Some seers in Rivain are powerful enough that there are contracts on them as well

Caterina once killed a man with a thimble

When Crows kill someone, most of the time they want others to know it was them (rather than presenting the death as an accident) 

The crows buried six different Eight Talons and rarely take contracts in Ferelden after the Zevran fiasco

[misaerabl]

Terms and Conditions

SUMMARY: She pays you to go on a date. One night, no strings attached. It’s simple—until it isn’t. Caitlyn Kiramman is everything you’re not: wealthy, confident, and effortlessly magnetic. She offers you money in exchange for your time, and you take it, convinced it’s just a transaction. But as the dates unfold, the chemistry between you both becomes undeniable.

Is it just the money? Or is there something deeper beneath the surface? What started as a simple arrangement quickly turns into a tangled web of emotions, where nothing is as clear as it seems.

WARNINGS: couch sex, oral sex (both receiving), scissoring, fingering (r receiving), squirting, they drank some wine but both are still perfectly aware of everything, angsty ending, plot with smut?

The sound of a clock ticking filled the silence of your small apartment. You sat at the edge of the couch, head in your hands, staring at the stack of overdue bills on the coffee table. Every red stamp felt like it screamed failure, and no matter how many times you ran the numbers, there was no way out.

Your phone buzzed on the table. You didn’t have to look to know who it was—Caitlyn Kiramman. She had a habit of checking in, her messages always polite, always the same: “Coffee this week?” or “Dinner on me?” You’d turned her down more times than you could count, and yet, she never stopped asking.

You’d met her months ago, entirely by chance, and from the moment her piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, it was like she’d made up her mind about you. Caitlyn Kiramman was perfect in a way that didn’t seem fair. Polished, confident, and absurdly gorgeous, she had the kind of grace and poise that belonged to someone who could have anyone they wanted. And yet, for reasons you couldn’t fathom, she wanted you.

You weren’t anyone special—at least, that’s how you saw it. Your life was messy, your clothes were plain, and your idea of fine dining was whatever you could scrounge up on a budget. Yet Caitlyn kept coming back, her persistence gentle but unyielding, as though she’d spotted something in you that even you couldn’t see.

It was baffling. What could someone like her possibly want with someone like you?

This time, though, her persistence came with an offer.

The message read: “Meet me tomorrow at The Gilded Hearth. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You frowned, your exhaustion turning to annoyance. What could she possibly mean by that? You had no intention of indulging her, but the reality of your situation left you desperate enough to consider it.

The next evening, you found yourself stepping into a restaurant that practically reeked of wealth. The kind of place where the waitstaff glided instead of walked, and the soft clinking of glasses mingled with murmured conversations in an atmosphere that seemed worlds away from your reality. Everything about it screamed luxury—from the polished mahogany tables to the soft, golden glow of chandeliers overhead.

Caitlyn was already seated at a corner table, dressed impeccably as always. Her navy blazer fit her perfectly, her dark hair swept back to reveal those striking blue eyes. She looked up as you approached, her lips curving into a smile that was as warm as it was unsettling.

“You came,” she said, her voice steady but carrying a note of relief.

“I’m not staying long,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest as you stopped short of the table. “What’s this about?”

Her smile softened, and she gestured for you to sit. “Please, just hear me out.”

Reluctantly, you slid into the chair across from her, already feeling out of place in this world of quiet elegance. Caitlyn’s demeanor shifted, her usual confident air replaced by something more serious, almost vulnerable.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” she began, folding her hands neatly on the table. “I know things haven’t been easy for you. I don’t mean to intrude, but I want to help.”

Your stomach twisted at her words, the familiar mix of shame and frustration bubbling up. “Help? What are you talking about?”

She held your gaze, unwavering. “Go out with me. One date. In return, I’ll pay you enough to take care of your expenses.”

The words hung in the air between you, absurd and impossible to ignore. For a moment, you just stared at her, struggling to process what she was saying. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious,” Caitlyn said, her tone calm but firm. “You’ve turned me down every time I’ve asked, and I respect that. But I also know you’re in a tough spot. Let me do this. It’s a win for both of us.”

The sincerity in her voice threw you off balance. She wasn’t mocking you, wasn’t trying to make you feel small. If anything, there was something almost... earnest about her offer.

You clenched your fists under the table, torn between pride and necessity. Every part of you wanted to walk away, to refuse her charity and keep what little dignity you had left. But the weight of your situation—the overdue bills, the mounting pressure—made that choice feel impossible.

You exhaled slowly, your resolve crumbling. “Fine,” you muttered. “One date. That’s it.”

Her smile brightened instantly, but it wasn’t the triumphant smirk you expected. It was something softer, warmer, and it caught you off guard. For a brief moment, you wondered if there was more to Caitlyn Kiramman than her money and her polished exterior.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

And just like that, the deal was struck. One date, you told yourself. Just one.

The first official date was nothing like you’d expected. Caitlyn had chosen an upscale rooftop lounge overlooking the city skyline. Everything about it was impeccable—the crisp evening air, the soft murmur of conversation from other tables, and the way Caitlyn seemed to command attention without even trying.

You’d spent most of the evening fighting the guilt gnawing at your chest. The guilt that came with knowing why you were here. Caitlyn knew it too—she had to. This wasn’t a romance; it was a transaction, plain and simple. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But Caitlyn made it difficult to stick to that narrative. She was charming without being overbearing, engaging without forcing the conversation. Her intelligence shone through in everything she said, and the way her laughter bubbled up when you made a dry comment—it felt genuine. Too genuine.

By the time dessert arrived, you were actually enjoying yourself. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the way Caitlyn seemed to look at you like you were the only person in the room. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because she was genuinely good company.

The guilt remained, though, a dull ache that refused to be ignored.

When the evening ended, Caitlyn drove you back to your apartment. Her sleek car purred softly as she pulled up to the curb. The atmosphere inside the car was warm, filled with the remnants of laughter and conversation.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said, her voice soft but sincere.

You glanced at her, unsure how to respond. “I guess... thanks to you too. For dinner. And everything.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, holding it out to you. “Here,” she said. “For your time.”

The weight of the envelope was heavier than you expected, and the reality of the arrangement hit you all over again. You swallowed hard, tucking it into your bag without meeting her gaze.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat.

“But I wanted to,” she said simply. Her tone was kind, but there was something else beneath it—something almost vulnerable.

You started to reach for the door handle when her voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

You froze, looking back at her.

“One more date,” she said, her eyes steady on yours. “I’ll double the payment.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Caitlyn, no. This was already—”

“Just think about it,” she interrupted gently, leaning back against her seat. “I don’t want to pressure you. But if you say yes, it could help. Couldn’t it?”

Your throat tightened. You hated how easily she cut through your defenses, how she spoke the words you’d been trying to avoid. Double the payment. Enough to not just scrape by but to finally help your mom and still have something left.

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

Her lips curled into a small, almost triumphant smile. “I’ll wait for your answer,” she said. “No rush.”

When you stepped out of her car, clutching the envelope, you told yourself you wouldn’t do it again. But as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, Caitlyn’s offer played on repeat in your head.

And by the time you reached your door, you weren’t so sure anymore.

You dropped onto your bed with a heavy sigh, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers to the questions swirling in your head. The envelope of cash weighed heavily in your mind, even though it now sat tucked away in the depths of your dresser. It wasn’t just about you anymore.

Your mother’s voice echoed in your thoughts—her strained laughter, the way she brushed off her own needs as if they didn’t matter. The medical bills piling up on her counter were no secret, and every time you saw her wince or move a little slower, it chipped away at your resolve.

Caitlyn’s money could change that. It could buy more than just groceries and a reprieve from overdue notices. It could buy her the care she deserved.

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow. “It’s just one more date,” you muttered to yourself, the words muffled but carrying the weight of justification.

But it wasn’t that simple, was it?

Caitlyn wasn’t some faceless benefactor handing out charity. She was kind, charming, and far too perceptive for her own good. She made you feel seen in a way that left you unsettled because you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or part of her game.

And yet, the thought of saying yes didn’t feel as heavy as it should have.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the silence. You didn’t have to look to know it was Caitlyn. She was persistent, if nothing else.

Reaching for the phone, you hesitated, your finger hovering over the screen. It wasn’t a text this time. She was calling.

For a moment, you considered ignoring it, letting the call go to voicemail. But the memory of her steady gaze—the way her lips curved into that soft, patient smile—made you swipe to answer.

“Hello?” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Hey,” Caitlyn’s voice came through, smooth and familiar. “I just wanted to check in. No pressure, but... have you thought about my offer?”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’ve thought about it.”

“And?” she prompted, her tone light but laced with curiosity.

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “It’s... complicated.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a soft hum. “I understand. Take your time. But if you’re willing, I’d love to take you somewhere special. No expectations, I promise. Just... consider it.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to say no. You should say no.

Instead, you found yourself saying, “I’ll let you know.”

“Fair enough,” she said, a smile evident in her voice. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” you replied, ending the call and letting the phone fall beside you on the bed.

As the silence returned, you stared at the ceiling again, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. One more date. It shouldn’t be this hard.

But the truth was, Caitlyn wasn’t making it hard because of the money. She was making it hard because, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to walk away.

Against your better judgment, you found yourself agreeing to Caitlyn’s proposal. One more date. It was just for the money—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But a small, insistent voice in the back of your mind whispered that maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

The evening started at a picturesque vineyard just outside the city. The sun dipped below the horizon as Caitlyn led you down cobblestone paths lined with twinkling string lights. It felt like something out of a storybook, the kind of place you’d never have dreamed of visiting. She was, as always, stunning—her blue hair neatly tied back, soft tendrils framing her face. She looked effortlessly elegant in a navy dress that brought out the striking color of her eyes.

The date unfolded like a dream. Caitlyn was the perfect conversationalist, effortlessly blending sharp wit with genuine curiosity. She asked about your day, your dreams, even your childhood—things most people wouldn’t bother with. And as much as you wanted to keep your guard up, you couldn’t help but be drawn in.

Dinner was served in a private alcove overlooking the vineyard, the table set with delicate glassware and candlelight. The food was exquisite, the kind of meal you’d only ever seen in glossy magazines. But it wasn’t the truffle risotto or the perfectly paired wine that held your attention—it was her.

Throughout the evening, you caught yourself staring at her more than you wanted to. The way her lips curved when she smiled, the way her fingers drummed lightly against the table when she was deep in thought, the way her laughter rang out like music in the still night air. She was magnetic, and despite your best efforts, you were drawn to her.

Every time you started to overthink, you reminded yourself why you were here. It was just for the money. Nothing more. But with every passing moment, that excuse felt flimsier.

As the date came to a close, you both walked back to her car, the evening still buzzing in your veins. The vineyard had been beautiful, the conversation even better. You couldn’t help but smile as she opened the car door for you, the evening winding down as the soft hum of the engine filled the space between you.

Her expression shifted, a light flush coloring her cheeks as she looked over at you. “I can’t believe this,” she said with a small, embarrassed laugh. “I completely forgot the money at home.”

You blinked, unsure if she was serious. “Seriously? How do you forget something like that?”

Caitlyn chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I swear, I wasn’t trying to pull anything. I just got caught up in the night.”

You raised an eyebrow, a bit skeptical, but she seemed genuine. “You really forgot?”

She nodded sheepishly. “I did. I’m so sorry about that. I swear I wasn’t trying to be sneaky.”

You sighed, leaning back in your seat, trying to think it through. It wasn’t like you had a choice. You needed the money, and she was offering to get it for you. Plus, you were already here.

“Alright,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “I guess we’ll have to go back to your place then.”

Caitlyn’s eyes lit up with a smile. “Thanks for being understanding. I wouldn’t want to leave you empty-handed.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. This was supposed to be a simple transaction, right? But the way she smiled at you, the way she said it so effortlessly, made everything feel... murkier than it had been before.

“Fine,” you muttered, trying to brush off the nagging feeling. “Let’s go. Just make it quick, okay?”

She nodded, her smile lingering as she turned the car onto the road. "It won’t take long," she assured you, her fingers gripping the wheel just a little tighter.

The drive was quiet for a moment, both of you lost in your thoughts. You couldn’t help but glance at Caitlyn from the corner of your eye. This is just for the money. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The gates to Caitlyn’s mansion opened with a quiet hum, and the sight of her home still caught you off guard, no matter how many times you’d told yourself to expect it. The sheer grandeur of the place was almost laughable. A far cry from the cramped apartment you called home.

She led you inside, the heels of her shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something sweeter—maybe her perfume, lingering faintly from the drive.

“Take a seat,” Caitlyn said, motioning toward the couch in the spacious living room. Her tone was casual, but there was something inviting about it. “I’ll just grab the money.”

You nodded, sinking into the plush cushions. The room was quiet, save for the distant tick of an ornate grandfather clock. You told yourself you were only here for the money, but as your fingers brushed the soft fabric of the couch, you couldn’t help but notice how at ease you felt.

Caitlyn returned a few moments later, an envelope in her hand. She hesitated at the edge of the room before walking over to you. Her expression was softer now, the confident edge she usually wore replaced by something... gentler.

“Here,” she said, handing you the envelope. It was heavy, more than you expected, and the weight of it made your stomach churn.

“Thanks,” you murmured, clutching it awkwardly.

She sat down beside you, her movements unhurried. “You don’t have to rush off, you know,” she said after a moment. “If you want to stay for a bit, that is.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Stay?”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “If you’d like. No pressure.”

You considered her offer. Every rational part of you screamed to leave, to take the money and go, but instead, you found yourself nodding. “Just for a bit,” you said quickly, more to yourself than to her. “Besides, you’ve already paid me... it’d be rude to run off so soon.”

Caitlyn chuckled softly, but she didn’t say anything, letting you justify your decision however you needed.

But was that really why you stayed? You tried to convince yourself it was. You owed her this, didn’t you? She’d paid you. But even as the thought crossed your mind, it felt hollow. The truth was harder to admit: you wanted to see more of her.

Oh, don’t be ridiculous, you scolded yourself. That’s not it at all.

“Wine?” Caitlyn asked, breaking the silence.

You glanced up to find her already pouring two glasses, her movements graceful as ever. When she handed you one, your fingers brushed briefly, and you cursed the way your heart stuttered at the contact.

“Thanks,” you muttered, taking a sip.

She leaned back, swirling her own glass as her gaze wandered to the fireplace. “You know,” she began, her voice low, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Your stomach flipped, and you forced out a laugh. “I’m not that interesting.”

“I disagree.” She looked at you then, her blue eyes piercing, as if she could see straight through you. “You’re different. Honest.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to hold her gaze, instead focusing on the way the firelight danced across the rim of your glass. Different? Honest? If only she knew the truth.

And yet, sitting there with her, you felt the tension begin to ease. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was her presence—calm, steady, and undeniably magnetic. Whatever it was, you found yourself wanting to stay just a little longer. Just for a bit, you told yourself again.

But deep down, you knew better.

The conversation flowed as effortlessly as the wine, the two of you trading stories and quips that left you smiling more than you cared to admit. Caitlyn had this way of speaking that was equal parts mesmerizing and disarming, her words weaving around you like a warm embrace.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there, sipping wine and talking, but time seemed irrelevant. Caitlyn leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, watching you in that way that made your stomach twist.

“Do you ever wonder,” she said, swirling the deep red liquid in her glass, “how people end up in each other’s lives? Like... what are the odds of us meeting?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t know,” you admitted, fidgeting with the stem of your glass. “I guess I don’t think about it much.”

“I do.” Her voice softened, and she tilted her head, the firelight catching the sharp angles of her face. “I think about how strange it is that out of everyone I could’ve met, it was you.”

Your heart skipped, and you forced a laugh to break the tension creeping into the room. “You make it sound like fate or something.”

“Maybe it is.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and impossibly sincere. You wanted to laugh it off again, but her gaze pinned you in place. It was as if she’d stripped away every wall you’d carefully built, leaving you bare and vulnerable under her scrutiny.

Your grip tightened around the glass, your pulse hammering in your ears. It’s just the wine, you told yourself for the hundredth time, clinging to the excuse like a lifeline. But deep down, you knew better. It wasn’t the wine. It was her.

And then she said it.

“You’re so guarded,” Caitlyn murmured, her eyes never leaving yours. “Like you’re afraid to let anyone in. But I see you, you know. The real you.”

It was too much. The sincerity in her voice, the way she looked at you, the undeniable pull that had been building since the moment you stepped into her world. Something inside you snapped.

Before you knew what you were doing, you set your glass down and shifted on the couch, crawling toward her. Caitlyn’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through her calm facade.

And then you kissed her.

It wasn’t tentative or hesitant; it was urgent, born of all the emotions you’d been trying to suppress. Her lips were soft and warm against yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to still.

Caitlyn responded almost instantly, her hands finding your waist as she pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

You found yourself straddling her, your hands tangled in her hair, both of you lost in the kiss. It was no longer just an exchange of lips—it was desperate, raw, as if every suppressed feeling had finally found its release. The kiss deepened, and time seemed to stretch, until finally, both of you pulled away, gasping for air.

Caitlyn’s eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, as if silently asking, Was that real? Your breath hitched in your throat, and you swallowed hard. What were you doing? This was supposed to be about the money, nothing more. But how could you reconcile that with the way your heart was racing, the way your body was pulling you closer to hers?

For a moment, doubt crept in, the weight of everything you’d been trying to keep at bay threatening to suffocate you. This was wrong. You shouldn’t be here. But then, Caitlyn tilted your head gently, her lips brushing against your neck, and all those thoughts melted away like ice under a hot sun.

Her touch was electric, igniting something deep inside you. Her kisses trailed down your neck, slow and deliberate, each one sending a shiver down your spine. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and for once, you didn’t care about the consequences. You didn’t care about the deal, the money, or the lines you’d promised yourself you’d never cross. All that mattered was her.

Before you even realized what was happening, you found yourself pressed back against the soft cushions of the couch, Caitlyn above you, her body warm and impossibly close. The world outside the room seemed to fade, the only thing that mattered now was her.

With a soft grunt, she tossed her expensive jacket onto the floor, the fabric crumpling as it landed. Her hands moved to your neck, her lips following closely behind. She pressed gentle, teasing kisses along the length of your jaw, the soft brush of her lips sending a wave of heat down your spine. The feel of her breath against your skin was intoxicating, leaving your thoughts scrambled, your heart pounding in your chest.

You didn’t even realize you were pulling her closer until her body was practically flush against yours. Your hands roamed, as if of their own accord, finding her waist, her back, holding her steady as she kissed you with increasing intensity. Her lips left a trail of fire on your neck, the sensation so distracting you couldn’t think straight.

Every part of you screamed that this was wrong, that it was supposed to be about the money, but with each touch, each kiss, that voice inside you grew quieter, lost to the heat of the moment. You didn’t stop her. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself sinking deeper into it, unable to resist.

Her fingers moved with a deliberate slowness, grazing your skin as they fumbled with the buttons of your blouse. Each touch sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t help but watch her, breath catching in your throat. The way she moved—steady, focused, like she knew exactly what she was doing—made everything feel more intense.

Your chest rose and fell with every shaky breath, your heart racing in anticipation. It was as if time had slowed, every second stretching out as she continued, the space between you growing impossibly tight. You found your eyes locked onto hers.

"You're so beautiful," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, as your hand gently reached up to tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

Her gaze softened, a slow smile curling on her lips as she took in your words. Her eyes roamed over your exposed skin, her fingers brushing lightly across your collarbone, tracing the line of your body as if memorizing every inch of you.

She inched lower, her hands moving with deliberate slowness, stopping just above the waistband of your bottoms. Her gaze never left yours, steady and intense, as she waited for any sign of hesitation. But all you could do was stare back at her, completely lost in the moment. Every thought, every reason you’d given yourself for being here, seemed to fade into the background. It was as if the entire world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in this electric, heavy silence.

You swallowed, trying to find your bearings, but all you could focus on was the weight of her gaze, the way her touch lingered in the air. For the first time, you weren’t sure where this was heading, or if it even mattered.

"May I?" She asks for permission to slip your bottoms off. You hummed in response.

With a trembling hand, you slowly nodded, giving Caitlyn the unspoken permission she sought. As your bottoms slid down the length of your legs, the cool air of the room brushed against your skin, sending a peculiar tingle through every nerve ending.

Her eyes roamed over your bare form, taking in every curve and contour as if committing it to memory. She bit her lower lip, a soft sigh escaping her as she drank in the sight of you. Slowly, she began to unbutton her own blouse, her movements deliberate and seductive.

As the fabric fell open, revealing the smooth skin of her chest, she allowed the blouse to slide off her shoulders, joining your discarded bottoms on the floor. She unhooked her bra next, her breasts finally free.

It's clear she's proud of how she looks and It's also clear she knows you're conscious of yours. She was going to make sure you felt the most beautiful and desirable woman alive after this, because to Caitlyn Kiramman, that's what you are.

She gently ran her fingers along your collarbone, tracing the curve of your breasts without touching them directly, teasing you with her nearness. "Do you see how perfect you are?" She murmured, her voice low and husky. She wanted you to feel adored, worshipped.

She moved lower, her gaze locked on yours as she reached out to gently grasp your hands in hers. With a soft smile, she brought your hands up to her face, pressing a gentle kiss to your palms before laying them against her cheeks. "You're perfect"

With that, she leaned forward, her lips brushing against your inner thighs as she speaks against your skin. "So soft, so sweet." She kisses and nuzzles your thighs before finally pressing her mouth against your folds. Caitlyn's tongue dives in, licking and sucking at your pussy with intense focus.

"A-ah... Cait-"

She moans against you as she tastes your wetness, her tongue swirling around your clit with increasing pressure. Your legs tremble and your hips buck forward, pressing yourself against her face. Caitlyn grips your thighs tighter, holding you in place as she devours you.

"Mmm, you taste even better than I'd imagined," Caitlyn murmurs against your folds, her hot breath sending shivers down your spine. She continues to lick and suck, her tongue plunging in and out of your pussy, fucking you with her mouth.

You're panting and moaning loudly now, your fingers gripping her hair tightly as you pull her face closer. "God... C-Caitlyn," you whimper, your back arching off the bed as she curls her tongue inside you, hitting that spot that drives you wild.

Caitlyn's eyes flutter closed in bliss as she feels you tightening around her tongue. She knows you're close. She sucks your clit hard, flicking the tip of her tongue over it rapidly. Your legs shake violently and you let out a scream of pleasure as your orgasm rips through you.

"So beautiful..."

As the waves of your climax subside, Caitlyn slowly pulls back, licking her lips hungrily. She sits up, her nipples hardened with arousal, and swiftly removes her remaining bottoms. Naked now, she crawls back onto the couch, positioning herself between your still trembling thighs.

Caitlyn spreads your legs wider, her own pussy glistening with arousal. She grasps your inner thighs, holding them apart as she positions herself. With a satisfied smile, she presses her own folds against yours, the heat and wetness of her pussy scissoring against your sensitive folds.

You gasp as you feel the warmth and pressure of her pussy against yours, your fingers digging into the couch cushions.

"Oh my god," you breathe out, your eyes locking with hers. She starts to move her hips in a slow, sensual grind, creating delicious friction between your bare pussies.

Caitlyn's hips move faster, the room filling with the wet, smacking sounds of your intertwined folds rubbing together. She wraps her arms around your legs, pulling them up higher onto her shoulders, allowing her deeper access. "You like that?"

"Yes, fuck yes!" you cry out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. The sensation of Caitlyn's pussy rubbing against yours is overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. You can feel her wetness soaking through yours, the heat and pressure building to an intense level.

Caitlyn's movements become more frantic, her breath coming in short gasps as she chases her own orgasm. She leans forward, her mouth finding yours in a fierce, passionate kiss as she continues to scissor your pussy with her own. The dual stimulation is too much for both of you.

Feeling the blue haired girl's intense passion, you break the kiss, pushing her back gently yet firmly. She falls onto the couch cushions, a look of surprise and excitement flashing across her face. Taking charge, you kneel between her spread legs, your mouth watering at the sight of her dripping pussy.

"Yes..." she breathes out, propping herself up on her elbows to watch you. Her legs tremble slightly as you lower your head, and she can already feel the heat of your breath against her sensitive folds. Her hips lift involuntarily, eager for your touch, "Please..."

You part her slick folds with your fingers, revealing her swollen clit. Without hesitation, you flatten your tongue and lick a long, slow stripe up her center, tasting her sweet juices. Caitlyn's back arches off the couch, a loud moan escaping her lips, "Oh god, yes!"

You continue your assault on her pussy with fervor, your tongue circling her sensitive clit before sucking it gently into your mouth. Caitlyn writhes beneath you, her hands fisting in your hair as she grinds her hips against your face. "Don't stop, fuck don't stop!"

Her moans grow louder as you increase the pressure, your fingers joining your tongue as you thrust them in and out of her wet heat while sucking relentlessly on her throbbing clit. She's practically sobbing with pleasure.

Catching you off guard, she whispers, "Not yet," and gently pushes you back down to lie on the couch. She quickly moves around, positioning herself between your legs, her eyes locked with yours. "My turn," she says with a playful smile, licking her fingers before slowly sliding them inside you.

You feel a mix of surprise and desire as she takes control again. Her fingers, slick with her own saliva, slide easily into your tight pussy, scissoring and stretching you open. You let out a soft gasp, your back arching slightly as she starts to pump her fingers in and out of you.

Keeping eye contact, she adds a third finger, her thumb circling your clit. You moan loudly, your hips moving in rhythm with her thrusts. "You're gorgeous" she breathes out, her other hand casually squeezing one of your breasts as she continues to fuck you with her fingers.

"Don't hold back... let me hear how good this feels." curling her fingers up to brush against your most sensitive spot as she talks Her free hand moves to your clit, circles it firmly while pumping her fingers faster.

"Aah- Cait... F-Feels s'good..."

Her fingers piston in and out faster, knuckles deep now, stretching you wider than ever before. Her thumb finds your sweet spot and rubs rhythmically as she curls her fingers inside you, trying to mimic the shape of something else.

Fingers pumping in and out of you at a quickening pace, you can feel them getting wider inside you as she curls them up, hitting that spot deeper each time. You whimper and squirm beneath her touch, trying to pull your legs up to give her better access.

A satisfied smirk crosses her face at your responsiveness. She uses her free hand to push your legs higher, opening you wider.

Her pace quickens, the wet sound of her fingers sliding in and out of you filling the room.

Her fingers continue to drill into your pussy, curling up to rub against your g-spot with relentless precision. With a particularly hard stroke, your body tenses up and suddenly you're squirting hard, a powerful stream of fluid gushing out of your pussy and coating Caitlyn's hand and fingers.

Catching your eye, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips as she feels your warm fluids coating her hand "Oh, my... look at what you just did for me..." slowly licks her fingers clean.

"Oh my god- I've never..." You gasp.

"Well I'm glad I'm the first" She smiles, that gentle smile that leaves you yearning for her.

“Well, I’m glad I’m the first,” Caitlyn smiles, her voice soft as she leans in, her fingers brushing against your skin. The warmth of her body next to yours feels oddly comforting. She wraps her arm around you, pulling you closer as you both settle into the couch.

For a moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the music playing in the background and the gentle rhythm of your breathing. You let yourself relax, your head resting against her shoulder, and for once, you let go of all the worries you’ve been holding onto.

But as you lie there, nestled in the comfort of her embrace, something starts to pull at you—an unsettling thought.

The haze of warmth and affection is fleeting, and suddenly, reality crashes in. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be here, wrapped up in her like this, enjoying her company as if it were something real.

You shift slightly, pulling your head away from her shoulder as a wave of guilt rushes through you. You’re reminded of why you’re here in the first place—why you agreed to this whole arrangement. It was never about her. It was never supposed to be about her. You needed the money.

Your gaze drifts, and your eyes land on the envelope of cash sitting innocently on the coffee table beside the wine glasses.

It’s like a punch to the gut. The money. That’s why you agreed to this. Why you came back. Not because you wanted to be here with her, not because of the connection you’ve started to feel, but because you needed the cash.

The reality sinks in, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You turn your head to look at Caitlyn, but her face is still soft with contentment, her eyes closed in peaceful oblivion to the internal war waging within you.

You want to believe that there’s more to this, that maybe there’s something real between you two. But you know better. This was always just a transaction. It was just business.

But why does it feel so much more than that?

[jakedustry]

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑, 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 - 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐍

Jeonghan x fem!reader

in which Jeonghan screams trouble every time you look at him, you knew that from the start. Still, you let yourself fall for him, and now you regret it as you watch him kiss a different woman on the New Year's party you both attended. Thankfully, New Year means new chance, and Jeonghan will do anything to prove you how much he cares about you.

wc 2.5k

warnings SMUT, fwb, Jeonghan kissed another girl (not on the lips), they are drunk but it's not implied much, arguing, missionary, unprotected sex, pull-out method, hickeys/marks, hair pulling (his hair), oral (f. receiving), fingering, petnames, praise, lmk if I missed anything!

↪ izzy adds... okay, I know it's already the second day of 2025 but I wanted to write a new year's special for seventeen too and had no time until now. But!! It's here now!! Not proofread!

It takes you a moment before you can breathe again, the smell of alcohol around you making you dizzy. You’re not sure how much you had so far, but honestly, you are more worried about your friends, who are currently doing another round of shots. You frown only at the thought of the taste of vodka on your tongue. 

“One more! One more! One more!” The chant makes your head hurt. You squeeze your eyes shut before looking around the room to find an escape. “Hey, are you okay?” The familiar voice makes you sigh, and you turn your head to face him. “Better than ever, so leave me alone.” He frowns when your breath reaches him, and he steps closer to help you stand up from the floor. At this point, someone will step on you. “Come with me, I’ll call you an Uber,” he offers, reaching his hand out to you. You push his hand away, though, scoffing at his sudden nice guy act. “I said I’m okay here,” you repeat, making him sigh. Before you can protest more, his arms wrap around you, and he lifts you up from the floor. “Let go of me, Han,” you protest, but he doesn’t care, letting you stand on your own feet only for him to hold your hand tightly so you wouldn’t run away. 

“Happy?” You ask when you finally step outside, the cold air helping you calm down. “No. Drink this first,” Jeonghan says, handing you a water bottle. You don’t forget to glare at him as you take the bottle from him, but he pays it no attention. “Why are you so mad? I’m just trying to help you out.” His words echo in your ears, the anger in you building up the more he speaks. “Since you’ve made it so clear you have your own life, I’m just trying to live mine too.” — “You’d make it a lot easier for me if you didn’t keep bothering me.” 

“What are you talking about?” He asks confusedly, running his fingers through his hair. “You think I’m that stupid?” Your voice gets louder as you face him again. He knows you want to look strong, and that’s why you’re yelling, but your eyes give you away. You look broken, like you’re about to cry. “I’ve never said that.” 

You groan, irritated by him. “This is not about what you say, but what you do!” You burst out at him, opening your mouth again to yell at him when he only stares back at you confusedly. No words leave your mouth, though, and you’re turning around once more to run away from him. “Explain things further, and don’t just run away,” he grasps your wrist, turning you around again with one swift pull. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

You hate how innocent his eyes look. If you hadn’t seen him yourself, you might have even believed him that he never did anything wrong. But you were there, still sober, when it happened: his arms on another woman, his lips on her neck, and her fingers in his hair. You had enough of his bullshit. You weren’t exclusive, so you shouldn’t be feeling like this about seeing him with another woman, but you just couldn’t help it. If he wanted to fuck around, he shouldn’t have ever made you believe he felt something more towards you. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know anything,” you hiss at him, your fingernails digging into your palm to focus your pain onto something else. You don’t want to break down in front of him, but the more you gaze into his eyes, the more you doubt how much longer you can hold your emotions bottled up. 

“But I don’t!” He argues. “What did I do?” He sounds desperate, and you hate that part of you believes him. “Then ask the blond you seemed to be so close to before! I bet she knows!” You yell into his face, trying to get out of his grip. Jeonghan falls silent, unable to say anything in his defense. He doesn’t let go of you, though. He can’t. Your name leaves his lips, and it feels like a knife being ripped out of your chest. 

“No,” you stop him before he can say anything, still trying to shake him off of you. “I don’t want to hear any of your ‘You’re all I care about’ bullshit. You’ve proven I shouldn’t believe a word that comes out of your stupid mouth.” 

His eyes fall, and you watch him bite his bottom lip as he rethinks what he should say. When his eyes meet yours again, you think you’re about to cry. “It’s not how you think it is,” he proclaims, and his lame excuse makes you scoff. “Yeah, because licking someone’s neck can be portrayed in so many ways,” you roll your eyes at him. “Let go of me. I’m done with this, Han.” 

His grip only tightens. “It was a stupid dare Mingyu came up with. It didn’t mean anything. If you had been there, I would have licked your entire body.” You frown at his comment. “No, thanks. I’m done with this,” you repeat your words.

“You can’t–” he tries to talk you out of it, but you interrupt him before he gets the chance. “I can do whatever the fuck I want as far as I’m aware. And I’m sure you can find a different fuck buddy if you really can’t stay without sex for a while.” 

“You know damn well we haven’t been about sex for some time now,” his voice is strong, sending a shiver down your spine as he pulls you closer to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “I don’t even know her name, baby. I don’t care about her or any other girl there. This whole time, I kept thinking about what you were doing and if you were okay.” 

“I don’t believe you,” your voice sounds weak compared to his. You have to gulp down as you watch him, doubting your ability to resist him when he is this close to you. 

It’s been half a year since you agreed on this little friends-with-benefits thing with him, and it was great until you started to develop feelings for him. You thought you could push them aside and live your life freely, but your plan fell apart when he started giving you hope, showing up in your apartment after work just to watch a movie with you, taking you out to dinners without any reason, and then, just a week ago, the L bomb that slipped past his lips on accident. 

You thought that was finally your chance at happiness, but he just had to ruin it again tonight. 

“I don’t want to go into the New Year with my heart on you when I don’t know what you’ll do when I turn around and don’t watch you for a bit.” 

“That was a one-time mistake,” he argues, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I don’t want to go into the New Year without you.” 

You hate him. You hate how he makes you feel, but most importantly, you hate how easily you forgive him. 

“Let me make it up to you, prove that you’re the only woman I think about, the only one I am in love with.” Jeonghan had promised himself he wouldn’t ever tell you again unless he knew you felt the same way about him after the first time it managed to escape his lips, but now that he was so close to losing you, he didn’t care about his stupid resolution. He needed you to know he meant those words. 

“I hate you,” you mumble, hitting him in the chest weakly. “I know, I’m the worst,” he nods, his thumb stroking your cheek. “But I want to be the best for you.” Whatever fight your brain and heart were fighting seconds ago stops, and you don’t care anymore what the right decision is. You need him, and you don’t care if he hurts you anymore. 

Your lips crash with his, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull you closer. He finally lets go of your wrist and moves his hand on your waist, giving it a tight squeeze as he keeps you close to himself. “You better mean everything you said,” you warn him, pushing him to the wall behind him before you connect your lips again. He smirks, tugging your hair behind your ear so it won’t get in the way. “Swear on my family,” he mumbles, the taste of your lipstick driving him crazy. “Should we go home?” He offers, a groan escaping his lips when your hips crash with his. “Or should I take you right here?” His hand slides between your bodies, moving down to reach the bottom of your skirt. The grin on his face as his fingers find your clothed clit is insufferable. 

“I’m going to bite your dick off,” you hiss, squirming away from him. You pull away when he doesn’t stop touching you, your finger in the middle of his chest as you glare at him. “What? You were just getting wet,” he smirks as he sees the blush creep up your face. “I swear I will kill you one day,” you promise him, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him off the wall. He stumbles for a second but finds his balance again and sends you a teasing wink before he walks towards the parking lot, already calling an Uber. 

♡⸝⸝ 

The kisses you share when you walk into his apartment are heated, and the taste of everything you’ve drank tonight mixes with the liquor he had. His mouth moves to kiss your collarbone as he kicks the door of his room open, not bothered enough to close it again as he takes you to his bed, the same bed you’ve been a regular in for months now. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, moving down to kiss your right breast through your top. Your breath shakes as your fingers tug at his hair, making him groan. He rolls your top up, and you help him remove it while he cups your boobs in both of his hands, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. “Only for you,” you moan out, rubbing your thighs together. “Only for me,” he repeats after you, smirking as he licks your right nipple while his left hand takes care of the other one. 

“No one else.” — “No one else,” you agree, nodding as he sucks on your sensitive nipple. “God, Jeonghan,” you moan as his lips move lower, tracing wet kisses on your stomach until he reaches your skirt, slowly pulling it down as he kisses the hem of your panties. It’s embarrassing how wet you are just from that. He hums in response, hooking his fingers in your panties and pulling them down with ease. “What does my girl need?” He asks, his tongue sliding between your folds. The feeling of his tongue on your clit makes your head spin, and your fingers find his hair again. He sucks on your clit, his fingers teasing your needy entrance. “Jeong–” your voice breaks as he thrusts two of his fingers into you, and you pull on his hair. 

It wasn’t the first time he had gone down on you like this, but each time, it caught you off guard just like the first time. The praises that leave his lips send a shiver down your spine as he continues making out with your cunt, and you finally know what he meant by making it up to you. He doesn’t budge as you pull on his hair, saying it’s too much for you. He knows not to listen to you at moments like these. 

It’s not much longer that your thighs shake around his head, and you finish on his tongue. He smirks against your pussy, his nose pressed against your clit, letting you ride out your orgasm. 

“Please, Hannie, please,” after your begs, it doesn’t take much longer for him to pull down his pants, his shirt still on. You tug on the material covering his upper body, and he smirks. “My baby wants to see more of me?” He teases, still rubbing slow circles on your clit. You nod, your eyes falling to his soaked fingers. God. 

“Oh?” He taunts, dragging his fingers down to your clenching hole. “I haven’t even started yet,” he whispers, and had it been a different situation, you’d remind him not to get too egoist. But this time, you can’t say anything to him. It’s true. His cock wasn’t even close to touching you, and you had already finished once. It was only a matter of time before he’d take you to your second orgasm. 

“Please,” you cry, and as he takes down his shirt, he positions his tip at your cunt. “Is this what you want?” You nod rapidly, reaching for his hand. He only pushes the tip in as he intertwines his fingers with yours, cooing sweet nothings into your ear. 

He moans as you clench around him, his thrusts slowly becoming steady. Your vision blurs and all you can pay attention to are his moans that fill your ears. You could swear he had the prettiest moans you’ve ever heard. 

The room is loud, your whines mixing with his as they fill up the otherwise quiet place. Each one of his thrusts hits the right spot, and you know that at this point, you’ll cum before he can even get close to his orgasm. “Don’t– ngh,” you grasp his hand when you see him moving it down to your already overstimulated bud of nerves again, stopping him. “‘S too much,” you whine, but it only causes him to smirk. “It’s alright,” he coos, pinning your hands behind your head with his left hand, followed by one harsh thrust of his hips, while his right-hand rubs circles on your clit despite your protests. “You can cum as many—fuck—times you want,” he says, his breathing growing heavy as his eyes watch his cock disappear in your hole. 

His thrusts get harsher after that, and you’re confident you’ll have bruises on your ass in the morning from how his hips slam against you. He leans down to kiss you, swallowing your moans in his mouth as your lips connect. “‘M close,” you cry, and he nods. “Just a bit. I’m almost, god, there, too.” 

There are marks all over your neck and shoulders when he pulls out of you, stroking his cock a few more times before he finishes on your stomach. There is a sense of emptiness you feel as his cock leaves you, but you stop thinking about it soon after when he kisses you again. This time, it’s less needy but full of love instead. 

As he falls down next to you, you use up the moment and change your position, sitting on his stomach while he looks up at you. You smirk, leaning down to his collarbone and leaving a hickey there, too. He can’t be the only one marking what’s his.

✧˖°. izzy's tags @beomiracles @adel222 @liaatiny @bamgeutsz @cherrylovescheol ✧˖°. want to get notified? join taglist here!

[vladtoly]

Headcannons for Being in the Games with Nam-gyu

A/N: Hey guys! So someone made a request for Player 124, Nam-gyu, from season 2. They told me I could write a blurb or anything for him, and I really appreciate having that freedom for this character. I am not his biggest fan, but I am thankful to have my first request after a very long hiatus, so thank you and I hope it’s good 😊

So in this scenario, I imagine you are dating outside of the game and are possibly approached by a Salesman as well, being offered the chance to help your boyfriend out of his debt

I don’t think he would mention even to his partner that he would be gone for some time, especially not about the games and why he would have to be there

I feel like he may have an insecurity about it, like he would perceive it as shameful to have the debt, let alone talk about the struggle with his partner

You most likely wouldn’t know he even had any until you were approached over the game to help him with it

So you both may go radio silent for a day, trying to not speak to each other leading up to the game, only to come face to face while going to take the ID pictures before Red Light, Green Light

To say he’s pissed is an understatement

And possibly even embarrassed  

Seeing you there in general is one thing, but being there because of him? Oh he’s livid

He’d argue with you all the way to the first arena, adamant that he doesn’t need your help, and he can pay off his own debt

But once people start getting shot, his anger starts to be directed to the Salesman, for making you feel like you had a duty to pay his debt off

And then himself, for wracking up so much debt in the first place

As soon as Gi-hun directs everyone to hide behind someone bigger, Nam-gyu grabs your arm and puts you behind him immediately

He doesn’t have just a responsibility for himself now, but you too

As soon as the first game is over and voting begins, even though he realizes your vote could end the game for him as well, he urges you to vote X

He wants you to be safe

But honestly, you’re dating him. You must have a little fire in you, be a little stubborn

So when you’re called to the front, you slam the O button, collect your patch, and walk up to him with a smile on your face

He looks like he wants to start an argument, but stops as your eyes give him one message

‘Don’t start.’

He keeps his mouth shut and simply sighs, putting an arm around you as the vote continues

When it’s decided for the game to continue, he approaches Thanos about creating a group and has you tightly in tow

If you’re staying, you’re not leaving his sight

Requests for headcannons/blurbs are OPEN!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: hello again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The tension remains. It feeds into your anxiety. An impatience that needles in your chest. You want to get this done with. You want to go home. But each time that desperate yearning tweaks, you remember that you won’t be going home. Not right away. You’ll be going back to Andy’s. 

He holds the door for you again as you enter the pharmacy. You roll your tank with you, reminded by the squeaky wheels of the constant companion. It’s like a part of you. It keeps the parts of you that don’t work from failing completely. That thought makes you feel even smaller. 

Again, you walk down that middle aisle. The pharmacist greets you and Andy together. He replies as you stay quiet and browse the lozenges lined up under the window. 

“I don’t think we have her insurance on file,” the pharmacist says as he puts in the amount owing. 

“Don’t worry about it. Just give us a receipt and we’ll make a claim.” Andy assures. 

“I have...” you reach into your belt bag and sift around. “Here.” 

You pull out the card you keep on you at all times. There will still be a copay owing. You don’t have money on you. Your mother is always sure to swipe her card with a tut. 

“Um, I don’t... I don’t have the credit card,” you mutter at Andy. 

“That’s fine,” he steps closer, pressing against you. 

The pharmacist keys in your insurance number and hands the card back. You accept it with a sheepish smile. Your chest is tight and your cheeks are scalding. He taps the enter button and looks at Andy. 

“Five bucks, left over.” 

“Even?” Andy says lightly as he reaches into his back pocket, “no problem.” 

He opens his wallet and plucks out a bill, handing it over. You sink down in shame. You can’t even pay a couple bucks for your livelihood. The pharmacist hands over the stapled white bag with the receipt and script attached.  

Andy takes it and reads the label as the pills rattle inside. His eyes narrow as his gaze turns pensive. He clucks his tongue and offers you the bag. You thank him and hug it against your side. 

“I’ll get mom to pay you back,” you assure him. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves you off. “Like I said yesterday, I want to help out.” He gestures you ahead of him. You turn and head back toward the front of the store. He’s only a step behind you, trailing like your shadow. “Hey, do you think you could do me one favour?” 

You approach the door and grab the metal handle. The bag presses against it in your grasp as you try to pull it open. It’s heavier than you expect. Your pills drop and hit the floor. You gasp but before you can retrieve them, Andy scoops them up. 

He hands them over again. You look at him and frown, “what?” 

He opens the door and lets you through first. He follows again. “Did you want to write down all your appointments for me? I’d like to put them in my calendar. Just in case.” 

“My... appointments?” You echo as he points you toward his car. 

“Sure. Your mom must be stretched thin as it is. Might be why she gets a bit snappy. If I can help a little...” 

“You-- you don’t have to,” you murmur. 

“I want to,” he opens the passenger door. He hauls up your tank, dragging it from your grasp, and sets it in the SUV. “Must be hard, living in the hospital.” He offers his hand. “Your mom says you don’t have any friends.” 

Your eyes glaze at once. You’re humiliated. What else does your mom tell him for him to think you so pathetic? You grab his hand and heave yourself up into the car. 

“Thanks,” is all you can muster as you untangle the air tube and get your seat belt in place. 

He gently shuts the door and goes around to the other side. You squeeze the bag and look out the window, ignoring Andy as he gets in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t say another word as he turns the engine and patiently waits to pull out of the spot. 

He idles at a stop sign and flips on the stereo. You flinch and look over as the station titles flash across the display in the middle of the dashboard. He stops on a Current Hits station. 

“Bet you like this stuff,” he says as the sultry pop plays. 

You’ve never heard this song. You focus as you try to make out the lyrics. 

‘Say you can't sleep, baby, I know 

That's that me espresso 

Move it up, down, left, right, oh 

Switch it up like Nintendo’ 

Your eyes widen as you pick up the innuendo. You shift in your seat and lean into the door. You grip the handle of the tank tighter. 

“I don’t know this one,” you eke out. 

“Really? I heard this girl was really popular.” 

“Um, I’m not sure.” 

“It’s not bad, is it?” He taps his thumb so the volume increases. “I’ve heard worse, for sure.” 

You wallow in the rhythm and the lyrics. You can’t relate much to them.  

‘Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya...’ 

You try not to be prudish. It isn’t that sex stuff scares you or that you think it’s wrong. You just don’t know much about it. You don’t have the experience. You never had the chance to. It’s just a mystery that makes you feel stupid. 

“I like it,” he bobs his head, “what about you?” 

You shrug, “she has a nice voice.” 

You stare out at the streets as he drives on. The music doesn’t get much better. It seems like every song that’s popular is about... that. You zone out and let the words blur together. 

The car stops and the sudden lack of motion makes you dizzy. You sit up and undo your belt as you peek out at Andy’s house. You hope your mom is awake. She’ll probably want to go home. 

You get out before Andy can grab you or the tank again. As helpful as he is, it’s a bit suffocating. You don’t want to tell him so because you know he means well. Besides, after everything he’s done, it would be rude. 

He patiently trails you to the front door. You watch him punch in the door code, reminded of the coincidence that they perfectly align with your birth date. Does he realise? He would’ve had all your info to file the case and all that. You shake off that memory. You’re still recovering from all that. 

“What’s the matter?” He asks as he pushes the door open and steps back to let you inside. 

“Nothing, just... thinking of... stuff.” 

“The case?” He guesses easily. 

“Maybe,” you enter and stop to slip off your sneakers. 

“Did I tell you how good you did, sweetheart? You know, it’s a lot for most people but you really were so well-spoken,” he praises. 

“Mm, oh thanks, I guess,” you mutter. 

Before he can reply, your mother’s voice calls from the second floor. “Andy, is that you? Oh, my head.” 

She appears at the top of the stairs. She’s in a robe that’s too big for her. Probably his. She keeps her hand against her temple as she leans on the banister post. 

“There you are. I didn’t know where you’d gone.” She mopes. 

“Like I said, we just went to get her script,” Andy states flatly. 

“You were a rather long time,” she counters, swaying at the top of the stairs, “I missed you.” 

“Hm, well, it was a bit of a wait,” he says curtly. 

You inch away from Andy and your mom sneers in your direction, “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.” 

“All good,” he assures, “it’s after noon. You should get dressed.” 

“Mm, yes, I suppose,” she sniffs. 

“I’m... I’m going to go to the guest room, make sure I have everything,” you utter. 

Andy sighs. “Sure, I gotta get back to work. Gotta make a call.” 

You climb the stairs as your mother disappears with a stomp. She isn’t happy with Andy’s dismissal. You go down the hall as a door slams. You go into the guest room, happy to hide there, knowing you already have everything with you. You’ll wait there until she’s ready to go. 

You stare out the window. That song is stuck in your head. The beat is good and catchy. Still, the lyrics make you squirm. 

The door swings open behind you. You cough as you face your mother’s blustery entrance, “what did you do?” 

You blink at her cluelessly, “mom?” 

“Yes, obviously you’ve pissed him off, so tell me, what did you do? I told you, I’d get the pills.” 

“I didn’t-- he said—he wanted too--” 

“Oh it’s never your fault,” she hisses. “After everything we’ve done and you just keep taking, don’t you?” 

“Mom, he only... we went to the pharmacy.” 

“You could wait. You’re not running dry on any of your precious pills. Like an addict.” 

You frown. The meds you take aren’t addictive, even if you are reliant on them. If it was up to you, you wouldn’t choose any of this. 

“No, I didn’t--” 

She storms towards you and grabs the belt bag around your waist. You squeal as she rips open the zipper and reaches inside. She tosses the contents onto the floor. 

“I’m missing a bottle of Xanax,” she snarls. “And you’ve been so spacy, haven’t you?” 

“Xanax?” You gulp, “no mom, I didn’t-- I wouldn’t.” 

“I’m not stupid. All you do is sit around and feel sorry for yourself and now you’ve got Andy doing it too.” She snarls and jerks by the belt bag, your air tube slipping off your ears. You cough and push against her. 

“Mom, please, not here. When we get home--” 

“So you took them!” She accuses. 

“No, mom--” 

“You’re such a lying little bitch,” she snarls. Her eyes flare like a snake’s. When she gets like this, she can’t stop. “I didn’t raise you to be a thief.” 

You struggle with her, trying to get her hands off the belt. When you can’t free yourself from her grasp, you push on the clasp and release it. She stumbles back as the bag comes loose and you stagger at the sudden release of tension. You fall back against the window sill and whimper. 

“I swear, mom, I didn’t take anything,” you plead and shield yourself behind your hand.  

She looks at the slack bag in her hand. She considers it as she tightens her hold on the empty pouch. She pulls her arm back and swings it at you. The plastic clasp hits your forearm, leaving a welt there as she reels back to lash again. 

“Danica!” Andy’s voice roars through like thunder. You falter and slip down to your knees. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Your mother’s face drains and her eyes round like a deer. She lowers her arm and straightens, her expression smoothing over as she faces him. “Honey,” she purrs softly, “I was just helping--” 

“No, I saw what you did,” he crosses his arms as you sit on your feet, breathless against the wall. 

“Look, honey,” your mother nears him, “she stole from me. Antidepressants. Do you know how dangerous that is? It could affect her other medications.” 

“So you’re beating her with a belt?” He challenges. 

She chokes and shakes her head, “no, it’s not—I'm just so stressed. I put so much into taking care of her and now she’s messing around with pills--” 

“They are in your goddamn purse,” he comes forward and tears the bag out of her hand. 

“What, no. I checked--” 

He snarls and grabs her wrist, dragging her out of the room. You gape after them, stunned and confused. This can’t be real. 

You grab your tank and use it to push yourself to your feet. You limp after them as he harshly marches her down the hall. His feet bang on the stairs, making you flinch with each step. Your mother whines weakly and begs. “Andy please, you’re hurting me.” 

He lets go as he gets to the front door and he grabs her purse from the table against the wall. He reaches inside and takes out the orange bottle. He shakes it in her face. 

“Don’t talk to me about hurting you,” he barks. “After what I just saw--” 

“It’s a misunderstanding,” your mother issues a brittle laugh, “sweetie, tell him, I didn’t hurt you.” 

“You’re laughing?” He grits. “Danica, get out of my house. Right now.” 

“You have to listen--” 

“Go. Now.” He raises his voice and you shrink back, terrified. His anger is like a storm. 

You mother huffs and drops her head. She turns and straightens her posture, “fine. Come on, let’s go.” 

She snaps her fingers at you. You grip your tank tightly at your side and wheel towards the stairs. She’ll just take this out on you at home. 

“Are you insane? She’s not going with you,” he insists. 

“She’s my daughter,” your mom snarls. 

“She’s your victim,” he retorts and grabs her arm. She whines and smacks him across the face. He recoils and brings his hand to his cheek. 

She pants heavily. His jaw squares as you feel his wrath roiling from the second floor. He’s quiet as he shoves the pills back into her purse and picks the whole thing up. He pushes it into her chest. 

“Go.” 

“Andrew, my car--” 

“You’re a fucking adult. Figure it out before I call the cops.” 

“The cops—Andrew, you can’t--” 

“Oh, I can’t? Because I will have a protective order by the end of today,” he snips. 

“I have guardianship--” 

“I can have it revoked,” he growls. 

She huffs and puffs again, “Andrew, please, you don’t understand--” 

“Get.” He takes a step back and opens the door. “Out.” 

Your mother shakes her head and turns to look up at you. “Dear, please, tell him--” 

You just stare, paralysed by the scene. This can’t be real.  

She snivels and wiggles her nose, crying without tears. She faces Andy again, “she hit me first--” 

“Out.” 

She cringes and snarls, fluttering her fingers in his face, “you’ll see, honey. She’s a burden you don’t want.” She flicks her fingertips at him and scoops up her heels. “You better call the police fast before I do.” 

No sooner than she steps out of the door than Andy swings it with a shaking slam. You peer down at him as your head wobbles. You fumble around for your oxygen, shaking as you bring it over your ears. He faces you and slowly climbs the stairs. 

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go get your things together.” 

[fluentmoviequoter]

Stood Too Close to a Devil

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!UC!reader

Summary: While investigating a human trafficking ring, you get in too deep. You're abducted and meet a group of women you can't leave behind. After months of fighting, you find your way home to the one safety they couldn't take from you.

Warnings: recommended 16+, human trafficking, child abduction and trafficking, allusions to SA, physical/emotional abuse, imprisonment, r is harmed numerous times, drugging, discussion of scars, depiction of corrupt politicians, comfort and early healing at the end

Word Count: 7.3k+ words

A/N: I used one of @nevereclipse 's fantastic ideas for this! The length clearly got away from me, but I love the idea of Tim being home and providing safety for someone that really needs it. Hopefully this is along of the lines of the original post and please feel free to let me know what you think!🫶🏼

You walk up the metal stairs of the cheap motel, feeling your shirt rise up on your waist with each step. The bag in your hands prevents you from pulling the worn fabric down, but it’s okay. Anything that draws attention is appreciated right now. You knock on the door with one hip pushed out to hold the bag.

“Hey, handsome,” you greet when the door opens. “I got everything you asked for.”

Stepping into the room, you set the overfilled bag on the bed and wait for the door to close. Your shoulders droop as you exhale heavily and pull your shirt down to your hips. “Twenty.”

Nyla’s eyes widen as she repeats, “Twenty? Two-zero?”

Nodding, you push your forefinger and your thumb against your eyebrows. “I know. This is way bigger than I thought.”

“It’s bigger than any of us thought,” the chief of Major Crimes agrees. “How’s your cover?”

Tim interrupts your answer and asks, “How are you?”

Licking your lips, you consider lying. “It’s rough,” you admit. “But I can do it. My cover is intact, no one suspects anything, and I’ve gotten more attention the last three nights.”

“What kind of attention?” Nyla inquires.

“Rich has been watching me while I’m working, and the guy at the front desk of the motel asks me about work every day.”

“They’re prying,” Major Crimes Chief Rodriguez says. “Trying to decide if you’re in a position to be asked.”

“Am I?”

“Not yet,” Nyla answers. “People with steady jobs and the income to stay in a long-term motel aren’t usually desperate enough to traffic.”

“Which we aren’t doing,” Tim reminds you. “We need proof, not for you to get sucked in.”

You nod, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Doesn’t make it easier to watch the twenty women they do choose get trafficked.”

“We’re doing everything we can to recover them,” Rodriguez promises. “Keep your eyes open, head down, get information, and we’ll go from there.”

“Rich got violent last night,” you tell them. “I didn’t see the knife but I heard he had one. Got up in a girl’s face because she asked if he was paying.”

“For?” Nyla asks.

“A dance.”

Tim crosses his arms tightly against his chest. He’d been against the idea of your cover job being in a sleazy bar, but there was no better option. You’re close enough to see what you need to see, yet separated just enough to not be easily pulled into it.

“Any idea when they’re planning to act next?” Rodriguez asks as he jots notes on a small black pad.

“I heard someone say something about ‘payday Friday,’ but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re pulling someone new in,” you reply.

“And it’s still too early for a hotel sting,” Tim complains.

“I’ll ask around with some of the girls, see what I can find out,” you offer. “Anything else?”

“Do you think you could get someone to take you to ‘payday Friday’?” Nyla asks. “I know it’s dangerous, but it they trust you enough, it could help.”

You nod and agree to try, though you know Tim is concerned about it. Tim wraps his hand around your arm as you pick up the emptied bag and prepare to leave. His touch is gentle and warm, and you wish you could melt into it and leave this undercover operation in the past. But you need to infiltrate this organization before they traffic even more innocent women.

“Be careful,” Tim urges you quietly. “This is way bigger than anyone knew, so if you need to get out, pull the ripcord.”

“I will,” you assure. “Thank you. You’ll be close?”

“Always.”

You leave the motel room with the promise that Tim is with you, and though it doesn’t make what you’re about to see any better, it makes your practiced confidence come a bit easier.

The black SUV waiting one block away is probably your backup. Tim’s metro team can’t be far, but as you walk deeper into an alley, following three armed men and their dates, your chest tightens. One of these women may be the target, or they could be compliant witnesses to the cruelty these men get pleasure and monetary gain from daily.

“You’ve met, right?” Rich, a regular at your cover job, asks as he gestures between you and his date.

“I don’t think so,” you answer with a smile. “I’m Jewel.”

“Do you speak Spanish, Jewel?” Rich inquires.

“A little bit.”

“Renata here doesn’t speak any English, but she’s very nice.”

You smile and introduce yourself in Spanish.

“No conozco a estos hombres,” Renata says. Her voice is strained, but her smile remains as she confides in you that she doesn’t know these men.

“What’d she say?” Rich's best friend Kol demands.

With an airy laugh, you answer, “She said she doesn’t know where to meet friends here.” Turning to her, you promise, “Te ayudaré. I told her I’d help her.”

Rich and Kol look at one another, then smile.

“I’m sure she’ll really appreciate your help,” Kol says.

His date snickers as she takes the other woman’s hand. So, they do know, you realize. And I just promised to help a woman who’s probably going to be trafficked while I stand here and watch.

“Hey, is Jewel your real name or just, you know, something you go by?” Rich wonders.

“It’s my real name,” you say, staying close to Renata.

“Sounds like a stripper,” one of the women whispers.

“Do you mind if I ask Renata for her phone number? I’d like to introduce her to some of my friends if she’s free sometime.”

Rich nods before he turns to converse privately with Kol and their dates. You raise your phone and text ‘Landlord,’ who is Tim, that something is about to go down and a woman is in immediate danger. You delete the text from your phone after it says it was delivered.

“¿Tienes un número de teléfono?” you ask Renata.

“Me dijo que la diera a la gente siete números. Me dará un teléfono antes de ayudarme a contactar a mi familia en Venezuela,” she answers quickly.

That’s not good. Rich told her to give seven random numbers and promised to get her a phone after she starts working for him to support her family in Venezuela. You know, like most cops, that if a trafficker thinks someone is willing to work to help their family in another country, they are prime targets.

Given that Rich and Kol are proven traffickers – in addition to committing other crimes – you know that you have to get Renata out of here before it is too late. She’s clearly scared, and if they catch onto her fear or realize that you’re not talking to her about meeting friends, this will go bad quickly. Tim hasn’t answered, and no police have descended on the alley, so you have to think fast. A truck approaches from the southern end of the alley, less than a quarter mile from the freeway. The men are still talking, and you take a deep breath.

“Huir,” you demand under your breath. Run away.

Renata looks at you, then takes off. Kol moves to chase her, but you step out to block his path. You’re too deep, and it will be too late to get out if Tim doesn’t bring Metro in now. But you had to help Renata. Her blood would have been on your hands if you hadn’t. Now, you’re risking your life to let her run to safety.

Rich steps forward and smiles as Kol asks what to do.

“Way I see it?” Rich answers. “We came down here to get another girl. I’m looking at one.”

“I’m not going with you,” you say, stepping back.

Kol pulls a gun from his waistband and replies, “Yeah, you are.”

You prepare to run, hoping that Tim will come around the corner. You’re still undercover, you remind yourself, and whatever happens now could save another life. Your arms are pulled tightly behind you, and you’re pushed into the back of a large white truck.

After the door closes and the truck lurches into motion, someone lights a match, and you see three women huddled in the corner, shaking and scared.

“¿Hablas ingles?” you ask.

“Yes,” one of them answers.

“I’m a police officer, okay? I’m going to do everything I can to help you and get you out of here. Are you hurt?”

“Ilsa is,” the woman with the match says. “They hit her with a metal belt.”

You move deeper into the truck and introduce yourself.

“I’m Maria, and this is my cousin Becca.”

You glance at Becca as you lift the back of Ilsa’s shirt. “How old is Becca?” you whisper.

“Fifteen, she just had her quinceañera," Maria answers.

Exhaling sharply, you examine the swollen red strip spanning Ilsa’s back. As you pull a miniature first aid kit from inside your boot, you say, “We’re going to have to work together, especially to keep Becca safe.”

“Of course,” Maria answers.

“They’re monsters,” Ilsa says. You notice immediately that her accent sounds Russian. “I’ll do anything I can to protect her. She’s only a child.”

“You’ve done more than enough.”

Looking away from Ilsa’s back, you face Maria, who says, “The man with the belt was trying to keep Becca from crying.”

“Least I could do,” Ilsa murmurs before hissing in pain when you swipe an antibiotic wipe across her wound.

“It’s more than that,” you say. “I won’t lie, I’m not supposed to be here, so this is going to get worse before it gets better. Do either of you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Tijuana,” they answer together.

Your eyes widen at the information that they’re moving you across state lines, country borders, and right out of your jurisdiction. The tracker sewn into the seam of your underwear only works for a few miles, so you’re completely disconnected from your station and the people who could help. Worse, you realize as you fall back, is that you have been trafficked. You’re no longer an investigator. You’re a victim.

As the truck shakes while you head south, you remove the jacket tied around your waist and hold it to your chest as you think. It still smells like Tim’s cologne, and you breathe it in as if it will disappear at any moment. Racking your brain for an idea of what to do, you try to think like Tim and Nyla. Every thought you have of trying to stop these men ends with you dead and the women beside you living in fear in a place where they’ll likely never be found.

“Do you need anything?” you ask them.

They shake their heads, and Ilsa’s chin drops as if she’s asleep.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Maria whispers. “You’re the angel we prayed for.”

She closes her eyes as the match burns out, and you tip your head back to look at the dark ceiling above you. I’m not an angel. I just stood too close to the devil.

The truck door rolls open loudly before a blindingly bright light greets you.

“Bienvenidos a Mexico,” Rich greets. “Send the little one, we’ve got someone here who wants to meet our newest helper.”

“Take me instead,” you reply, moving toward your abductors. “I’m new, too.”

“Not exactly what I meant.”

You jump from the truck and move to stand mere inches from Rich. “You just shoved that girl in the back of a truck and drove her to another country, you’re going to have to take it easier with her. She doesn’t know what you’ve done yet.”

“She’ll have to learn,” he seethes. “And we don’t have much time for teaching.”

Leveling your gaze on his, you wait for him to give. Kol mumbles something behind him, and Rich says, “Okay. Let’s go.”

Hours later, your face feels tight from all the dried tears on it when you are shoved into a damp room lined with cots. Ilsa recites a story to Becca while Maria braids her hair, but they look up at you when the door slams and locks.

“Have you seen any other women?” you ask.

“Two more. They came in for a few minutes, then the ugly man came and took them back out,” Ilsa answers.

“They didn’t speak,” Maria adds quietly. “Do you think their spirits are gone?”

You tug the roots of your hair and answer, “For their sakes, I’m beginning to hope so.”

“Are you okay?” Becca whispers.

It’s the first time she’s spoken to you, the first you’ve heard of her voice, and you smile at her. “I’m okay, and you’re going to be okay, too.”

“What is this place?”

“It’s a bad place, and they’re going to try to let bad people do bad things to us, but I’m not going to let them,” you promise.

“You can’t,” Ilsa argues.

“I took an oath to serve and protect, and that didn’t end at the border. They’re not going to do anything to you as long as I can help it.”

“Did…” Maria begins.

“No,” you answer. “He.. No, I’m okay.”

“Knock, knock,” Kol calls obnoxiously. He sets food on the nearest cot and asks, “How’s the little princess?”

Ilsa says something in Russian as Maria moves to sit in front of Becca.

“What do you want, Kol?” you demand.

“It’s a question,” he snaps. “I want an answer.”

“You want to know how she is? She’d be better if you weren’t around.”

Kol looks over his shoulder, then demands, “Come with me.”

“No.”

“Come. With. Me. Or I’ll come in there and get you.”

You clench your jaw as you stand and follow him. The moment the soundproof door is closed, he shoves you against the concrete wall and presses his weight against your back.

“I don’t like people that talk back to me,” he seethes in your ear.

“And I don’t like people who traffic humans,” you argue, pushing back against him.

Kol raises one hand to your head, pulling it back enough to slam your nose into the wall. You can feel it break, but you’re out of tears, and he doesn’t deserve them anyway.

“Beat me, sell me all day everyday, do whatever you want, but I’m not letting you put one more finger on that little girl,” you say though the blood running over your lips.

“Sounds like a challenge!” Rich exclaims. He comes to your side and adds, “I love challenges.”

“Who are you working for?” you ask. “You two morons are barely smart enough to drive, so there’s no way you’re the masterminds.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“When someone smarter than you comes along and gets free, I want to make sure she knows who the police should be looking for.”

“They’ll never find the Vaquero.”

“Doubtful you could find him either,” you reply, attempting to kick free of Kol.

He slams his foot against the back of your ankle, and you buckle forward at the pain.

“You want to work more? I’ll get right on it,” he says before pushing you back into your prison.

In a heap on the floor, you barely manage to tell Maria to back away from you before you puke. Sitting up, you see that Becca is asleep. Ilsa watches you lean against the concrete wall, and you point to the bucket of clothes beside her. There isn’t much in it, but a bra at the bottom catches your attention. It’s wireless, of course, because these people are smart enough to avoid giving scared women anything that could be used as a weapon. You fold it so the cups are together, making it thicker, then place it between your teeth. It holds your tongue down and catches your scream as you use the sides of your palms to straighten your broken nose.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Maria chides as she looks for something to stop your bleeding.

“Hand me the jacket?” you ask.

She passes you Tim’s jacket, and you watch a tear fall onto it before you hold it against your face. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into it.

“Will he come for you?” Ilsa inquires, walking toward you.

“I don’t think I left him enough clues,” you admit, though it’s muffled.

“You’re smart, I’m sure you did.”

Looking at Maria, you say, “If I get killed, don’t let it be for nothing.”

“We’ll protect each other,” she counters.

“No matter what,” Ilsa adds.

The following day, no one enters the room. There’s water in the corner and Becca snacks on the food from the night before, but nothing changes. Tim’s jacket still holds the scent of his cologne on the end of the sleeves, and you keep it beside you as you attempt to rest. It dries your tears and holds your blood, but it’s nothing like being near Tim. It’s a reminder that you can get home, and that’s all you need it to be.

“There’s a first aid kit,” Becca says, standing from the corner. “It looks new.”

You extend your hands, and she places the metal box in your hold. Opening it, you sigh at the sight.

“It is new,” you announce. “Ilsa, let me see your back again?”

She lifts her shirt, and you begin treating the stripe. “It looks better. Hopefully this will help more.”

“I can’t feel it,” she says.

“That’s not good,” you reply immediately.

“I should say, I choose not to. We have more important things.”

“Your health is important.”

“And yours isn’t?”

After a month of preventing Ilsa, Maria, and Becca from being removed from the room, you are exhausted. Rich has taken pleasure in coming to retrieve you every time, and when he opens the door for the eighth time in five days, you stumble as you stand.

“If you’re too tired,” he taunts.

“I’m fine,” you answer. “Get out.”

“We have guests coming tomorrow,” he says with a smile. “You’re going to have to get along with me, or they’ll show you a different kind of punishment.”

“It can’t get much worse.”

Rich walks toward you, and you notice a rope in his hand. “Trust me, it can. Now, let’s go.”

“What are you doing?” Ilsa demands.

“Leashing the dog,” he answers darkly. He steps behind you, his breath warm and too close to your skin. “Walk.”

You exit the room and decide not to fight back as he secures your wrists and up to your elbows with the rope. It’s uncomfortable and pulls your shoulders into a dangerous position, but talking too much will only feed his ego and endanger every woman in this bunker.

“Open your mouth,” he says as he walks before you. “Now.”

After you lick your lips, he pries your mouth open and pours something inside. He taps your neck, forcing you to swallow, and you feel your muscles weaken as he leads you toward the exit. You urge yourself to remember the route to reach the door where the sunlight shines beneath it, but each step is heavier than the last and requires concentration.

Rich uses your restraints to pull you to a stop. You tip back and can’t catch yourself with your hands, so you fall to your butt and groan. To stay upright, you cross your legs and wait.

“I said I wanted someone who could look the part of a cop,” someone with a familiar voice complains. “She can barely stand.”

“When the drug wears off, she’ll be fine,” Rich explains. “Did you bring it?”

“You induced myopathy to walk her to the door? What is she, a fighter?”

“She’s an annoyance. Remind her that we’re here alone with her friends. She’ll do whatever you want.”

You can hear the man's smile as he repeats, “Whatever I want.”

However, he doesn’t have to remind you of anything because you do what he asks. There’s a feeling in the air like something big is happening, and you want to be out of your cell for it. You can only hope that Ilsa, Becca, and Maria are safe while you’re gone, but believing they are makes it even more important to obey and keep them safe.

“Put this on,” the man – tall, older, and clearly not Mexican – demands as he tosses a small costume package to you.

You catch it, fully recovered from the drug’s effects, and look at the skimpy black fabric within. As you remove it from the package, you realize who the man is and why he sounded familiar in the bunker. Councilman Brek has been demanding in every interview he’s done, and it’s been rumored he has the city and government employees in Los Angeles in his wallet to stay in office so long.

“You’re Vaquero?” you guess.

“Maybe I am, which means you do precisely what I say. I don’t trust you, so you’re going to have to change here and now,” he instructs slowly.

Nodding, you begin to change as quickly as possible. The so-called police uniform is little more than a too-small vest and a tube-style skirt with a light badge hanging from it.

“Perfect,” the man applauds, blatantly looking at your body rather than your face. “Let me introduce you to the girls. Ladies!”

You follow him into another room where seven women are dressed in similar outfits, in different colors, and bearing agency badges.

“Tonight, you will be known as your badges. So, we’ve got DEA, NSA, CIA, FBI, LAPD, NYPD, ICE, and CSI, how needs some glasses.”

You look at each woman as he speaks and wonder where they’re from. You can't guess if they’re working for him legitimately or if they’re all like you. For all anyone knows, they could be undercover, too, though the pleased smile on CSI’s face after she receives glasses makes you think otherwise.

“Finish your shift without incident and we’ll talk. Anything happens, tell my assistant Mark and he’ll handle it. The rules are simple: You work, they pay. If someone tries to do anything without paying, Mark is your first contact. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply with the other women.

The clock on the wall says four a.m. when you consider calling for Brek's assistant Mark, but remember Rodriguez’s advice: keep your head down. If you can get through tonight without causing any problems, maybe Rich and Kol will trust you enough to give you more freedom. It’s unlikely, but lives are at stake, including your own.

“Come to papa, LAPD!”

You turn and smile at the short Latino man beckoning you closer. Extending your hand, you wait for him to pay you with one hand on your hip.

“I said come here,” he repeats.

Rubbing your fingers together, you remind him, “I’m supposed to receive payment first.”

He twists his head to crack his neck and then extends his arms. His hands grip your barely covered hips before he pulls you into his lap.

“Let go,” you demand under your breath, looking around for Mark and wishing it was Tim coming to help you.

If you were undercover in LA, Tim would have already had this guy off of you, and tears prick your eyes when you remember how long it has been since you saw him and worked with him.

“Stop fighting,” the man says.

His demand is punctuated by the telltale sound of a switchblade. NYPD slows as she walks behind you, and when the man shifts his hand to squeeze your thigh instead, she screams Mark’s name.

Before he reaches you, you press your hands against the man’s shoulders and shove yourself away from him. You realize then that the knife was closer than you thought. Mark hauls the man out of his chair and disappears. NYPD and DEA escort you back to the room where you got dressed and encourage you to sit.

“Is this yours?” DEA asks, raising Tim’s jacket.

“Yeah,” you answer.

She presses it against your bleeding inner thigh, and you dig your fingers into the chair beneath you.

“This needs stitches,” NYPD says. She looks around before whispering, “Are you working here?”

You shake your head in a small motion, and she chews her bottom lip.

“We have a sewing kit,” DEA whispers. “But I don’t know if that would work.”

“I do,” you interject. “Bring it to me?”

She hesitates but does as you ask. NYPD threads the needle after DEA sterilizes it over a nearby burning candle. You remove Tim’s jacket and put the end of the sleeve in your mouth to bite down on. Each stitch burns worse than the last, and your fight to stay conscious makes your hands shake.

NYPD takes the needle, tugs the jacket sleeve free, and says, “Breathe, LAPD.”

You mumble your name, and she smiles as she says, “I’m Jessica. I’ve been watching, so I can try to finish them if you want.”

“Please.”

“You’ll scar her!” DEA argues.

“It’s going to scar no matter what,” you say. “I’m not that good. Please just help me.”

NYPD nods as you let your eyes close momentarily.

Tim could have kept it from scarring you think just before Mark enters the room to escort you back to work.

Kol doesn’t see the wound when he arrives to take you back to the bunker. Not that you think he’d care, but you covered it just in case he’d make you stop taking the “jobs” intended for Becca, Maria, and Ilsa.

Lowering carefully onto your cot, you let the pain in again and acknowledge it with a groan.

“What happened?” Ilsa asks, rushing to your side.

“I need the first aid kit, please.”

Maria turns away to distract Becca when she sees your patched-together stitches, but Ilsa kneels beside you to help.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” she murmurs.

“It’s been a long month,” you correct her.

She chuckles wetly, and you smile as she wraps bandages around your thigh. The bloody jacket is clutched to your chest, and you once again wish that it was Tim holding you, and not you desperately gripping the idea of him.

“It’s been months without a word, Tim,” Nyla says. “Rodriguez has other cases, but that doesn’t mean he’s giving up on her.”

“He closed the case!” Tim yells. “It has been weeks since he looked at anything related to the traffickers, and suddenly it’s time? She’s still out there, Nyla!”

“I understand, Bradford, I do, but until we can pick up their trail again, there is nothing we can do.”

“So, you expect me to just go back to work while one of our own is being trafficked?”

“I expect you to do what you need to do to make Rodriguez think you’re not undermining him,” Nyla says quietly. “I’ve been looking too. We’re not going to let her disappear.”

“And if she’s already gone?”

“We find the people who took her and make them pay with everything they have left.”

“Everybody pack up and drink up,” Rich demands as he kicks the door open.

“Drink what?” Maria asks, leaning up to look at the clear glasses on his tray.

“You’re going home.”

“What?” you, Ilsa, and Maria exclaim together.

“The Vaquero bailed you out. The drink is a celebration.”

“We’re going home?” Becca asks Maria, gripping her hand tightly.

“Three of you.” Rich looks at you, and you nod. They're freedom is your hush money, and it will work... for now. You'll stay quiet about Councilman Brek being Vaquero if it gets these women home.

“No,” Ilsa says. “I’m not drinking that if she’s not going with us.”

“Yes, you are,” you tell her. “You’re going home because that was always the goal.”

“What about the other women?!” she exclaims.

“I’ll work to free them next.”

“You’d die before you did that,” Rich says. “It took you over five months to free these three. You think we don’t have replacements for them already on the way?”

“You got what you wanted, Rich,” you say. “Ladies, pack and drink. I’ll cheers with you.”

You wrap Tim’s jacket around your waist, tap your glass against theirs, drink, set the glass down, and fall into darkness.

“Where are the tracking records?” Angela asks.

“From the underwear tracker?” Nyla clarifies as she leans over Tim’s table.

“That’s where her tracker was?” Tim asks, furrowing his brows.

“I guess Rodriguez didn’t put them in the file,” Nyla says, frowning. “Or they’re digital and he couldn’t figure out control-P. Let me check.”

Tim looks at surveillance pictures of you as Nyla clicks through the laptop before her.

“Printer is full if you need to use it,” he murmurs.

“Thanks.”

Angela stands to retrieve the papers as Nyla lifts your undercover phone from the charger.

“Tim,” Angela calls, looking at the top page. “Did you get a text from her the day she was abducted?”

“No,” he answers, raising his head.

“She deleted it, but the metadata is still there.”

Nyla extends her hand and reads the information on the page before looking up at Tim. “It says it delivered.”

Tim takes his phone from his pocket and checks, but there are no messages from you. Angela checks the other undercover phone, but there are no messages there either.

“Where did it deliver, then?” Nyla wonders. “It says she sent it to ‘Landlord.’”

“Landlord?” Tim asks. “On the last day she was here?”

“Right.”

“Rodriguez changed our covers the morning before. He told me he let her know. Landlord texts went to Rodriguez.”

Nyla purses her lips before she asks, “Which city council member endorsed Rodriguez for chief?”

“Brek,” Angela answers. “It fueled the pay-off rumors.”

“There’s something else going on here,” Nyla says. “And Rodriguez knows about it.”

“I’ll call-“ Tim begins.

“We don’t know who we can trust,” Angela interrupts.

“Wade,” he finishes. He pauses and looks up rather than making the call.

“Call him,” Angela and Nyla say together.

You blink your eyes open, realize you don't recognize the room around you, and sit up quickly.

“I gave you a very thorough description,” Councilman Brek complains. “She looks nothing like what I asked for. If I’m paying for you to bring them up to LA, I expect to get what I pay for.”

“Sir, we don’t have anyone fitting that description,” Rich explains. “And you liked her before.”

“But this isn’t before, is it? She's cost me enough money without this screw up.”

“Excuse me?” you interrupt. “I- I’m from LA, and I know a lot of women willing to do anything for money. Maybe I can help you get what you want.”

You bite your tongue after you speak to keep your stomach from flipping. You’re offering to traffic someone else, and even though it’s a cover to get these men in custody, it still feels wrong.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable divulging that information to you,” Councilman Brek replies.

“Who is she gonna tell?” Kol points out. "She's been quiet about everything else."

Brek sighs, then says, “I want a dark woman with natural hair, shorter than me, relatively small, and mouthy.”

You manage to keep your eyes from widening at his precise desire and somewhat racist description. “Yeah, I know someone like that.”

“You do?” Brek and Kol ask together.

“I only know her first name,” you reply. “It’s Crystal. I know where she lives, like geographically, not the address.”

“I want Crystal,” Brek decides, turning toward Rich. “Take LAPD here to fetch Crystal and bring them both back.”

“Yes, sir,” Rich and Kol answer together.

You walk out to the car with them and slide into the passenger seat. They brought your clothes with you during the overnight transport back to LA. Now, Tim’s jacket hangs off one shoulder as you give Rich directions to an undercover residence. He parks, and you’re surprised when he and Kol unbuckle their seatbelts. Your hand moves to release yours, and Rich backhands you. His ring draws blood on your cheek.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you waltz up there, did you?” Rich asks.

“Just surprised you wear seatbelts,” you answer meekly.

He locks the doors behind him, trapping you in the car, and you watch as they walk to the door you pointed out and ask for Crystal. A nearby Metro team that was likely on standby ambushes them nearly immediately after hearing Detective Harper's previous undercover name. Without time to react, they’re cuffed and placed in patrol cars before they even realize what’s happening.

When more officers arrive to keep up appearances, you know you must get out of here. With Tim’s jacket protecting your skin, you break the passenger side window, climb out, and run through the night.

When you finally reach the door you’ve dreamed of walking through for nearly half a year, it is dark, and the city is as asleep as it gets. You haven’t had a home in too long, and thinking of going to the station to answer questions about every little thing you saw and did makes you nauseous. So, you linger outside the one place you can think to go. Raising your hand, you grip the sleeve in your fist and knock.

The door opens harshly as if the person is grumpy from being woken or unimpressed by such a late visit. You forget to breathe when you see the man at the door and the first breath you force yourself to take causes a tear to roll over your cheek. Tim steps toward you, his shoulders dropping as his eyes widen and his gaze softens. He sees the blood on your cheek but doesn’t try to touch you.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you admit quietly.

Tim nods and pushes the door open wider for you. With the sleeves of his old jacket grasped between your hands, you step into his home and wait.

“I… What do you need?” he asks.

You look down, unsure about where to start answering that question. “A shower would be nice,” you reply.

Tim leads you through his house and into his bedroom. He tells you where all of his clothes are, where the fresh towels are under the sink, and invites you to use whatever you want.

“I’ll be close, if you need anything,” he says before closing the door behind him. “You can lock the door,” he adds through the wood.

You lay your hand on the doorknob, then let your fingers slip off without locking it. Navigating carefully and quietly through Tim's room, you take a few pieces of his clothing into the bathroom. The warm shower feels good, but you hate that you can’t hear well over the falling water, so you cut your time in the cleansing stream short. Dressed in Tim’s clothes, you walk through his bedroom and open the door. Tim stands from his position on the floor, where he’d been waiting down the hall in case you called for him.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” he says. “Do you know what you want to do?”

“Can I just…” You trail off and gesture weakly in an around motion.

“Yeah, of course,” Tim answers. “I’ll be on the couch.”

He listens as you pace through his hallway and into his bedroom. You’re not the woman he knew before, and he understands that, but his worry about you and concerns about what you’ve been through threaten to overwhelm him.

Ten minutes later, you enter the living room and sit on the other end of the couch. You pinch Tim’s sweatpants between your fingers and avoid looking at him, but you’ve never been happier to be in his presence, to be sitting beside him.

“I’m here,” Tim says. “I don’t want to push anything on you, but whatever you need, whatever I can do – or not do – to help you, I am here.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking up to see him. “I missed you.”

“You had my jacket.” Tim’s eyes drop momentarily like he’s trying to place what else is different about you.

“I couldn’t look in the mirror,” you confide. “Is my nose crooked? Or crookeder than before?”

Tim hesitates before he answers. Not because your nose is crooked and he’s preparing to lie, but because he’s wondering what happened to your nose and who caused it.

“It looks perfect,” he says. “Like before.”

You place your hand gently over your nose and say, “Kol broke it.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers.

You drop your hand and nod at him. Moving closer, you close some of the distance between you. “I want to feel like me again.”

“You will,” he promises. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“I might’ve used all that strength.”

“Then you’ll use ours. Everyone around you is ready to help you.”

“Until they find out what I did and have to hear my word against his,” you murmur.

Tim wants to know more about what that means, but your head drops against his shoulder, and suddenly, you are the only thing in the world that matters.

“How’d it go?” Tim asks as you exit the locker room a week later.

“Okay,” you answer carefully. “I don’t think the DA completely believed me about Councilman Brek, but everyone else in the room did. Hopefully Rich and Kol are cowardly enough to take a plea deal and testify against him.”

Someone calls your name as you enter the station’s lobby with Tim.

“Ilsa?!” you exclaim, rushing to hug her. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“My father hired a PI after my return, and the man found more women. We are here to talk to the detective.”

“Which detective?” you inquire, hoping it isn’t Rodriguez.

“That would be me,” Nyla says. “Major crimes was stretched a little thin, and when I saw your name in Ms. Alekseev’s report, Lopez and I jumped on it.”

“Thank you. Ilsa, here’s my number,” you say, handing her a card.

She hugs you again and turns around just before she reaches the door. “Thank you for saving our lives. Maria and Becca went to the embassy when we returned. They’re with their family.”

Nyla mouths safehouse and you nod in understanding.

“You’re brave, Ilsa. Thanks for keeping me safe.”

“I don’t think one bandage makes us even.”

“We’re survivors, that makes us even.”

She waves and follows Nyla into the station as you and Tim exit. He leads you to his truck and opens the passenger door for you, repeating one bandage over and over in his mind. Realistically, he knew you had to have received injuries, but other than the broken nose, he doesn’t know exactly what you went through. Only that Councilman Brek was involved.

“Want me to order dinner?” you ask as Tim backs out of the parking space.

“Whatever you want,” he answers, meaning it in more ways than dinner.

An hour after you wish Tim goodnight and retreat to his extra bedroom, you knock on his partially open door. He invites you in, and you don’t hesitate to enter and tuck one leg under you as you sit on his bed.

“Can we talk?” you ask.

“Of course,” he answers, turning to focus completely on you.

“First, thank you for letting me stay here. I’m working on finding a new place, but I really didn’t want to be alone.” Tim nods, so you continue, “The day they took me, I texted who I thought was you, as you know, but when they put me in the truck, there were three women inside.”

“Ilsa?” Tim guesses.

“Yeah, and she had just been injured. And then Becca and Maria. Becca- She’s 15, Tim. I couldn’t leave them in there, defenseless.”

“Wait,” Tim murmurs, laying his hand over yours. “No one blames you for getting trapped. You were abducted, that’s not something anyone is going to be mad about.”

“I probably could’ve fought and gotten out. I couldn’t leave them.” Tim nods, so you tell him about your first few nights in Mexico, about the bunker and Rich and Kol, and about how you kept Becca as far from everything as possible.

“And Brek bought their freedom to keep me quiet about him being Vaquero,” you finish, leaving out the worst of your experiences. “I think about it a lot, but the worst memories come when I’m trying to sleep.”

“I get it,” Tim assures you. “I’ve got a past that plagues me too. It gets better, and you’re not alone.”

“I feel safe with you,” you admit, dropping your eyes to where Tim’s hand rests on yours. “When I convinced them to let me lead them to Crystal, I was scared I’d never find who I was before.”

“And now?”

“I know I can,” you say. “With you.”

“Can I ask something?” Tim requests. “You can say no, and you don’t have to answer.”

“Of course.”

“There was dried blood on your clothes when you showed up. Was it all yours?”

You nod and unconsciously shift closer to Tim.

“Some of it was from the broken nose. Tim, your jacket kept me alive. It held a lot of blood and tears, but it reminded me of home, of you, and it helped me fight when I thought I had nothing left.”

Tim swallows, and his eyes drop. You follow his gaze, then lay your hands over the jagged scar on your thigh.

“You’re safe,” you repeat. “I can be me again with you. And I can never thank you enough for that.”

Tim slowly raises his hand to your face to catch the escaping tear with his thumb. You lean into his touch, and Tim promises to stay close.

“Brek has some illegal strip club or bar, I don’t know exactly what it is, down there,” you begin. “I was there for a night, dressed – which is a generous term for the uniform – like a cop, and some guy didn��t like the order of how things happened.”

“You’re okay,” Tim promises.

You lean into him, resting against his chest as he shifts his arms to hold you. With your shoulder tucked beneath his, your face on his chest, and your legs pulled over his, Tim holds you like he never wants to let you go. You’re a cop and are far from naïve about the dangers and the evil of the world, but right here, you feel completely safe and more at home than anywhere else. Tim’s finger drags lightly over the scar as he kisses your forehead.

“We’re going to get him, and get all of those women home,” you say. “Nyla told me that you didn’t give up on me, even when Rodriguez tried to sweep everything.”

“Of course not. I knew you’d be fighting even harder to get home.”

After a moment, Tim asks, “Did you get a tetanus shot?”

You laugh. For the first time since returning home, you truly, joyfully laugh. “Yes, I did,” you answer with a smile. “Thank you for seeing me through the scars.”

Tim smiles, gently tracing your cheekbone and jaw, and silently promises to make every single person involved pay for what they did. He'll start with the man who assaulted you with a knife and work down the list.

“Tim,” you say. It draws his attention back to this moment. “Do things have to go back to exactly how they were before?”

Tim looks down your body, then raises his brows. Clearly, your position says no, but you want confirmation from Tim that you’re more than you were before.

“Can I show you?” he asks.

“I’d love that.”

Tim flattens his palm against your cheek and drops his chin to kiss you. It’s slow, and though his hands are on you, it’s different than before. You’re not scared of touch, you realize, leaning into his hands. Tim Bradford is home, he’s safe, and you love him. Despite the scars, the trauma, and the unforgettable horrors you’ve seen and experienced, he loves you too.

“Does that answer your question?” he whispers against your lips.

His hand drops to your leg once more, and when he doesn’t hesitate to brush it over your scar, you smile and say, “Maybe repeat it? Make sure I got everything?”

Smiling, Tim says, “If anything ever feels wrong, or brings up something you don’t like, promise to tell me?”

You offer your pinky to promise, and Tim takes your wrist gently in his hand. The scars circling your wrists and forearms have lightened, but the deep rope burn carved into them will never disappear entirely. After Tim kisses a darker scar, he hooks his pinky in yours.

[kenobiwanx]

Happy New Year!!! 🌟

First of all, I want to thank each and every one of you. Thank you for supporting me and my art. This past year was a good one for me, and that's thanks to all of you!

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I live by my art. This is my full-time job—it’s what pays my bills. And 2024 started off great: I received commissions every single month, something that hadn’t happened in previous years. That was a huge change for me, truly life-changing. I’m so grateful to everyone who decided to spend their money on my art, to trust me with your ideas, characters, and stories. It means SO much to me, and I say this from the bottom of my heart. I put everything I have into creating the best art I can for you, truly. When you message me saying how much you loved it and how much my work means to you, I cry for real. It moves me deeply. So thank you for all the kind words and support.

This is going to be a long message because I feel like I need to thank you and share a bit about myself. So, if you read all of this, you're a warrior, lol.

I don’t usually share much about myself or my personal life, but here are a few things. Well, I’m from Brazil—you probably already know that. I’m a self-taught artist, and honestly, I’m like that with everything I know how to do. I love learning on my own with the resources I have available. When I set my mind on doing something, I go all in. Drawing came into my life as a form of therapy, a way to focus on something other than my negative thoughts. I’ve always been a very anxious and depressive person and went through a lot of trauma that made things worse. Since I didn’t have the resources or support to seek professional help, I tried to find my own way—and that’s how I learned to draw!

I won’t say I’m 100% okay now because life hasn’t been easy for me. I lost my mom to breast cancer six years ago, and it had a massive impact on me and my mental health. She was my rock, my world, and losing her was devastating. She fought the disease for five years, and during that time, I was the one taking care of her, keeping the house running, and looking after my two younger siblings. I was just a teenager, but I suddenly had so many responsibilities. It messed me up a lot, but if I had to do it all over again just to have more time with my mom, I would.

I wish she were here to see how far I’ve come with my art because she was the only one who supported me back then. I know she’d be so proud of me for not giving up.

I used to do realistic traditional art before, spending a whole month on one piece. It was fun for a while, but it was just a hobby—I only sold a few pieces to family members. Then, in 2020, during the pandemic, I decided to switch to digital art. I wanted something that gave me more freedom to express myself creatively, and digital art offers that. So, I started learning. And guess who became my muse for this journey?

Yep, Pedro Pascal, lol. From my very first digital drawing, he was my go-to subject. And let me tell you, those early drawings weren’t great, poor guy, lmao. But thank God, I improved! I’m still drawing him to this day, and he’s been a huge reason I’ve gotten so many commissions since most of them are of his characters. I’m incredibly grateful to him and the roles he plays.

Anyway, I’m working on rebuilding myself, trying to move forward, achieve my goals, and take things step by step. This Christmas, I was able to buy a huge drawing tablet, which was a big milestone for me. I used to do everything on a small tablet, so this was a major upgrade—and it’s all thanks to everyone who commissioned me this year. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I hope 2025 will be just as good. I hope you’ll all stick with me and keep asking for commissions, lol. I wish you all the best in life, that you achieve everything you dream of, and that you stay healthy. Please take care of your mental health too; it’s just as important as your physical health.

I have a lot of personal projects I want to work on this year—art ideas I’ve set aside for years that I hope to finish in 2025.

This year, I plan to open commissions every month. The only exception will be if my waitlist gets full before I open them officially, like who Dm me to reserve a slot earlier, which happened in December. My DMs are always open!

I’ll also be updating my price sheet, adding new information to my terms and conditions, and increasing my prices. It’s been about two years since I last updated them, so it’s time. But don’t worry—it’ll only be an increase of about $10-$15. I still want to keep my art affordable for everyone.

I’ll sort all of that out in the coming days, so stay tuned for updates!

My January waitlist is already open, and there are a few people in line. If you want to reserve a spot, feel free! Just keep in mind the price adjustment I mentioned earlier.

I think that’s everything! I know this was a lot of text, lmao.

Thank you again, everyone! Happy New Year, and I love you all! And I love you, Pedro Pascal!

[justfrolikin]

Some crack discussions about this scene XD

(that I think y'all will find fun)

So we know this scene has been (jokingly)compared to marriage before right? Upon further reflections..this scene is hilariously reminiscent of how wedding/and romance tropes go in my culture..

@hermanoga and I had a (crack)discussion about this let me elaborate....

Poor boy and rich girl trope

There's a popular het romance trope in our regional cinema culture ....poor but hardworking and sincere boy falls in love with a rich girl(depending on the story,she is either very haughty, or extremely kind and generous , we'll go with the latter)...the boy marries the girl and sordidly pleads her to make amends with his humble little home,as the girl is accustomed to luxury, the boy is concerned for her comforts. The girl, being a kind lady and hopelessly in love with the boy coyly accepts his proposal.

The conversation goes something like

"I can't offer you much luxuries, would you still to accompany me?"

"with you, I would even go half-hungry"(pardon my awkward translation) XD

This scene is hilariously reminds me of CXS telling LG how he can't give much to LG, and LG not batting an eye to it(while it's hinted he comes from a rich household). Trust me it's way hilarious as a Bengali because of how much it's reminiscent of this specific trope.

Living in your In-laws house

In Bengali culture, we live with our family. Therefore, after marriage, one spouse leaves their home to live with their spouse and in-laws(that one mostly being the wife). And guess who leaves his home to live with his bestie?(I'm not trying to enforce gender roles on them it's just funny)

My friend said "lu Guang one day just moved to his sosurbari(in-laws house) and never left"

Lmaaaoooo

"I take responsibility of your food and clothing"

Basically, at the third day of a Bengali wedding, the groom takes a decorated plate of food and new clothes and gives it to the bride and says: "henceforth I take responsibility of your food and clothing(implied:all expenses)"(yeah gender roles I know I know) while the bride has to cook for the whole family and feed them for the first time in her new home that day.

Basically, about shiguang, I was talking about how it's so rare and strange that one would go so far to live with their friend to help them pay their debt(of ten years! At that) ((I know there's a bigger reason too let me yap))

To which my friend responded "yeah basically "bhat kaporer daitto nichhe(he is taking responsibility of him→alluding to the ceremony I explained above)"

Also, technically, CXS also took Lu Guang's "bhat kaporer daitto" since he literally cooks him meals and gave him clothes!

Lmao

So that was a fun yapping we had about this scene that sounds way funnier knowing the context...which I thought would be a waste not to share with you all.

Note: I'm not trying to enforce gender roles on them.

It's just so funny

Also, as an aside: Our language has gender neutral third person pronouns;) so the discussion actually didn't sound like gender rolely at all...

[starhvney]

a requester asked: Travis, Garroth, Laurance, and Gene from MCD with tea, cream, and pumpkin bread. If that works! If it makes any sense star, have an amazing day and don’t overwork yourself!!!

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟗: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: romantic tension, fluff, teaching/training/mentoring a skill

𝐚/𝐧: i LOVED this one hehe thanks for requesting, and have an amazing day/night! i’ll try not to overwork myself hhahahash but we shall see

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒

“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to go so hard back there…” Travis winces as he sits on a suitable log, holding up his arm to look at the deep cut he’d acquired in your sparring match.

“I’m really sorry,” you genuinely apologize, sitting next to him. “I thought you were paying attention to my swing.”

“I guess I was distracted by something…” He bites his lip, a fox-like grin spreading on his face that puts his fanged canines on display. “But, ah… I’ve had much worse than this, don’t worry.”

It doesn’t ease much of your guilt, and you reach to gently hold his arm–inspecting it with a frown.

“...If you really want to apologize, why don’t you patch me up?” he suggests, pulling his pack from his back and setting it in your lap.

“I don’t really know how to that well,” you hesitate, eyes wide when he pulls out a needle and thread, setting it in your hands as he wipes the blood from his wound with a clean cloth.

“Then I’ll teach you,” he grins. “I only need a few anyways. It should be easy to do.”

“Uh…”

“Trust me. You’re not gonna hurt me anymore than you already did, beautiful,” he leans closer, eyes lidded as his face hovers near yours.

“I’ll add another cut,” you warn, and the impish man backs away with a chuckle.

“Alright! I can take a hint,” he places his uninjured hand over his chest theatrically. “Even though it hurts.”

He points down at his wound, giving you a pouted lip. “Now, could the pretty woman please grace my wounds with her touch before I bleed out?”

You situate the thread and needle in your hands, feeling nervous again. “Okay… how should I do this?”

“Just carefully thread it through the first couple layers of skin there and pull. Not too deep that out hurts but also not too shallow that it doesn’t hold,” he explains, leaning over you as you carefully do as he says. “Then loop it around there and pull gently… not too tight but enough to connect the skin together again.”

He only winces a bit as he talks, seeming used to the pain. He was right, only a few stitches were needed before the wound was closed, and the healing ointment and bandages he also had in his pack made finishing the job rather quick and easy.

“How’d you learn this?” you ask, as you finish tying it off the end of the bandage. 

“Well, not many doctors would accept the son of the Demon Warlock,” he says quietly. “After so many failed attempts of doing it on your own, you eventually learn.”

A wave of sadness washes over you at the admission, the image of a younger version of Travis in pain and tears as he fails to nurse his own injuries heartbreaking to think about. Green eyes dart over your face when you remain speechless, and the man quickly jumps to his feet.

“But! Now you and I both know their technique, so what good are they for anyways?” With his hand held out, he bows to you, offering help to bring you to your feet.

You take it, standing with a quiet sigh.

“Hey, don’t look so upset. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been now that such a fine-looking face worried over me.”

𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇

Your breath creates steam in the cold air as you stand in front of the dummy, the burlap sacks sliced and stabbed in several places; causing their hay insides to spill onto the ground. Despite the cold, you were warmed up from how long you’d been training with the head guard today, and you’d even shed a layer of your heavy clothing in the process.

Of course, the man in charge of your combat lesson naturally ran hotter than you, so you were both blessed and subjected to his upper half only to be covered by his linen undershirt. Every time he’d demonstrate a way he wanted you to swing or how to change your footwork, your eyes would drift to the thick muscles that pulled against his sleeves and stretched the material over his chest.

Truly, it wasn’t your fault! He was tall enough that those assets happened to be directly within your line of sight, so if anything it was his fault for… being so tall and muscular!

“…No, that’s not what I showed you…” Garroth sighs gently when you once again mess up your stance. Seeming as you hadn’t been paying close attention to his feet when he’d given you a demonstration, you were a bit lost when he put you on the spot.

Walking up to your side, strong arms come around either side of you as he adjusts your grip, his leg coming between yours to push your feet out. You have to stop yourself from letting your jaw fall completely to the floor, the proximity of the man towering over you nearly scrambling any semblance you had left to remain professional.

“You seem distracted today. Are you feeling well?” He asks as he steps away, a concerned look in his eye as he looks over your face.

“Um… no, I’m perfectly fine…” You chuckle nervously, dipping your sword a bit as you scold yourself for your obviousness.

“Are you sure?” he frowns, strong hand landing on your shoulder and squeezing in an act of comfort. It only heats your skin on fire, sending your thoughts reeling. “We can take a break, if you need to.”

“No. I’m alright,” you breathe. “Let’s continue.”

“…Alright, then let’s change from practicing offense to defense,” he gives in to your insistence, walking over to pick up a shield and place it on your arm.

The distance he puts between you a moment later gives you a moment to breathe, but not before he’s readying himself to attack. A sense of panic takes over you as you move to ready yourself, his nod for your short spar to begin coming all too soon.

He charges, and in one swipe the shield is immediately knocked from your hands, the force of his strength immediately overtaking you. You stumble back, and you’re sure you’re set to fall right down on your back as your feet lose their balance.

With a yelp, you tense for the impact, but you only fall for a split second before a hand tightly wraps around your arm. His sword dully falls against the training ground dirt before his other hand shoots your other side, pulling you up in a quick motion to your feet.

Briefly, you’re pressed against his chest, his heart racing against your ear and arms wrapping around you to hold you steady. He’s warm, so warm, that you almost forget the reason he was holding you in the first place. The brief sense of his strong muscles pressed against you is taken away when he pulls you back enough to get a good look at you.

His eyes are wide, unblinking, darting across your form and checking for injuries. “I think… this has been enough training for today. Are you okay?”

You manage a nod, focused in on the rising blush against his ears and cheeks. “Yes.”

“…Good. Now, how about I treat you to a meal?”

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

“One thing Garroth hasn’t taught you is the art of smooth-talking,” Laurance leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. The calm breeze of the day rushed past the two of you as you sat on the edge of the guard tower, looking out on the village. “It can get you out of any sticky diplomatic situation.”

You cross your arms, humming with a raised brow. “Ah, yes. Something you know all about, huh?”

“I’d never deceive you if that’s what you’re implying,” he says with an offended gasp. “By my honor!”

You can’t help but laugh, turning away to attempt to hide it from him to no avail. When you turn back, he’s looking at you with a soft gaze and quirked lip. He hums, smile widening as he watches your eyes dart away shyly.

“I’m serious, though,” he starts, tilting his head at you with an intent look. “I don’t want you to be in a situation where simply swinging your sword around isn’t going to work and you end up in trouble.”

You deadpan.

“Are you saying I’m a brute or are you insulting my ability to communicate?”

He tilts his head back, hearty laughter dancing into the air as a hand reaches up to his stomach. “Neither! Though if you were a brute you sure are the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.”

For everything that is good, he really can never let up on his flirting, can he? You lower your head, giving him a glowering look at his insistent teasing within every sentence he utters to you. It wasn’t fair to your poor heart, as it betrayed you with its quick beating in your chest. The way you were never able to fully gain your composure next to him was entirely frustrating.

“Will you continue to display how good you are at smooth talk or are you going to teach me?”

A snort leaves his lips. “Well your methods of intimidation need some work, too-”

You swing, narrowly missing his arm before he scoops your hands up in his. “Hey now! What did I just say about using words over violence? Not off to a good start, huh?”

He softens his smile, lowering your hands. “You have to be personable. To play on the other’s weakness to get the answer you want. I’ll give you an example.”

With a subtle tilt of his head and a pleading lift of his lashes, the man leans forward, his voice softening. “My lady, your forced indifference wounds me to my very core. Can’t you consider my advances as genuine?”

Your body betrays you once again as a rush of blood rises to your cheeks. You’re quick to look away, attending your focus back on the village below you.

“Does that work on most ladies?”

“Oh my, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” he moves his head to get a better look at your expression, his eyes eating up the slight pout on your lips. “I hope you know the only woman I have eyes for is you…”

You don’t respond, and he forms his own answer with an almost giddy smile. He’s quick to return to his suave demeanor only a moment later. “I see. Well, what’s your response? Give me your best shot.“

His smug reaction is enough to make your pride stubbornly rear its head. So you turn to him again, eyes narrowed and face coming only inches from his as you give a similar look that he’d given you only a moment prior.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t keep teasing and distracting me on the job,” you whisper scoldingly. “Don’t you think it’s unfair to a subordinate to tempt them all the time from wanting to do anything but their assignment?”

The smug look is replaced with a look of awe and an almost unnoticeable hitch of air caught in his throat. He dares to lean in closer, eyes longing as they drift down to your lips, his own parting for a moment before he clears his throat, leaning back again.

“Ah, good job,” he smirks, though his cheeks are flushed. “Consider me charmed. Though, I already was, so how fair of an assessment can I give…?”

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄

Wind rushes by your ears as you sprint further into the forest, your breaths quick as you stare down at the ground ahead of you, your feet searching for the quietest part of the ground to step on. Still, the leaves and twigs crunch under your boots, and your lungs loudly gasp for air–the noise echoing off the trees around you.

A large tree looks promising ahead, the trunk wide enough for you to side behind if only for a moment to rest. Your hand meets the rough bark as you swing around to the other side, pressing your back flat against it. 

In nature, animals and bugs can sense when there’s a shift in the normalcy of their small lives. They can feel when the energy shifts; when there’s something dangerous nearby. A predator. Something that wasn’t meant to be there.

You can feel it too.

Even if you didn’t, the nature around you gives plenty of warning. There’s no bird chatter or the distant rustling of bushes as critters search for a snack. Eerie silence save for the rushing of blood in your ears settles over, sending a fearful spike of adrenaline through your legs. You can’t tell if it was going to make you take off in another spurt of energy or if it would make you collapse down onto the bed of grass beneath you.

There’s not much time for you to decide which it is before an almost intentional snap of a twig under what could only be a person’s foot sounds from your left. You quickly twist your neck to look, only to be met with more empty forest before your eyes.

A breath brushes against your right ear, low and amused—and most definitely meant to startle you. Arms snatch around your torso, lifting you into the air and against a built chest as you yelp in surprise.

“You, my dear, are not very good at this.” Gene’s lips press against your ear; his breath unnervingly hot.

You swallow, gasping for air while your feet dangle in the air. Your heart feels like it’s going to leap straight out from your throat with every quick harsh beat, making you dizzy as the chase concludes.

“I made it pretty far.” you gasp, pointing your toes to the ground and still unable to gain footing.

“Yet all of the strategies I’ve shown you were nowhere to be found. I could hear you from a mile away, pretty.”

“It’s not fair, you have an advantage by nature…”

A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he slowly sets you down, though his arms still keep you trapped against him.

“That’s true… but I don’t know… I’ve been teaching you these techniques all week and you still haven’t caught on at all,” He muses in a teasing tone, grabbing your chin and tilting you up to look at him. “Maybe I just need to follow you around forever to guard you from attacks.”

His dark eyes dance between blue and red, both deep in hue like blood spilling into the deep ocean. It’s dangerously mesmerizing, entrancing despite your very nature fighting against it. A lithe finger taps against your cheek when you don’t offer him any response, his head tilting at you as his tongue runs over his teeth. 

“Hm? Is that it? Should I never let you out of my hands?” He suggests, voice bordering something possessive, or maybe an emotion that ran indescribably further down than that. “Maybe you want that.”

A second passes before he lets you go, gently shoving you ahead. “One more. I’ll give you a longer head start this time.”

“H-huh?” you pant, turning around with wide eyes to look at him as he leans against the tree, not looking worn or phased at all. “Right now?”

“One… two…”

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique @arienic @dazedbydeath @theaquaticplant @starsbrightly @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @marst4rz @vyladsgirl @allieyaaa

[bowie-boy]

what about your trans Wilson headcanons pretty please? 👀👀

An excuse to talk about my beloved, trans Wilson…this is an amazing day

(Def me projecting but) Wilson was one of those kids who always knew. Growing up with two brothers, he didn’t really get as a kid that he was different from them and got confused when his parents treated him differently

His first early sign of being trans was when he tried to pee standing up and pissed all over the floor (he assumed he would just grow a penis as he got older) (also me projecting dw abt it)

Once he realized he was technically “a girl,” he went along with it but never really felt connected to being female at all, which led to him feeling really displaced and unattached to people around him all the time

He found out that being a trans dude was a thing sometime in undergrad from one of those 80s talk shows and felt like the world exploded beneath him

Definitely went through an extensive questioning period (even though he definitely knew he was trans) where he would make really long lists of reasons why he was trans, why he couldn’t be trans, pros, cons, etc. and mull over them excessively because he was terrified of making a mistake (me projecting bc OCD Wilson is real and true to me but that’s another post)

Part of this phase involved going to gay bars and finding trans people and basically giving them the verbal equivalent of an “Am I really trans?” Reddit post until they told him he probably was and to stfu

Wilson came out and started transitioning between undergrad and grad

His parents weren’t super accepting at first and didn’t offer to help him pay for anything, nor did they gender him correctly at all, which took top surgery off the table for a long time

The only family member of Wilson’s that was accepting from the get-go was Danny (sad)

Wilson always looked pretty masc so once he started T he passed easily almost immediately but even to this day he’s still paranoid to no end that people somehow Know he’s not cis

Wilson really leaned into dating women once he started transitioning (he’d fooled around with people of both genders in the past while extremely drunk but dysphoria had pretty much taken any kind of sexuality exploration off the table for him)

Got married to Sam way too fast bc he assumed no one else would ever accept him for being trans (Sam’s version of acceptance was like. Never bringing it up)

In my perfect beautiful T4T hilson world, House was Wilson’s first ever trans friend and was his connect for getting top surgery

In an equally real world, Wilson being trans was the one personal detail House never found out until Wilson revealed it at some point in small waves purely to drive House insane

Stealing from @occultbooks but Wilson’s McGill sweater is 1000% his dysphoria sweater

Wilson and Chase go so many years at PPTH with no idea that the other is trans

Wilson’s comphet goes crazy until at some point post season one when his doctor ups his T dose and his sex drive gets completely thrown out of wack and he starts being attracted to House in a way he cannot ignore

Wilson learns from the Internet that starting testosterone can make you gayer and briefly considers dialing his dose back but the dysphoria is too strong so he decides to accept it as a “side effect”

Anyway eventually he realizes he was gay along and is just lowkey super repressed and maybe a little stupid

Amber never made Wilson feel awful about being trans from the get-go and was so supportive and curious and interested and that’s part of why Wilson loved her so so much

In non-T4T-verse, House pretends to be a chaser and is like wow Wilson it’s so hot that you’re trans it turns me on but actually he’s just hiding from vulnerability bc he really is just obsessed with Wilson and his body no matter what

Wilson is always afraid that his STP looks like a boner in his pants and House takes advantage of this paranoia by making as many jokes about it as possible bc he’s evil

Wilson never got a hysterectomy bc expensive but he still gets insanely awful cramps once a month that sometimes suck so bad he needs to stay home from work (this makes him hella dysphoric)

Wilson doesn’t like his top surgery scars but House thinks they’re the hottest thing ever which Wilson uses to make House feel better abt his leg scar

Wilson’s guilty pleasure is man spreading to a horrendous degree bc it helps his dysphoria a fuck ton

The reason why he wears those old man matching pajama sets is because that was his ultimate transition goal as a kid

On really bad days House does Wilson’s T shot for him (the catch is that House insists on doing the shot in Wilson’s ass)

This lowkey got extremely long my apologies but I could actually talk abt this forever

[windmaedchen-oceanhorn]

Meet my new (old) AFK Journey OC Erin!

I thought of her half way through the Song of Strife Season, but then refocused on Lavinia instead, whose story I have already shared. I am not entirely sure what made me think of Erin, but at some point the idea of a "good" Hypogean crossed my mind. Possibly the fact that Talene's flames can distinguish between good and bad, which I read as being pure Hypogean or not... and so what if there is a truly good Hypogean? Would her flames hurt them?

And only THEN I learned of a certain other Hypogean, who is into Esperian stuff and doesn't really wanna fight them at all. xD *cough* Eugene *cough* So you may take the well educated guess that Erin is... simply his sister now. xD So let me share some facts about her below the cut:

Name: Erin

Sex: Female

Family: Eugene (brother)

Summary: Erin is a lively and outspoken personality and she much enjoys hanging out with people. Erin is extremely curious in everything Esperia has to offer and is most of her time trying to learn the various crafts and arts it offers. Since years don't mean much to her, she would spend a good amount of decades as master of her craft before moving on to the next thing. She hangs around Merlin a lot for they share the same chosen fate and she aims to remind them of the things Dura has tasked Merlin to do.

Early Life

Erin is Eugene's younger sister. She shares her fascination about Esperia with him and together they would roam the lands instead of trying to fight alongside their brethren. Being the younger sister, she enjoyed much protection from her brother, especially as she has a knack of getting into trouble (not quite unlike him, actually).

Eventually, Erin runs into Merlin and they become very good friends. Merlin actually is able to fulfill her wish of becoming more human, by enchanting a necklace that would hide her Hypogean form and aura when worn.

As creatures of great magical composition, both Celestial and Hypogeans do not really have to sleep (and eat). However, if they wish to retain their memories, they must take rest every couple of decades or centuries, for a nearly equal amount of time. Then they will retreat into the Leylines and the Realm of their kind.

Both Erin and Merlin are the only ones that have decided to forgo their memory, in favor of being more constantly in Esperia in order to help those in need. They trust, that they will remain the same person at core, knowing they could never do harm to Esperia. The downside of this method is that in regular intervals they will forget what they have done previously.

Usually this memory wipe is done voluntarily, so both, Erin and Merlin, pick moments where it's convenient to them. 

The reason that Merlin suffers from sudden memory-lapses could be two things (or both): they might have overdone it in the recent centuries and pay the price now by unexpected resets... or they perform many short resets now in order to be fully ready for the task ahead of them.

Since Erin will also forget her family, she and Eugene have prepared magical bracelets that are impossible to remove, always making sure that they know of each other (even if Erin doesn't remember anything about him after they part for the first time).

Prelude

Erin and Merlin become friends with Hogan and they join him in battle against various foes. One particular such battle forces Erin to reveal her true nature in order to save her friends. She is badly injured (probably by Scarlita) by loosing one of her wings and she is forced to retreat into her Hypogean Realm to heal herself. 

It takes her about 20 years to heal fully. She returns a little later than Merlin, just after the Song of Strife Season.

She is found by Valen in the streets of Holistone, as she was reported missing merely a day or two previously. Back at the Heroic Order building she reunites with Hogan. They consider her being reported missing a ruse and so Valen joins her to visit the one who brought up the case.

Of course this is a trap and it becomes clear that the Adamant Syndicate is behind it. They want something she possesses: "The Amulet of Life", a legendary necklace that would promise its wearer an eternal life.

This hunt goes on for a while until eventually Erin gets into the situation of having to show her true form and save the lives of others.

To make things more complicated, the current Celestials are also on the hunt for her, in particular Scarlita. Since Erin walks around in her human form, she is able to have plenty of conversations with those around her, including Talene. About the nature of Hypogeans, Celestials, prejudices and justice in light of actions and not factions.

It ends with a major showdown between Erin and the three Celestials of that time (Scarlita, Dionel and Talene). Erin only defends herself in frustration. Again, Scarlita manages to cut of the remaining wing and nearly kills her. Valen is ready to shield Erin from a lethal attack by Scarlita, but gathering up her last strength, Erin not only parries but also counter attacks the Celestial, blasting off her two arms, rendering her incapable to continue the fight.

Being at the end of her powers, she is ready to be permanently destroyed. However, both Talene and Dionel do not wish to do so anymore. Being too weak to heal herself (and others being unable to heal a Hypogean) Erin's last chance is her brother.

So Merlin and Talene venture out to wake up Eugene from his slumber. Since Merlin was there when Erin and Eugene parted (to protect the place of his slumber) only they can find it again. They manage to get Eugene, who travels with them to help his sister recover.

So Erin and Eugene become permanent residents of the Mystical House.

In theory, Erin's wings can grow back but it would take decades, so she might become mortal before she can regain them (though the fun she could have with them....! )

Future Events

Erin and Eugene will naturally have a look for Gavus and the kids, as they too decided to rest, but weren't there when Eugene awoke.

Eventually Erin is by Merlins side when they are put into the situation of a specific sacrifice having to be made to unlock a secret, or a spell or weapon. The sacrifice asks for an immortal life to be given away, and Erin is actually rather happy to do so. She emerges from the sacrifice as a humble human being (one of those things maybe even set up by Dura for this moment, similar to how Dura left clues to Merlin about how to deal with Phraesto).

[tahbhie]

So you want to write a novel before 2025 runs out, huh?

10 actions you should include in your list to make that dream a reality.

1. Practice Time Blocking  

Trust me, you need it. Allocating specific blocks of time for writing can significantly boost your productivity and help you stay focused. Emphasis on ‘stay focused’.

2. Have an Idea Reservoir or Tank 

Create a dedicated space to store all your ideas during brainstorming sessions or whenever inspiration strikes. I recommend Google Docs and Notion to keep everything organized and easily accessible.

3. Watch More Movies and Read New Books 

There's no better way to expand your horizons than consuming diverse media. This is such a great way to spark fresh ideas and provide new perspectives for your writing.

4. Listen to Writing Podcasts and Join Helpful Newsletters  

Stay updated and inspired by listening to writing podcasts and subscribing to newsletters that offer tips, advice, and industry news. It changes everytime. Who says 2025 would be any different? It's best to be prepared. 

5. Create a Playlist 

Arrange your favorite tracks in a way that suits your writing mood. Music can be a powerful tool to set the tone and mood. It helps you feel relaxed and aid scene projections. It also enhances your creativity.

6. Join an Active Writer's Community 

Yes, it's that important. Whether it's an online forum or a local group, being part of a community provides valuable feedback and critique. Engaging with fellow writers also offer support and motivation.

7. Build Your Social Presence  

I feel this isn't addressed enough. If you want people to get invested in your work, start promoting your book and what you do even before it's finished. Share your journey and let people fall in love with your process and personality.

8. Write a List of Comfortable Spots  

Identify and list the places where you feel most comfortable and productive while writing. Having a go-to spot can help you get into the right mindset.

9. Research Writing Tools 

Explore various writing tools and find the ones that work best for you. Discard the rest to avoid clutter and distraction.

10. Invest in Writing Courses  

If you can, take courses that will help you improve your craft. Courses are now made into digestible sections, covering an important segment of writing in elucidating details, which saves you the hassle of paying high figures for a course.

Lastly, go easy on yourself 

Understand that some days will be unproductive, and others will exceed your expectations. This doesn't make you any less of a writer. Love yourself for what you do, appreciate your work for what it is, and value your effort no matter the outcome. You need to love your work first before others will.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

Happy new year fams 🥳🌹

[the-thieves-gambit]

"Ah, so you admit you just try to be the opposite of other guys to show that 'you're not like other guys'. Noted." It was a joke as she shook her head. "Knew you'd slip up sooner or later." It was her turn to scoff. "One of the biggest? I should be the biggest." Perhaps if she kept it up she would be one of the things that annoyed him so much that he'd eventually tire of her.

For a moment she thought he'd finally give in to sleep until he banged on the wall. Laughing at the words that came from his mouth, slightly awakening Dolly who just readjusted before closing her eyes again, she said. "How would you know if that was right or not, what if they were just like, lets pretend and get this over with? What makes you the master of other peoples sex lives?" Moving to lay on her side with one arm around Dolly, she propped her phone against a book on her nightstand and resumed absentmindedly petting and scratching behind the dogs ear. "It's okay, she was too good for them anyway. She'd be like Dug from Up, being bullied by the dogs that take themselves to seriously." Another movie that she had recently watched with her nephew over an app that they had found to be able to watch movies together. "Ugg, fjandans," she muttered rolling her eyes. "Forget I said anything, put your face under the pillow instead. I don't want to see any piece of your face. In fact end this video call." Her hands came up, one to cover Dolly's face and one over hers, it was childish but she was also tired.

The irritation didn't last long, softening at his words. "You're looking at it right now. There's not much to miss. Ah, just say you're just waiting to see me be scared of an animal." Blue. 55. "Hmm, I'll have to look over where I keep your stuff. I usually don't pay attention to the things you leave behind, just make sure its clean and put it on the shelf in the hallway for you to take later. And if it is lost, then it's on you for not keeping better track of it. Can't help it if the dryers in the laundromat down the street have a tendency of eating clothes." She was teasing, she remembered the exact sweater, she had laughed as she folded it.

A cave was still not her idea of an adventure, but she was sure that once she showed what a bore she was with the animal thing, that he would cancel the cave thing too. "Sure," she covered up a yawn. "Why the hell not." Snuggling closer to Dolly, she gave a small shrug of her shoulders. "Dolly will come with us right? If she comes I'll be fine." That was a lie but focusing on something else would help. "And I bail when I want. No promise of sticking the thing out. I don't like caves. What makes it so special anyway? Caves are caves, unless you're talking about a cenote, then I'm out. I don't mess with that." Jennifer's tales of Chaak lurking in them, along with some used as burial places and deemed sacred kept her out of them as a kid and stuck with her into adult hood. As much as she didn't believe in a religion of a kind, she respected what people deemed sacred.

"You know what we should do," she offered up. "Go to the Art Museum. I think they have a new exhibit." Then she perked up slightly. "Or see a lighthouse!" But even then it was a small exclamation, having Dolly around to keep her still gave her no other choice but to give in to the ache inside and sleep instead of wander around. After stifling another yawn, she added. "You said there were more around here right?"

"Fair but that still doesn't take away from the fact that I don't tune you out when you talk. Can you imagine how big of an asshole I'd be if I'd pull what every other nonsense guy pulls." He clicked his tongue and shook his head. Even though she couldn't see him. Green eyes were the only visible color in the dark.

He scoffed and covered up a sneeze. "You are one of the biggest smartasses I know," he laughed just thinking of all the ways she'd challenge him and would take zero shit. "Excuse me then, you're the brunette Scully. Your quote on quote hot women of America will find their people. I have no doubt." He propped himself up on his elbows as he momentarily looked up at the ceiling and pounded the wall. The couple next to his room were having sex and he had spent the better part of the hour hearing the partner try to get to a specific spot. Wally being over it he yelled out a loud, "left! Left, my man." After a second he heard a grunt in the form of a thank you and the other person yelling an enthusiastic yes, finally. The fact he could tell from a wall over and without looking at whatever the fuck was happening over there was a testament to how many times he had to hear his siblings get it on from their adjoining rooms when they went on vacation.

Going back to Dolly he hummed. "She may have failed the class but she was very smart and knew what to do. She was just too sweet. As you can see by her snuggling up to you." He laughed finding amusement in her words. "Ah so you want to look into my eyes. I knew it." There was a sweet satisfaction over knowing she liked the hair parted and liked to see his eyes.

"Because I missed seeing your face. It's been a long week and I honestly can't wait to get home and get to our adventure week."he answered honestly. Though he knew she wasn't truly asking. "Yes, there. It's dark blue but not navy and it has the etchings of the 55th anniversary on the back. No, it's not Mickey. That one is at Melissa's house. She never gave it back. This one has Pooh Bear and Tigger on the log from splash mountain. I had it on that night I brought you that case of the stolen artifacts from the Natural History Museum. I wasn't in my suit so I came with that hoodie. You better not have lost it."

"You enter and walk about i don't know maybe, 4 feet and go around the corner to find lights. I don't think it's that deep. Mostly inclusive for everyone. According to the website no low ceilings and no crawling spaces where you'd feel trapped. I think thatd be a major turn off for people who hate enclosed spaces. Is this you being more warmed up to the idea? Thumb is over the book button."

[grison-in-space]

Hey hey! Wyrd told me you trained your dog to help with executive dysfunction stickyness/ repetitive action and I would LOVE to know how you trained this. I am training my pet to do a few in-home things before I get my prospect in hopefully this year

Oh, hi! There's a longer post about this topic elsewhere in my Matilda tag you might want to check out.

A lot of my training approach is informed by the experimenting I did with alarms that interact with other senses besides acoustics during COVID. I got completely nonresponsive to phone alarms and things, and I was under a truly catastrophic amount of stress related to my PhD at the time, so my general functioning wasn't great and I really NEEDED external cues to trigger basic daily tasks. Unfortunately I have a pretty impressive ability to hyperfocus right past obnoxious alarms, and worse, I am very very good at absently turning alarms off or mimicking paying attention without actually pulling my focus away from the subject of my attention. You get a 5-30sec buffer of retained information for the purposes of holding up a conversation which I am continuously dumping. I am not necessarily doing it consciously, but that doesn't make it not frustrating. Especially because if a human does get my attention, many years of RSD tends to set me at hyper defensive right out of the gate. That's not ideal for a bunch of reasons.

Anyway, I found that vibration or tactile stimuli, as well as visual stimuli (I rigged a disco lamp to turn on at hourly intervals in a desperate attempt to track the passage of time), worked quite well to capture my attention and let me step out of hyperfocus enough to do the next thing. I figured eventually I would have to see humans in their meat suits again and people get weird about shit like this, so I needed something relatively discreet and quiet that shouldn't be disruptive to anyone else. I started thinking about building myself aids.

So the first idea I had was to just program a series of alarms into a smartwatch that could automatically attach them to alerts from my gcal, but it turns out that they don't have an api function that hooks up to stuff like "make watch buzz" and I ran out of bandwidth to deal with it. It eventually just seemed easier to train an entire dog to respond to a quiet alarm than to fight with the hardware and software to make a really good buzzwatch. I use a couple of different alarm ring tones to cue different actions just as you might train any dog to a word: this one means we go to the bedroom, that one means that if you take meds I get candy, and so forth. The actual sound of the alarm is a cue in its own right. I have some discussion in that other post about how I encouraged my dog to essentially play a game with me where she had to figure out how to get my attention without hurting (aka NO SCREAMING WITH YOUR VERY LOUD HIGH PITCHED BARK). Essentially, I'm shaping that out of whatever behaviors she offers me that successfully catch my attention, defined operationally to her as "standing up + sustained eye contact."

In terms of catching me when I'm tending to get stuck on something or stationary without moving, that one is less "Yes I and my dog are amazing and I've trained her to read my mind" and more "I don't make eye contact when I'm dissociating and I almost always am staring into my phone." So if Matilda catches me drifting across the kitchen glued to phone, she knows that if she rockets up and nudges me into paying attention to my body, she'll get a reward. Consequentially, she's a bit enthusiastic about this one and will sometimes ram passersby with her nose, so definitely figure out your failure modes before you teach the dogs anything.