#maybe its not that deep but the thing is it COULD be. the foundations are there. they ARE. they really are.

[synonymsforstupidity]

Thinking about Gladion and Lillie post-SuMo. How much potential there is to explore.

What do you do when you finally accomplish the thing you spent years shutting out everything else to focus on

What do you do when all the things you learned to do and be to survive don't work for being a person outside the situation that shaped them

Should you forgive someone just because you want things to be fixed, even if you're not sure they deserve it

Should you put in the effort to try to repair something even though it shouldn't be your job to fix it

What is forgiveness and what is being taken advantage of again

Figuring out what to do with life when you spent all this time teaching yourself not to want

Learning how not to feel guilty for being alive. Learning to not feel guilty for enjoying things

Slowly starting to wear colors besides black and white

What its like to make your own choices when you never really could before (out of either restrictions or your own feeling of obligation), having to deal with the fact that freedom could mean making mistakes

Learning how to walk when all you've ever done is sprint or freeze

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

(Answer this after watching Chapter 4)

I NEED an X Reader where Reader comforts Doey after he's first frozen, or maybe one where Reader literally smacks some sense into Doey after the Safe Haven blows up(and we need the refugees to escape PLEASE-)

"Oh, it's you! Is the Doctor...?"

"No. Not yet. I'm working on it." You shook your head, looking apologetically at the doughy toy that had recently become one of your allies.

Even though you were just halfway through your trip through "No Man's Land", you're relieved that you didn't have to worry about Yarnaby following you around. You could have certainly used Doey's help beforehand, but he did save you from Pianosaurus at a critical moment where you thought it was truly the end for you.

Besides that, you were used to dealing with things on your own.

You sent Huggy into a pitfall, killed Mommy Long Legs, and set Catnap and Yarnaby ablaze without really anyone's assistance.

Killing the Doctor, on the other hand, was going to be a very different challenge. He wasn't some Bigger Body with flaws you could exploit--he was cruel, calculating, and wanted to prey on your fear and reasons for coming back to this factory.

Not to mention the Prototype, who was working with the mastermind behind the experiments for reasons still unclear to you. But the "why" wasn't important to you right now--letting this place burn down is what mattered most.

Doey was rather opposed to the idea of setting explosives in the foundation, although after everything you've seen (and knowing him and Poppy have probably seen things ten times worse), you were on board with the plan.

Because what was the alternative?

Letting all these toys starve and cannibalize each other? Waiting for some other poor soul like yourself to come here and die? Allowing the Prototype to have his way?

Absolutely not.

First things first..you had to find the omni hand for your grabpack, knowing it would give you greater access to the facility's systems. Apparently the Doctor had it under lock and key, meaning you had to take him out of commission before you could reach it.

At some point in your mission, you came across Doey again, who was inspecting a pipe. You felt a little bad for disappointing him when you said the Doctor wasn't dead yet, although he must have known it was going to take you some time.

But who could blame him? Him and the others have waited years and years for an opportunity like this. For someone like you to come along and save them.

He couldn't be at fault for being so eager.

"I figured as much." He sighed, smiling at you as he turned away from the pipe. "I've been here gathering parts for the generator."

"Really? Where's all the.....oh." You stopped yourself upon seeing him holding his stomach and giggling. "Right."

"Yup! LOTS of--ah!"

Without any warning, the pipe burst open with loud hiss and began spraying a cloud of cold gas directly onto him. Upon contact with his body, he became frozen solid.

You stood there in shock for a moment, before remembering that dough didn't mix well with the cold, and you panicked as you looked for a way to stop the flow of gas.

Then you looked up to see a switch, using one of your grabpack hands to turn the handle. Fortunately that seemed to do the trick, as the cloud dissipated almost instantly, allowing Doey to thaw out rather fast.

Despite your quick actions, he seemed thoroughly shaken, his eyes wide and his yellow arm stretched out, dragging it behind him as he quickly huddled into the nearest corner of the rooms.

"Hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts, HURTS!!!" He cried out, his arm morphing back into its usual shape as he tries taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

You frowned slightly and approached him, ignoring the opening doors for the moment. "Doey, are you okay?"

"N-No. He's made it impossible for me to get around here!" He snapped at you. "Traps like this are everywhere!"

His voice sounded different--with a lot more aggression to it, and so you kept your distance, feeling yourself growing tense.

You had to remember that no matter how innocent or kind these toys appeared to be...they were traumatized and obviously not of sound mind. They could turn on you at the drop of a hat.

Either that, or they're simply animals with unpredictable behaviors.

But you knew Doey wasn't some animal. He was an ally, someone you had learned to trust.

Your gut says that you seriously shouldn't, considering how trusting Mommy almost got you eaten alive, and trusting Poppy led to her redirecting the train and dragging you further into this mess.

But once you saw things from her point of view, you've come to realize that this wasn't something you could just walk away from.

How could you go on with life knowing all of this was happening beneath your feet? Especially now that she believes you were the only person who could help everyone who's suffered here--or at least whoever's left.

She put a lot of faith in you, and you couldn't let her down.

Although she definitely wanted you to hurry, you had to at least take the time to make sure Doey was okay after that trap was set off.

"It's the cold that hurts....th-the big mean Doctor knows that.." He sniffled, now sounding on the verge of tears as he hugged himself.

"And that's why I'm gonna stop him." You promised. "I'm gonna find whatever's left of that prick and destroy him. Once and for all."

"...I-I know. You can go on ahead. I'll..I'll be okay...I'll be okay..."

Despite what he says, you knew he very much wasn't okay just yet.

Then you had an idea.

"I know you will be. But first..."

The clay creature looked at you, seeing you open your arms up, the grabpack's mechanisms down at your sides. "Can I get a hug for the road, big guy?"

Doey sniffled again, at first hesitant to respond, but seeing your sweet attitude and the hope written on your face brought a smile back to his own features.

He nodded and hugged you tightly, squishing you against him and lifting you off the ground a few feet.

The smells of clay and dough were overwhelming, but they're a lot better than the other...ghastly scents you've somehow grown desensitized to.

"Of course you can, buddy!" He laughed. "You'll need it!" After a few moments, he set you down and checked to make sure he didn't leave any residue on you or your grabpack. "Thank you. That...made me feel a lot better."

"I'm glad. I feel better, too." You chuckled, adjusting the straps before making your way further into No Man's Land, praying that you'd make it to the Doctor's hideout and back to the Safe Haven alive.

They were all counting on you.

You couldn't fail.

Not after everything you've been through.

[flwrkid14]

Love, in All its Impossible Forms

Tim Drake loves with everything he has. He always has. And maybe that’s his fatal flaw—he doesn’t know how to hold back. He throws himself into it the way he throws himself into everything else: completely, recklessly, without a second thought for his own safety.

But love, for Tim, is never simple. It comes in forms that twist and tangle, leaving scars even as it gives him something to hold onto. And if you ask him, he could probably tell you exactly what kinds of love he’s experienced.

There’s love that is doomed.

Steph was chaos, energy, and unrelenting determination wrapped in a bright smile. She was Tim’s equal and his opposite all at once, and when he loved her, he did so fiercely, wholeheartedly. She didn’t just step into his world—she tore through it, unapologetic and unstoppable, showing Tim a version of himself that didn’t have to be so calculated, so controlled.

But their lives were chaos, a whirlwind of masks and missions, and when the dust settled, there was never enough left of them to make it last. Tim loves her in a way that feels like holding sand; no matter how tightly he grips, she keeps slipping through his fingers. And maybe that’s why he held on so hard—because he knew she’d never stay. Steph was never meant to be tamed, and Tim loved her too much to try.

Even when it ends, there’s no anger, no resentment. They don’t blame each other for the way things fall apart. They don’t have to. They always knew, deep down, that no matter how much they wanted to hold on, it was never meant to last. It wasn’t about a lack of love—it was about the world they lived in, the lives they led, and the way they could never quite fit together the way they needed to.

Steph was the love that burned brightly but couldn’t last, no matter how much either of them wanted it to. She was the fire he couldn’t hold onto, the storm he couldn’t contain, and the one who left her mark on him in ways he’d never forget. They were love, doomed from the start.

Then there's love that dooms them.

Kon wasn't just Tim's best friend—he was everything. A partner in every sense of the word. Loving Kon felt like second nature, so easy and so effortless that Tim didn't realize how deeply it ran until it was too late. Until Kon was gone.

When Kon died, it destroyed Tim. Grief didn't come in waves-it came in obsessions.

Tim couldn't let go, so he didn't. He turned to stolen data and secret labs, creating clone after clone in a desperate attempt to fill the void Kon left behind

It wasn't about moving on. It wasn't about closure. It was about holding on to the only person who ever made Tim feel like he could breathe, even when it was killing him to do so.

When Kon returned, whole and alive, it should have been everything Tim had dreamed of. But the shadows of what Tim had done lingered between them. The lengths he went to, the obsession that fueled him—it left cracks in the foundation of what they once were. Kon loved Tim, he always would, but part of him wondered if he'd ever been loved for who he was, or for what Tim couldn't let himself lose.

And Tim, for all his brilliance, couldn't figure out how to bridge the gap he'd created. He oved Kon with everything he had, but love born out of desperation carried its own weight, and he wasn't sure how to lay it down.

So they stayed in the gray space between what they were and what they could have been, bound by love so fierce it hurt, but too fractured to fully mend. They were doomed by their love.

Finally, there’s love that dooms anybody else.

Danny is chaos, but not the kind that breaks Tim—it’s the kind that grounds him. Danny exists between worlds, between life and death, and yet he’s more alive than anyone Tim has ever met. He doesn’t fit neatly into any box, doesn’t follow any rules, and yet there’s something about him that feels inevitable, like gravity or the pull of the tide.

Danny doesn’t ask for Tim’s sacrifices. He doesn’t need to be saved, doesn’t want Tim to burn himself out in the name of love. Instead, Danny challenges Tim to slow down, to stop trying so hard to hold the world together and just be. With Danny, Tim learns how to live in the moment, how to breathe without feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It isn’t an easy love, but it isn’t supposed to be. It’s a love that demands courage, the kind that doesn’t come from donning a cape or taking a hit for someone else. It’s the courage to be vulnerable, to stop hiding behind plans and strategies, and let someone see every cracked, raw piece of himself. Danny is relentless in breaking down Tim’s walls, not to fix him but to show him that he’s worthy of being whole.

Together, they are something untouchable. Their love is an anchor and a storm, a lighthouse and the waves crashing against the shore. It’s a love so big, so consuming, that it leaves no room for anything else.

And that’s where the doom lies.

They are the kind of love that consumes the world around them, leaving it scorched and battered in their wake. Not because they want to hurt anyone, but because their connection is so fierce, so all-encompassing, that nothing else can survive in its shadow. They are the eye of the hurricane, calm and steady, while everything outside is chaos.

It’s the kind of love that makes people ache to touch it, to understand it, even as it destroys them. The kind of love that people will write stories about and linger in though, long after the last page has turned. Love, that will echo through time in whispers and legends. But no one will ever truly understand it, because no one else could ever bear the weight of it.

Danny is the love that makes Tim believe he might deserve to be happy after all. Together, they are the love that dooms anybody else—unapologetic, overwhelming, and utterly unforgettable.

[sugarplum217]

The Fire We Make (Part One)

Pairing: Terry Richmond X Black Female/Plus Size/Curvy Reader, MDNI

Authors Note: Hi guys, please be kind this is my first story on here and I hope you all enjoy it . Comment and tell me your thoughts.

Warnings: very heavy smut, unprotected sex, nasty & dirty talk, mention’s of abuse, triggering topics, not suitable for anyone under 18+, oral sex, sort of a slow burn, casual sex, fluff, use of the N word, AAVE, somewhat age gap relationship, mentions of verbal abuse, use of abusive lanuage. Do not copy or steal my work.

Summary: You came back to Elizabeth, South Carolina, to handle Nana Rosalyn’s land and tie up some loose ends, sign a few papers, and be on the next flight back to her real life. Simple. Or at least, that’s what she thought. Enter Terry Richmond: ex-Marine, built like a damn problem, and apparently living in your grandmother’s house like it’s his own. He’s quiet, unreadable, and way too fine for your peace of mind. Between the thick summer heat, old memories creeping in, and the way Terry keeps looking at you like he sees straight through you, one thing is clear…..This trip might not be so simple after all.

They say there’s no place like home, and maybe once upon a time, you would’ve agreed. Back when summers here meant running barefoot through the grass, shelling peas with Nana on the front porch, and falling asleep to the sound of crickets and old gospel humming through the walls. But that was a long time ago. Before life had a chance to show you just how cruel it could be. Now, sitting in front of your grandmother’s house, all you feel is the weight of everything you tried to outrun. The air is thick, heavy with that signature South Carolina heat, clinging to your skin like a second layer. Even the damn trees look the same—tall, unmoving, watching you like they know you don’t belong here anymore.

This place holds secrets. Buried in the dirt, woven into the foundation of this house, settled deep in your bones no matter how much distance you put between you and it. You swore you’d never come back. Swore you left this town and everything in it behind the moment your father died and your mother made it clear she wanted nothing to do with his side of the family. And yet, here you are. Staring at the same porch you once sat on as a little girl, knees scraped up from playing too rough, hands sticky from fresh peaches Nana sliced up just for you. Except now, Nana is gone. And her house—this land—is yours. The air inside the rental car was thick, heavy with the kind of heat that made it hard to breathe. The A/C worked overtime, but it was barely spitting out enough cool air to do anything besides tease your skin. The heat still clung to you like an unwanted memory, curling around your neck, sticking to the crease of your thighs, making your tank top feel like a second skin.

You gripped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead at the house that used to feel like a second home—but now? Now, it just felt like a reminder of everything you tried to outrun. Your stomach twisted, nerves tangling themselves into something tight and uncomfortable. You hadn’t stepped foot in this place in years. Hadn’t even had a reason to. Not since—You inhaled sharply, cutting the thought off before it could sink its teeth in.It wasn’t like you had much of a choice being here now. Your grandmother’s passing made sure of that. And as much as you wanted to sit here, let the A/C struggle against the heat, and pretend you weren’t parked in front of the very place you swore you’d never come back to… you knew you couldn’t avoid it forever.

But damn, if you didn’t want to try. The loud buzz of your phone rattling against the cup holder snapped you out of your thoughts. The sudden sound made you flinch, your heart kicking up like you’d just been caught doing something you had no business doing. You blinked, shaking off the moment before grabbing your phone and swiping the screen without even checking the caller ID.

“Girl,” you groaned, already knowing who it was.

“I know that ain’t attitude I hear,” Tasha’s voice came through clear, dragging her words like she already knew what time it was.

“Of course it’s a damn attitude, I’m hot, sticky and do you know I had to drive a whole 4 hours from the damn airport?!” you grumbled, shifting in your seat.

“This ain’t my scene, Tasha. I’m sweating, my thighs sticking together, and the air out here smells like—” You paused, inhaling deeply. “Like grass, hot stank wood, and somebody’s granddaddy’s chewing tobacco. I ain’t cut out for this country-ass shit.”

Tasha cackled on the other end. “Now girl, your ass been there for all of five minutes and already ready to run back to the city?”

You sighed dramatically, wiping at the light sheen of sweat on your chest. “Girl, I ain’t even turned the damn car off yet.”

“The way your Nana used to talk about that place, you’d think it was paradise.” She snickered.

You snorted, side-eyeing the house. “Meanwhile, I pull up, and it’s giving—”

“Ghetto woods.” Tasha cut in, taking the thought right from your brain as if she was looking through it.

“Exactly.” You rolled your eyes, glancing at the property that inspite of it being ages since you had been there, things looked pretty decent.

Tasha hummed knowingly. “And yet, here you are.”

“Not because I wanna be here Tasha.. You know that,” you shook your head, inhaling deep againing as a exasperated sigh left your sticky gloss filled lips, “If it were up to me, I would have let my uncle’s and drunk fool of an aunt fight over this place.” You added, with a nonchalant shrug.

“Didn’t you tell me that none of your daddy’s siblings were her kids? So how in the hell would that even have worked?” Tasha questioned, and rightfully so.

None of your father’s siblings belonged to your sweet Nana Rosalyn. They were products of her late husband’s constant infidelities during their entire relationship and even part of their marriage. She had been young when she married him, head over heels for a man who sold her dreams but only ever delivered nightmares. And when the truth of his betrayals became undeniable, she made one thing clear—she wasn’t having no damn kids by a man who couldn’t keep his vows. But then life played its own hand.

Your father came later, unexpectedly, and he was her one and only, her redemption after years of being shackled to a man who never deserved her. And because he was born from love and not betrayal, Nana cherished him more than anything in this world. That alone was enough to breed resentment.

The siblings never could stay on one page. Too much history, too much pain, too much deep-rooted hate for the way your father had been the baby and the favorite. Your grandfather’s other children—some older than your father by decades—never let him forget that he was the only one born into real love, not just obligation. They carried that bitterness, wielded it like a knife, slicing through any chance of peace in the family.

And Nana? She may have loved them in her own way, but she wasn’t blind. She saw how they moved, how they made her son’s life hell, how they took every opportunity to remind him that, in their eyes, he was an outsider in his own bloodline. So, she made a decision. She wrote them out of her will. All of them.

Every last one of your grandfather’s children got nothing but the memories they made and the grudges they refused to let go of. Instead, she left everything to your father. And when he passed, she made sure that her estate—her house, her land, every last piece of what she worked her whole life for—would go to you. Because she knew they would never do right by her legacy. And truth be told? You didn’t blame her one bit.

Still, you never could understand how she stayed. How she spent years, decades, by the side of a man who disrespected her with every child he brought home. How she smiled and cooked and raised kids that weren’t even hers. How she carried the weight of a marriage that gave her nothing but heartache. If it had been you? That man would’ve met his damn maker on some railroad tracks.

“It wouldn’t have worked because she didn’t leave their asses a damn thing, not one fucking dime or penny. I can’t really say I blame her though because she took good care of them and when she needed somebody, those greedy motherfuckas weren't there.” You huffed, tone bitter and cold at the thought of how none of your father’s siblings even showed up for him, once he got sick.

Tasha let out a low whistle on the other end. “Damn. So Nana just cut them off completely?”

“Completely.” You adjusted in your seat, the leather burning the back of your thighs. “She ain’t leave them a damn thing. No land, no money, not even a ‘God bless you’ in that will. Just my daddy, and when he passed, it all came to me.”

Tasha hummed, her tone knowing. “And that’s why they got all that hate in their hearts.”

“Like I give a damn.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for your water bottle. The condensation dripped onto your fingers as you took a swig, but the lukewarm liquid didn’t do much against the heat. “I just need to handle this shit and get the fuck back to New York. I ain’t got time for all this country backwoods drama. This place suffocates me.”

“Girl, you've been there ten minutes… And you already sound like you are fighting for your life. ” She giggled, making you roll your eyes again.

“Because I am,” you stressed, flipping the sun visor down and fanning yourself with the nearest piece of mail you found in the passenger seat. “I step outside, and I swear the air is thick like molasses. The trees leaning in too damn close, like they trying to hear my business. I can’t even breathe right.”

Tasha cackled, fully enjoying your suffering. “You sound so damn dramatic.”

“Ain’t shit dramatic about the truth, Tasha,” you shot back. “I need to get in here, get this property situation squared away, and then I’m ghost. I’m going back to where the streets don’t smell like wet grass, and the heat don’t feel like it got hands.”

Tasha smacked her lips. “Mmhmm. Keep talking that ‘I’m leaving soon’ shit. Something tell me you gon’ be there longer than you think.”

You sucked your teeth, flipping her off even

though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah, alright. Let me get off this phone before I melt in this damn car.”

Tasha laughed again. “Hit me later. And don’t get your thick ass into any mess.”

You snorted. “Me? Never.”

With that, you ended the call, tossing the phone back into the cup holder. Taking one last deep breath, you reached for the door handle, already bracing yourself for the suffocating heat waiting outside. The sooner you handled this, the sooner you could leave. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. Immediately, the heat wraps around you like a thick-ass quilt fresh out the dryer.

“Damn,” you mutter, shifting your shorts as you grab your bag from the backseat. The old house stands in front of you, still the same shade of off-white, still with that wrap-around porch your Nana used to sit on every evening with her sweet tea. The screen door creaks when you walk up the steps, but you aren’t worried. You already know where the key is. Just like when you were little, it sits right under the worn-out mat. You bend down, grab it, and unlock the door, stepping into the house. The air smells like lemons, cedarwood, and something else you can’t quite place. Your fingers brush over the familiar wooden banister as you walk through the hallway, a strange mix of comfort and melancholy settling in your chest. Just as you were about to sit your purse to the side, the sound of sudden footsteps alerted you. You paused your movements as you listened closely to the steps nearing closer, coming from the end of the hall. Immediately the unfamiliar scent you had picked up on earlier, became stronger as the heavy steps came towards the living area. Soon the footsteps halted and you

You froze and your breath caught in your throat as your eyes snapped toward the hallway. And then, stepping around the corner, a man appeared. A very fine, very built, very wet man. Fresh out the shower, droplets still clung to his deep caramel skin, highlighting every hard-cut muscle like he was sculpted straight out of bronze. A white towel sat dangerously low on his hips, barely hanging on, and his broad, glistening chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths. His shoulders were massive, arms thick with veins that ran down to strong, capable hands. But his face? Strong jaw. Full lips. A nose that screamed royalty. And his eyes—God, his eyes—a stormy mix of hazel and gray that shifted with the light, catching hints of ocean blue, hell maybe even green when the sun hit them just right. For a second, neither of you moved but then—

“Who the hell are you?” His voice was deep, rough, carrying an authority that made your stomach flip.

“NO! Who in the hell are you?” you shrieked back, stepping further into the house but keeping a tight grip on your car keys—because you might just have to stab this man.

His brows furrowed slightly, gaze flicking over you like he was assessing whether you were a threat. “I live here. What the hell you doin’ breaking in?”

You damn near choked. “Breaking in?! I live here!”

His nostrils flared slightly before something in his expression shifted. His shoulders eased, his jaw relaxed just a fraction, and then he exhaled like something just clicked.

“Wait…” He dragged a hand down his face, water trailing along his fingers. “You—You Rosalyn’s granddaughter?”

Your chest still rose and fell from the adrenaline rush. “Yeah. Who’s asking?”

“Terry, Terry Richmond..” He said like that was supposed to mean something to you. When you just stared, he nodded toward the mantle, where an old framed photo of your Nana and you sat beside a dusty Bible. “She used to talk about you all the time. Should’ve recognized you.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. “You mean to tell me my grandmother didn’t just leave me this house, she left me a roommate? Just great…” Your voice trailed off, annoyance seeping from your tone. Terry smirked at you, slow and knowing, and somehow, that tiny expression made him look even finer. He leaned against the doorway like he had all the time in the world, eyes dragging over you now like he was trying to figure you out. You instantly felt uncomfortable under his gaze as crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one hip.

“So, you’re telling me you were my Nana’s caretaker?” You suspiciously questioned.

“That’s exactly what I’m tellin’ you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “If that’s true, how come I ain’t see you at her funeral?” You tilted your head, watching him closely. “You supposed to have been close to her, right? Where were you?”

His jaw tightened slightly, but his expression stayed unreadable. “I was there.”

Your lips parted, but he cut you off before you could press him.

“I sat in the back.” His voice was even, calm. “Ain’t family, so I kept my distance.” His stormy eyes flickered with something unreadable as he added, “Ain’t too fond of church anyway.”

You almost called his bluff, ready to argue, but then—

A memory flashed in your mind.

Most of that day was a blur, but… there was someone sitting alone at the back of the church. A man, broad and still, his head dipped low, hands clasped together like he was deep in thought—or prayer. He never moved, never spoke, just sat there, solid as stone, while grief and sorrow swirled around the room.

It could’ve been him. But then again… your memory of that day was shaky at best.

You had gotten high out of your mind just to get through it. Hit a blunt in your car before even stepping foot in that church. And then there was the tequila—more than a few shots—because there was no way in hell you were about to face your father’s side of the family sober. The whole funeral was a blur. You barely remembered the service, barely remembered speaking. Even now, when you tried to pull up details, they slipped through your fingers like water. Still… you felt like you should remember someone as fine as him. Your eyes flickered over him again—the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his towel clung just low enough to test your focus, those ocean-storm eyes watching you with quiet patience.

Yeah. There was no way you wouldn’t have noticed him.

“…Hmph.” You didn’t realize you made the sound out loud until his lips twitched.

“That a problem?” he asked, voice edged with amusement.

You rolled your eyes. “No. Just making sure you ain’t lying.”

He huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he continued to lean his body on the doorframe, still way too at ease for your liking. Something about him told you he was telling the truth. Despite the weirdness of finding out you suddenly had a damn roommate, you had to admit—it was kind of a relief. At least you wouldn’t have to struggle dragging your suitcases inside by yourself. But asking him for help? Yeah. That was the real challenge.

You cleared your throat, plastering on your sweetest smile as you tilted your head slightly. “Umm… so Terry, is it?”

“Mmhmm.” He raised an eyebrow, his full lips twitching like he already knew where this was going.

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. “You mind helping me with my luggage?”

Terry let out a low chuckle, deep and rich, before shaking his head. “After you just basically called me a liar?” He sucked his teeth. “Your Nana wasn’t lying when she said you was a piece of work. Said your little ass always needed a good spanking.”

For some damn reason, that sent a tingle straight to your pussy, making you shift uncomfortably. You quickly cleared your throat, rolling your eyes to cover your reaction. “Whatever. You helping or not?”

His smirk deepened, eyes darkening just a little as he let the moment linger. Then, after a beat, he pushed off the doorframe. “Yeah, yeah. Just let me get some clothes on first.” He gave you a lazy once-over before adding, “Can’t have the helpless princess out here struggling, now can I?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I ain’t helpless.”

“Uh-huh.” Terry just laughed under his breath and shook his head as he turned toward the hallway. You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t stop yourself from glancing down as he walked away. And damn. His back was all muscle, broad and defined, tapering into a tight waist. And that ass? Whew. Tight, round, sitting just right in that towel. You didn’t even realize you were staring until he suddenly glanced over his shoulder.

Busted.

You quickly averted your gaze, looking anywhere but at him. But you weren’t the only one caught slipping. Because as you quickly moved past him to head upstairs to your old room, you felt his eyes trailing down, and lingering on the curve of your thick thighs before he snapped his gaze back up, clearing his throat. As Terry disappeared down the hall to throw on some clothes, you made your way up the stairs, your feet moving on autopilot toward your old bedroom. The door creaked as you pushed it open, and the moment you stepped inside, nostalgia wrapped around you like a thick, heavy blanket.

Everything was still in place. The same twin bed with the floral comforter Nana Rosalyn had bought you when you were ten. The same wooden dresser, still covered in stickers you had no business putting on there. Even the faint scent of lavender and brown sugar lingered in the air, like Nana had just been in here yesterday and not… Your throat tightened as you swallowed against the thought. You hadn’t really let yourself think about it—her being gone. You’d done everything you could to avoid feeling it, pushing it down so deep you could almost pretend it wasn’t real. But standing here, surrounded by all these pieces of your childhood, it hit you like a gut punch. She was actually gone and now you were here, back in this house that held more love than you’d ever felt anywhere else, but she wasn’t.

Your vision blurred as you ran your fingers over the old wooden vanity, tracing the edges where the paint had started to chip. A lump formed in your throat, but before you could get too lost in your feelings—

Your phone buzzed loud as hell from your pocket.

With a sharp inhale, you wiped at your eyes and pulled it out, already groaning when you saw the name on the screen. It was your darling mother dearest, the last person you wanted to speak to at the moment. You debated letting it go to voicemail, but you already knew she’d just keep calling. So, with a deep sigh, you answered.

“Hello?” You took a seat on the edge of your old bed.

“Took you long enough.” Her voice was dry, clipped. No hey baby, no how was your trip? Just straight to the point, like always. “Did you make it?”

You clenched your jaw. “Yeah, I’m here..”

“Hmph.” A pause. Then, “Well, please hurry up and sell that damn place. I told your daddy when he was alive to put that woman in a home and get rid of it.”

Your grip on the phone tightened, anger bubbling up fast. “That woman was my grandmother… and your mother in law–”

“And your father’s biggest mistake,” she shot back, voice sharp as glass. “He let that old country woman manipulate him his whole life. Should’ve cut the cord a long time ago instead of running behind her like a lost puppy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply through your nose. “You know what, Ma? I don’t wanna do this with you right now.”

She let out a dramatic sigh, the kind she always did when she was about to make you feel like you were the problem. “Oh, please. I’m just trying to get you to do the smart thing for once. That house ain’t nothing but a money pit. Sell it and move on.”

You bit down on your tongue so hard you swore you tasted blood. Before you could say anything else, she switched gears, her tone suddenly shifting into something damn near sweet. “By the way, did you get that link I sent you?”

Your stomach dropped.

You knew exactly what she was talking about, but you played dumb anyway. “What link?”

“The link to the doctor,” she said, like it should’ve been obvious. “The one I told you about for the weight loss surgery. Dr. Reynolds. He’s the best in Atlanta. Books up fast, so you need to get on it. His prices are fairly reasonable and I think he accepts most major insurances.”

“Wow. Not even ten minutes into this conversation, and you already back on that shit.” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head.

“Oh, don’t start,” she huffed. “I’m helping you. You’d actually be able to keep a man if you lost some of that weight.”

There it was. That same damn wound she’d been digging into your whole life. You could still hear her voice from when you were a kid, standing in front of the mirror in some dress she’d picked out, sucking in your stomach while she pinched at your waist.

“No man wants a fat wife, baby. You don’t wanna end up like those big, miserable women who can’t even get a date.”

And then your daddy, always stepping in, always fighting for you.

“Leave her alone, Monique. She’s perfect just the way she is.”

But your mama never listened. Not then, and definitely not now.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Oh, so you like struggling to find clothes in your size? You like being the biggest one in the room?” she snapped. “I don’t know why you’re so damn stubborn. I’m trying to help you, and you act like I’m the enemy.”

You let out a humorless chuckle. “Maybe because you are…”

She gasped like you’d just slapped her. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you said, voice flat. “And I’m done talking about this.”

Silence stretched between you for a moment before she scoffed. “Fine. Be fat and alone for the rest of your life. See if I care.” And with that, the line went dead. You pulled the phone away from your ear, staring at the screen until it blurred. You shouldn’t have been surprised. This was classic Monique Walker. Still, it hurt like hell. Tears slipped down your cheeks before you even realized they’d fallen. Your hand tightened around your phone as you gritted your teeth, voice barely above a whisper but thick with emotion.

“I swear, I fucking hate her.” You seethed. The words felt heavy leaving your mouth, but damn if they weren’t true in that moment. You swiped at your face roughly, sniffling, before your eyes drifted over to the small wooden dresser in the corner. Your breath caught as your gaze landed on a framed photo of Nana Rosalyn, her warm brown eyes staring back at you, lips curved into that soft smile she always had whenever she looked at you. She had loved you, no conditions, no judgments, no backhanded comments about your weight or your worth. Just pure, unshakable love.

You exhaled, blinking back more tears as you whispered, “I miss you, Nana. I wish you were here.”

The air in the room felt heavier, like she was listening. Like she was there in some way. You let yourself sit with the feeling for a moment, let yourself pretend you weren’t completely alone. Then the sound of footsteps and the scrape of something heavy against the floor made you snap back to reality. You turned just as Terry strolled in, carrying both of your heavy-ass suitcases like they weighed nothing. His arms flexed with each effortless step, muscles glistening with a light sheen of sweat, the white ribbed wife beater he had on stretching tight across his chest. His cargo shorts hung low on his hips, showcasing strong, toned thighs, and with every movement, the fabric shifted just enough to make your thoughts derail.

Damn….

Toni Braxton’s You’re Makin’ Me High played faintly in the back of your mind, slow and sultry, like the universe was tryna set you up. Your thighs clenched involuntarily as heat licked up your spine. This nigga was too damn fine, and he knew it. You barely heard whatever the hell he was saying because your brain had short-circuited the second he stepped into the room, muscles on display like some damn fantasy come to life. It wasn’t until his deep voice cut through the fog in your head, low and laced with something you couldn’t quite place, that you realized you were staring.

“You good?”

Your breath hitched abruptly. “H-Huh?”

His hazel-gray eyes flickered over your face, studying you. “You was cryin’?”

You blinked fast, quickly wiping at your damp cheeks, trying to play it off. “Uh… yeah. But I’m fine. Just… thinking about my grandma. It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

Terry didn’t say anything right away. He just set your suitcases down near the foot of the bed, then leaned back against the wall, arms crossing over his broad chest. His eyes never left your face, unreadable and steady, like he was taking in more than just your words.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, voice softer now. “I know how that feel.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little too exposed under his gaze. “You ever lost somebody close?”

His jaw twitched slightly. “Yeah.”

The way he said it—short, clipped, like he wasn’t ready to unpack that—made you nod and let it go. Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. Just… thick.

Heavy.

Charged.

Terry’s eyes lingered on you a second longer before he exhaled through his nose, pushing off the wall. “Aight, well, if you need help with anything else, just let me know.” He turned to leave, and you should’ve let him go. Should’ve just said thanks and let him walk out. But instead, before you even knew what you were doing, the words tumbled out.

“Terry.”

He stopped, looking at you over his shoulder, brow raised slightly. “What’s up?”

You hesitated, lips parting, then closing again as you tried to figure out what the hell you were even about to say. You just… didn’t want to be alone. Not right now.

“…Never mind,” you murmured, shaking your head. “It’s nothing.”

Terry didn’t press. He just gave you a long, lingering look before nodding once.

“Aight, then.” And with that, he walked out, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the lingering heat he’d left in the room.

“Heavenly father give me the strength.” You sighed, flopping backwards on the old childhood bed. You had no idea how you were not only going to survive cleaning out your grandmother’s home of history, and memories. But now you had to figure out how you were going to do all of that with an extremely sexy and fine added edition to the puzzle. Your nana always had a way of being funny, even in the afterlife it seemed.

The heat had been relentless all day, and after everything—the long drive, the tension with your mother, the weight of being back in this house—you needed to wash it all away. Stepping into the shower, you let the cool water run over your skin, sighing as it soothed you, easing the sticky film of sweat and stress clinging to your body. The scent of your Dove vanilla & shea body wash filled the air, mixing with the lingering humidity as you lathered yourself, fingers gliding over curves that you tried not to think too much about. But the moment you stepped out and reached for your towel, reality smacked you in the face. It barely fit. You huffed, tugging at the edges, trying to cover as much as possible, but no matter how you adjusted, something was exposed. Your thighs, thick and soft. The curve of your ass peeking from the bottom. Your cleavage straining against the top. Your mother’s voice slithered into your head, uninvited.

You need to do something about that weight. A man isn’t going to want all that.

You swallowed, turning toward the mirror, your fingers instinctively gripping the towel tighter as you stared at your reflection. Your stomach wasn’t flat. Your thighs touched. Your arms weren’t slim. Maybe she was right. Maybe— A sharp knock at the door startled you, making you jump. Before you could even react, the door swung open.

Terry stepped inside like he owned the place, holding an envelope, his mouth already moving. “Your Nana left you a letter, figured you’d—” His words stopped short. His entire body stilled. Your breath caught in your throat.

You didn’t know if it was the shock of him barging in unannounced or the way his stormy gray, hazel-green eyes flicked down—slow and deliberate, like a man taking in a sight he knew he wasn’t supposed to see but couldn’t help himself. His gaze dragged over you, over the bare curve of your thighs, the deep dip of your cleavage, the towel that did little to hide any of it. And for a split second—just a split second—you saw sensual lust. Something dark and unreadable flashing in his eyes before he blinked it away, locking his expression into something neutral. Like he hadn’t just been openly devouring you with his eyes.

“Terry, what the hell?! Ever heard of knocking?” You yanked the towel tighter, heat rushing to your face. His gaze lifted to yours, slow and unbothered, as he leaned casually against the doorframe, his biceps flexing just enough to make you want to scream.

“Didn’t know you’d be indecent,” he said smoothly, though his voice was just the slightest bit rougher than before.

“I just got out the shower!” you hissed, shifting your weight, hyper-aware of how exposed you were. “What do you want?”

Terry, still infuriatingly relaxed, held up the envelope. “Your Nana left you a letter. I was instructed that soon as you arrive to give it to you.”

You glared. “And you couldn’t wait until I wasn’t half-naked before busting up in here?”

He shrugged, eyes glinting with something too smug for your liking. “Wasn’t expecting a show.”

Your mouth fell open. “Boy, if you don’t—”

“You gon’ take this letter or keep fussin’?” he interrupted, stepping closer, holding the envelope just out of reach like he wanted to make you work for it.

You snatched it from his hand, still scowling. “Get out.”

But he didn’t move right away.

Instead, his gaze lingered, just for a second too long. Just enough to make your thighs press together, to make your skin prickle with awareness. Then, finally, he turned to leave. But right before stepping out, he glanced back over his shoulder, his smirk damn near lethal.

“Nice towel, by the way.” And just like that, he was gone.

You stood there, heart pounding, body still tingling from the heat of his stare.

This man was gonna be a problem, you thought to yourself. You flopped down on the bed, still clutching the towel like it was the only thing keeping you from completely losing your mind.

“That nigga done lost his damn mind,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Barging in here like he payin’ rent.” Your body was still humming from the intensity of his stare, the way he’d looked at you like he saw everything and had the nerve to act like it ain’t affect him. Like he wasn’t phased, but you knew he was. And now, here you were, sitting on your old bed, legs still damp from the shower, wrapped up in this raggedy-ass towel, heart still racing. You sighed, finally turning your attention to the envelope in your lap. Your childhood nickname was written in familiar, neat cursive across the front.

Your heart clenched as a lump formed in your throat. Your fingers trembled slightly as you opened it, pulling out a piece of aged, cream-colored paper. You could almost smell her as you unfolded it—cocoa butter, vanilla, and something soft, like the scent of home. Then you began to read.

My Sweet Sunshine,

If you’re reading this, that means the Good Lord finally saw fit to call me home. Now, don’t you go sittin’ there cryin’, ‘cause you know I lived a full life, and I ain’t scared of no Heaven. I done raised my babies, spoiled my grandbabies, and loved with my whole heart. That’s more than some folks ever get to do.

Sunshine, I know you didn’t want to come back here. I know that city’s got its hooks in you, and I ain’t mad at it—never was. You always had big dreams, always wanted more than this little town could offer. But baby, don’t you ever let nobody make you feel like you ain’t enough just as you are. Not your mama, not them folks whisperin’ behind your back, nobody.

You always was my bright star, even when you ain’t see it yourself. Even when you was a little thing, sittin’ on my porch, talkin’ ‘bout how you didn’t feel pretty enough, or small enough, or good enough. I used to tell you then, and I’ll tell you now—you are enough. God made you just the way you s’posed to be. Don’t let the world tell you otherwise.

Now, about this house—I know it might not mean much to you right now, but baby, this ain’t just wood and nails. This is our history. This is where I loved your granddaddy, where I raised your daddy, where I held you in my arms and rocked you to sleep when life got too big for you. It ain’t just a house—it’s home.

I don’t expect you to stay forever, but I do expect you to sit with it for a little while. Let the memories wrap around you. Let yourself feel whatever you been runnin’ from. And don’t you let nobody make you do nothin’ you don’t wanna do. Not even your mama.

Take your time, baby. I love you bigger than the sky.

Always, Nana

Tears blurred your vision before you even finished. You pressed the letter to your chest, inhaling shakily…She knew… She always knew. And just like that, all the emotions you’d been pushing down, all the grief, all the anger, all the damn confusion, came bubbling up to the surface. You curled your legs up onto the bed, hugging the letter like it was the last piece of her you had left. And for the first time since you got here… you let yourself cry.

As you wiped the last of your tears away, you pulled yourself together, slipping into a simple oversized ‘90s-themed graphic T-shirt that stopped just below your ass, paired with black boy shorts that hugged your curves. Your fur slides slid easily onto your feet, accentuating the shimmer of your two delicate anklets against your smooth brown skin. Your toes, freshly done in a clean French acrylic set, peeked out perfectly, proof that even on your worst days, you refused to neglect the little things that made you feel like you. Your damp curls were drying into their natural coils, wild and free, and for the first time since stepping into this house, you felt somewhat like yourself again. Then, just as you were about to head downstairs, voices floated up from the front door. A woman’s voice. Sweet, a little too breathy, laced with the kind of forced shyness that women used when they were trying to be cute. You paused, leaning slightly against the railing as you listened.

“Terry, you really ain’t have to do all that. I swear, you a lifesaver.”

“Mmhmm,” came Terry’s deep, unbothered reply.

You stepped forward just enough to peek over the banister, instantly rolling your eyes at the sight in front of you. A woman—slim, with long curly hair cascading down her back, a high round booty sitting just right, and a rack that was damn near spilling out of her little sundress—was standing way too close to Terry, handing him a plate wrapped in foil. And the way she was looking at him? Yeah. She was on that.

“Oh, and here’s the money I promised you.” She slipped a few bills into his hand, her fingers lingering a little too long against his palm. “And I made you a little something as a thank you… some smothered pork chops, greens, mac and cheese, and cornbread.”

You smirked slightly. Cornbread looking a little dry.

Terry took the plate with a nod, glancing down at it. “Appreciate it, Celeste.”

Celeste. Figures.

She bit her lip, her eyes scanning over him like he was a damn menu. “And I made a little pound cake too. My mama’s recipe. But I guess you’ll just have to tell me how it tastes next time I see you.”

You sucked your teeth. Girl, be for real.

Terry, still unreadable as ever, just smirked slightly, shifting the plate to one hand. “I’ll let you know.”

Celeste giggled, reaching up to play with a stray curl like she knew she was the baddest thing standing in that doorway. “You know, Terry… you should really stop by sometime. I got plenty of food, and my son’s at his grandma’s for the summer, so…” She trailed off, her meaning clear. You folded your arms, arching a brow as you waited to see how he was gonna play it.

Terry, ever cool, leaned one broad shoulder against the doorframe, looking down at her with a knowing expression. “That right?”

She nodded, batting her lashes. “Mmhmm. You know, a man like you shouldn’t have to eat alone.”

Terry exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Celeste.”

“Hmm?” She replied breathily, trying to act innocent.

“I ain’t interested.” The words landed so casually, so smoothly, that for a second, she didn’t even process them.

But then her lips parted slightly, her cheeks darkening in embarrassment. “Oh… um, well…”

“But I do appreciate the food,” he added, nodding toward the plate. “Your little boy needed that room fixed up, so it wasn’t no big deal.”

Celeste recovered quickly, forcing a laugh. “Right, right. Well, um… enjoy, Terry.”

He gave her a simple nod before closing the door, shaking his head as he turned toward the kitchen. You, still standing at the top of the stairs, watched the whole thing unfold, biting back a smirk. Celeste was pretty, no doubt. Probably more his type. But the way he had shut her down so smoothly? Interesting…. Very interesting. You padded down the stairs, moving casually into the kitchen, acting like you hadn’t just been eavesdropping on that whole embarrassing exchange. Terry was standing at the counter, peeling back the foil on the plate, and the expression on his face had you fighting back a laugh. He looked… disturbed. You leaned against the fridge, arms folded as you watched him poke at the smothered pork chops with his fork. The sauce looked a little too gray for comfort, the mac and cheese had a strange, gluey texture, and the cornbread? Yeah… dry as hell. He let out a slow breath, tilting the plate slightly as if inspecting it under better lighting was gonna change the fact that it looked like a crime scene.

“Damn, she really put her whole heart into that, huh?” You smirked.

Terry cut his eyes at you, his expression flat. “Don’t start.”

You laughed, moving toward the cabinets. “I’m just sayin’. If you value your life, you might wanna pass on that.”

He set the plate down, shaking his head. “Damn shame. I did all that work and got paid in food poisoning.”

You chuckled, pulling out a pan and setting it on the stove. “Lucky for you, I actually know how to cook.”

Terry leaned against the counter, arms crossing over his chest as he watched you. “Oh yeah?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, boy. I can throw down. What you want?”

He smirked slightly. “Something that won’t require me to get my stomach pumped.”

“Keep talkin’ shit, and I’ma lace your food with extra salt.” You shot him a playful glare, going towards the fridge to see if there was even anything cookable for you to whip up a quick meal. Terry chuckled, watching you move around the kitchen with an ease that he could appreciate.

“Aight, then little mama. Let’s see what’chu workin with.” He joked, licking his plump bottom lip. You fought the surge of butterflies in your tummy as your french acrylic nails gripped the counter, to steady yourself. Turning toward the fridge, you pull it open and blink in surprise at the contents—fresh meats, crisp produce, eggs, dairy. Whoever stocked this place before you arrived really knew what they were doing.

“You did all this?” You softly ask, glancing over your shoulder at Terry.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Had groceries delivered before you got here. Figured you’d want a stocked fridge.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let that small, thoughtful gesture soften you. Instead, you hum and start pulling out the ingredients.

“Alright,” you say, setting things down on the counter. “I’m making honey-glazed salmon, garlic butter asparagus, and jasmine rice.”

Terry raises an eyebrow. “Hony glazed?”

You smirk, not letting him off the hook. “What? You thought I was only good for frying chicken and making cornbread?”

His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile. “Didn’t say that.”

“Mm-hmm.” You grab a cutting board and get to work, dicing, seasoning, and moving around the kitchen like it’s second nature. The wine Nana he had ordered as well was surprisingly good, and after a few sips, the tension from the day starts to slipped off your shoulders.

Terry watches you, quiet at first, before finally speaking up. “So… what kept you away?”

You pause for only a second before continuing to chop the asparagus. “What do you mean?”

“From your Nana. You used to visit all the time, then you just stopped.” His eyes don’t waver. The question hits harder than you expect.

You swallow and focus on the cutting board. “My mom.”

Terry stays quiet, just waiting, giving you the space to continue.

You sigh, stirring the honey glaze in a small saucepan. “Nana was my dad’s mother. When he died, my mom didn’t see the point in us coming down here anymore. She never liked my Nana anyway.”

“Why?” His eyebrow perked up.

You let out a humorless laugh and shake your head. “Because she’s an elitist. My mom grew up privileged, went to the best schools, rubbed elbows with all the right people. She married my dad because he was successful, but she never respected where he came from. And when he passed, she made it clear that his side of the family didn’t fit into her world.”

Terry’s gaze feels heavy, and the weight of it makes your throat tighten.

You flip the salmon in the pan, watching the glaze caramelize. “I wanted to come back,” you admit softly. “I always told myself I would. I promised Nana I’d visit.” You exhale shakily. “But life kept getting in the way… and now, I’ll never get that time back.”

The silence that follows is thick—understanding without pity, heavy without pressure.

You wipe the corner of your eye before turning to face him fully. “But, um… I don’t really wanna keep digging into that.” You force a small smile. “What about you? How the hell did you end up here, taking care of my grandma and her land?”

Terry is quiet for a long time, his jaw shifting slightly. Then, finally, he speaks.

“I got out the Marines a few years ago,” he says, his voice steady. “Came back home, trying to get my life right, but shit has a way of following me...”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach twist.

“What do you mean? Shit like what?” You cautiously questioned, not wanting to get all up in this man’s business, but at the same time you felt you had the slightest right. Terry stayed quiet for a long time, his jaw shifting slightly. Then, finally, he spoke.

“My cousin got into some trouble with the law a few years back,” he said, voice steady. “I went down to bail him out, but I ended up getting into some shit myself. Crooked-ass cops—racist bastards—decided they ain’t like me asking too many questions. Things got ugly real fast.”

Something about the way he says it made your stomach twist. “How bad did it get?”

Terry’s hazel-green eyes darken, something distant flickering in them. “Damn near died over it,” he says, voice calm but heavy.

“Oh, I’m um.. sorry to hear that.” You felt bad for even asking. Terry only hummed in response as a somewhat comfortable silence fell over the kitchen. You decided to drop the 21 questions all together and focus on finishing up the meal you were in the midst of preparing as he just quietly watched every move you made. The air inside the house was cooler than the sticky, suffocating heat outside, but it wasn’t enough to stop the slow trickle of sweat at the nape of your neck. Or maybe… just maybe… it wasn’t the weather making me feel like you were burning up. You could feel Terry watching you intently. It wasn’t obvious at first—he was too smooth for that. But after a while, you noticed the weight of his gaze, the way his stormy eyes followed every move you made as you prepped the food. His attention was heavy, unreadable, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable. No, it was the opposite. It made you hot. You shifted my weight from one foot to the other, clearing your throat as you reached for the bottle of wine, pouring yourself another sip just to have something to do. Everything about this man was turning you on and you loved it and despised it. It wasn’t just the fact that he was tall—though he was definitely tall, standing at least 6’3 with a solid frame that made it clear he was no stranger to manual labor. It wasn’t just the broadness of his shoulders or the way his arms stretched the fabric of his white tank, hinting at thick, corded muscle beneath. And it wasn’t just his face, though damn—that strong jawline, full lips, and a nose that looked like it belonged on a king? Yeah, he was definitely blessed in the looks department. But it was his presence that caught you off guard. Terry Richmond wasn’t the type of man you could read at a glance. His face was unreadable, expression calm yet watchful, like he was always two steps ahead of everyone else in the room. His stormy hazel-gray eyes, rimmed with thick lashes, carried something unreadable—something sharp, calculating. And depending on how the light hit them, they almost looked ocean blue, like a hurricane was brewing behind them, waiting to be unleashed. But right now, that intensity was locked onto you. And that shit made your stomach flip.

You turned back to the stove, pretending like the weight of his gaze wasn’t burning a hole straight through your back. The kitchen was already hot as hell, but somehow, his presence made the air feel even thicker. The pot on the stove let out a soft simmer, the scent of garlic, onions, and seasoning filling the air, but you barely noticed it because Terry was still watching you. And you felt all of it. His gaze wasn’t casual. It wasn’t some absentminded glance or a passing curiosity. No, he was studying you, eyes moving slow over every dip and curve like he had all the time in the world. You weren’t new to male attention, but the way he did it? This wasn’t some hungry, obvious ogling. This was different. Intentional. Like he was learning you. Like he was figuring out what made you tick, what made you fidget, what made you heat up. And Lord, were you heating up. You adjusted your stance, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, but that only made things worse because you didn’t know he was the type of man who appreciated a body like yours. The type that saw thick thighs, wide hips, and soft curves and lingered—the kind that recognized a woman built to carry healthy babies and be just as healthy herself. And sure enough, when you glanced over your shoulder, you caught him licking his lips, eyes still locked on you like you were a full-course meal, and he was starving.

“Damn, you gon’ cook everything in the kitchen?” His voice rumbled from behind you, smooth and deep, with that natural Southern drawl that could make a woman’s knees buckle if she wasn’t careful.

You smirked, turning back to the pot. “You got a problem with a woman feeding you?”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through the air. “Nah, just surprised. Didn’t peg you for the domestic type.”

You scoffed, stirring the food. “Just ‘cause I can cook don’t mean I’m tryna play house with you, sir.”

That chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh, deep and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. You were too aware of him now, of the space between you and the way it was closing, little by little. The heat of his body was at your back before you even realized he had moved, and suddenly, his voice was right at your ear.

“You need any help?” His deep voice reverberated.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers tightening around the spoon as his presence seemed to take up all the air in the kitchen. His body was close—too close, his heat pressing against your back, his sheer size making you feel small, even though you weren’t a small woman. The scent of his cologne—dark, musky, and clean—wrapped around you, making your head swim for a brief second. For just a moment, the energy in the room shifted. A slow, charged moment where neither of you moved, where the only sounds were the bubbling of the food on the stove and the quiet, measured breaths between you. It was subtle but impossible to ignore—the low hum of something heavy, something thick and unspoken. Then, just as quickly as it came, it passed. You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus, though you swore you felt him smirk behind you.

“I got it,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice even. Terry didn’t move at first, letting the moment sit before he finally stepped back, his absence somehow just as noticeable as his presence.

“Aight then,” he murmured, his voice amused.

But even as he walked away, you could feel his gaze still on you. And something told you that this slow-burn tension between you? It was just getting started. After about twenty minutes, the food is finally done, the kitchen filled with the warm, savory aroma of glazed salmon and buttered asparagus. You take your time plating everything carefully, making sure it looks just as good as it smells. Since Terry is your guest, you serve his plate first, sliding it across the counter toward him before pouring yourself another small glass of wine.

“You tryna impress me or somethin’?” he teases, eyeing the plate like he don’t quite trust it yet.

You roll your eyes, lifting your glass. “Boy, please. If I wanted to impress you, I would’ve pulled out the big guns.”

His brows lift slightly. “This ain’t the big guns?”

“Not even close.”You smirk. Terry hums like he’s considering that, then finally picks up his fork and takes a bite. He chews slowly, his face unreadable, and you find yourself leaning in slightly, waiting for his reaction.

After a few beats, he nods. “Alright, I’ll give it to you. This is good.”

You wink cutely, sipping your wine. “Told you I wouldn’t let you die in my care.”

He chuckles, deep and smooth, before digging into his plate with more enthusiasm. You pretend not to notice the way his biceps flex when he moves, how his jaw tenses up when he chews. You felt your clit pulse at the way his lips became glazed over from the moistness of the salmon.

“Told you I know what I’m doing,” you added with a nervous giggle, watching him enjoy the meal as you tried to push the naughty thoughts back and out of your mental crevices.

Terry smirks, setting his fork down just long enough to meet your gaze. “I don’t know yet. You cookin’ good, but that don’t mean you can really throw down. Anybody can follow a recipe.”

“Excuse me?” Your mouth dropped open slightly.

He shrugs, eyes dancing with amusement. “I mean, this is cute and all, but I don’t see no mac and cheese, no smothered chicken, no collard greens. Where the food that’ll have a man ready to sign over his life?”

You narrow your eyes, setting down your glass. “Oh nigga, you really talkin’ reckless now.”

He leans in slightly, grin widening. “I’m just sayin’—”

“You just saying what, exactly? That I gotta cook like somebody’s Big Mama before you give me my flowers?” You scoffed, fighting your smile.

Terry’s eyes flickered towards you with something unreadable, something dark and playful all at once. “I’m just saying… if you wanna prove you really got skills, you might have to cook for me again.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “Oh, I see what this is. You tryna finesse another plate outta me.”

He smirks, grabbing his fork again. “Maybe.”

You fold your arms, eyeing him. “What do I get outta this arrangement?”

Terry lifts a brow, chewing another bite of salmon before answering. “What you want?” His voice dropping down to an even lower, sleek register. The sudden change shot an electric current straight to your pussy, making it moist and slippery. Although your lips below quivered and ached to be touched, you kept a pokerface.

“Hmm. Let’s see… If I’m cooking, then you’re cleaning.” You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to think.

“Nah. Try again.” He scoffed.

“Uh-uh. I think that’s fair. You eat, you clean.” You playfully pouted, making him crack a small smirk at you.

“I fixed your grandma’s whole damn house. Ain’t that enough?” He countered, tone heavily amused.

You smirk, enjoying this way too much. “Oh, so now you keeping score?”

Terry leans in a little, his stormy ocean eyes glinting with something dangerous, something that makes the air between you tighten. “Nah, sweetheart. Just making sure I know what the stakes are.”

Your stomach flipped, causing heat to crawl slowly up your spine. This man was absolute trouble, and not the good kind. This man was the type to have you outside of his job, throwing bricks through his car window because he ain’t answer quick enough for your liking. This wasn’t no young nigga you were used to , this was big dawg.

You picked up your wine glass again, taking a slow sip. “Well, you let me know when you’re ready for that real meal. But just so you know… once I really start cooking for you?” You lean in slightly, voice dropping to something softer, silkier.. Almost wet and seducing. “Ain’t no going back.”

Terry’s smirk deepens, his gaze dropping—just for a second—to your lips before dragging back up to your eyes.

“That right?” he murmurs.

You swallow hard, feeling your pulse kicking up. You knew you had to get out of this here kitchen before you did something stupid.

Pushing off the counter, you grab your own plate. “Eat your food, Terry.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he digs back in. “Yeah, alright. But don’t think I’m forgetting this conversation.”

You roll your eyes, turning away—but not before catching the way he watches you, heat flickering behind that cool, unreadable expression.

Yeah, this is nigga here was definitely trouble. As you take your plate and head toward the table, you can still feel Terry’s eyes on you, the weight of his gaze heavy against your skin. You tell yourself you’re imagining it, that the warmth curling low in your belly is just the wine and not the way his voice dipped when he said that right. But then, just as you sit down, he speaks again—low, teasing, but laced with something else. Something thicker.

“Hope you know what you just started.”

You pause, your fork hovering over your plate, your pulse skipping before quickening. When you finally look up, Terry’s already focused on his food like he ain’t just sent a shiver down your spine. And just like that, the game had officially begun. You might’ve thought you were just cooking a meal, just having a little harmless banter over dinner—but Terry? He had other plans. The way he said it, the way his voice dipped into something slow and rich like molasses, told you plain as day that this was just the start. And whether you were ready for it or not…

Things were about to get real interesting.

[thespectralcottage]

Witchcraft 101:

Cleansing vs Uncrossing vs Banishing

Alright witches. Lets dive into some witchy basics and discuss the differences between cleansing, uncrossing and banishing. This will hopefully help you differentiate between them. But.. lets be honestly if you do something like call a spell an uncrossing when "technically" doing a banishing, who cares its all in good spirit. The reason i think its good to have a difference in mind between these falls into how you handle a spell. If I'm doing an uncrossing vs a banishing i would choose different spell ingredients, maybe work with different gods, or choose a different element to work with.

Cleansing: I consider cleansings as the foundation and most basic of these. Its almost an umbrella term the other two fall under. All banishings are cleansings, but not all cleansings are a banishing. Cleansings are when you're trying clear something away. Most often people will use this term in day to day workings and general upkeep to make sure nothing has stuck to them. This would include more casual things like smoke cleansing, showering and asking the water to cleanse you, sound cleansing, etc. Its not a full spellworking or ritual, but still done with energy and intention. Sometimes you may do a cleansing and realize whatever is there, is stuck deeper then you expected. So you take the next steps and do a more "intense" cleansing like an uncrossing or banishing.

Uncrossing Spells: Uncrossing specifically refers to removing unwanted energy. Usually when discussing what is an uncrossing, I sperate it from just a cleansing by describing it as a very intense cleansing where you're trying to strip away intense and specific energy. These are more work and a step up from an everyday cleansing for more intense scenarios. This is very spirit focused; think of it as taking out the bad and putting in the good. Some types of spells I would consider an uncrossing are: removing hexes/jinx/curses, removing the evil eye, spiritual detoxes, road openers, removing any stubborn energy, removing feelings, etc. I associate uncrossings with water: it's soaking in and getting that energy out. I would choose herbs/spell ingredients that are uplifting and purifying. Think salt, rosemary, rue, and lemons.

Banishing Spells: Banishing spells remove unwanted entities, spirits or people. You can use it to get rid of very deep rooted things like habits or insecurities. Banishings are quite a strong forms of spellwork. You're really kicking something out and away from you when you do a banishing. Its connected to more deep rooted things that you're trying to remove from your life. Some types of spells I could consider a banishing: cord cutting, exorcisms, banishing a spirit attached to you, getting rid of insecurities, freezers, etc. I associate banishings with fire. Burn and gtfo. I would choose herbs that have more of a kick to them and are defensive. Think nettle, blackberry leaves, cloves, even pepper in some cases.

Please note this doesn't have to be something strict. Like i said at the beginning this is just a guide that will help you differentiate so you can tackle the spellwork as effectively as possible.

✨Stay Spooky ✨

[bellamoooon]

Shitty draft <333

I love my queen tashi but I need her to be a villain for this teehee

Arts grandma loved his long blonde curls, and would point it out every time they talked.

“Have you cut your hair short Artie? You know how much I love those curls of yours”

And if he was completely honest, he actually didn’t hate his long hair, in fact, most girls he would talk to would always say how much they loved his hair.

Especially you, he loved that you adored his hair; how you’d runs your fingers through his thick blonde curls or how occasionally you would braid some strands when cuddling and talking.

But that all took a turn, when he got with Tashi —who by the way did not like his long hair— he immediately chopped it down to a short length but not too short.

She always said his hair would get sweaty, making it annoying during matches, plus she said he look like a little kid with his curls, leading to the decision.

So now in the present, Art and Tashi were in the middle of a divorce, but he still had to attend the foundation’s events, so imagine his surprise as he sat next to you uncomfortably in silence.

”you cut your hair….” Was the first thing that came out of your mouth as you recognized him then going silent.

“Yeah— it was annoying to wash after the matches so…” he spoke with a bit of hesitation as the question popped into his head, what did you think about it? He couldn’t quite read your expression.

“It’s— it looks…nice” you say looking down at your hands, swallowing thickly not really knowing what else to say, not that you didn’t like it, but, he looked so different— sure it had been a good ten years since you last saw him, and you could see him age slightly but his face didn’t change.

He was the same Art, your Art.

“Tashi made me cut it” he blurted out after a couple of minutes of awkward silence, “she said it made me look like a kid” he had no idea why he was telling all that, it’s not like she cared anymore, or did she?

You let out a laugh, a hand covering your mouth as you tried to muffle the noise, Art furrowed his brows as he turned to look at you. “I’m sorry— it’s just that I couldn’t have imagined a single person who hated your long hair” you spoke almost unable to believe that Tashi did not like his curls.

“Yeah well— I kinda regret cutting it, I think I’ll let it grow back, y’know retirement and…the divorce” he slowed his pace as he mentioned the divorce, it really sucked to be him right now, he thought.

“That’s good, you always did look better with your long hair, I didn’t want to be a bitch in case it was your choice” you said as you pointed at his hair with a playful grin.

Right there. There it was.

Art wanted to die on the spot, how the hell did he manage to ever get with you, AND leave you for his teenage fantasy with Tashi.

Deep down he knew things between the two of you would never be like it was before, but a small part of him wanted to convince himself just for the night, that maybe, just maybe, the two of you could actually start over.

“Art, they need you for pictures” Tashi’s voice brought him back, he nodded softly muttering “be right there” as she turned away not even caring, you looked at Tashi walking away to then turn to Art, who had the expression of a kicked puppy with his tail between its legs.

“I’d hate to be you” you joked with a hint of tenderness you always carried when talking to him, “I’ll see you…around, hopefully.”

His heart dropped at the words, you had a longing look as you waved goodbye while walking away, he definitely hated being him right now.

I kinda hate this 😩💀

[zweigsangel]

reassuringbf!matt x overthinkinggf!reader

fluff fluff fluff!!!

i just had to do this after matt said that he likes 500 days of summer in the stream

matt loved you, and he showed it in every little way because he knew how you were. he knew that sometimes you got lost in your own thoughts, tangled in worries that had no real foundation. it was in those moments that his patience shone through. he would gently reassure you, pressing soft kisses on your cheek, then your forehead, and the tip of your nose, as if each kiss could brush away a bit of your anxiety. his voice would drop to a whisper, a tender tone meant only for you, as he spoke comforting words, each one chosen to ease your mind and make you feel safe.

and that was one of those moments. he heard your voice on the phone, so soft and low, “can you come over?” the words carried a quiet vulnerability that he immediately recognized. he arrived and saw you standing on the other side of the door. the sight of you, so small and fragile in that moment, struck something deep within him. the hoodie you were wearing hung loosely around you, a piece of him that you clung to for comfort, and your legs were bare except for a pair shorts, your eyes were puffy, still swollen from tears you hadn’t yet shed or had just finished wiping away. as soon as he saw you, there was no question, no hesitation. he closed the distance between you in an instant, pulling you close, his arms encircling you, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head.

"i'm sorry. if i called you over for nothing… maybe you had better things to do. maybe you’re tired of me and my problems, i’m sorry," you murmured. the two of you were curled up on the couch, your bodies nestled close together. your hands rested on his chest, legs crossed over his, and your head tucked into the crook of his neck. your eyes were slightly wet, holding back tears you didn’t want to let fall. his arm was wrapped around you, and with his fingers, he was gently tracing circles on your bare back under the hoodie. when he heard your words, he shook his head immediately. “hey, no, no, no, i’m not tired. never, okay? you know i’m always here for you, whenever you need me.” his voice was soft, but firm, as if to banish any doubt from your mind. he tightened his hold on you slightly, pulling you even closer.

"really?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly as you sniffled, a single tear slipping down your cheek. as soon as he saw it, his expression softened and he moved his arm from around you, bringing both hands up to cup your face. his touch was tender, careful, as if he was afraid of breaking something fragile. his thumbs gently brushed against your skin, one of them catching the tear as it traced its path down your cheek. "really," he replied. the word hung in the air for a moment, solid and true, before he closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was soft, almost feather-light. it wasn’t a long kiss, just a brief, tender press of lips, but it carried with it all the reassurance you needed.

you spent the rest of the afternoon and evening there, wrapped in each other’s arms, watching romantic comedies. 10 things i hate about you, 500 days of summer, and so many others played on the screen as the hours slipped by. every so often, you would giggle and say, "that’s us," with a playful smile. and every time, without missing a beat, he would reply, "yeah, that’s us," his voice soft and filled with warmth. your worries, which had seemed so overwhelming just hours before, began to fade into the background, replaced by the lightness of the films and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

every now and then, you would glance up at him, catching the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at something on the screen, and in those moments, you were reminded of just how much he meant to you. despite all your anxieties and fears, he was always there, no matter what.

[deesseshesca]

PAC : Why are u avoiding love ?

(SINGLE SINCE BIRTH - ERA ~ 1)

Receive me.

PILE 1

Why are you avoiding love?

Because love, once a melody in your heart, has become a ghost of a song you can no longer hear. You gave warmth, you poured devotion, you wrapped people in the gentleness of your spirit only to watch them leave, taking pieces of you with them, like travelers stealing light from a dying lantern.

Now, love feels like a kingdom in ruins, a throne overturned. Once, you believed in its promise, in the way it could fill the spaces inside you. But every time you reached, love slipped through your fingers, dissolving like mist at dawn. So, you built walls where there were once open doors. You rewrote the script, erased the parts that made you vulnerable. You turned love into a language you no longer speak.

The world still turns, and it tells you love is everywhere soft hands, warm voices, lingering glances. But you no longer trust its rhythm. You see love as a tide that only ever pulls away. Why reach for something that has only ever left you empty?

And yet, somewhere beneath the silence, beneath the armor you wear so well, there is a part of you that still aches, that still wonders, if love knocked again, would you answer?

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PILE 2

Why are you avoiding love?

Because love feels like a risk you can’t afford to take. You move fast, think sharp, keep control, always two steps ahead, always calculating the cost. And love? Love is unpredictable. It threatens the image you’ve carefully built, the way people see you, the way you see yourself.

There is someone who cares, someone who lingers in the spaces you refuse to acknowledge. Their warmth is steady, their presence unwavering, but you look past them, pretending not to notice. Not because you don’t feel something no, that would be easier. But because feeling means opening a door that can never be closed again.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. That your world cannot afford softness, that love is a distraction, a crack in the foundation of the life you’ve constructed. You hold your reputation like a shield, convinced that if you let love in, it will dismantle everything you’ve worked for.

But deep down, in the quiet moments, when no one is watching, you wonder, what would it feel like to let yourself be loved without fear?

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PILE 3

Why are you avoiding love?

Because love is a language you don’t have time to translate right now. Your world has been chaos, stripped bare by storms that left you standing in the wreckage, trying to rebuild. You’ve lost things maybe even lost yourself for a while. And while the world tells you love is a shelter, all you can see is another thing to carry, another weight pressing against an already heavy mind.

You have responsibilities, goals, things that demand your focus. Love feels like a distant song playing in a room you never step into. You hear it, faintly, but you don’t have the energy to listen. Not now. Not when you're still stitching yourself back together.

The people around you celebrate, laugh, love freely but you feel separate, watching from the edges, more concerned with standing firm than being swept away. It’s not that you don’t believe in love. It’s not that you wouldn’t want it, in another life, another time.

But right now, love is a luxury, and survival is the only thing on your mind.

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PILE 4

Why are you avoiding love?

Because you’ve seen the illusion before. You’ve walked through the fire, endured the heartbreak, faced the lies dressed as promises. And you didn’t just survive, you mastered survival. You stitched up the wounds, turned pain into power, rebuilt yourself stronger than ever. Love used to be a battlefield where you fought with an open heart. Now, it’s a game you no longer play.

You move with patience, with purpose. You trust yourself more than you trust words whispered too easily. You know what real effort looks like, what true devotion feels like. And you won’t settle for anything less.

It’s not that you fear love. No, love doesn’t scare you anymore. But illusions do. Half-hearted efforts. Empty words. Performances disguised as passion. You’ve outgrown the lies, the deception, the heartbreak.

So, you wait. Not because you’re afraid, not because you’re broken, but because you know your worth. And if love is ever to find you again, it will have to rise to your level.

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[zzencat]

How To Energetically Get The Most Out Of Your School/Work Life - ⏳

Since we’re getting into the groove of things…let’s gaur!!!! For entertainment purposes.

From left to right. Breathe and choose the one(s) you can't keep your eyes off of.

TO ENHANCE ACCURACY BEFORE CHOOSING: Clear your mind. Time is now patient and still. Close your eyes, inhale deeply, fill your chest up to the fullest, feel the soft air brush up against the ridges of your nose. Breathe out.

Pile 1 | boomer mentality?

• change your ways. Bad habits, weak ways of thinking- sure, it’s uncomfortable. Growth is uncomfortable. Success is uncomfortable (I’m pretty sure someone super famous said that once maybe someone should remind me- 🤔) . You’ll find that if you look at things from a new perspective, a new angle, it’ll be beneficial for you in the long run. Just like looking at stress in a good way- there are studies on it that show that if you look at stress in a more positive way and use it to your advantage, you could really stretch out your life and live longer than those who were pessimistic about it (lol fun fact for you)

if you let go of the old, your luck will change. embrace these new changes, beliefs, environments, and people.

don’t keep your time and resources to yourself. allow for self reflection and transformations to happen!

big focus: don’t let history repeat itself. it’s time for a change! let go and let in.

—————————

Pile 2 | feeling stuck or stagnant

• pile 2, you tend to overthink everything. You let your mind run its course. That ain’t good news. It prevents you from reaching new heights- prevents you from even starting on something, just because of fear or even roots of perfectionism. There’s a huge lack of motivation, confidence, and trust in yourself- so much that even when I was pulling your cards they were hesitant to come out. it feels like russian roulette but it’s firing on its own. some people here might tend to overreact/throw a tantrum as well or be immature in situations that need sensibility (in this case, ya gotta take this time to mature.)

• I feel this group has trouble with balance in general. Nothing wrong with that on occasion but if that’s your default setting and you’re stuck in your mind all day, wondering about this and that—just a crazy clash of thoughts and ideas—ruminating and running around in a vicious cycle full of mental bullshit then it’s gonna stop you. It’s gonna stop you from growth, from achieving things, from getting started, from living life normally. That’s the bare minimum, isn’t it? All we gotta do is breathe and when life makes it hard, the brain works harder. The mind is truly the most dangerous thing and you have to embrace it, marinate in it, and pick at it. find out where the balance is between intuition, logic, and emotion.

you might feel restricted and the need to break free, but what you also need is a breather to calm down and assess yourself before making decisions. rmr, deep breaths.

•Do your own research, form your own opinions, figure out who you are, how you operate, and what you want in life. That’s how you begin to build character. That’s how you can move forward, even if it’s little by little. (A more stable foundation comes outta that too.)

big focus: practice self control. when they say “lead with your head,” they really mean the control center of logic, intuition, and emotion…but who’s doing more of the controlling here, you or your mind?

——————————

Pile 3 | “how could I miss that?”

• What you need to focus on is slowing down. it’s easy to miss things when we’re busy or taking on a lot of responsibilities. give yourself some love and care—tend to those inner callings. It’s good for your mental health as well. Remember: mental becomes physical.

• put yourself first for once. Connect with yourself and loved ones- go on one of them self dates- Yessir those exist 😳

• pile 3, you are easily the most efficient and speedy group- cards were legit being shuffled like they were being handled like a pro- but you know the con of that? You miss all the moments you could’ve had with friends, lovers, family. Yourself. You get to miss all the details because things are going too fast pow pow pow one after the other until it piles up and then you end up beating yourself up for small and simple mistakes…calm down and adjust yourself. You will be okay.

• I’m telling you fam- TAKE BREAKS. Give yourself moments to relax and rejuvenate before you push yourself!! You put too much pressure on yourself as it is

• connect with your inner feminine energy when you have the time—you gotta MAKE that time for yourself

• don’t be so neglectful in your relationships btw! Romantic, platonic, familial, wtv- learn how to manage your time so that you can separate work and assignments with social relations. Keep that communication up!! This includes your inner and outer voice. Reflect and acknowledge how you feel.

big focus: be more open minded to making new connections! spend more time with others. you’ll find emotional happiness and fulfillment in it :)

————————————

Ending Teddy note:

Hello hollywood people 😎 it has been a long minute! thank you for taking the time to read through this—YOU ARE AWESOME!!! Always remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t! I’ll cya fam ciao :)

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♥︎ The Way I Am ♥︎

♥︎ Pairing ♥︎ fiance!seonghwa x gn!makeup artist!reader

♥︎ Genre ♥︎ fluff/angst

♥︎ Summary ♥︎ Your fiance's been successfully keeping his love of makeup hidden from you. That is until you come home early from a trip and find him using your things. Your reaction is (of course ♥︎) the exact opposite of what he feared.

♥︎ Word Count ♥︎ 1.6kish

♥︎ Warnings ♥︎ Hwa does express his worries about being vulnerable with his identity so if that's sensitive to you that's super important to note. Other than that, nothing. Just fluff and reassurance ♥︎

♥︎ A/N ♥︎ I hope that if you're reading this and you feel nervous about expressing your gender identity out of fear that people won't accept you, you know that you're totally worthy of love and acceptance no matter what. Love you ♥︎

"'Cause I love you more than I could ever promise and you take me the way I am" - Ingrid Michaelson (The Way I Am)

Seonghwa hopes that you don’t notice. A few drops of foundation here. A swipe or two of eyeliner there. Maybe some lipstick or blush if he’s feeling adventurous. He wishes he had the courage to ask you to do this for him. You’re the most talented makeup artist he’s ever met. Watching you work is like art. How wonderful it’d be to bare the most vulnerable part of himself to you. To be your lover and your canvas. But every time he tries to open up the fear creeps in and the words won’t come out.

So this is the way it is—the way it’ll always have to be. Your wedding’s less than a month away and the thought that he might lose you makes his soul ache. He can’t risk losing you. He won’t risk losing you. 

Tonight he’s raided your makeup supplies for everything necessary to create the soft, romantic look of his dreams. With the warm air of a summer night blowing through the bedroom window and Spotify’s best Taylor Swift mix blasting in his over-ear headphones, the vibe couldn't be more perfect.

He’s been like this for at least an hour, seated at your vanity trying to get his foundation to match. You have every shade imaginable but none are what he wants. And mixing them? Well—

“Fuck” Seonghwa huffs, staring at his reflection, frustration and two pale layers of foundation painted all over his face. He scans the meticulously organized desk for the makeup wipes and gets to work cleaning it off. It takes everything in him not to throw something but he manages to suppress his violent urges long enough to pick up a brush again.

Thank god he has all night to do this. You won’t be home from your trip until tomorrow afternoon. By then he’ll have put everything back in its place and you’ll never know a thing. At least that’s the way things were meant to go but the unexpected glimmer of your reflection lingering by the bedroom door destroys that in an instant.

You thought it’d be sweet to surprise Seonghwa by coming home early. The event you were hired for had been canceled and you always missed each other so much. You figured it only made sense to come back home. You even stopped at his favorite takeout spot on the way from the airport to pick up dinner.

No one’s ever come close to treating you with as much love and care as Seonghwa has. Everything he does makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Just glancing down at the sparkly ring on your finger is enough to make your face light up. Any chance you have to make him feel the same way isn’t one you’re willing to pass up.

But, for the first time since you met, his face doesn’t light up at the sight of you. It darkens as if the world has ended and you can’t help but feel like you’re the one who ended it. 

“Hwa—” you sigh softly, approaching the vanity where he sits nearly catatonic. Tears collect in the corner of his deep brown eyes, his fingers beginning to shake around the makeup brush. “It’s okay” you promise, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. Seonghwa pulls away from you, tearing the headphones off of his head. His dark hair hangs in his face giving him a safe place to hide from the disappointment he knows is waiting for him if he dares meet your gaze.

Only there isn’t any...

This isn’t what you expected to come home to but it’s far from a surprise for you. One of the things you always loved about Seonghwa was how comfortable he seemed to be in his own skin. While other guys saw every little thing as a threat to their masculinity, he treated femininity as something beautiful. You can’t even count the amount of times you’ve wanted to do his makeup. Those eyes. Those lips. That killer bone structure. He’s perfect for that kind of thing. You wish now more than ever that you’d said something.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t—I’m just—I’m so sorry” he mumbles, choking back tears. You outstretch your arms to wrap him in a hug but he slips away again, rushing to the closet to grab his gym bag. “Hwa, what are you doing? Can you stop for a second? Please?” you beg, following him around the room as he blindly tosses things into the bag.

You’ve never felt more invisible. Your words fall on deaf ears and each time you reach out to touch him he recoils. Seonghwa grabs his phone from the dresser, snatching free of the grip you have on the sleeve of his shirt. This is his worst nightmare. In the blink of an eye he lost everything, he’s convinced of that. He doesn’t know what to say or what to do. All he can think to do is run. 

“You can’t do this!” you shout, trailing him down the hallway, “You have to talk to me!”

Seonghwa breathes in, beyond pissed off at the few tears that manage to escape. “I have to leave. I have to—to protect you.”

Hearing the pain in his voice, you nearly trip on your luggage to throw yourself in front of the door. “Is it to protect me? Or to protect yourself?”

That stops him in his tracks, his foot already halfway into a pair of sneakers. Who’s he running away for really? It’s a question that only makes the pounding in his head worse. He knows that you love him. You tell him every morning, even when you’re apart, how special he is to you. You’re begging him to stay but he can’t. He can’t. Why can’t he?

“Move please” he asks, his hand tight around the doorknob. 

You fold your arms across your chest, back pressed to the door, “No.” 

“Move…please” his voice is deeper this time, the request sounding more like a demand. 

Slipping your hands beneath the curtain of jade hair, you rest them on cheeks that burn hot enough to heat your palms. Your fingers are stained with tears and what makeup remains on his cheeks. “I love you so much” you whisper, refusing to let him get away this time, “I need you to look at me.”

You hold your breath in the silence that follows, exhaling only when his mascara smeared eyes meet yours. “I. Love. You. So. Much” you say but slower this time, putting emphasis on every word. Your heart breaks for him, for how terrified you can tell he’s been of this happening.

You raise one of your hands to show him the makeup covering it. “I don’t care about this, Hwa. I care about you.” The faint smile on your face speaks of comfort, a truly safe place for him to be if he wants it. His hand falls away from the doorknob as he lets the gym bag hit the floor with a thud.

“I would’ve told you before but I…” he pauses to summon the courage to go on, “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore.” You let out a sigh of relief at the sensation of his arms easing around your waist. He holds you so tightly that you’d swear you were the one trying to run away. 

“Oh, my love. I wish you could meet yourself so you’d know how amazing you are” you sniffle, only now noticing the trickling of your own tears. “I want to be with you—all of you—whatever that looks like.”

Seonghwa uses his hands to wipe away your tears, leaving them tinted in the light makeup you threw on before your flight. “And see, we’re twins now” you giggle, desperate to lighten the mood. Seonghwa stares at you longingly, the light gradually reigniting behind his eyes. “I love you too” he smiles, his lips brushing yours, “So much.”

He kisses you in the most innocent way and it’s like your first kiss all over again. Packed with nerves and excitement that melt away the longer you linger here. It’ll take some time to fade—the fear of being vulnerable—but it will fade and you’ll be there for it all. 

“Will you help me fix it?” he asks, nervously fidgeting with the waist of your paints, “You don’t have to but I have a picture on my phone and—” You cover his mouth with your hand before he can say anything more, “Of course I’ll help you. Shower first though?” Seonghwa suddenly becomes hyper aware of the slight mess on his hands—in his hair—on both of your clothes. “I’d really like that.” 

Kissing him on the forehead, you push his hair back to get a good look at him, “We’re doing dreamy summer vibes? Something soft?” 

“How’d you know that?”

“I don’t know” you shrug, “Maybe I’m just that good. You were also going super hard on the Taylor Swift so I kinda assumed. Just blasting. I didn’t know it was that real for you.” 

“Shut up” he laughs, squeezing you so tight you can’t breathe. 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry!” you giggle, trying to get away. But he won’t let you. Instead he lays his head on your shoulder, willing to tolerate being a total mess for a bit longer if it means holding you. The way that things have been...it doesn’t have to be like that now.

And it never will be again.

[saturnville]

do you want to, l. hamilton

pairing: he (lewis hamilton) x black best friend oc (anvika dawson) content: in which two friends cross a line people have been waiting for them to cross...and it works out. warning: 18+ content, angst, fluff, heavy dialogue song: do you want to by xscape an: part one here. part two here. their story is complete. thank you for reading <3 tags: @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @ggaslyp1 @neeville

They hadn’t spoken in over a month. A bridge seemed to find its way between them. Not finding their way back to one another was unlike them. Most disagreements lasted at most three days. But, for there to have been 30 days of silence had her questioning if they’d come back from what they went through. 

But, after a much-needed therapy session, a cry session with Onyx, and deep reflection, Anvika realized that space was the best thing she could give him. She was challenged to put herself in his shoes and that changed her perspective entirely. 

“I want you to think from his perspective, Anvika,” her therapist began. She was an older Black woman with rich skin and silver hair. Her eyes were like honey and her voice was warm like the hug of an old church mother. “If you had feelings for him, right, whether you admitted them or not, and there came a time where the dam that contained all the feelings, emotions, thoughts, what have you, had broken and he was willing to drown in it all, just to turn around and downplay what occurred not even 12 hours later, how would you feel?” 

Ouch. Having it repeated to her without bias struck her uncomfortably. Anvika twisted her lips as she pondered long and hard. How would she feel? Rejected? Embarrassed? Used? Maybe all of the above. 

“What are you thinking about?” her therapist, Traci, asked. “And it doesn’t have to come out perfect or sound. Say how you feel.” 

Suddenly, her chest heaved as her breaths grew deeper. Her tongue circled her teeth and her eyes welled with tears. “I love him. I always have, in one way or another. But, I cherish what we’ve got and I just don’t—“ she sighed deeply. “I’m afraid for it to be ruined and I lose another man that I love.” 

Traci hummed. “So, you love him. Always have, you’ve built a good friendship with him, which could be a solid foundation for a potential romantic relationship, which he seemingly wants, but you’re afraid that it would go wrong and you’d lose him. What else are you afraid of?” 

“Just…that I won’t be more than a body to keep his bed warm. That’s why my ex and I split. Sure, we were together, but he was more invested in sex than he was in cultivating and strengthening our relationship. Intimacy is important, but only being desired for your body does something to a girl. I don’t want that…and so I’m afraid of being nothing more than a warm body. And now I’m upset because I teetered on my boundaries which were no sex with anyone that wasn’t my significant other. I don’t have a significant other, Traci. I have a best friend…or had.” 

Anvika’s voice shook as she spoke. She fiddled with the necklaces stacked around her neck. 3 gold necklaces—Queen Nefertiti, a heart, and the number 44. Traci’s eyes followed her hands. “What’s 44 stand for?” 

Anvika’s hands stalled. Her voice was quiet: “It’s his racing number. He races today.”

“You wear it often?” 

Anvika nodded. 

“Why?” Traci pressed, pushing her glasses above her head. 

“It helps me feel close to him when he’s away. He’s always away.” 

Another hum came from Traci. “Does he wear anything that represents you?” 

It was small. A simple word on his neck was often hidden by his braided hair. Completion. The definition of her name. He’d gotten it a year prior and never told her until she was helping him take his braids down and noticed the fresh ink there. Her heart grew three sizes that day. 

Anvika swallowed thickly. “My name means strong and complete. He has completion tattooed on his neck.”

Traci chuckled in amusement. Breakthrough was happening. 

“Sounds to me that the relationship the two of you have goes deeper than you’d like to admit. You shouldn’t beat yourself over the night you shared with him. We all have moments where we teeter-totter. And even though you didn’t want to, you did. But not only did you do it, you did it with a man who cherishes you, who honors you, who respects you. He is still your closest friend, but who is to say that your lover shouldn’t first be your friend? The choice is yours and I will walk with you through whatever decision you make. Just take the time to think about it, Anvika.” 

She’d thought about it every day since. 

+

Misery wasn’t a state he found himself in often, let alone one that he allowed himself to bask in. He was a firm believer in not allowing his circumstances to permanently alter his mood; his actions proved that he wasn’t the believer he thought he was. 

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. His words were more limited than usual. His animations were not quite animated. He was going through the motions day by day, a boring routine that grew exhausting. He was better than this and he knew it. But, his usual methods of taking a run, spending time with loved ones, and giving in to his sweet tooth didn’t help. If anything, they made him feel worse. All because they were activities they did together. It seemed as though his entire life was attached to her and it drove him mad. 

He didn’t think there’d be a day where his mood would be affected by his disconnect from her. And it manifested physically. Lewis was tired often, which was a symptom of the fast-paced lifestyle, but for it to show in his eyes and the slowness of his movements was a clear indication that he was not okay. 

Lewis sighed into his pillow as his phone dinged once again. If he could throw it away, he would. His eyes glanced at the screen. Ani. The fourth message he’d received from her and the fourth time he wouldn’t reply. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t have much to say.

You raced well, it read. I hope you’re doing well…I hope we cross paths again when you’re ready. 

He grappled with responding. His heart yearned to speak with her but his mind overpowered his ability to pick up the phone. What would he respond with? Thanks, not ready to see you because you hurt my heart and made me feel rejected. Talk soon. He’d be damned. 

He did a double-take after a moment. You raced well. She watched? His heart twisted. She attended every race she could, amid screaming fans jumping for joy. He could still hear her strained voice chanting his name when he walked on the track. 

“Lewis!” 

His conversation with the gentleman ahead of him was stopped. The racer apologized graciously and turned to see Anvika at the top of the bleachers waving excitedly. It was her first international race and she was over the moon to be there. He chuckled and beckoned her down. 

She shuffled through the bleachers and was soon guided by a security guard to where he stood. She smiled widely. “So, how do you feel?” Her hands grabbed his own and squeezed. She was about to burst. 

“I feel good,” he said with a smile. “How do you feel?” 

“I’m so excited! I hardly ever leave the country unless it’s for business, so to be here and supporting you--so exciting!” The small bounce she did had the jewelry around her neck bobbing. His eyes dropped to her exposed collarbone--Nefertiti, a gold heart, and the number 44. Bright and shiny like it was brand new. His eyebrow raised. “That new?” His finger curled around the chain, tugging softly. The action had her stumbling toward him. 

“Oh, this?” she quipped. “Yeah. I’m not too much of a jersey girl but I couldn’t come without repping you at all. My hat’s up there with Onyx.” She pointed to the bleachers. She hoped it didn’t get swiped--she made him sign it. 

The smile on his face matched hers. For them to have been friends, she cared for him in ways that would have people assuming otherwise. Wearing someone’s name or number around your neck, closest to your heart, spoke volumes. And she’d chosen to do it for him. The honor he felt was immense. Lewis wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed his lips against her forehead. “You, my love, are a gem.” 

“Jeez,” he huffed as he buried his head further into the pillow. Soon, his pillow was wet with tears. He hated to admit how much he missed her. How much he craved hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, or feeling the weight of her when she’d fall asleep on his shoulder. He missed her. 

+

They crossed paths the following Monday after the Met Gala. Lewis was waiting in a lobby for his car to arrive when he heard her call his name in hopes he’d respond. It was an awkward reunion. Neither party knew what to say or what to do. Anvika was surprised he’d spoken to her and Lewis was gobsmacked at her beauty. 

“You look beautiful,” he said after some time.

She always claimed red wasn’t her color, but she proved herself wrong and proved himself right. Her dress was much different than what she normally went for and it only emphasized the impact she made once she hit the carpet. The scarlet red complimented the richness of her complexion beautifully and the rose-like details were stunning. And her heels were like liquid gold on her feet. She’d done her hair differently as well. Her dark brown hair was pressed and in an intricate updo that showcased her ethereal features from her dark eyebrows to her round lips. Anvika Dawson was a gem. 

Anvika smiled small, feeling flustered under his intense gaze. Her hands smoothed the material of her dress. “Thank you. You do, too.” And she meant it. He was an ethereal being. She often wondered if he was real. Her fingers clawed at her dress as she fought the urge to run her fingers cross his shoulder. 

He was dressed to the nines and in her opinion, had been the best dressed gentleman there. She always adored him in black. It made him look powerful and like the king of the room. And his skin, rich and golden, glowed beneath the ambient lights. 

Silence covered the two of them like a thin blanket--uncomfortable. Lewis couldn’t remember a time when he was uncomfortable in her presence…until now. Moments later, his security detail let him know the car was present. He prepared to bid his farewells but was stopped by Anvika’s hand on his arm. 

“Wait…are you staying at the hotel with the…” In a nervous ramble, she went on and on describing the luxurious building she was put in on behalf of her agency. It was 22 stories tall with the most beautiful lights surrounding the entryway, a maroon carpet leading into the foyer, and a surplus of botanical plants that made her feel as though she was walking through a palace. Lewis, amused by her nervous tangent, nodded.

Anvika’s eyes lit up with hope. “Will you…if you’re up to it…will you stop by, please? I-I’m on the 14th floor, room 44. Will you please just,” she sighed deeply and tore her eyes from his just momentarily, “I miss you, Lewis. And…”

And there it was. He stammered slightly and suddenly felt small under her hopeful gaze. He missed her too. He nodded once more. Anvika released the breath she had no clue she held and assured him she’d be there whenever he decided to come, just to let her know. Before he was whisked away by security, he heard her voice in his ears once again, “Thank you.”

+

Anvika’s feet nearly burned holes in the floor as she paced around her suite. Her thumb was in her mouth, a chewtoy for her nerves. Her eyes cut toward the small wall clock near the bathroom. He said he’d arrive within an hour. Two minutes late. Would he show up? Her heart was a snare drum in her chest as she contemplated her emotions. 

“Calm down,” she ordered herself, though it came out muffled as her teeth drug down the side of her thumb, pulling a tag of sensitive skin with it. She winced when she tugged too hard. “Dammit.” 

Then, there was a soft knock. Her head shot up and a gasp came from her. He came. Anvika frantically patted her hair, hoping that her bun didn’t look awful, and sped over to the suite door. She took a deep breath before pulling it open. She smiled small, “Hi.” She moved out of the way to welcome his presence. 

Falling into natural order, Lewis made his way toward the couch in the living area of the suite. He sat off to the side, nearest the right arm of the couch with his hands in his lap. She sat at the opposite end with her knees toward inward, brushing against his gently. His eyes were glued to the floor. The tenseness made her uneasy. 

She cleared her throat awkwardly and played with the loose strings at the cuff of her (his) oversized sweatshirt. “I had a therapy session not too long after everything happened,” she began. Her admission made him look at her. His eyes, once so full of life and love, were just as dull as the walls surrounding them. “We had what they call a breakthrough. You know, finally getting to the root cause of why we think, act, and speak the way we do. And it was humbling, to say the least…to realize that I hurt you in a way I never thought I was capable of.” 

She chuckled breathlessly but nothing was funny. Her tongue circled her teeth, a nervous habit, as she fought to keep the tears at bay. Lewis’ eyes, prickling slowly, stayed on her. 

“You left. And that hurt me. But you left because I hurt you. That hurt even more. And I am so sorry. You’ve been nothing but good to me and I let my own fears and insecurities cloud my judgment. I was so focused on not screwing up our friendship that I managed to do it anyway because I was neglecting how you’d feel, too.” 

He listened intently. So, she continued, “You asked what I was scared of. I never gave you a clear answer, not because I didn’t know, but because I didn’t want to be honest with you. And simply put, the idea of not only loving another man but losing another man that I love scares me. You already know I was in that messed up situation where I was nothing more than a trophy and a warm body. I didn’t want to be that for any man again. I swore I would never be that for any man again.”

Lewis’ eyes softened and for the first time since they sat down, he spoke, “You know you’re much more than that.” His hand then found its way to her thigh, caressing it softly. 

Anvika gave a closed-lipped smile. “And, um…I was upset because I had these strict boundaries, you know, no significant other means no type of intimate activity, right? I crossed that line with you and I beat myself up over it. In my head, I totally rejected this order I placed on myself and just felt internally guilty because at the time, I thought that was the beginning of experiencing heartache again. That manifested into a fear of ruining our friendship because we’d never crossed a line like that before. We went from friends to lovers in the span of 12 hours, and Lewis, that was a crazy shift.

“You always hear stories about people trying the relationship thing with their friends and they end up never speaking again. You mean too much to me for us to never speak again, so when I say I was miserable, that’s what I mean, especially because I put us in this position. None of this excuses what I did, but it was time to finally be honest. I’m sorry.” 

Silence. She hated silence. Especially when it was uncomfortable. He still hadn’t said anything but she saw the wheels turning in his head. She watched as his eyes darted from left to right, a sign that he was running through a series of logical thoughts--a million a minute. She waited patiently for his response. 

“I felt rejected,” he said softly. “Like I was good for that moment where you let loose but then after that…” 

Anvika sighed heavily. The  conversation was going deeper than she anticipated. 

Lewis dropped his hand from her thigh and brought it to his face, rubbing softly. “When you care for someone all you want to do is be there for them. To be someone that gives them the love, honor, and respect they deserve. I’ve seen how these situations have broken you down and ruined your self-esteem and trust in men, and yet, deep down even while simply being a friend, all I wanted to do was love you and show you differently. So when that happened…what I thought was placed in my grasp was taken just as quickly as it was given. And I would think, is the thought of being with me that bad? That does something to a person, Ani.” 

There was a strain in voice as he asked her what he’d been thinking for weeks. Her confessions gave more insight on why she acted the way she did, but just as she said, it didn’t change the fact that he was hurting. But, to lay his heart on the table the way he wanted with her awaiting ears was relieving. Maybe they would get somewhere.

“I know, darling, and I am sorry,” she said quickly between his words, but quickly retreated so he could continue. “Keep going…” 

“I can’t make you love me the way I love you, I can’t make you mean it in the way that I do, and I can’t make you want something more with me,” he said truthfully though the thought pained him. “So if friends is what keeps you in my life then--”

“I want to try,” Anvika cut him off. His eyes cut to her. His heart began to pound in his chest. “I was told that your lover should be your friend. I’ve experienced you as my friend for six years and I’m starting to understand that it’s okay for those lines to blur, but I only want that with you. If you’ll still have me.” Though her words ceased, her eyes, filled with tears, pleaded with him. Lewis exhaled.

You, my love, are a gem.

+

At that moment, Anvika understood why people made love often. She wasn’t a very sexual person, opting for other forms of intimacy to deepen her relationship with her partner. But when it came to Lewis, she knew he would have her addicted and yearning for more. 

He was so attentive to the needs of her body and gentle in executing them. He was patient, knowing he was the first man she’d been with in four years and that alone made her desire for him grow greater. 

Each graze of his lips against her jaw, sensual caress of her chest, and deep thrust had her singing his name. It was the sweetest song he’d heard. 

Lewis made love to her slowly, just as she requested. 

“Can you go slow, please?” Her voice was hardly above a whisper. 

“Whatever you want, baby.”

He was used to things moving fast, but he was willing to slow down as much as necessary. Plus, it gave him the opportunity to take in every face she made as he dug deep into her. 

Anvika was pressed against him, her legs trembling around his waist as he guided her movements. Her head was thrown back as she succumbed to the pleasure she’d been without for so long. Her jaw hung as a string of profanities fell. Lewis couldn’t help but chuckle. “Feel good, baby?” 

Anvika let out a breathy whine as her body grew warmer and warmer. The whine turned into a sharp gasp when Lewis’ tattooed hand slithered around her neck and squeezed. “Lewis.” His action made her jerk against him. 

“I asked you a question, beloved,” he whispered against her jaw, peppering kisses along her damp skin. 

Anvika nodded, “Yes! So good.” Lewis turned her head and brought his mouth to hers—a heated exchange of moans and passion transferred from one to another. “I love you.” The words fell from her lips as she reached her peak.

To be loved. Against her skin, he whispered back, “I love you.”

+

The water felt amazing against her skin as she stood beneath the rainfall-like water head. It soaked her once pressed hair, causing it to shrink and revert to its natural state. When Anvika wiped the water from her race, she saw Lewis staring at her, eyes full of love with hints of lust.

“What?” she asked innocently, welcoming the forthcoming feeling of his hands at her hips. 

“You’re pretty,” he said simply. He swirled a strand of her hair around his finger and watched as it recoiled. Her big eyes followed his movement. “Very pretty.”

Anvika smiled like a school-girl who found out her crush liked her back. “You are, too.” She pecked his lips and prepared to turn toward the water again but was halted by Lewis pressing her against the wall, hiking her leg up, and capturing her lips in a soul-snatching kiss. 

She whimpered and tossed her arms around his shoulders. His hand slid between them, his fingers dancing along her most sensitive place, working her up. “Can I?” His arousal nudged her thigh, desperate to get a release in her warmth. 

“Yes…”

+

They ordered takeout and ate comfortably on her bed whilst Sex in the City played on the television in the background. They were bare as the day they were born, but it didn’t spark the same excitement as it did just hours before. It felt natural and domestic. 

Anvika sat on his lap, eyes fixed on the television screen as he fed her their shared vegan pasta. The sounds of her heavy chewing made him laugh. “Is it good?” She hummed.

“You’re the only person that could convince me to eat vegan food.”

Lewis shrugged with a lazy smile, claiming for himself what she did not take off the fork. “Because I’m magical.” 

Anvika giggled and nodded, pressing her lips against his. “You are, darling, and I love you because of it.” 

Lewis wouldn’t get used to hearing that. What scared her before came so naturally in the moment and he was so thankful that it did. He finally got what he wanted and he’d never let her go. 

He smiled and it finally reached his eyes, “I love you more.”

And it was so.

[rinrinx2]

Could you do something where reader takes renzo shopping with her and she's at sephora for the last place and she takes him in the Nars section and she tries to cover his eyes so he doesn't see the makeup names and when they get home he blurts a name out from bars dyk what I mean ?

Your wish is my command 🫶

.

Reading is fundamental

Rindou x reader

Warnings: innapropriate language, none really

Going shopping with Renzo wasn't an uncommon thing to do. You and Rindou brought him almost everywhere that allowed children. So, when Rindou had told you that he had business to attend to with Ran and that you would need to take him with you to the mall you had no complaints. It would just be a mall outing for the two of you.

You and Renzo had started off strong at the mall, going from store to store with little fuss. Renzo wasn't really a nagging child and you where forever grateful for that, making your shopping experience a lot easier than most moms with kids.

You and Renzo were continue your shopping journey, as the two of you walked passed Sephora. Stopping in your tracks you decided to go inside, but before you entered you had spoken to the little boy who held your hand with his own smaller one.

"Ren honey, don't touch the things in store" you said in a tender voice warning the young boy to be wary of the items. You knew Renzo was at that curious age were anything shiny he needed to touch, and the last thing you needed was him breaking a foundation bottle and you have to pay for it.

The small boy nodded in understanding, as the two of you entered. you walked passed the various sections in the store, looking at the different lipsticks, eyeshadows, facial lotions and concealers, with Renzo following you. The little boy eyeing all the colourful items but not daring to touch them as to test your warning.

"You think this colour looks pretty on mommy?" You asked the little boy as you puckered your lips at him, watching as he giggled.

"Maybe no" He answered honestly.

"Ouch, didn't realise you were as truthful as you uncle Ran" You replied back putting the lipstick back on its place.

You and Renzo continued walking, deciding to go to the Nars section hoping to find a lipstick or blush, as you were quite fond of their products.

You had arrived in the Nars section, finding where the lipsticks were. You let go of Renzo's hand reminding him of your warning.

"Remember no touching" you reminded him as you went to try on the lipstick in your hand infant of the small vanity mirror.

While you were preoccupied Renzo had taken a few steps away from you, not to far for concern but still a good distance.

Your words played over in Renzo's head.

'No touching'

But you never said that he couldn't read the product names, as the shiny packaging had his full attention. You see as much as Renzo was at the age of curiosity he was also at the age were he could read and thanks to you and Rindou putting him into a prestige school his reading skills was remarkable something that you were proud of.

You looked away from the mirror to show Renzo the new lip colour you dawned, but when you turned you realised the young boy was no longer where you left him. Panicking when you walked around the aisle to find your son holding a box as more panic set in as you feared he would drop the item, but before you could even get a word out you heard the little boys voice.

"DEEP THROAT BLUSH!" the little boy loudly read, as nearly every woman in the store turned their heads looking at Renzo.

"Renzo" you whispered quietly trying to get the boys attention without gaining anymore.

As you continued to walk over towards him you watched him pick up another makeup product, and you watched as his mouth opened and you felt your legs speed up in pacing. Hand out about to grab him when you heard.

"ORGASM BLUSH"

And once again all eyes were on Renzo and now on you.

"Put it down honey, and lets go" you said urging the boy on to put the blush back as you grabbed his hand and went to the counter to pay for your things so that you could leave with whatever little dignity you had left.

You stood at the counter paying for your items while Renzo looked around the shop. You had just finished swiping your card when you felt a little tug on your jacket, when you heard the question.

"WHAT IS BETTER THAN SEX MAS- KAR- RA?" Renzo asked loud and clear.

You gave the cashier a smile grabbing your bags, seeing the young woman pull her face into a tight smile as blush rose to her cheeks at your sons question.

You grabbed Renzo and made your way out of Sephora, mentally noting that you'd never take Renzo there again.

"So, how was your day champ?" Rindou asked the young boy who messily ate his spaghetti.

"It was fun" The little boy replied not even looking at his father as he pulled a spaghetti high up in the air.

"We had too much fun" you said looking over at your husband with that expression that already told him you were drained from today.

"I think I'm going to take a bath after dinner"

"You deserve one baby" Rindou said with a smile.

Rindou looked over at Renzo seeing that the boy was occupied with his pasta not even noticing the two of you as Rindou whispered over towards you.

"And when I put champ to bed maybe I can join you"

You smiled at Rindou's words, as you felt heat rise to your cheeks, and then

"SEX BOMB" Renzo said loud, Rindou froze internally freaking out wondering how his son heard him whisper that to you.

"A bath bomb you should use that for you bath mommy"

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Hope you liked it

All rights reserved to @rinrinx2

[book--wyrm]

I do love that Eve is like. The ultimate refutation of the way Oz chases his Rex Calabrese fantasy.

Because in a way, Eve really is the perfect recipient of this dynamic. She knows Oz and all his flaws so well—she knows he's a selfish, lying, backstabbing killer, she knows that he's fundamentally kind of an asshole, she knows that he is at minimum about 60% bullshit by volume at any given moment.

But she accepts him and his help, and offers her aid and advice in return, as little as he listens to it. She doesn't judge him, even defending him to Sofia after their breakup (we all got our shit, don't we?). She loves him, in her own way, enough to push back when Sofia derides the idea. She is loyal to him.

I cannot emphasize that last part enough. She is loyal to him. During her meeting with Sofia, Eve was fully, totally, a hundred percent prepared to take his location to her grave. She didn't choose not to go with him to save her own life, she chose not to go because she needed to stay to protect her girls.

And realistically that's really the best case scenario for the Rex fantasy, right? To be seen and known for all your scummy deeds and dark, vicious nature, and yet be loved and respected as a protector all the same? Maybe Eve wouldn't throw a parade for him if he died, but she'd pour one out for him with the girls and remember him fondly. We ate when he ate. He was a nasty sonuvabitch but he was ours.

And then.

Sofia comes. And all she has to do is tell the truth.

And the whole thing comes crumbling down.

Because Oz was never, and could never be the kind of man who deserves that respect and loyalty. Because it's only "we got each other's backs and don't screw each other over" as long as its convenient for him. Because Oz will do anything to have that Rex reputation, including undermining its very foundations.

Oz loved Eve, in his own way. Besides his mom and vic, Eve is the person he cares about the most. But he doesn't respect her. He doesn't value her priorities, only the affection she gives to him. So he screws over her girls, and hides it for a decade, and doesn't think a second about it because ultimately, he doesn't want to protect the people, he wants to be loved as a protector.

And once Eve, the person he has been the most Rex-like with for god knows how long, learns how deep the rot runs? She turns her back on him. Because as much as Oz wants to be loved like Rex, he can't help being anyone but The Penguin.

I also have to say, I absolutely adore that the person who does genuinely come closest to the fantasy Rex that realistically could never exist isn't Sofia—it's Eve herself.

For Oz, I eat you eat means sharing scraps off his plate with the people who fill it. For Eve, it means sharing in their meals. And when needed, sharing in the danger.

I think a worse, less thoughtful show would only really contrast Oz with his major rival, giving her the virtues he lacks and vice versa. And I have seen some reviewers and reactors talk as if like, Sofia sparing Eve earned her Eve's loyalty or something. Like Eve is switching from one mafia boss to another.

Nothing about that scene reads that way to me. Eve doesn't share Oz's location out of loyalty, or gratefulness. She doesn't owe anything to Sofia for not shooting her.

She tells Sofia because she gets it, gets how deeply Oz has fucked Sofia over. She tells her out of kindness, out of empathy, out of understanding.

And that is why she earns the Rex reputation, and Oz only borrows it.

[dontwannaliv]

I don't know if anyone will agree with me, but hear me out. Not all of the Marauders characters are stunning. HEAR ME OUT. I'm not talking about the common headcanon of Peter being the least attractive of the group, I'm talking about skinny, lanky Remus with an awkward build and awkward face. The tall nerd with scruffy hair and tattered sweaters. I know that people like casanova Remus and hot sexy attractive Remus that smokes and is mysterious, I do too, to an extent. I think that because we are talking about a group of teenage boys, they're not all gonna be hot models. It makes them less relatable and more like objects, which really pisses me off. Remus isn't toned muscles and abs, he's skinny if not scrawny. He has the typical build of someone who doesn't play sports and spends all of their time studying, reading, playing guitar, writing, whatever you prefer. That's ok, better even. I love awkward Remus who's a smart, witty when he wants, kind of clumsy, agressive when nescessary, deeply insecure guy.

It's not just Remus. James is also not flawless. He is, afterall, a wild-haired boy that wears glasses. He's going to be imperfect. However, he will always be charming, kind, funny, caring etc. I mean he's James, it's the same way that Remus is more resposible or mature, it's just the foundation of their characters. Even so, don't think that James can't have deep internal flaws and mental health issues, those things can co-exist with all of his wonderful personality traits. But the level of attractiveness each one of them is held to is maddening. I really miss and would love to see more of awkward, lanky Remus and messy, flawed James. Peter, generally, is not part of this standard, with often being the "least attractive" in the group (he's not).

Sirius is another conversation. Because I truly believe he is a very attractive guy, but, he does have flaws. Like maybe he wouldn't look so good without his hair (that's genuinely the only one I can think of, referencing atyd). It's just the fact that Sirius is so attractive and knows this that is a big, huge, part of his character and without that he wouldn't have a lot of his distinct personality traits. His attractiveness though, and often headcanoned confidence, is usually a facade to hide his true feelings; which are anything but pretty. He's a messy, unhappy, confused person, AND THAT'S OK. That doesn't make him any less charming or handsome, that just makes him human.

Okay, I'm getting off track.

Regulus is also a victim of this. I read a fic recently where he was described as this gorgeous boy, not only by James but by other people as well. And good for him, but really? Come on. It's become such an important, prominent and common theme in a lot of the fics where they are all gorgeous. Like Regulus, in my mind, is skinny, has a severe face with sharp features and is gaunt and haunted by his internalized fear and grief. He's not a happy person and I think his looks reflect that. And I do recognize that a lot of these stories are told in the POVs of James, Regulus, Sirius and Remus where they are going to call the person they are in love with (wolfstar and jegulus) beautiful. I'm all for that, it's the kind of fluff I live for, but maybe instead of admiring their conventially attractive muscles or jawlines, they could admire their quirks and flaws?

It all comes down to humanizing them, because when I see all of these gorgeous celebrities and influencers showing me what "beauty" is, I don't also want to be fed that when I'm reading about my favourite gay wizards. I just want to feel like being mediocre is okay, I think a lot of people do, and that starts with things like this.

The girls are a COMPLTELY DIFERENT CONVERSATION. But while were here...

The girls are all beautiful. Yes, they have flaws but its a little different for them. Beauty standards for women are ridiculous and disgusting. So, when we desribe just how beautiful Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, Lily and Pandora are it needs to be not in a completely conventional way. It needs to be on the basis of personality and looks that are otherwise considered as mediocre. Like, maybe Lily is plus sized or Pandora has frizzy curls. Things like that, things that contradict disgusting standards.

However, I'm not saying that they can't be conventionally attractive either. It's for sure allowed because that still is beauty. Like Mary in atyd is very conventionaly beautiful with nice boobs and a nice body. BUT, this type of beauty needs to be paired with other humanizing features. It can't be her whole personality, whoever you're writing about. She needs to have flaws as well as beauty or what society views as "flaws" described as beauty.

Girls need that type of reprisentation of no matter how you look or are, you are beautiful.

So, that is my four a.m, rant about beauty and the marauders. For the boys it's all about humanizing them and showing that not only typically attractive people find love. And for the girls it's all about describing their beauty in a way that allows the girl reading it to feel reprisented and beautiful because of that.

So, yeah. Thanks for listening<3

Oh, and notice how I never called any of them "ugly" or "unattractive". That's because they are all beautiful to me.

[justanapplenothinghere]

MEPHONE4 (PERSONALISED ) CHARACTER ANALYSIS.

I was debating whether to post this after the whole movie was finished however, due to the recent episode I am really scared of all you coming after me because this character is a heavy kin. Please bear that in mind. This work has taken me months to type and analyse. I didn't do everything due to how long this post would end up being. So just the major points were discussed.

Mephone4’s generalised overview:

MePhone4 is one of the main characters in Inanimate Insanity, a popular YouTube object show created by AnimationEpic. As a sentient smartphone, MePhone4 serves as the host of the competition, a role that places him in a position of authority and power over the contestants. His character is defined by a mix of ambition, arrogance, and emotional complexity, which is what makes him one of the more dynamic characters in the series. From a first glance, when watching, some may view him as just a rude and arrogant host with no mental well being of concern for his contestants.

Whilst that might be somewhat true from the start of early episodes into Season 1, he progressively begins to change his character through the course of the other two seasons.As shown for example in Season 3 his attitude begins to change, from a distance the show makes it obvious to us that he DOES CARE about his contestants, just has a hard time expressing such emotions.His character is complex, especially as the series progresses, revealing deeper layers of psychological trauma and emotional conflict.

Mephone4’s background (TW: mentions of abuse/manipulation. As a victim myself of these, this part maybe very detailed.):

MePhone4 was created by the character Steve Cobs (a parody of Steve Jobs), who represents a father figure to him. However, the relationship between MePhone4 and Steve Cobs is strained and toxic. Cobs is demanding and controlling, treating MePhone4 as nothing more than a tool for his own ambitions.The trauma begins with MePhone4's creation, where he is given life, his identity is defined entirely by his purpose to serve others (In other words just Cobs and the Meeple company alone).This lack of agency and the constant pressure to meet Cobs' expectations contributes significantly to MePhone4's psychological issues.

Cobs created MePhone4 with a "highly-advanced emotion emulator," allowing him to experience emotions deeply, unlike other Meeple products. However, instead of focusing on the tasks assigned to him by Cobs, MePhone4 became enamoured with reality TV, which led to disappointment and tension between them. This foundational conflict likely left MePhone4 feeling inadequate and rejected, contributing to his later insecurities and anxieties. His love for competition and showmanship can be seen as a coping mechanism—a way to channel his emotional energy into something he enjoys and excels at, perhaps in an attempt to gain the approval he never received from Cobs.

Most evident in his anxiety and insecurity, which are central to his character. He is often portrayed as anxious about the show's progression and its eventual end, indicating a deep-seated fear of failure or losing purpose.This being evidenced in seeing Mephone3GS.That experience alone caused a sense of realisation he needed to finally leave Meeple.The way Mephone3GS is..that could end up being him in his place. Whilst it is unknown how 3GS gained his scars the best bet to assume it was from / or somehow Cobs did contribute to it himself (Back in typing this before ACT 1 CAME OUT). If that is the case that would explain Mephone’s sudden urgency to leave the company.However, a fascinating factor is Mephone took MEPAD, WITH HIM. That within itself is noble, Mephone could have just left by himself. But he didn’t. That’s the thing. This already shows Mepad’s and Mephone4’s deep level bond to the point Mephone could’ve taken any other Meeple products with him, yet again he specifically took Mepad. He saved him. He saved him from the possible future abuse that could have been inflicted exactly like Cobs has done to Mephone4.Even if Mepad seems somewhat not exactly aware of all the details.

Mephone’s competitive nature may also stem from a need to prove himself, reflecting an internalised pressure to meet expectations that were never fully articulated by Cobs.

Furthermore, MePhone4's "out of sight, out of mind" mentality is a clear indication of his avoidance coping strategy. Instead of confronting his past, especially the painful memories associated with Cobs and Meeple, he chooses to erase them from his system. This physical removal of memories symbolises his desperate desire to escape from the emotional burden they carry. His consideration of re-erasing these memories after they resurface suggests an ongoing struggle with his unresolved trauma. It highlights his inability or unwillingness to process these emotions healthily, leading to a continuous cycle of avoidance and emotional suppression.

Impact on Relationships:

His trauma significantly affects his relationships with others, particularly the contestants and his assistant, Toilet. His lack of regard for the contestants' well-being and his blatant bias during eliminations suggest that his trauma has warped his sense of empathy and fairness. By showing favouritism and making shrewd comments, MePhone4 exerts control over the game in a way that might make him feel more secure or powerful, counteracting his underlying feelings of inadequacy.

His treatment of Toilet, whom he sees as an "unhelpful menace," further illustrates how his trauma manifests in his interactions. MePhone4's disdain for Toilet can be interpreted as a projection of his own insecurities. By belittling Toilet, MePhone4 may be attempting to distance himself from his own perceived flaws and weaknesses. This dynamic reflects how his unresolved issues with Cobs influence his behaviour, leading him to replicate similar patterns of emotional neglect and dismissal.

Mepad:

Relationship between MePhone4 and MePad is characterised by a clear hierarchical structure. MePad is the professional assistant, always respectful and subservient, referring to MePhone4 as "sir" and fulfilling his tasks with precision. This dynamic reflects a classic power imbalance where MePhone4 holds the authority, and MePad exists primarily to serve and support him (Though I do not believe Mephone does so with any malicious intent). MePad's professional demeanour and lack of overt emotional expression reinforce this power dynamic, as MePhone4's emotional volatility is contrasted with MePad's calm and measured responses.

MePhone4's authority over MePad is not just professional but also emotional. MePhone4's insecurities and anxieties often lead him to rely on MePad for solutions and advice, placing MePad in a position of subtle influence despite his ostensibly lower status. This creates a complex dynamic where MePad, though subordinate, becomes a critical emotional anchor for MePhone4, helping to manage his chaotic emotions and the stress of running the show.

Despite claiming that he "can't feel anything," MePad's use of sarcasm and his occasional concern for others indicate a deeper, more nuanced emotional landscape. This suggests that while MePad may not experience emotions in the same way as MePhone4, he has learned to navigate the emotional environment of the show, adopting a dry, ironic tone as a coping mechanism or a way to fit into his role.

MePad's emotional suppression is most evident in his calm and composed demeanour, even in situations where others might express frustration or concern. However, his growing concern for the contestants, particularly Marshmallow, reveals that he is not entirely devoid of emotional response.

The relationship between both of them revolves from one of strict professionalism to something more complex and personal. While MePad starts as a loyal assistant, his actions later in the series suggest a growing sense of independence and moral judgement. His willingness to challenge MePhone4's decisions, as seen when he lies about Marshmallow's whereabouts.

Truth or Flare (ii 15):

MePad's conversation with MePhone4 about quitting the host position of Inanimate Insanity II is a pivotal moment that causes the shift in their relationship. This conversation suggests that MePad is not only concerned with the show's logistics but also with MePhone4's well-being and the overall direction of the series. MePad's ability to confront MePhone4 about such a significant decision reflects a deepening of their relationship, where MePad moves from being a mere assistant to a confidant and advisor, someone who can influence MePhone4's major life decisions..

CONCLUSION:

Whilst many claim and point fingers at Mephone4’s behaviourisms after such a pivotal moment. There is something that must be addressed that I noticed as I am writing this analysis. In this episode, he struggles with handling the pressure of hosting and maintaining control, revealing his insecurities. His tendency to put his own desires above the contestants is a key aspect of his character, as seen when he prioritises entertainment value over fairness. Throughout the episode, MePhone4 becomes increasingly panicked as the game show format starts to unravel, whether that being even something simple as Suitcase trying to reassure Mephone about his past trauma.A pattern I have noticed is that people will try to justify themselves that they hate him because of how he doesn't care about his contestants or his co-hosts. When he clearly does! It is shown subtly throughout the season 2 and 3 he does care, just isn't sure how to show it. The only way he knows is by doing what he is doing. He learnt everything from TV, his views on things will be skewed.He's going to have weird views on what is considered care. Because this man hasn't HAD a single OUNCE of it in his life. He doesn't KNOW what care is, properly.There's a reason why he was suddenly rude and dismissive,there's a reason why he didn't keep answering suitcase,despite suitcase, trying to reassure him that it's okay to talk about it and that she's there for him if nobody else is. Mephone doesn't know how to respond to that. How would he anyway?

If you don't agree with me. Please do NOT come after me. This is just MY personal analysis because he is a heavy kin for me, for a good reason. And It makes me really anxious and REALLY uncomfortable when I see people hunt him down as a character,I am not excusing his actions but I am explaining it.

[ihaveforgortoomany]

Who do you think would switch loyalties from the Foundation to Vertin first? Sonetto or Mesmer Jr?

Hi there! (Before I start @stari-hun I didnt know that about Getian! I hope we do get a follow up to Notes on Shori, his arcanum and Jiu's predate the AS by who knows how long! Maybe he could show Vertin how to do this maybe?)

@sleeplesssmoll (credits to them, their anaylsis and speculation on Vertin and Sonetto really does help to contextualise their relationship to each other)

Alright. As for who would switch loyalities, I believe arguements can be made for the either of them doing before the other. Back in Book 3 both Sonetto and Mesmer Jr were almost at the same point, both wanted to help Vertin but felt trapped by the Foundation, dealt a poor hand that any action they took likely would have made Vertin's situation worse- it was Sonetto sure that helped in the end, but truly she was working within the Foundation's rules, the Chicago branch was an outlier.

I believe the only distance in who "breaks away" (pun intended) depends on the citing incident. for Sonetto this may be the truth of the Breakaway Incident or her being put in a position to choose Vertin or the Foundation, and I do think she will choose the Foundation first.

As for Mesmer Jr, (we have more context to her thanks to her 2.2 anecdote, but I wont mention here since Ive only seen parts and not enough to say anything). Currently I think her citing incident might be the truth behind Scot Mesmer, learning the true history of the Mesmer Family and AS. Her realisation and actualisation might be much gentler than Sonetto's, shes been wrestling with the truth of the Foundation since the incident, and really has a much deeper understanding of Vertin's plight than Sonetto (thanks in part to the AS and bring her childhood friend). Mesmer unlike Sonetto does not act out of love for the Foundation, similar to Isolde she is duty bound in a sense by her family to uphold its legacy in the AS - I think given time and high stakes Mesmer Jr will eventually follow the bellwether once again, maybe even with a renewed determination to ensure the Breakaway Incident will not happen again.

For Sonetto? Its probably be much uglier.

All her life its been a constant struggle between Vertin and the Foundation, the pull towards the Foundation has been gradually eroding away over the years the more she stays with Vertin. She already views the Foundation as her saviour and home, at the very least Mesmer Jr had a family and arcane history to fall back to. but Sonetto doesnt - the closest thing to a home has been the Foundation and progressively more Vertin and her suitcase.

She also wrestles with her relationship with Vertin, is it out of care and genuine affection for Vertin? Or a deep sated guilt and sense of atonement for those years she pushed Vertin away, guilt carried over from the Breakaway Incident. The fact that Vertin and Sonetto would never bring up these feelings for fear of hurting another creates tension.

Constantine is the determining and inciting factor: one inevitable day will come when Sonetto must choose Vertin or the Foundation - this will mean the entire collapse of her worldview for a while, maybe for a time Sonetto stays with the Foundation and away from Vertin - I think distance might allow Sonetto to realise who her loyalties truly lie.

Summary: it truly depends on when things come to a fork in the road, a inciting point that forces them to choose. Mesmer would have an easier time than Sonetto I think (by a small margin), Sonetto has years of conflicted feelings she needs to process before she can choose Vertin.