#I've felt like I'm in a constant state of like
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peacedreamlove · 9 months ago
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Can someone who knows all the stars and planets stuff tell me if mercury's in retrograde, or something else that I can blame my brain feeling like it's been buffering all week on
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hayanahed · 11 months ago
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Emergency: Help Evacuate My Family From GAZA WAR
Dear Humanity,
I'm Haya from Gaza , from a family of 8 people: my parents, two sons, and four daughters (two of them suffer from allergies).
I've witnessed the evidence of the tragedy that has struck our lives in Gaza, where my family and I have survived amidst numerous previous wars. But today, we face the most dangerous and fierce battle in the current war. The urgent need intensifies for us, as we have nothing left and are unable to secure our basic needs such as food, water, and safe shelter.
Here is our story - On October 7th, our lives changed forever, my family and I evacuated from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, hoping to return soon, but it wasn't meant to be. Our home was surrounded, burned, and then completely destroyed, Our home, once a fortress of hope, now lay in ruins, a stark reminder of our shattered dreams.
The night before we left from the north to the south was terrifying. Shelling sounds were everywhere, making a loud noise that felt like it went through our souls. Every explosions shook the ground like earthquakes, sending shockwaves of fear through our trembling bodies. filling us with fear. The air smelled of destruction and blood, making it hard to breathe. When dawn came, we saw the devastation around us, realizing our home was now a symbol of loss and despair.
We ran into the streets and with each step we took into the unknown streets, we felt as if we were plunging deeper into the abyss of our shattered existence, leaving behind everything we own in our home: Clothes, important official documents, the car, and literally it's almost everything - the enormity of our loss weighed heavily upon us.
Our home it was where we found hope, safety, and made precious memories. Losing it felt like losing years of our lives, leaving us adrift amidst the wreckage of our shattered existence.
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A brief video depicting the devastation that struck our home and our entire neighborhood in Gaza.
Desperate Plea: Escaping Gaza's Allergy Nightmare
I, Haya, suffer from severe allergy to penicillin-derived medications, and my sister, Amal, also suffers from severe allergies to medications from my family such as Paracetamol and Ibuprofen.
These allergies create a deep sense of fear and anxiety for us, as we live in a constant state of tension and fear of anything that may require a visit to the hospital. We fear being given inappropriate medications due to the unavailability of suitable treatments in Gaza because of war or lack of awareness and not informing the doctor of our allergies, which could lead to serious consequences threatening our lives.
MY Father Income
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Our dreams are heading towards oblivion in the labyrinth of an uncertain future
My story, along with my siblings, represents a united team of four individuals, three of whom are skilled programmers and one graphic designer. We work as freelancers in the world of freelancing.
As for my younger sister, she is a student studying at the College of Architecture. She has always carried a big dream in her heart, a dream of being part of changing Gaza, of making it more beautiful and better. She looked forward to the day when she would receive her degree and start building this dream. But the beginning of the war changed everything. The destruction of infrastructure and universities cast shadows of despair over her dreams.
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When I think of my brother in Belgium, I can't help but feel deep sadness. He has been suffering from unbearable anxiety and insomnia since the outbreak of the war. Sleep eludes him at night, and his physical and mental health collapses under the weight of these heavy burdens, negatively affecting his performance at work. Problems and challenges pile up in front of him without the slightest opportunity for rest.
We all feel psychological pressure and extreme anxiety. The war hasn't been limited to external attacks but has deeply infiltrated our daily lives. We search among the rubble for a little safety and the basic resources for survival. Every day comes with a new challenge that we must overcome.
As we sway amidst the rubble of shattered dreams, our souls wrestle and our hearts beat strongly challenging the ravages of war.
Our parents earnestly seek a way to rescue us from this hell, feeling the heavy responsibility for every moment we spend under the shadows of fear and destruction. They dream of a safe place where they can build for us a better future, filled with security and hope, for we deserve life in all its meanings of comfort and peace.
Perhaps this fundraising campaign represents a light in the midst of darkness, it is indeed the only hope we cling to firmly.
I appeal to the world as a whole to hear my cry and the mournful cry of my family in Gaza. We need the helping hand that reaches out to wipe our tears and build a bridge to safety.
Your donation is not just a donation; it's an opportunity to rebuild life and brighten a better tomorrow. Be part of our hopeful story, for we need your hand to start anew.
The purpose of the fundraising campaign
The goal of this fundraising campaign is to rescue my family - my parents, my siblings, and me - through the Rafah Crossing to Egypt, which currently requires $5000 per person. This campaign is our only chance to stay alive, and I humbly request your assistance at this critical time. I will provide you with a comprehensive breakdown of the expenses, committing to transparency and clarity.
All of our important links are here https://linktr.ee/hayanahed
Verified by :
⭐️ operation olive branch, number 26 on their spreadsheet. (On Master list)
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⭐️ Project watermelon,line 249 on their spreadsheet. Or you could see it as number 212 here is the photo for more clear proof
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Thank you for your kindness and support.
.جزاكم الله خيراً
yours sincerely;
Haya Alshawish.
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bratbarzal · 6 months ago
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Let It Happen (LH43) 1/3
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Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader
WC: 17k
If you're ready, all I mean is we could go, I've never craved someone's attention as much as yours.
General Warnings: an almost unbearable amount of sarcasm and snark, even more idiotic shenanigans, many affectionate empty threats of murder/violence, fluff, mentions of golf 🤢, cursing and I'm pretty sure that's it for this half
A/N: in line with the general consensus lmao this has been split, part two will be posted as soon as it's finished (lol) but it's best read as one whole fic, it isn't a multi-part situation really!! it was originally supposed to be my submission for the eras tour fic challenge (hence the graphic I'm too attached to to change) but took a different direction to the song I was given, and I missed the deadline, and I pretty much listened to the secret of us exclusively while writing this whole thing. also dropping an overwhelmingly summery fic in december might actually be my brand. keep your eyes peeled for a christmas fic in july.
very special shoutout to shea @sleepretreat I made a random comment one day that luke gives seth cohen energy, and she fanned that flame like a full time job. ily shea!! I hope this lives up to any expectations and I owe a lot to your instigating!!
AS ALWAYS!!! never proofread!! I'll probably get around to it when the thought of a spelling mistake keeps me awake at night. and also!! please let me know what you think I am like a teeny tiny little plant that can only thrive under the constant shower of validation and you don't want me to wither and die do you? (I’m kidding) (I’m not)
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You kind of, sort of, think you might hate summer.
You haven’t always felt this way, though. Growing up, it had always been your favourite time of the year. 
No school? Check.
Going on vacation, sometimes multiple, all expenses covered by your parents? Double check.
Getting to do all the cool things you don’t have time for in the school year with all your friends? Concerts, festivals, beach days, bonfires on the evenings. Check, check and check again.
But 4 years ago, your whole world as you knew it was torn apart, and summers have never been the same, since.
A season that was once filled with light and companionship, never ending plans and joviality, became darker - isolated, getting yourself out of the house even if everyone else was busy, driving just to drive and making the best of your own company. 
School ended up becoming your escape, especially since you had started college - your studies and the chaos of Greek life distracting you from the calamitous state of your home life, making new friends that became like family and sticking to them like glue, where possible, clingy and possessive to the point of ruin, almost - and so the lack of it in the summers now actually sends you into some sort of warped spiral.
It’s manageable in the winter and spring, the breaks no longer than a few weeks at a time, but going home for summer is somewhat of a nightmare.
It’s hard to go back, hard to ignore the mess your mind has become when it’s just you and your mother - or, you, your mother and whatever bottle of pinot she’s 3 glasses deep into at any given time of the day - and you’re sat in a house that’s a cold reminder of the warmth that once filled it. 
But when Ellie - your best friend since moving to college, the girl who took the sister part of sorority sister to the next level at all possible opportunities over the years - found out you’d put your name down to be the caretaker for your sorority house instead of going home, she had put her foot down on your summertime sadness session.
Which is how you end up moving into her family home - spending the first few weeks integrating yourself into their routine while trying to grip desperately onto some form of your own - trying not to get too used to the feeling of such a big family when you know it won’t be forever.
You braid her little sister’s hair everyday, kick a soccer ball around with her little brother when he needs someone to stand in goal, wash the dishes with her mom, talk sports with her dad, and before long, you blend like a chameleon into their dynamic.
You pick up a summer job at the country club to cling back onto your independence. Your commute provides the solitude and quiet you‘ve grown accustomed to in the years before, a bus journey through town with headphones on, watching the scenery and admiring the greenery until you get to work, donning your navy blue polo and tucking your little notepad into your hip apron as you serve tables at the clubhouse restaurant and bar. 
It’s a much needed escape from Ellie, if you’re honest.
You love that girl with all your heart, appreciate her housing you more than you’ll ever be able to say, but if you have to hear her sit and mope about how hopelessly in love she is with Jack Hughes for even a second longer, you’re going to vomit. Or scream. Or both.
Jack and Ellie grew up together - their families close, Ellie’s dad best friends with Jack’s uncle, or something - and she’s been into him since he had teeth missing - a point she loves to hammer home when it comes to you always listing that as one of his (many, if it’s up to you) cons. Considering his job, and the fact he already lost one, not too long ago, a toothless boyfriend seems like a massive ick, if you’re honest. 
But Ellie is beyond reason when it comes to him. She worships the ground he walks on - talks about him non-stop, messages him every day, regales you with stories you, awfully, but realistically, couldn’t care less about - and it’s the only real problem about living with her.
Even beyond the summer, you two had shared a room your first two years in college, still live in the same house - and it’s a year round problem.
But being unable to escape, having your days tied to close to hers, and knowing that it’s bound to be worse with proximity, Jack back in Michigan for the summer, himself, she’s starting to drive you up the wall.
It wouldn’t bother you if you had never met Jack, but the two of you don’t exactly get along. He’s rude, and self-absorbed, and had looked down on you the first time he ever laid eyes on you, and you really shouldn’t let it get to you, but you do - the thought that your best friend is in love with an asshole, and that she won’t let you hear the end of it. 
Won’t stop whining about how he’ll never feel the same, or that she can’t handle another summer of biting her tongue, of being around him, feeling the way she does, and not being able to do anything about it.
She deserves better. 
Ellie has a heart of gold, and she deserves someone who handles it with care. If Jack Hughes doesn’t like her back, that’s his loss - but you’re kind of getting sick of telling her that.
Getting through a whole summer of it is going to be hard, you think, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than being entirely alone. So you put on a brave face, use work as your escape in the same way you usually do with school, and avoid blowing your top for as long as you can, suffering through the late nights and heart to hearts where Jack is the sole topic of discussion, and bask in the good stuff.
In the chaos of her siblings, in the closeness of her family, and the way they’ve welcomed you with open arms.
This summer could be okay, you’ve just got to give it a chance. 
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Luke Hughes loves summer.
He loves being back home in Michigan, spending his days out on the lake, or making the trip out to parade around Ann Arbor, catching up with all his college buddies, making the rounds at all the UMich sporting events he now gets a VIP pass to thanks to his last name.
The routine of it all is familiar, and warming, and it restores a sense of normality that playing in the NHL for the past year has so brutally ripped from him, already. 
He had enjoyed starting his summer overseas - making the team for the world championships and competing beyond the abysmal end to his rookie season - had enjoyed the time away from his brothers, if he’s honest. Quinn and the Canucks making it a few rounds into the playoffs, and Jack back home recovering from getting surgery on his shoulder - and it’s the latter he needed the reprieve from.
He does love living with his brother.
Jack looks after him in ways he’ll never really be able to make it up to him for. He always has, Quinn has too, but ever since Luke got drafted to the Devils, Jack has helped him adjust to the chaos of his career without much fuss or hardship.
And he really is grateful for that.
But, God, can he be annoying.
Especially when it comes to his infatuation with his best friend, Ellie.
Jack and Ellie have always been close - despite the fact she’s Luke’s age - and grew up thick as thieves, spending summers together, especially when the family moved to Michigan, and Ellie’s family were just on the other side of town. 
He’s always been obsessed with her, even if it hasn’t always been love - but these last few years have been different. Like a switch flipped in his head when Jack saw what Ellie was like when he came to visit Luke in his freshman year of college.
A version of Ellie that was no longer just his - no longer exclusive to their summer bubble, and lived in a world beyond lounging by the lake and hanging out with the Hughes family.
A version of Ellie who liked partying, liked schmoozing and charming everybody she came into contact with, liked being the centre of everyone else’s attention, not just Jack’s.
And it’s that version of Ellie that has driven Luke’s brother crazy, which has, in turn, started to drive Luke crazy. He talks about her non-stop, and it was those much needed weeks away in Czechia that almost had Luke forgetting just how stupid his brother has gotten about the whole thing.
Until he came home to Michigan, and Jack, in all the commotion with his shoulder, with ending his season early and starting his summer off alone, has worked himself into such a stupor about the whole thing that merely a week into his return, he has driven Luke up the wall. 
He’s grumpy, all the time - which leads to him being snarky, all the time. He huffs and puffs around the house so much Luke is starting to think he might need an inhaler, and he really can’t take any more.
Not when he’s making such a show of his irritation, stomping around with heavy feet and slamming doors that don’t need to be shut in the first place. 
“What crawled up your ass and died there?” Luke frowns as he follows Jack into the kitchen upon his return from therapy, holding out for the doors he swings open with a little too much vigour so that they don’t swing back into his brother’s slinged-shoulder. “I thought the physio is going alright?”
“It is,” Jack huffs, storming over to the fridge and yanking it open, the jars and bottles in the door clanking together in a way that makes Luke cringe. “I’m fine.”
“Tell that to all the hinges you’re testing the limits of.” 
“Don’t start with me, Luke, I’m not in the mood.”
“You just said you’re fine.” Luke rolls his eyes as he starts to scroll through his group chat with his friends from college, trying to check who said they might be free today to get him out of this vicious circle.
“It’s nothing.”
“Clearly not.” It’s interactions like this that confirm to Luke just how annoying Jack has become - because what reason does he have to be so evasive? Luke is handing him the opportunity to air out his grievances on a silver platter, and he’s rather slam cupboards and create creases in his forehead from frowning 24/7.
“Fine, it’s Ellie.”
Luke wishes he never bothered asking, although he has been wondering why he’s been seeing way less of her already this summer. He had figured Ellie was away with family until he saw her at the gas station the other night - had watched from the car as Jack had what seemed like a heated conversation by the entrance. 
“She’s refusing to hang out with me.”
“Has she said why?” Luke asks, although he doesn’t really care. He’s just asking to get it out of the way in the hopes that Jack talking about it might lighten the load, might make his own life a little easier. 
It’s the bitter muttering of your name that captures Luke’s full attention, his neck audibly cracking at the speed in which his head shoots up, no longer caring what could possibly be going on with the boys in the group chat. 
“She isn’t going back to whatever fiery hell pit it is that she comes from for the summer, and she’s staying with Ellie’s family, therefore Ellie isn’t staying with us.”
Luke hasn’t heard your name in a while. Not since he left college last year, not since he got caught up in the whirlwind life in the NHL, when a schoolboy crush on a girl he interacted with once in his entire college career became the least of his worries.
But one utterance of it has his spine straightening, just like it would have done just over a year ago.
You’re in Michigan. You’re at Ellie’s, on the other side of town. You’re barely two degrees of separation from him.
“Why can’t Ellie bring her here?” Luke asks, throat dry and voice breaking so subtly that he hopes Jack doesn’t notice. That could be fun. Would make up for the hell his brother has been putting him through since he got here. 
Maybe a little glorious sunshine might finally get you to notice his existence. He wouldn’t mind third wheeling Jack and Ellie if you were there, too. It would give him the perfect opportunity to prove he’s worthy of your attention - too shy and too scared to do so, back in college, but he’s different, now. Confident, almost. More sure of himself.
“She hates me.” Jack huffs, “Last time we met she was giving me the stink eye all night.”
And of course it would be his brother to ruin his plans, yet again. You’ll probably hate him, too - a hatred so strong for Jack that it seeps through his entire bloodline, because Luke of all people knows he can be annoying like that. 
“Trust me, she probably doesn’t care enough to hate you,” Luke scoffs, not realising the spool of information he’s just given Jack to unravel. 
“You know her?”
“We had a class together. I know of her.”
Not the truth, but not exactly a lie.
Luke knows a lot about you. It’s borderline creepy, the observations he can still remember, even after so long.
He knows you like only like coffee if it’s iced, had seen you with too many clear plastic cups to count, had watched plump lips chewing at straws by the time you had finished the drink. He had even, one time, tried to zoom in on a picture of your order printed on the side in one of his many states of delusion where he had been trying to build himself up to ask you out. 
He knows you can hold your own in an argument, had watched you debate with the best of them in your business comms class, has watched you shoot down most guys that approach you with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, and has watched you take down a frat guy or two, usually in defence of your sorority sisters - who Luke noticed you’re the most protective of. 
He knows you match your perfume to the colour of your outfit, had notice you smelled citrusy like lemons in yellow, floral like roses in pink, sweet like candy in purple, and clean like fresh cotton in blue. 
He knows the pieces of hair that frame your face curl when wet from the rain. Knows you used to volunteer at the pool on the weekends it was open to the kids of the community, would teach them how to swim. He knows you listen to Taylor Swift and has heard you humming just about every song of hers he knows.
But he doesn’t really know you - not on the level Jack is assuming, when his eyes widen and hope flashes across his crystal irises.
“You know how I’m your favourite brother?”
“No,”
“And I let you live with me all year?”
“My name’s on the lease.”
“Maybe you could talk to her for me?”
Luke sighs, shoulders heavy and eyes rolling practically to the back of his head. “I already told you, I don’t really know her like that.” 
“C’mon, you could at least try! I’m dying here, Luke! She’s hogging all of Ellie’s time, and she won’t give me the time of day if I try!”
If only Jack knew how much time you’d ever given Luke, he wouldn’t be asking him such an absurd request.
You’re so out of his league, it isn’t even funny. He probably couldn’t convince you to light a candle in a power cut, much less to give his annoying brother a shot to prove himself.
“You’re wasting your time, Jack,” Luke responds, “I’m gonna meet Dylan at the club. No, you can’t come.”
And by the time Luke makes it out to his car, he’s relieved to have ditched that conversation, entirely. He knows what’s waiting when he gets home, what his brother is going to be like for the next few months to come, but a temporary relief is all he needs.
He had already been planning on getting a few late morning holes in at the club, and meeting up with Dylan had been a white lie, needing some alone time away from Jack’s incessant whining to think about how he was going to survive the summer - and seeing you on your break, perched on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard by the clubhouse bar, basking in the sun and talking with your co-worker, he feels like he might have just struck gold.
Since when do you work here?
He supposes since you decided to spend your summer with Ellie’s family - it only makes sense. Ellie doesn’t live too far from the club - not as close as the lake house, but closer than Ann Arbor, at least. She’d worked in the club shop last summer, even when Jack insisted he’d pay for whatever she needed while she was staying with them - had said it was nice to pass the time with something else while they all went off doing whatever - and he assumes you’re doing the same. 
It’s the first time he’s seen you in a while, outside of coming across your pictures on his Instagram feed occasionally, or the flash of your figure in Ellie’s stories. 
He had thought that, after the year he’s had, he’d be over schoolboy crushes like this - would be over the way his breath catches just at the sight of you, over the way the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and stand to attention, over the way his throat goes dry as he watches your eyes crinkle from afar, watches your lips curve up into a heart-stopping grin.
But it’s like he’s picked up straight from where he left off at the end of his college career, pining after you from afar with hearts in his eyes and feet that start to shuffle at just the thought of approaching you.
If he’s going to do this, though, he needs to be clever about it, he thinks.
Approaching you on your break, limited to the amount of time he can use to put his point across, wasting yours, doesn’t seem like something that will work.
Which is how he finds himself bypassing you completely and walking straight into the bar, offering a friendly nod to the guy stood at the front of house, and letting him point him toward the right section to be served in. 
It isn’t long before you’re in front of him, sidling up to his booth, and he had almost forgotten how pretty you are up close. Hair clipped up with loose strands framing your face, chewing at your plump bottom lip as you scribble on your notepad to get your pen to work. And your honeyed voice settling deep in the pit of his stomach, warmth spreading throughout as you introduce yourself, like he has no clue who you are, and tell him you’ll be his server, “What can I get for you?”
“Five minutes of your time?”
The Luke that spent his college years obsessing over you might have stuttered - his voice might have broke, squeaked or choked in your presence - but while his throat does feel a little dry, he’s able to maintain his cool now, even when you look up from your scribblings to meet his eye. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he has matured.
His heart might jump in his chest, his mouth might tingle, his spine might stiffen, but he holds your gaze, hoping if you see a reflection of confidence that you might give him the time of day.
He’s seen you interact with guys before, has familiarised himself with the ten-foot walls you have in place, has seen others fold and try find a long way around, but he thinks that maybe matching your energy is the way to break through. 
Who doesn’t love a shortcut?
Your eyes narrow back at him as pouted lips form around a response, looking him up and down before tilting your head, and coming back with, “I all of a sudden feel the need to inform you we do have security here,” you point the tip of your pen to the entrance, where he was greeted on the way in. “I meant a drink.”
“Water’s fine,” his gaze flickers to the movement of your wrist as you click the other side of your pen, not even writing it down. “Maybe with a side of conversation?”
“I’ll go get your water,” you offer a smile, and the insincerity of it does little to cool his bravado, even if you head off with mutterings of why do I always get the creeps?
He watches you as you make your way over to the bar, not creep-like whatsoever, and he channels the nerves that sneak up on him, now that you’re distanced, through fiddling with his fingers on the table, pinching at the tips of them when you glance back over your shoulder, probably telling the girl behind the bar just how lucky you were to once again get the weirdo in your section.
It surprises him how little he cares, possessing more of your attention now than he ever has before, and if he could tell the Luke from two years ago, who spent every shared Principles of Marketing class ritualistically watching you chew on the end of your pen, that he’d be able to make eye contact without dribbling and breaking out into full body sweats, he’d have lost his mind.
He embodies a strange level of dislocated arrogance that manifests itself in his body language, sinking into the booth with arms outstretched across the back, a dangerous smirk teasing the corner of his mouth when you return, placing a pitcher of water down on the table and a glass with ice. 
“I’m Luke,” he tells you, placing a hand on his chest and doing his best to ignore the thudding he feels beneath it. “Hughes. Jack’s brother,” and when you look back over to him with a raised brow, he adds, “Ellie’s Jack.”
“And who’s Ellie?” You ask with a tilt of your head, your voice dripping in teasing sarcasm. 
“Funny,” he quips, biting back the urge to call you what he actually means. He can hardly call you cute, you’d probably pour that water straight over him. “I went to UMich, we had a couple classes together.”
Your eyes narrow again, and he knows it’s an intimidation tactic, a way to make him feel smaller than he’s acting, shrinking him down to a version of himself you can stamp your authority on, but he finds himself being resilient for once, carrying on like he isn’t affected.
He is. Massively, in fact. Just not in the way you probably want. Your indifference drives him in a way that presses into his spine, an inner voice pleading, notice me, I’m breaking through!
“Bauman’s class, Business Comms, you sat in the second row, I sat in the third, you dropped your pencil one time and I-,”
“I know who you are.”
So he’s been yapping on at you for no reason? Fantastic.
He can’t let his momentum slip, though, so he forces the corners of his lips into a victorious smile, and counters, “So you know I’m not a creep.”
“You literally memorised my seat in a class from 2 years ago, so…” 
“I have a good memory,” he’s quick to defend, fighting the urge to let his eyes linger on your pouted lips.
“Right,” you roll your eyes, “What is it you want, again?”
“I came to talk about Jack and Ellie.” He nods to the other side of the booth, and has to roll his shoulders so that his chest doesn’t inflate with misplaced hubris when you shuffle into the seat with a huff, discarding your notepad to the side as you level him with another raised brow.
“What about ‘em?”
“About how they’re hopelessly in love with each other and doing nothing about it.”
“You got hopeless right. What’s that got to do with us?”
Us. Oh, he likes that.
“I’m thinking they need a little shove in the right direction. And maybe we could be the shovers.”
You presses your lips together in faux-apology, a lopsided, patronising, adorable frown taking over your expression. “No can do, I don’t shove, I’m a pacifist.”
“A nudge, then?”
He isn’t giving up easy, no matter how much sarcasm you try to throw his way. You wouldn’t have sat down if there wasn’t something about this situation that irks you, too.
If Ellie is being only half as annoying as Jack is, he knows that you’re having a bad time of it. And you’re supposed to spending her summer with her - it can’t be easy, having your friend constantly pining over someone and refusing to do anything about it, if anything, making it your problem.
“Are you here to eat or annoy me?”
“Both,” he smiles, “I just figured a problem shared is a problem solved, and all.”
“How profound.” 
“C’mon, you sat down, you at least agree they’re into each other, and I know you’re staying with her this year, so I know you’ve been getting the same grief I have.”
“I’ve been on my feet 4 hours, I wouldn’t look too deep into me sitting down.” 
“Jack’s been moping around about her for years, I can’t listen to it anymore, he’s all, she’ll never like me back, this, and, I’ll never find a girl like her, that,” he whines, imitating his brother’s voice in the most annoying, high pitched tone he can muster, “I can’t take one more breakdown of her snap stories, especially not if it’s all summer if she’s not gonna be staying over, I’m gonna lose my mind.”
“How supportive,” the sarcasm in your bite does little to hide the beginnings of your smile, your glare softening into what he hopes is the start of some sort of bond, a shared feeling of exasperation. Finding your footfall in common grounds.
“It’s relentless, we can’t go a single conversation anymore without him bringing her up,” he sighs, slumping into his seat, finally giving in to all the ways this is starting to grate on him. “I don’t get why neither of them do anything.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, too, relenting a little. “She talks about him so much it kind of makes me nauseous.”
“How supportive,” he mimics, nerve endings set alight when your eyes meet his over the table, and narrow in a different way, almost appreciative, almost respectable.
“Can it, Hughes,” you scoff, “Me even entertaining this conversation right now is support enough, I’ve had it in my ear for months about how she doesn’t know how she’ll make it through another summer.”
“That’s what I’m saying. If we can get them together this summer, then we’re both better off. No more whining or crying or earaches for either of us.”
“I’d hope you didn’t make your way out here with the mere promise of no more earaches, Luke.” He tries not to preen at the way you say his name. “What’s in it for me?”
“You and Ellie can stay at our lake house.” He suggests, straightening up before he leans onto the table, elbows extending so that he can rest on them, “It’s closer to the club than her family’s place, it’s gotta be better than having her siblings running around you all the time, I can even drive you to work when I’m free, if you want?”
You blink at him slowly, as if to say, and? “So I can stay at your glorified frat house, and you can be my chauffeur?” You ask with an unimpressed raise of your brow, before letting out a humourless scoff of, “What more could a girl want to do with her summer?
“What do you want?” He asks, leaning further forward.
“To go back to work and not worry about strange guys propositioning me, funnily enough.”
Luke laughs, a deep, breathy laugh that rises from the depths of his chest and comes alive in an almost-bark, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker to his mouth when it comes out.
This is fun. 
There’s no way he’s letting you leave this table without agreeing - just the thought of one more singular interaction keeping him on his toes.
“Why don’t we make it interesting, then?”
“It’s about time you tried.” The quiver of your lip tells him everything he needs to know - and that’s without the entertained glint in your eye that accompanies it. You’re enjoying this, just as much.
“We could make a competition out of it.”
“A competition?” You ask, with a curious tilt of your head.
There it is, he thinks. Interest: piqued. He practically has you in the palm of his hand. Who would ever have thought, the way to a sorority girl’s heart would be a friendly little wager?
“Whoever actually gets them together, wins.”
It’s all he can think of in the moment - petulant and part-planned, but it seems to be enough.
“Wins what?” You lean onto your elbows, your gaze levelling his as he mirrors your positioning, having to slouch a little further forward in his seat to meet your pretty eyes. 
“Whatever you want.” He doesn’t intend it to come out as low as it does, doesn’t realise how close the two of you have gotten over the table, but he sees the flicker of something cross your features as your head tilts again, eyes still locked on his as yours begin to narrow, still just as pretty even when they’re glaring at him.
“It’s what you want that concerns me.”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he jibes, watching the way your lips part in preparation of another witty comeback. “What do you say?” He asks, not giving you the chance, seeing the way it makes your skin crawl that you weren’t quick enough, for once. “Are you in?”
You heave out a sigh, shoulders slumping - a tell-tale sign that you’re about to acquiesce - and Luke starts to feel his chest puff out in victory. This feels like a shut-out. It feels like the best performance of his life. 
“You’re gonna make me regret this, aren’t you?”
“Oh definitely,” he smirks, eyes tracking you as you lean back into the booth, retreating from him in defeat, a hand running through your hair as he promises, “You’ll warm up to me soon enough, though.”
“I can’t see that happening.”
“I can,” he shrugs, leaning back too. “I’ve been told I’m inevitable.”
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Luke can remember, like it was yesterday, the first time he ever saw you.
Freshman year, the week he moved into his dorm at Michigan, Jack had sent him across campus to check in on how Ellie was getting on. He had arrived with some extravagant gift basket in tow, plastic wrapped, a giant blue bow tied around the top and an assortment of snacks inside, and was left knocking for at least five minutes before you showed up.
“Please tell me you’re not another stripper-gram.”
If his throat hadn’t gone so dry all of a sudden, he thinks he would have had more wits about him to have questioned the use of another - a concept that had stuck in his head for weeks until he caught wind of a story of pledges for Pike being sent around campus and forced to lure girls to their house through way of humiliating song. 
But God, you were pretty. 
Siren eyes narrowed toward him, glossy lips pouted pensively, long lashes blinking impatiently as you awaited some kind of response that didn’t come in the form of an open, drooling mouth.
“I’m Luke.”
“Right.” You had sighed, pretty eyes rolling at him. “You’re blocking my door."
“Oh, I’m-,” he stuttered, immediately stepping to the side for you to come forward and insert your key into the lock. “Does Ellie live here?” He asked, confusion etched into his features as he watched you swing the door open, turning in your place to look him over again.
“Depends who’s asking.”
“I’m Luke.”
“So you’ve said.”
“I know her.”
“Clearly.”
“This is her basket.”
“Does she need to sign for it?”
“No, I-,”
“I’ll make sure she gets it, thanks, Lu!”
And when you had taken the basket from his hands, he had been too distracted by the way your skin brushed against his to properly respond, or worry if you had called him that as a nickname or had already forgotten his name, entirely.
He then spent days thinking about you, looking for you - at parties, in the campus coffee shop, online, despite not knowing your name - trying to commit to memory the way your eyes had sparkled when looking his way, until his first Business Communications class.
He had been a little early, first week nerves playing out and his constant craving for positive validation coming to the forefront, and was watching the door waiting for the professor to arrive. He had been slouched in his seat, chin in the palm of his hand, foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, and he had almost given himself whiplash when you walked in. 
He learned your name from there, learned a lot just from watching you in that class, but never really captured your attention.
And if the Luke that has been driving you to work every few days, who has been living with you for the past two weeks - who sits around the same dining table, laughs at the same jokes cracked when you’re all lounging around the house, sits out under the same sun, drinks from the same carton of orange juice in the morning - could tell the Luke that sat pining after you all that time, all the little ways in which he’s captured your attention lately, he’d probably have an aneurysm. 
When you and Ellie moved in, Luke had been the only one allowed to touch your stuff - and there’s a part of him that knows it was mainly because you enjoyed watching him work like a packhorse, hauling your cases up the stairs and dropping them in front of you with a huff, but there’s a larger, more delusional part that thinks you preferred him to the others, maybe even trusted him.
He’s taking credit for how quick you’ve adapted to the dynamic of the house, too. Of all the different faces coming in and out - Quinn’s friends, Jack’s friends, his friends, sometimes even his parents. If you’re around, you’re pleasant. You abide by house rules, some of them stupid, but set by the brothers so long ago that they just work now - like no phones outside of your rooms so that you can be more present. You insert yourself comfortably into conversations, you form your own relationships with everyone - you and Quinn trade book recommendations, you and Jack bicker while Ellie mediates. You do your fare share of chores - laundry, dishes, cooking, even. 
And he’s so caught up in just sharing space, just being around you, even, that for those first couple weeks, he forgets why you even agreed to be there in the first place.
At least, he forgets the incentive part - because he watches mindlessly as you interfere in Jack and Ellie’s dynamic, without a care in the world for the fact that it means he’s losing.
He watches you push one of them out of the way to claim whatever seat at the table or in the car forces them to sit beside each other. He watches you taunt Jack to just the right point where Ellie interferes, coos at him protectively and he melts into her affections. He watches you agree to plans he knows you wouldn’t in a million years follow along with, just to get them together - and all he can do is admire how easy you make it seem. 
He admires when you come out wakeboarding with the group, when you let him fasten you into a vest and don’t flinch when his fingertips brush against bare skin. Watches you bite your tongue over the fact you just got your hair blow dried - a fact you have no problems relaying back to him when he drives you to work the next day, and you’re muttering in his passenger seat about lake water giving you frizz - just so you’re not dampening the mood.
And when you agree to tag along to the golf course on your day off, despite the fact it’s so close to work if could be considered triggering, and you stick by Luke’s side so that Ellie can feign some sort of incompetence until Jack takes it upon himself to correct her form.
You stand by Luke’s side, the two of you watching with mirrored expressions of almost-disgust as Jack wraps his arms around Ellie’s body, and send a shiver down his spine when you lean in for only him to hear as you say, “I’d ask if you’ve put any more thought into what you want out of our bet, but I so have this in the bag.”
The bet.
Luke hasn’t thought about it since that day in the restaurant, if he’s honest, but he had known what he wanted then.
He’s hardly going to tell you, now, though. 
If he’s ever going to take you out on a date, he doesn’t really want to force your hand - not that he has a chance, he’s fallen so behind with this Jack and Ellie thing that it isn’t even funny.
He needs to up his game, if only for the fact that you’ll no doubt catch on to his lack of efforts, soon.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he taunts, because it’s what he does best, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“And how long do you plan on keeping them up there?” You call him out so easily, tilting your head when his eyes meet yours, mischief highlighted by the sunshine that speckles in your irises. 
“Maybe I’m luring you into a false sense of security,” he shrugs, “Maybe I’m letting you do all the heavy lifting so I can swoop in when those weak arms get tired.” He pokes at your side, basking in the way you scowl like you pertain any sort of threat to him.
He has you figured out, by now. 
“I didn’t have you pegged as being lazy, Hughes.”
“You spend a lot of time thinking about me, huh?”
“You wish,” you scoff, shoving when he dares to get too close, and it’s when Luke is biting back a full-blown grin that Ellie comes back over. 
“This sun is crazy, I think I left the sunscreen in the locker room and Jack’s nose is going all red, would you come back with me?”
You smile sweetly at your best friend and agree, only glaring at Luke over Ellie’s shoulder when she’s distracted with saying her brief, temporary goodbyes to Jack, and once you’ve turned and made your way over to the cart, he lets his eyes linger on your figure as you retreat.
The soft sway of your ponytail, the expanse of smooth skin along your legs, he’s completely hypnotised, and he needs to pull himself together, he thinks.
He tries to regain focus as he and Jack work their way through the next couple of holes, caddying their clubs around without the cart, and chatting mindlessly until Jack sighs heavily, like he’s been waiting to bring something up.
“I want to take Ellie out on the boat tomorrow,” He states as Luke tees up, resting on his club as he squints against the sun to watch his little brother, “Just the two of us, so we can talk about stuff.”
“Sounds riveting,” the disinterest in Luke’s tone is amplified by the lack of attention he’s giving overall, looking out across the green and trying to measure his swing before he takes it. “Have fun.”
“I was thinking I’d need your help for it to work.”
“I’m not being your boat-butler again,” Luke scoffs, mind immediately going to all the times their parents would make Jack take Luke out with him and his friends, and all the times he was made to wait on his older brother hand and foot to make up for crashing his hang-outs.
“I’m not asking you to tag along,” Jack scoffs, “You third-wheeling would be the ultimate buzz-kill. I thought you could be of use elsewhere.”
“You’re making whatever it is sound so fun.” 
Luke takes his swing, driving the ball and watching it soar to his desired point with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Jack watches too, stepping to Luke’s side to measure how far from his own ball it lands.
“Nice,” he mutters appreciatively as the two of them load their clubs into their stand bags. “I need you to keep Regina George busy, distract her or something, she’s stuck to Ellie like glue, it’s beyond annoying.”
If only he knew, Luke thinks, a worry in the back of his mind about how his brother owes more to you than he even realises. 
“You worried she’s gonna make her see sense?”
Jack swats at his arm and rolls his eyes.
“I’m worried she’s gonna ruin the good vibes like she usually does and I won’t be able to bite my tongue from saying something and looking like the asshole.”
Distracting you isn’t the worst thing he could be doing with his time, Luke thinks. It’s not like he has to go all out, you’ll no doubt be hanging out around the house and the two of you can hang together. All he has to do is keep you off your phone. Shouldn’t be too hard. You’ve adapted pretty well to mimicking the guys when it comes to staying off theirs.
It ticks off the box of trying to fight for a scrap of your attention. With no one else around, you’ll have no choice but to entertain his company.
And it puts him in front of your little race - lending a helping hand to Jack’s plans to talk to Ellie is surely the same as getting them together. It’s all falling so perfectly into his lap. He isn’t being lazy.
But he can’t let Jack know that, so he heaves out a sigh and offers a slow shake of his head for dramatic effect. “Fine,” he groans, “But you owe me. Big time.”
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You’re starting to find it harder and harder to pretend like you don’t want to be at the Lake House.
If you’re being honest, you don’t entirely know why you’re even trying to keep up pretences, but using your disinterest as armour has become like second nature over the years, and you’re hardly going to stop now.
Even if there are already so many little things about being there that are starting to wear you down.
Quiet, early mornings, for one - birds chirping just outside your open window, sun rays pouring in through sheer curtains that flow in the slight breeze, that light feeling that blows through your chest when you’re sat out on the deck behind the house with a fresh cup of coffee, looking out over the still lake and basking in the peace of it all.
And even when it’s not so peaceful, when the kitchen is full of bodies swerving around each other to try and throw together some sort of breakfast spread - pastries and fruit, bacon and eggs, various boxes of cereal on the counter. Quinn had even made a whole batch of pancakes one morning, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t come down every day since hoping to see him donning that same frilly apron that Cole had draped around his waist and working his magic with a pan. 
You’ve never really been a part of such a full house. You had been an only child for so long - and by the time your parents split, and it was just you and your mom, on the days she wasn’t already at work when you got up - and were so ingrained in your own routine in the morning that you think you might actually need the chaos to function better. The rush of bodies, the arguments over who drank the last of the juice, the bickering over who’s turn it is to do the next grocery run - it’s a kind of entertainment you haven’t been privy to in a long time. 
Being kind of disconnected from everything else isn’t as bad as you thought it would be, either. You’re not attached to your phone, checking socials to see what everyone else is doing, to see if your dad has sent any messages yet this summer, and you find yourself connecting a little more with the people around you and leaving your family stress on the back burner. You’re more focused on what’s in front of you, and your relationships with other people. With Ellie, with some of the guys in the house, with your friends at work, even.
And it’s nice to be closer to work too. You don’t have to rush around trying to make the bus - Luke has been keeping his word and driving you to the club most days, and where he can’t, either somebody else has offered, or you’ve just ridden one of the bikes in the garage that the boys said were free to use - the helmet hair is an easy fix when you have access to the locker rooms.
It’s an adjustment, for sure, getting used to being in a full house. Especially this one - with a constant revolving door of faces, friends of the brothers switching out week by week to come and stay, departing just as you’ve started getting to know them with a promise of dropping by again soon.
So far, you’re almost at double-digits for the names you’ve had to memorise. Some of them you were already familiar with, guys from Michigan who you already knew or knew of, but others were more Jack or Quinn’s friends that you’d never had the pleasure of meeting before now.
Cole Caufield being one of them. 
He had arrived a couple of days after you and Ellie moved yourselves in, closer to Jack than the other two brothers, you had noticed, and was going to be staying longer than any of the other visitors - having his own designated room in the house, similar to you girls.
You like Cole - he’s good fun, can take a joke unlike his supposed best friend, and has the kind of smile that almost gives you a buzz whenever it’s flashed your way. Your first few interactions with him were seemingly pleasant, despite Jack constantly in his ear with a hardened glare pointed your way and no doubt unsavoury words uttered. Cole would just shrug him off, laugh, meet your eyes and drop a wink your way - a gesture you’d usually squirm and cringe at, but Cole kind of pulls it off. 
He joins in when you chirp Luke, too - which, if your honest, is your main source of entertainment since arriving, so your interactions with him grow day by day.
You haven’t really spent any one-on-one time with Cole yet, though. You were hoping to, before he left to visit home for the weekend - for no other reason than to get the scoop on something you’d happened upon at work last week - and had planned on asking him to hang out on your day off. But with Cole now gone for a few days, Jack and Ellie off doing god knows what, Quinn and Luke working out wherever, you have no choice but to spend your free Sunday lounging around the house, trying to find something to suppress your growing boredom.
You start with your nails, painting them a summery orangey-red and doing your toes to match, then do your laundry, abiding by house rules that you rotate the loads between the machines, and fold out whoever’s clothes were last in the dryer and place them in the hamper on the side. 
You’re hoping you haven’t had to fold Jack’s underwear but you decide to live in blissful ignorance - trying to identify the load based on the rest of the clothing in there is impossible when they all share, so it kind of works in your favour. 
You FaceTime your mom for almost an hour, getting an update on what she’s been up to with work, and giving her updates on how your summer is going, trying to focus on your time at the club and Ellie so she doesn’t worry too much again that you’re spending your summer in a house filled with boys. 
And by the time Luke and Quinn come back from their workout, you’re in the lounge, 50 pages deep into a book you really couldn’t care less about, but there’s something in you that refuses to beg one of them for company, so you suffer in silence.
Even when Luke does join you, throwing himself down onto the opposite side of the couch you’re occupying and pushing your feet off his side like it’s his sole purpose just to annoy you.
“I was comfortable there, asshat,” you frown, lifting your feet back into their previous position and using one to give him a light kick to his thigh.
“Yeah, well, I hardly want your feet all up in my business while I’m trying to relax,” he sighs, sinking into the cushions with hands clasped behind his head, biceps flexing and tightening the arms of his t-shirt in a way that momentarily catches your eye. You’re thankful for his closed eyes, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you divert your attention back to the mundane words on the pages in front of you.
“And yet here you are when there are 2 other couches.”
“Yeah, well, I know how much you like to be near me.”
You try to ignore him, pulling your feet a little closer to your body and focusing back on the book, but it’s hard when Luke has such a presence. You feel the little looks he keeps sending your way like a physical touch, and the couch shifts with every slight movement he makes, so when he constantly shuffles, you start to think he wants your attention.
Of course he wants your attention. This is Luke Hughes.
“Are you just sitting down here to annoy me?”
He lights up, like he’s just been waiting for you to ask, and shuffles in his seat to face you, fully, bouncing in place like a puppy being teased with a tennis ball. 
“I’m actually trying to distract you, if you must know.”
“Bold of you to assume you have enough of my attention to be distracting in the first place,” you scoff, trying not to react to the way he smirks in your peripheral, the words in front of you all blurring together. If you were actually focused on them, you’d have lost your place, already.
“I think you pay more attention to me than you’d like to admit.”
“That’s some ego you’ve got on you, Hughes,” you narrow your eyes as you look above the edge of your book, “Is that what you spend that big NHL paycheque on, charisma classes? How to flirt for dummies?”
“Oh, is that what we’re doing? Flirting?”
Damn. You walked yourself right into that one. 
Sometimes biting back at Luke comes like second nature, words first, thoughts after - and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it that way. It’s easy, the back and forth, and you can’t really think of an instance with him where you’ve sat in a lingering, awkward silence. You’ve really grown to hate silence, lately.
“You wish.”
“You think I’m charismatic,” he teases in a sing-song voice, knocking at your knee and wiggling his eyebrows when you glare at him. 
“I think you’re an idiot.”
“You’re not gonna ask what I’m distracting you from?”
“I don’t really care,” you lie, eyes darting back down and diverting the attention he so desperately craves away from him.
“Jack wanted to take Ellie out on the boat.” He says, ignoring your attempts to ignore him - pushing your buttons like a full time job. Like an operator for your last nerve.
“Good for her.”
“Alone.”
“No shit.”
“To ask her out.”
“Whoop-de-doo.”
“Whoop-de-,” Luke straightens up, like a whack-a-mole with his head positioning itself over the top of your book, and you kind of wish you had one of those soft mallets right about now. It would be so satisfying to bonk at his head, you think. “What do you mean, whoop-de-doo, is this not what you agreed to be here for? To get them together?”
You scoff, flicking to the next page of the book in feigned disinterest. “He isn’t asking her out today.”
This is the exact something you had wanted to talk to Cole about - whispers in the staff lounge at work earlier in the week doing the rounds would imply otherwise, but your main source is kind of a gossip, and you’re not entirely sure of their reliability, despite the few degrees of separation to the subject at hand. 
Mutterings of Jack and Cole and their little country club connections. 
You can hardly ask Luke of all people if his brother is as much of a man-whore as everyone is making out. Cole was a safe bet - he’d probably just tell you straight up what they’re up to, wear his pride like a shining gold medal. He’s upfront about his promiscuity, at least. Luke is more protective. Of himself, of his family, you’re not entirely sure. There haven’t been as many whispers about him. 
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because he’s a spineless idiot,” you retort, eyes flicking up momentarily to take in his furrowed brow. “No offence,” comes out of nowhere, and you surprise yourself with the instinct to lessen the blow of your words for the first time in forever.
“None taken, he’s only my flesh and blood,” Luke huffs, “You’re just jealous I’m winning our bet.”
“Sure,” you drawl, eyes widening to emphasise the sarcasm as you make a point of angling your head to the next page, like you’ve taken a single word in for the past five minutes. “He’s been talking to one of the girls from work. There’s no way he’s doing that and asking Ellie out, unless he’s completely brain dead.”
And when you look back at Luke, that furrowed brow has shifted into a full blown frown, pouted lips and eyes cast down as if he’s trying to figure everything out in his head. 
It’s probably the pout that has you cushioning your words, once more.
“Again, no offence, I doubt it’s in your DNA.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m no bio student but I don’t think there’s a genetic marker for being a fuckboy.”
“No, about him talking to one of the girls at the club. He didn’t tell me that.”
Why does he have to sound like that? Let down and unsure, quieter than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s like the tone he carries goes straight to your fingers, clasping the book closed without marking your page - because what business do you have carrying on that charade?
“Do you guys tell each other everything?” You ask as you throw the book until it lands on the coffee table with a gentle thud, shuffling until you’re sat against the arm of the couch with knees bent in front of you, giving him your undivided attention and feeling guilty that it might not be enough.
“I thought we did,” he scratches at the back of his head, nervously, “He literally told me yesterday he was taking her out to talk about stuff, why would he make a point of asking me to keep you busy if he’s not serious about asking her out?”
“You don’t want to hear my answer to a question about your brother not being serious.” 
“Who’s the girl?” He asks, ignoring your comment despite the slight ghost of a smile you see flash into the corner of his mouth. 
“Jessica, she works at the pro shop, apparently they’ve been texting all summer.”
You know for a fact that since you’ve started paying attention, you’ve seen Jack on his phone a lot for a guy who chirps you for your own screen-time, and who has enforced the house rule of no phones outside your room like a prison guard yells out no touching at visitation. So it sort of checks out. You’ve tried to sneak a peak, but he’s protective of his stuff like a yappy little dog with attachment issues at the best of times, so you haven’t really put too much effort into it.
“There were a few people talking about it in the lounge at work the other day,” you shrug, “One of the girls talking about it is Jess’ best friend, so not exactly from the horse’s mouth, but I don’t think she’d be spreading lies about her friend around like that.”
“Can you find out?”
“You ask that like I haven’t been trying.” That gets a full smile, a small chuckle that lifts his shoulder, even, “I was gonna grill Caufield about it but he’s gone. But I know you guys have plans when he gets back tomorrow, so if you want to take Cole I’ll hack away at the grape vine at the club?”
“Does this mean we’re teammates?” 
“No. It absolutely does not.”
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Hacking away at the grapevine is really a lot more like plucking absentmindedly at an overgrown patch of grass when it comes to workplace gossip. 
By the end of your shift, you’re leaving the club with a fist clutched full of loose blades, fingers stained green from the amount of information people were willing to ‘fess up.
Liam who works behind the bar had overheard a conversation where Jack had mentioned Jessica, but could only give you useless tidbits, like how he had to stop by the shop for a new putter, and Jess had been the one to ring him up.
Hardly incriminating, but you had a feeling it would be a small piece of a way larger puzzle. That, and guys are notoriously useless at gossiping, there’s definitely more to that story than Liam could even comprehend in his tiny man brain.
Cassidy who works at the front desk had seen Jack and Jess talking in the main lobby last week, definitely flirting, she had said - with hair flips and giggles galore - and way too familiar to be new. 
Much better.
Paola who has the alternative shifts in the pro shop was more than willing to take up ten minutes of your time ranting how Jess’ work is never fully done when it comes to a handover, and she spends half her time on her phone. Kiran, who works the bev cart every Monday, said Jack is always one of the most charming in their golfing group, so it’s no surprise if he is exchanging texts with girls from the club. 
You get dirt from most corners of the place, and it leads you all the way back to your station, to reservations set for the restaurant, where tonight’s list - unfortunately a shift you’re not set to work, although you very much question the serendipity of that - has Jack’s name down at 7pm. A table for 2 in the back corner, shielded from prying eyes and intimate.
And if it weren’t for the fact you’ve already worked a full shift, you would consider staying just to get the full scoop. 
You know Ellie isn’t going to be the one sat across from him, she’s been sending you pictures all day of her various hauls for her quiet night in. New paints and pencils, a sketchpad, some candles - she has all intentions of working on her watercolour technique.
So it has to be for him and Jessica.
Imagine his face, you think, picturing wide, panicked eyes as you roam up to his table to take his order. He’d actually crap his pants. 
But, it’s another set of eyes that you picture when you start to enjoy the scheming a little too much. The sad, teary eyes of your best friend, when she finds out the guy she’s been hung up on for half her life, who she has all but convinced herself isn’t interested, and is - absurdly - ‘far too good’ for her - yeah, right - is dating other girls while taking her out on not-so-platonic boat dates only the day before. A boat date that she had come back to your room, flung herself onto her belly on the bed, and kicked her feet as she gushed all about it. 
So you make your way back to the house after a long day, and resign yourself to the fact that you’re going to have to, yet again, get all your information on Jack’s date second hand.
You primed Cara, your colleague in the restaurant, to keep an eye out, and she promised to send updates on her breaks, and you have been holed up in yours and Ellie’s shared bedroom trying to keep her busy when there is a persistent knock at the door, and a mop of soft, curly brown hair pokes in before his eyes meet yours.
“Hey, Luke!” Ellie chimes, cheery and all too blissfully unaware of the potentially horrific circumstances you’ve stumbled upon. “You need to borrow my conditioner again?”
You scoff from your position on the bed, watching a slight pink hue flush up Luke’s neck.
“What? No,” he denies, running a hand through his hair and seemingly frowning a little at the way it feels. “I’m going to the store, wondered if either of you needed anything?”
“Nah, thanks, we’re good,” Ellie smiles, attention diverting straight back to where she’s drawing in her sketchbook, missing the way Luke widens his eyes and tilts his head as if to encourage you to take him up on his offer.
“Can I come with?” You shuffle from your position on the bed, swinging your legs out from beneath you and over the side as Ellie looks back at you.
“Sorry, I didn’t realise you wanted something.”
“Someone’s got to show the poor guy what’s what on the haircare aisle, El.”
And you’re thankful that Ellie has settled herself in for the evening already by 6:45, showered, pyjamas on, otherwise she might have tried to tag along, too, just for something to do.
You swipe her phone before she can notice and hide it under your pillow before you leave, thinking it might reduce the risk of her getting bored and texting Jack, or, worse, checking his location.
A trip out gives you the chance for you and Luke to debrief each other on your findings of the day - or, as it turns out, just you, because Luke Hughes might be the worst information-gatherer on planet Earth.
Finding his life’s niche in hockey is fortunate, because he definitely wouldn’t cut it as an investigator.
“He just said he didn’t know anything,” Luke shrugs of his earlier encounter with Cole, and you try not to gape at him in disbelief as he fiddles with the screen in his BMW, scrolling through the interface in search of the nearest store. 
You swat his hand away with a scoff, typing in a destination, “And you believed him?”
“Was I not supposed to?”
“You’re about as useless as a chocolate teapot, Hughes. What is it with guys and gossip, are you all really that dumb?”
“That’s the address for the club,” he points out, ignoring your jibe as he starts driving.
“Well done, you can read.”
“Why?”
“Because, thankfully, one of us is a good detective.” You snark, “Jack’s there.”
“So?”
“He’s on a date.”
“No he isn’t,” Luke frowns, attention momentarily taken from the road as he looks over at you. “I’ve been with him all afternoon, he would have told me if he had a date, tonight.”
“Oh yeah? Where’d he say he was going when he left, earlier?”
He hadn’t been home when you got back from work, but that had been around an hour ago. You figured if he was sneaky enough to book into the restaurant when you’re not working, he’d have his wits about him to avoid you, entirely. Whenever the two of you cross paths, you can’t help but try get on his last nerve, and he’s hardly going to want to start his evening in a foul mood.
“To get his hair cut.”
Jesus Christ, you think, he’s so lucky he’s cute.
“You’re so clueless. He’s at the lounge with Jessica, the girl I told you about yesterday.”
“And what are we supposed to do about that?”
“We’re gonna supervise. And maybe interfere, if necessary.” 
You don’t really have a plan, but it seems like the right thing to at least get a look in as to what the hell Jack thinks he’s doing, especially if you’re going to carry on with this whole plan of getting him and Ellie together. If he’s seriously entertaining other girls while making out to Luke that he only has eyes for Ellie, your plans might have to change. You’re not sure if Luke will be on board with the new path you’re willing to take, but you’ll be happy to kill his brother on your own.
“Interfere?” Luke’s eyes are wide, but he keeps them on the road, fingers flexing against the wheel. “I just came out for chips to make nachos, not play spies!”
“Cara’s working tonight, she said she’d keep an eye on them for me. I bet if I cover her hosting shift on Friday she’d sabotage their date. We’d just have to sit back and watch.”
“Oh,” Luke’s brows furrow, as if it’s taking any consideration at all to mess with his brother. “You really are an evil genius.”
You try not to think too hard about who’s been spewing that rhetoric already in his ear, and instead you smile when he casts his eyes your way, proud and pleased. 
“Thank you.”
It takes another 15 minutes to get to the club, considering Luke’s best Driving Miss Daisy impression, so their date is already underway by the time Cara is ushering you to a booth in the far corner, where you can see Jack’s table, but he shouldn’t be able to see yours, and agreeing to play along.
“Can I get you guys any drinks?” She asks as she hands over two menus, and you’re too interested in trying to gauge the vibe at the other table while Luke looks over his.
“Two diet cokes, shaved ice, no lemon,” he says, and you can’t help but frown at the way the specificity of that order rolls so easily off his tongue. That’s your order.
“Any food?”
“Could we just get some nachos, please?” You ask, sliding your menu across the table without even looking, not wanting to give Luke too much of a chance to peruse his own out of fear you’ll be here all night. “And extra picante on the side.”
“Extra guac, too,” Luke adds as Cara scribbles the instructions on her notepad, “And some of those chicken tenders, and extra ranch. And maybe some fries. Yeah, chilli fries. And breadsticks.”
You level him with a glare, already proven right in your decision not to give him too much time to think about what he wanted. He’ll order every appetiser on the menu, if given half the chance. 
“Thanks, Cara, that’s everything.”
“Sure thing, should be around fifteen minutes. They only just ordered,” she points her pen back to Jack’s table, where Jess is leaning onto the table and Jack is leaning back in his seat - heavy on the distance but even heavier on the eye contact. That little shit.
“Does he have any allergies?” You lean onto your own table to ask Luke, quirking a brow up when his eyes darken in response, mischief swirling in his emerald irises.
“Absolutely not,” Cara interjects, “I’m doing this so you cover my job, not make me lose it.”
“Let me guess, he ordered the steak, medium-rare?” Luke asks, and she nods, hesitantly. “Char it.”
“Won’t he complain?”
“He’ll just grumble to himself about how tough it is. It’ll put him in a bad mood. That’s what we want, right?”
“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding your head to ease Cara’s worries despite what you really want is for Chef Michael to poison the cut, entirely. If Jack Hughes wants to play with your best friend’s heart, you’ll play with his gut. But you can settle for burnt meat. Luke can work some sort of magic with that, you think, convincing Jack of all people that any first date that resulted in him coming home all sour-puss and sulky should never result in a second. “Bad mood. Bingo.”
“Fine,” Cara grumbles, “But if he even thinks about asking for a manager, you’re covering my next 3 Fridays.”
She storms off to the kitchen, and you and Luke simultaneously sink into your seats, attention immediately diverted back to the table in the opposite corner of the room.
“We should have kept the menus,” Luke mutters from across the booth, “Could have hidden behind them.”
“What are we, children?” You snark, “You can’t think of any more creative ways to stay hidden?”
“I heard PDA makes people pretty uncomfortable,” he leans onto the table, dropping you a wink when you glance over out of the side of your eye, “We should make out to throw everyone off the scent.”
“In your dreams, Hughes.”
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Luke sort of envies the charm you hold over people.
The way you can convince people to do your bidding with a mere flutter of your eyelashes or a flash of pearly teeth and a glimmer in your irises.
He has trouble, sometimes, skirting around his honesty or hiding his intentions - and he knows that’s not a bad thing, knows that being clear and truthful is an admirable trait, if anything - but the way you persuade others to bend to your whim with intricate white lies based on observations you’ve made or intel you’ve gathered is a praiseworthy level of genius. 
It had taken such minimal effort for you to get Cara on side, to convince her that being a little clumsy is hardly grounds for her termination, and spilling a little of Jack’s drink close to the edge of the table - close enough that it drips onto his pants and Luke can see the steams of frustration exuding from his brother’s skin from all the way on the other side of the restaurant - or bumping her hip on the edge of their table every time she passes are really just harmless irritations, not likely to cause actual complaint. 
You had used the mere tone of your voice to convince Liam from behind the bar to squeeze a little lime in Jack’s water, knowing just from observing him back at the house that he hates the taste, face curling in disgust at even the slightest hint of it, and Luke had watched your eyes gleam in delight every time Jack took a sip of his drink and tried not to spit it back out, seeking much needed reprieve to swallow down the world’s toughest steak cut. 
You’d even worked your magic on him, pouting your lips when the food had arrived at the table, and he had initially declined to share his chicken tenders with you - your grumblings at him ordering enough to feed the five thousand fresh in his memory, but so easily wiped away by the soft, sad look in your eyes, and your whining of, “But I didn’t realise how hungry I’d get. Plotting and scheming is hard work, Luke.”
You ended up eating half, but he could hardly complain - you were doing the heavy lifting out of the two of you.
He was sitting back and enjoying the show - enjoying your company, if he’s honest. Enjoying the way his gangly limbs would sometimes knock into yours under the table, enjoying the way he kept getting little nuggets of information out of you while you were distracted, sipping at your coke and making little comments about yourself, about your life, without even realising you’re doing it. 
And an unplanned, pseudo date ends up being the first time he thinks he’s had a glimpse at the real you.
The you who knows more about hockey than you’ve ever let on before, who comes back to his stories with contextual questions about the game, even has references to a few games of his back at Michigan, and keeps the conversation flowing despite your feigned disinterest, and a constant gaze cast his brother’s way.
That would usually drive him crazy.
He’s experienced it so often that he has come to expect it, people only entertaining his company to acquire the attention of his brothers, but that’s not what you’re doing. Not really.
You pay more attention to Luke than you’d ever let on.
You ask him about his time in Ostrava at the beginning of summer, even though he’s only mentioned being overseas once while you’ve been staying with him - an offhanded comment from Quinn at breakfast that you must have taken on. Ask him about all the food he tried while out there, when he mentions he doesn’t like picante, and you use it as a springboard to talk about what sort of spices he does like, or if he’s the type to try things or stick to what he knows. 
You ask him about being the youngest sibling, and it stems from an offhanded comment Luke had grumbled about always being the last to be clued in on stuff, about how Jack had probably confided in Quinn about his extracurricular activities at the club, and didn’t trust him enough to let him in on the fact he’s going out on dates. You ask if he usually figures things out himself before he’s told them, if that’s what makes him so good at observing and analysing stuff, and he hadn’t ever realised he was particularly good at those things before you brought it up. But then you reference a day in class one time, where he had picked up on something in a textbook that you never would have figured out in a million years, and his heart leaps at the praise you don’t even realise you’re giving him.
You sandwich your perceptions in your usual snark, but he doesn’t miss the slight curve of your lips anymore when he bites straight back, knowing now that there is some part of you that feels the nip of his teeth, that acknowledges his existence beyond him being a speck of inconvenience in your peripheral.
And he gets a little carried away in that acknowledgement - stops paying attention himself to what is happening on the other side of the room and tries to focus on what’s in front of him; the girl he pined after his entire college career, sat sharing nachos and pretending not to know him at a level you so clearly do.
You must get carried away, too, because neither of you notice Jack’s date wrapping up until Luke catches him hand his card over to Cara.
He’s lost count of how long the two of you have been at the club, now - way longer than it takes to get chips from the store, that’s for sure - and all he does know is that if Jack catches either of you two here, after a night of mishaps, bad food, spilled drinks and Cara’s incessant clumsiness, he’ll know who’s to blame. 
“We better get out of here before he sees us,” Luke sighs, not entirely wanting to wrap up his time with you but knowing he doesn’t really have a choice.
“I’ve just got to pick something up before we head back,” you reply, edging out of the booth at the same time Luke does, “I’ll meet you out front just give me two minutes?”
“Be quick,” he tells you before you scurry off, and he flags down Cara, who tells him you already put your bill on your worker tab. He tells her to switch it to his, and that he’ll drop by tomorrow to pay it off, promising to leave her a good tip for her stellar services for the evening. 
He waits where you asked him to, making sure to stick to the side of the entryway where he can duck for cover if his brother makes an appearance - but you show up first, skipping out from the staff lounge with a bag of tortilla chips in hand.
“Let’s go, Lukey boy!” He follows you out like a puppy on a leash, all the way to where his car is parked, almost bumping into you when you stop and turn without warning, stretching your hand out to him. “Give me your keys.”
“Are you crazy?” He snorts, “You’re not driving my car!”
“I know a shortcut!” You reason, stepping forward and making a grabby motion with your fingers, “We gotta beat Jack home, I just paid another server $20 to spill a whole drink on him before he leaves and he’s gonna be pissed. I want to see the meltdown back at the house and you drive like a nun!”
Luke doesn’t know why he gives in so easy - it could be the proximity, the way you’re so close you have to look up at him, eyes twinkling softly under the moonlight, voice carrying over to him like a siren song, or it could just be because he’s weak - but he hands his keys over with a roll of his eyes and climbs into the passenger side, sliding the seat back with a huff to accommodate his long legs and watching as you adjust the driver’s side, cringing at the way he’s gonna have to figure out exactly how he had it before.
You drive like a maniac, to the point where Luke has to screw his eyes shut as you use some back road, can hear the squelch of mud beneath his tires and squirms at the thought of having to take it to the car wash, tomorrow. 
But you make it back to the lake house much quicker than if he were driving, he’ll give you that. So quick that you feel comfortable enough to turn to him once you’ve pulled up, in no rush to unbuckle and get out to get inside before Jack gets home.
“Just so we’re clear, this is a point under my name. You’re not claiming tonight as a win.”
Luke chuckles, turning in his seat to face you, features illuminated by the dim overhead light that turns on when the engine switches off and a slight flush of exhilaration to your cheeks. There’s no pretending you haven’t enjoyed yourself, not tonight. “But the steak thing was my idea?”
“If it weren’t for me, you’d be sat watching baseball and thinking he was getting a 3 hour haircut, you can’t seriously be trying to steal this from me, I thought you athletes had integrity!”
“You’re really keeping score?”
“You’re not?”
If Luke’s honest, he hasn’t really thought about your whole wager all night. He’s been too wrapped up in the idea that his brother had lied to him. Twice. And now his whole plan for the two of you all summer has potentially been messed up. But hearing you mention it, hearing you talk about it like it hasn’t been flushed down the toilet by his brother’s idiocy sparks something in him - excitement, anticipation. He doesn’t want to let this go.
“I actually think we made a good team back there,” he shrugs, eyes meeting yours to gauge your reaction to the thought of doing this together.
“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re gonna lose,” you retort, eyes sparkling with those same sentiments he had just felt. 
“Probably,” he acquiesces, “Also ‘cause you kind of scare me a little after tonight, last thing I wanna do is go up against you when you have the power to turn half the country club against me.”
You smirk, and his eyes are drawn to the plush curve of your lips, watching them as they form around the softly spoken words, “God forbid you can’t go a round of golf without your caddy breaking down.”
“Exactly.” He mutters back, glad to see your gaze is still zeroed in on him when he meets it again. He can feel the thump thump thump of his pulse in his ears, and takes a deep breath before proposing, “Partners?”
He cocks a brow and holds his pinky out over the centre console, and you eye the digit, sceptically, narrowing your eyes into a glare before raising them to meet his. “Fine,” you grumble, then hook your little finger through his and tighten it to shake, a slight yelp of surprise filling the car when he tugs, your lax arm giving way until your knuckle touches his lips and he kisses it.
“Ew,” you whine, snatching your finger back as he fills the space himself with a hearty chuckle, wiping it on his hoody in disgust. “That’s gross!”
“No take backs,” he smiles, victorious, with his chest puffed out, primed for you to swat at with the flex of your hand, and the two of you are only pulled out of the moment by the sound of tyres pulling up on the gravel behind you, both of you stumbling to unbuckle yourselves and climb out of the car. 
Jack is exiting his own vehicle behind, and stomps down the driveway, shouldering past you until he realises who he has passed, turning back and looking at you with suspicion cast across his features. 
“Where have you twobeen?” Jack asks, glancing a curious eye between the two of you before meeting Luke’s gaze, levelling him with an inquisitive glare.
“We went to the store for chips,” Luke holds the bag up, the crinkle loud enough for Jack to hear, and he feels an insurgence rising within him, spurred on by the way his brother is looking at him like he’s the one who should be ashamed of his actions. “Nice haircut.”
Jack runs a hand through his hair, surprise crossing his features in a brief flash at the call out, like he had never even expected Luke to notice his hair looks no different to the last time he saw him mere hours ago, like he would never even need to question his alibi.
“Oh, yeah, I got the day wrong. Went out for dinner instead.”
“On your own?” You ask from beside him, your presence giving Luke the kind of back up he very much needs right now, a new target for Jack’s narrowed eyes that takes the heat off of him a little, lessens the burden of lying to his brother - despite Jack being the one who started it, it doesn’t make Luke feel any less bad, doesn’t quell the need to word vomit and admit to all the ludicrous things he had done to ruin Jack’s night. “You end up having a little accident there, bud?”
Luke tries not to outwardly laugh as his attention is diverted to the wet patch that still soaks up the front of Jack’s pants, lips quivering as he presses them together, oblivious to the steam pouring out of his brother’s ears as he immediately gets riled up. 
“One of your esteemed colleagues at the club apparently lacks hand eye co-ordination. Plus, some of us like our own company,” Jack scoffs, “Some of us can go an evening without the need to annoy anybody else.”
“It’s not news to me that you’re in love with yourself, dude,” you retort back, entirely unbothered by his jibes. “Bet you’ve got all sorts of riveting thoughts swirling around that ginormous head of yours, must keep you busy for hours on end.”
“At least I have thoughts, at least I’m not some airheaded-,”
“Hey,” Luke’s tone is authoritative when he calls out, stern and demanding, “Cut it out, Jack.”
“She started it!”
“She asked you a question,” Luke frowns, disappointed with how quick his brother had taken to escalating the situation, all in an attempt to deflect the attention from his own deception. He knows you don’t need him to protect you from Jack’s sharp tongue, knows you can very much defend yourself, but he needs to vent his frustrations, somehow, without causing a bust up on the driveway. “You could have just give her a straight answer without biting her head off.”
He feels like you’re a little closer, all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know it’s the slight brush of your arm against his or if it’s something else, something less tangible - but it warms him, all the same. Steadies the static thump of his heart in his chest at the thought of starting an argument with his brother out of nowhere. 
“Whatever,” Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m going to bed.”
And as Jack turns, Luke sees your lips part, ready to send him off with the last word until a large hand clamps itself over your mouth, and your wide eyes meet his over the sides of his fingers.
He’s not sure why he did it, why he all of a sudden feels comfortable enough to cross the boundaries of purposeful touch, but he doesn’t entirely regret it.
Plush lips press mid-word against his palm, and your skin is soft, cheeks warming ever so slightly beneath his hand.
“You gotta let him go, there’s no use fighting with him tonight, it’s better to drag it out. Didn’t think I’d have to teach you about the beauty of the long game,” he says, voice low as he watches his brother retreat to the house, waiting until he’s safe inside to retract his hand. “Not like this, anyway.”
“Your brother’s an asshole,” you grumble, “Full offence.”
“No arguments from me,” Luke concedes, holding his hands as if surrendering to the fact, himself. “What are you gonna tell Ellie?”
“Nothing.” You sigh, stepping a little down the drive and toward the house before turning back to him. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, partner.”
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There have only been a handful of times in your life you’ve ever been thankful for work coinciding with huge plans, but when the group had decided that they wanted to go see Zach Bryan play Ford Field, you had thanked your lucky stars you had been put down to work a full shift at the restaurant and wouldn’t be able to go.
Not only for the fact that he isn’t really your thing, but for the fact that you’re finally getting a full evening to yourself.
So far, in your time at the house, most evenings have been spent with everyone else - group dinners, game nights, movie nights, even a couple of girls nights with just you and Ellie scattered in there, but nothing on your own, yet. 
You can’t wait. And with an empty house, you have a full pamper night planned. You’ve been stocking up odd bits on your trips to the store over the past couple of weeks - sheet masks, aromatherapy candles, you’ve even picked up some flower petals from the spa at the club, in the hopes that you might even treat yourself to a relaxing soak in the bathtub. You can play whatever music you want, make whatever food you want, sit wherever you want in the house, out on the deck, overlooking the lake with a book in hand and no chirpy voices in your ear all night.
You can’t wait.
The only downside is not having a ride home, but you haven’t finished too late. The sun will still be up for a couple of hours, and a walk in the simmering heat back to the house doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.
Your feet carry you with ease down the back roads, and you even make the journey without your headphones on, taking in the scenery, the blissful peace of your surroundings, so lost in the tranquility of it all that the sight of Luke washing his car on the drive when you get home dampens your mood as quick as a torrential downpour of rain, flash floods coursing through your evening and wrecking your plans entirely. 
“What the hell are you doing?” You can’t help the bite in your tone as you approach, sneakers crunching against the gravel as Luke pauses the hose, looks over at you with the sun in his eyes, and you have to remind yourself he’s just ruined the one night you have for yourself before you get distracted by the fact that he’s shirtless.
“Washing my car?” he calls back, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Detroit right now?”
Luke shrugs, and you have to will your eyeballs not to move any lower than his neck to watch his shoulders lift and drop, lest you get too caught up in the broad expanse of his chest and do something ridiculous like drool.
“Wasn’t feeling it.”
“You weren’t feeling a concert you guys haven’t shut up about for weeks, but you were feeling washing your car?”
He’s dead. When he’s finished with his car and he retreats to his room, you’re gonna smother him with a pillow and discard of his body in the lake. You’re not even gonna let him shower, first. That’s what the lake’s for.
He’s crapping all over your plans because he wasn’t feeling it?
“It needs cleaning,” he shrugs again, and you swear you’re gonna jump in and run him over with the damn thing, “In fact, you really should be helping me.”
There’s a small part of you that feels like the thoughts of violence are worryingly aggressive, but then a larger part of you realises he must have a death wish.
“How’d you get to that conclusion?”
“You’re the one who drove us through a swamp,” he scoffs, a pointed hand flung toward the body of his car, where the sides are lined with a thick layer of dried dirt from the other night, “You get it dirty, you clean it up.”
“As much as I would absolutely love to fulfil your pervy car wash fantasy, I have much better things I could be doing with my time.”
Or you did, until Luke rained all over your parade of solitude.
“Like what?”
“Literally anything but this.” You gesture at the show he’s putting on. The suds dripping from the roof of the car, the hose in his hand, the buckets scattered around the perimeter. “I need to shower, I just walked from the club and I-,”
A death wish might actually be an understatement.
Luke wants you to murder him in the most gruesome, horrific way you could possibly muster - he has to, because there’s no other explanation for why he’d turn the hose on, point it straight at you, and drench the front of you, entirely. 
You can feel the fabric of your t-shirt dampening and sticking to your chest, and you scrunch your eyes shut to stop droplets of water slipping into them, thankful that when they open again, his own are looking back at you, and not any lower.
You’d really have a reason to kill him, then. 
“You did not just do that.” You growl, glaring back at him with a clenched jaw as the fucker beams back at you, pressing the trigger once more in a short burst that fires straight at your chest, again.
“What, that?”
“You’re so dead.”
You drop your bag and launch for him, aiming to take the hose from his grip, but he fires it again out of sheer panic, the water spouting out from between your splayed fingers, cold and pressured, and it soaks the both of you, raining down as you grapple for the head and Luke remains unrelenting.
There are squeals and yelps called out into the misty air between the two of you, and you get to a point you can’t tell what sounds are coming from who, but you manage to wrestle the hose from his grip and point it straight at him as he jets away with a laugh that rumbles straight from his belly.
It’s the kind of laugh that elicits another, and you don’t realise until he’s circling back to you that the laughter is coming from you - giggling, even, as the two of you engage in a water fight like misbehaving children - and it isn’t long until all aggressive thoughts wash away with the suds that slip to the gravel, forgetting why you were even annoyed in the first place.
It shouldn’t be as fun as it is, but after the long day at work, and the tiring walk back, letting your guard down and engaging it a little mindless chaos seems to wake you up a little.
Your childish game gets Luke what he wanted, anyway, the two of you working together to clean his car when you realise he’s only running in front of all the parts that actually need hosing off and relying on you having bad aim to get the job done, and you figure getting your hands a little dirty is harmless when you’re already soaked through and in dire need of a shower.
And your pamper-plans of a bubble bath and self-care don’t entirely come to fruition, but Luke promises to make up for his petulance by ordering pizza and sticking a movie on, so you bite your tongue to refrain from voicing your initial complaints, and decide to just go with the flow, for once - he hasn’t exactly led you astray, yet.  
You take a little longer in the shower than normal, with no one around to complain about hogging the bathroom or worry about them barging in unannounced, and you suppose that’s a small victory - one little luxury you get to cling to as you bask in the steam, letting all the tension slip from your aching muscles after being on your feet all day.
And once you’re out, hair dried just enough with a towel that it isn’t going to drip or soak your t-shirt, and you’re dressed in your pyjamas, you make your way downstairs, where Luke has already set up a plethora of snacks in the living room.
Nachos, popcorn, candy and drinks scattered across the coffee table as he relaxes on the couch, hair extra curly after his shower and an old Michigan t-shirt stretched tight across his now much-broader chest. 
“Thought I’d wait for you to pick a movie,” he chimes up from where he’s sat, gesturing with a lazy point to the wall of blu-rays beside the TV. 
“Did Netflix never make it to the Hughes household?” You scoff in disbelief as you take them all in properly for the first time. You’d seen them in your peripheral when you’d been hanging out down here, before, but actually looking at them up close, reading all the titles, seeing the sheer volume of how many there are, it kind of surprises you.
“We can look on Netflix if you want. They always take stuff off, though.”
You know. All your favourite movies get taken off of streaming, and you only ever find out about it when you’re really in the mood to watch them. As soon as you realise the wall is alphabetised, you know exactly where to look.
“That’s alright,” you shrug, stepping to the side as you track backwards, through M, L, K and J. “You guys are pretty analogue, I’ve noticed.”
“What do you mean?”
“The board games, the DVDs, the whole no phones around the house thing.”
“No phones around the house is common courtesy,” he chuckles, “But I guess we’re a little weird about the other stuff.”
“It’s pretty cool,” you shrug, spotting the DVD you want and sliding it out to assess the case. “It’s old school. Probably better for the brain. My little brothers can’t really function without an iPad and they’re 5, it’s freaky, like they’re haunted by the capitalist ghost of Steve Jobs or something.”
“I didn’t know you had brothers,” Luke frowns where you almost expect him to laugh, and you spin on your heel to face him. He has this look about him like he should have known that - like the two of you have ever conversed in anything other than sarcastic quips and scrunched up faces, or whatever attempts at flirting have been on his part. 
“Technically they’re half brothers,” you shrug, “They live out in Philly with my dad and step mom, I don’t really get to see them much.”
“Didn’t know you were from Philly, either.”
“I’m not, my dad moved out there when him and my mom got divorced.”
It’s not something you really love talking about. 
The few times you’ve tried, you’ve been shot down, patronising tones scoffing at how your biggest trauma is the separation of your parents, as if your whole world didn’t crumble down with the demise of their relationship, the demise of life as you knew and very dearly loved it.
“You don’t see him even in the summer?”
“Him and his family are on vacation in Europe for 6 weeks. England, France, Spain, Germany, the boys are into soccer so they’ll be out there until the Euros.”
You don’t miss the way Luke’s face scrunches at how you call them his family, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him to start pitying you, so you throw the DVD case toward him before you can second guess your choice.
Interstellar. 
You hope he doesn’t pick up on why it might be one of your favourites. Especially not considering the topic of the conversation at hand. Something about the crippling regret Cooper has for leaving Murph behind plucks harmoniously at some unidentifiable strings deep within you, but you’re hardly about to admit that to Luke, of all people.
“I love this movie,” he smiles, almost surprised, as if he expected you to throw The Notebook his way. Maybe next time - he’d probably love that movie, too, if he gave it a chance. 
“Me too. I love space movies.”
“Like Space Jam?” He asks as he pushes himself up, going toward the TV to set up the movie with the DVD in one hand and the remote control in the other. 
“No, like movies about Space,” you say, throwing yourself down onto the same couch he just vacated and tucking your feet beneath you to get comfortable. “Although I guess Space Jam would technically fit into that bracket.”
“I didn’t realise that was a genre,” he chuckles.
“Not the scary ones, though, I don’t wanna be freaked out by space.”
“Is that like a thing? You just like any movie set in space?”
“I like anything about space, period. Movies, documentaries, books. Thinking about it makes me feel really insignificant.”
“Insignificant? Is that not a bad thing?” He asks as he makes his way back, settling into his side and angling his body toward yours.
“Do you ever think about how big the universe is, Hughes? It’s humongous! If I ever feel anxious or panicky I think about just how big it is and how I’m not even a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. If I’m so tiny, how big can my problems actually be?”
“I guess that makes sense,” he seems to mull it over in his head, the thought of him even considering it and not making you feel stupid warms your chest - makes you forget just how much of yourself you’ve shared with him in the last couple of minutes alone, makes you worry less that you’re sharing too much. “I think I might be the opposite, though. Probably the youngest brother in me, I only feel better if I feel bigger.”
You think that might be why he’s always trying to one up you - sassy comments and inappropriate jokes galore. Not that you mind any of it, not really.
“What about you? What movies do you like?”
“You’re gonna be so shocked.”
“Sports movies?”
“Look at you, knowing me like the back of your hand.” He coos, nudging at your knee with his hand. “I’ll watch anything, though. We should take it in turns, whenever it’s just us,” he says like the thought of spending time alone with you has only just crossed his mind. “Picking a movie to show each other.”
You think there’s a lot of yourself in the media you consume. The movies you watch, the music you listen to, and sharing those things with Luke feels like giving him the only other key to a high security vault. It’s something you’ve avoided so far - letting him play his songs in the car, avoiding making any sort of pick in the group movie nights. It’s daunting, and it’s a lot of pressure, and so you don’t know why you agree with so much ease - a shrug, and a casual muttering of, “Sure, why not?”
The pieces of your dynamic slowly start to slot together, and you start to realise why you’ve been entertaining his company so often, lately. Why your mood so quickly de-escalated itself, earlier. Why you’ve found yourself curled up on the same couch as him, instead of literally anywhere else in the house, doing anything other than this. Why you’re so quick to agree to letting him access all these unseen parts of you.
And why you think he might be able to read your mind, after he asks, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Only if I get to ask one back.”
“What were you gonna do tonight, if you were on your own?”
Thank God, you think, your heart jumping at the thought of anything else he could have asked.
“I was gonna do a sheet mask and steal the bottle of wine Quinn stashed behind the laundry detergent.” You admit with a nonchalant shrug, the plans you had been looking forward to all day seeming mundane in comparison to this. “Why’d you stay behind? You love Zach Bryan.”
“I love sheet masks and stolen wine, too.”
Your lips curve up before you get the chance to huff at his non-answer, and you feel your throat go a little dry at the way his curve, too - the way his green eyes darken when they meet yours, and you feel like he’s looking straight through you.
It’s around half way through the movie that you realise how much you’re enjoying yourself - when you look over at Luke, and the light from the screen is still bouncing off the sticky white sheet plastered to his face, only just able to make out his round eyes through the little slit in the fabric. 
You sip at your wine to hide your smile, and turn your attention back to the TV until Luke nudges at your feet with his, and your eyes meet over the tops of your bent knees. 
“You tell anyone I did this, I’ll never speak to you again.”
Your laugh ripples through every inch of your upper body, rumbling up from your belly and manifesting itself in shaking shoulders, your smile wide and your sheet mask slipping out of place. “You can’t threaten me with a good time, Hughes.”
You spend the rest of the night trying not to think about how there might just be a tiny door in your heart, eking it’s way open for him to squeeze his gangly limbs into.
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>PART TWO<
another a/n: I don't want to put a timeframe on when the next part will be posted bc as soon as I do that, my brain will revolt and it won't happen, but I'd love to know your thoughts in the meantime!!! I have a lot of the rest actually written, and what I don't have written, I have drafted, so it shouldn't be too long but!!! like I said no timeframe!! I've had a lot of fun with this dynamic, and hearing any opinions would mean a lot to me!!
this was my first time writing reader insert if you saw any instances of she/her where they shouldn't be, no you didn’t. I tried as best as I could to avoid using Y/N because it takes me out of it I don’t even remember if I put it anywhere but sometimes it's hard to get around I did my best ok!!!
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hittmeandtellmeyouremine · 11 days ago
Note
So we’ve had puddin on her period, but what about when she’s ovulating and it hits her hard….?
pairing: puddin!reader x older!rafe
warnings: mdni, lottie do not read, smut, dry humping, ddlg themes, use of 'daddy'.
word count: 1k+ words
a/n: this is kind of a part 2 to this one! sorry i've been MIA, i haven't really been in the mood to write or home too. this could've been better but i wanted to give u guys something.
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rafe knew you were clingy, a blind person could see that. you were constantly in his presence, constantly touching, constantly yearning and again, who was he to decline you.
this week though, you were different.
he should've put together that you were ovulating sooner, really. the way you couldn't stand to be away from him for more than a few minutes, the way you cried when he was too busy with something else, the way your brown eyes were in a constant state of looking blown as ever, pupils dilated. it was clear as day, really.
he should've known his girl better.
he would do better.
he looked down at you, you who was so wrapped up in the tv. he had finally gotten you to relax a bit, leaving your fit from this morning behind. his hand rubbed your knee soothingly, trying to figure out a solution on how to go about this.
"have you been making yourself feel good, puddin'?" he asks, catching your attention.
you look up at him, tilting your head back against his chest slightly as you shake it.
"why not? i taught you how" he asks. "and you learned another way on your own"
you shrug, shaking your head.
he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, eyes narrowing slightly at your almost dismissive gesture. he pulls you up, turning you to face him so that you're straddling his lap and he can actually look at you.
"did it not feel good?"
you shake your head again.
it did feel good when you did it yourself, still brought that tingly, indescribable feeling between your thighs. the friction especially was truly something else, the one time you tried it. it was nice but it wasn't rafe.
nothing compared to rafe.
"then why won't you do it?" he ask, pushing for an answer.
"because i don't want to, i want you to make me feel good" you whine, pressing close against him.
"i see" he says quietly, nodding.
he wishes you hadn't said that.
the past few weeks he had been trying to ignore what was happening, internally struggling with it. he shamed himself for liking it, shamed you for wanting it, you were both at fault. this was all so wrong.
it was a power imbalance, he had control over you, more than he should. he was taking advantage of that and it felt wrong.
but that wasn't true, no not at all.
it felt good, really good. to know that you relied on him for more than just love, that he was more than just a boyfriend. he provided for you in every way, well, he could be but he had been restraining himself from doing so. that wouldn't be happening anymore.
no more going back and forth, telling himself he would give in and then convincing himself not to. it wasn't fair, not to himself and surely not to you, his puddin'.
this was just nature.
"get off me for a second, puddin'"
you frown but do as he says, swinging one leg over the other and sitting beside him.
his hands move to his belt, undoing it with expertise. his pants are next, unbuttoning them and sliding them down, lifting his hips momentarily. you watch, confused, as he pulls his shirt over his head. he pushes back on the couch, laying down on his back in just his boxers.
"come here, straddle daddy" he directs. "i'm gonna help you out"
confused plagues your face for a second but the weight of his words means more and your body moves. he grabs you by your hips, helping to pull you on top of him.
he adjust you so that your clothes cunt is directly against the tent growing in his boxers, the only barriers between you two being your panties and his boxers.
"you know how you learned to use the pillow the other day?" he prompts.
you nod.
"use daddy as your pillow"
you bite your lip, hesitation filling your features.
lucky for you, rafe knows better than you. he knows that sometimes you just don't want to think. thinking was too much for that pretty little brain of yours and he was more than happy to help you out.
he guides your hips onto his, moving you slowly at first. he saw it earlier, how soaked you already were. the wet spot on your panties being burned into his brain. a soft gasp leaves your lips, the familiar feeling returning.
he repeats the movement—guiding you back and forth, back and forth, back and forth—until you were crying out above him. he watches your eyes flutter shut, plump lips parting as whimpers fall from them.
"you like that, puddin'?" he asks, letting out a shaky breath himself.
"yes" you moan, your small hands splaying out on his lower abdomen to steady yourself.
you push your down harder, the action filled with greed. his cock strains against the fabric of his boxers, desperately trying to slot itself between your folds.
"fuck" he curses, wishing he hadn't kept his boxers on. "go ahead baby, just like that"
you whine, rocking your hips against his the tiniest bit faster. it was a mild pace, but there was enough force behind it to make it meaningful. if he wasn't feeling how much you liked this himself, your whimpers made it clear.
"daddy" you moan. "i feel tingly"
"i know baby, i know. daddy's gonna help you out" he whispers.
he snakes a hand between your bodies, fingers pressing down on your sensitive little bud and circling gently. you didn't even comprehend what was happening, just that it felt good.
to rafe, this was truly euphoric.
he salivated just thinking of the day that he got to finally be inside you, the day that all of his prepping finally paid off.
you cry out above him, eyes screwing shut as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. he watches you fall apart, ego expanding because he wasn't even inside you yet.
yet. that would have to change soon.
"that's it, there's my puddin'" he coos. "such a good girl for daddy"
-
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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 30 days ago
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Life Line (pt1)
(I ain't) Sorry (pt2)
All Night
Cheater!Price x wife!Reader
CW: adult themes. infidelity. 18+
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a.n: quick author's note from me. The point of this mini series was written because I really needed an outlet for big emotions surrounding infidelity. I got inspiration from stories I've seen about women and partners dealing with infidelity. I have never been cheated on, but I am the daughter of three generations of women before me who have dealt with infidelity, and its effects trickle down in the ways that you learn to love and teach your daughters how to love. I have watched infidelity ruin my mother, her mother, and her mother's mother. All of them handled it the best they could in the circumstances that they could.
Thank you all for following along with this story.
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I had my ups and downs, but I always find the inner strength to pull myself up. I was served lemons, but I made lemonade
The constant ticking of the clock was loud. It was like a gunshot going off each second. Sixty gunshots. Absolute agony. Is it really your choice to be here in the therapist office? Sure, you drove your car here. Sure, you walked willingly into the elevator, down the hallway, sat down across from the woman who is far older than you. You feel judged. Like you have done something wrong. Mrs. Davis keeps her face neutral after you unload everything that has happened.
A year. It has been a year since you pressed a hand gun to John Price's side and made your demands. Things have not gotten better. You know he doesn't see anyone else no matter how much you tell him that you don't care. You play by the rules he unwittingly put into place when he began seeing his other woman. You have had boyfriends left and right, all of them similar to the husband you have in some shape or form.
Military. Sparingly available. Broken in some shape or way. Too quick to say to you "I love you. Let me have you." Two proposals a month apart from each other. Promises you can not bring yourself to even believe.
"You still love him. That's why you won't leave." Mrs. Davis states as plain as day. "No more of this, you want your children to have both parents under the same roof. Your children deserve to be more than a cop out and an excuse for your own emotions."
It stings. The words hit you in the face and for a second you may actually swing on her. Your eyes avert themselves and tears fall quietly down your cheeks. "I...I don't know Mrs. Davis. He makes me so angry. Every time I look at him, I get so so angry." Your voice cracks.
"Are you angry because you still love him? Or are you angry because for him to behave how he behaves now shouldn't have taken you learning of the infidelity and restructuring your marriage?" She seems so concerned when she asks you this. "I can only speculate, you're the one that knows."
You dab at your eyes and sit in silence. You know why you are angry. You are angry because you are hurt and he was the one to hurt you. Putting those words out into the ope though? Was too hard. "I'm angry because I gave up everything for him!"
"Hmm go on." She says.
"I gave up the best years of my career because he asked. I gave up my body because he wanted children. None of my pregnancies were easy. The baby we wanted was my hardest and I know when that happened the operation he was on abysmal, but I needed him. I felt abandoned. I felt like a failure. I felt like God himself abandoned me. And for him to go and fuck around hurt me so much. And I'm angry because after all of that I loved him, through all of that I loved him. And even now I love him, and it's not fair because I don't know if he loves me." You're close to hysterics as you vomit up all of the negative the vitriol that lived inside of you.
"So why make yourself suffer by seeing other men and staying with your husband? From what you say, you have had options and you still have options." She leads you towards the truth. "What made you make those rules for your marriage? What made you decide to drink more often and participate in pursuit of wreckless relationships?"
"I felt ugly. Little. Unwanted. And sleeping around and getting gifts, being adored by any man made me feel like how I was before John Price." You whisper. "Before I was a mom. Before when I was me."
"Do you think you've grieved enough? There is healthy grief and then there is unhealthy grief, you have chosen the unhealthy route it seems." She scribbles something down on her notebook and then checks the time. She is always careful to send you home on an upswing and positive note. She doesn't ever allow door stopper statements to happen. "You need to decide what will make you feel better. Staying with your husband or leaving."
You blow your nose and wipe your eyes. It's clear that she isn't really talk about your marriage.
"How are your children doing?" She asks. "We last spoke about Iyana and her father daughter dance. Did that happen yet?"
"No, that's next Friday, and she's over the moon." The smile on your face hurts.
Take one pint of water, add a half pound of sugar, the juice of eight lemons, the zest of half a lemon. Pour the water from one jug then into the other several times. Strain through a clean napkin.
That afternoon your car pulls up to the house. John's truck, like most Fridays sits in the driveway. The windows and sides are covered in pink and blue car chalk. Courtesy of Iyana and Jackie and wanting to give daddy's car a new paint job. The front yard is covered in toys, and it let's you know thatbhe probably got them both early from school. The inside of your house is a bit junky, Bluey plays on the TV, blocks and barbies strewn across the floor.
Grandmother, the alchemist, you spun gold out of this hard life, conjured beauty from the things left behind. Found healing where it did not live. Discovered the antidote in your own kit. Broke the curse with your own two hands. You passed these instructions down to your daughter who then passed it down to her daughter.
"Daddy, I'm glad you came and snuck us out of school today." Iyana can be heard clearly from the kitchen.
"Really Princess?"
"Uh huh. Really."
You stay hidden out of sight as you listen to them both. Jackie can be heard humming, not really participating in the conversation, he's been slow to really talk and hit certain milestones. Yet another worry that has burden you as you try to make sure that his teachers and baby sitters meet him where he's at. It's a full-time job and you and John often find yourselves uniting together on that front.
John hums and there is the clink of dishes "why is that?" The grin and the sweet look he gives her can be heard in the soft inflection of his voice. The kids are the only people he makes an effort to keep a low and gentle voice with.
"Because you got us ice cream and you let me pick out ice cream for mummy, and mummy needs more ice cream because she is always sad and grand mum says ice cream makes people happy." Her little child logic makes your heart clench. The silence that follows is loud. Only dotted with Jackie laughing and saying that his ice cream is cold.
"Iyana..." He says, "I think it's important that we try to make sure mummy is happy. But its not something for you to worry about."
"Why not Daddy?" She pressed him, "She makes sure all the time that me and Jackie and you are happy." The pout on her face must be serious if it draws a deep sigh from John.
"Because, it's Daddy's job to make sure Mummy is happy. And it's Daddy's job to take care of her."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"Good, because I like it best when Mummy is happy, because then she let's me get whatever I want from the store!"
"Iyana-"
You don't stay downstairs to hear the rest of that conversation. Quick to sneak up stairs and to your bedroom. Heavy like lead, that's what you feel like, what your body feels like. You aren't sure if you should stay and make you both suffer or leave and suffer separately. There's no real right answer, all you know is that you can't go on like this.
You can't go on with relationships with other men. You can't keep searching for comfort in the bottom of a wine bottle or underneath the hands of someone else. After each tryst, a part of you feels hollow. Each orgasm feels a little less fun and light each time it happens. Sex feels like torture, and your hyper sexuality is a curse after having a demolished and destroyed sex drive. Looking in König's blue eyes were too similar to John's. Listening to the teasing lilt of Phillips words reminded you too much of the John you first met. There were men after them, all of them either polar opposite or the same, but the faces and features all blended together.
They formed one full amalgamation of your demons and the demon always whispered, "you are not enough."
The sun sinks in the sky, casting a warm glow into your bedroom. You have not moved but listened to the squeals and laughter of your kids. At one point your son entered and he laid with you quietly, his toy plane crushed between his body and yours. Plastic sticking into your soft body at sharp and odd angles. Your daughter would flit in and out, excitedly telling you about herlr day. And through it all, the only words you can think about are "Am I staying or leaving? Will it be just me or all three of us?"
"Sweetheart?" John stands at the doorway to your room. He hasn't been in here, in the room you conceived your children in a year. An invisible wall keeps him out of this once sacred space where whispered words of love were said. He has changed over the last year. Some parts for the better, some parts for the worst. He's transforming into a silver fox, slowly but surely, but those blue eyes you fell in love with are the same.
You make no move to sit up at first. But if you don't do this now, you may never get the chance. "Iyana, why don't you and Jackie get the blankets from your room and from downstairs. We are having a movie night in mummy's and daddy's room tonight."
"Can we watch Frozen?" She bounces up and down on the bed. Jackie whines at being jostled.
"Monster movie." He whispers.
"We will do both." You say. The entire time you're fully aware of John standing there. Mouth open like a fish out of water. He hasn't been invited into your room and bed in a year. Something he thought he'd never have again. All movie nights moved to the front room only after that Friday.
Iyana pulls at Jackie saying to come on and the two dash out of the room around John's legs. Iyana screaming about popcorn and how they would get to have more snacks before bed. John is slow to approach your bed and he sits down quietly.
"Is something on you mind?" He asks and he won't look at you. Fridays are now known for being days that change things for you both.
"I want to talk about our marriage John." It's a struggle to keep your eyes on his when he looks at you.
"What do you want to talk about?" There are tears already in his eyes.
"I want to talk about if I'm staying or leaving, and what that will look like. I don't make any promises to know right now fully on what the plan is. But I'm ready to talk with you about it."
"You already know I don't want you to leave."
You're quiet, the conversation abruptly cut off by the sound of your children calling for you. Asking for popcorn and juice and cookies. Instead you stand up and make your way to the bedroom door. The conversation that needs to happen will happen in this room most likely. It won't be an easy one. It won't be more than once. There will be tears. Sins laid bare for you both to see.
And in the end, it will take time. It will take time for you to feel whole again. But whether you stay or go, you'll be fine in the end.
End
a.n: purposely left open ended. You can decide if reader stayed and gave it another chance or if she left and took the kids or left and didn't take the kids. There is no way to perfectly heal and react to relationships. And I wanted the ending to reflect that. Thank you all again for reading.
Tag list: @fightmebissh @galactict3a @thoughts-nshit @pocketfulofposies @salma062022 @andromeda-starship @gazsluckyhat @uraeus56 @leahnicole1219 @lay-z
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mrsfancyferrari · 3 months ago
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Heavy Love
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Summary: Carlos got a surgery of his appendix but that doesn't stop him from treating his girl how he usually does
Song: Heavy Love - Odetari
Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶
Word count: 4.8k
MASTERLIST - F1
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The fluorescent lights of the hospital room hummed, a sterile symphony that did little to soothe the anxiety churning in your stomach.
Carlos lay in the bed, pale but smiling, a testament to the surgery that had sliced through his appendix just days ago. You sat beside him, a vigil, your hand hovering just above his, afraid to touch too hard.
"You okay, babe?" he asked, his voice a little weaker than usual, but with that familiar teasing glint in his eyes.
"Yeah, just... thinking," you replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Thinking about how much better you're going to feel when you're fully recovered."
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made you wince internally. "You think I don't feel good now? I've got you here, fussing over me like a mother hen. What could be better?"
You shot him a playful glare. "Don't get cute. You nearly died. A burst appendix is not a joke, Carlos."
"I know, I know," he conceded, his smile softening. He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. "But I'm here, thanks to you. You got me to the hospital in time."
You squeezed his hand gently, relief washing over you. "I was so scared."
The days that followed were a blur of cautious optimism and tireless care. You transformed into his personal nurse, meticulously following the doctor's instructions, making sure he took his medication, and preparing bland, easily digestible meals.
You read to him, watched movies with him, and kept him company during the endless hours of boredom.
But a strange tension had settled between you, a quiet distance born out of your fear. You were so acutely aware of his fragile state, of the stitches holding his abdomen together, that you hesitated to be the same way you were before.
Intimacy, once a natural and joyous part of your relationship, now felt like walking on eggshells.
He noticed, of course. Carlos always noticed.
"You're being weird," he said one evening as you were settling him in for the night.
"Weird how?" you asked, avoiding his gaze as you adjusted his pillows.
"Like you're afraid to breathe too loud in case I shatter," he chuckled.
"Don't be silly," you mumbled, fiddling with the remote control.
"Come on, be honest. You're acting like I'm made of glass. I appreciate the care, I really do. But you're treating me like I'm some delicate porcelain doll."
You finally met his eyes, your own filled with a mixture of worry and guilt. "I just… I don't want to hurt you. You're still recovering. What if I accidentally put pressure on your stitches, or something?"
He sighed, reaching for your hand again. "You're not going to hurt me. I know you're being careful."
"But…" you started to protest.
"But nothing," he interrupted gently. "I miss you. I miss us. And I'm not talking about running a marathon or anything. I just miss being close."
Your heart ached at his words. You missed it too, more than you could say. You missed the way he would pull you into his arms, the warmth of his body against yours, the feeling of being completely and utterly safe.
But the fear was a powerful force, a constant reminder of his recent brush with mortality.
"I don't know, Carlos," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. "I'm just so afraid of doing something wrong."
He pulled you closer, his arm carefully encircling your waist. "Hey," he murmured, his voice soothing. "Look at me. I know you're scared. But I'm okay. I promise. And I trust you. I trust you to be careful."
He leaned in and kissed you softly, a chaste, lingering kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn't the passionate, all-consuming kisses you were used to, but it was enough to remind you of the deep connection you shared.
"Please," he whispered against your lips. "Don't let this surgery change everything between us."
Over the next few weeks, you started to relax, to trust yourself and trust Carlos. You still took precautions, of course. You avoided strenuous activities and made sure he didn't overexert himself. But you also allowed yourselves to rediscover the intimacy you had lost.
Slowly, tentatively, you began to rebuild the bridge that fear had threatened to destroy. You started with simple things – cuddling on the couch while watching movies, holding hands during walks, sharing gentle kisses.
You talked, really talked, about your fears and anxieties, and about the importance of physical touch in your relationship.
One evening, as you were preparing dinner, Carlos came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. You stiffened slightly, your muscles tensing in anticipation.
"Relax," he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "I just want to hold you."
You leaned back against him, letting his warmth seep into you. "Are you sure you're okay?" you asked, your voice still laced with concern.
He chuckled. "I'm fine. You're not going to break me by standing here."
You closed your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. "I love you," you whispered.
"I love you too," he replied, squeezing you tighter. "More than a functioning appendix can ever express."
You laughed, the sound lighter and more joyful than it had been in weeks.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked.
You smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached your eyes. "You don't have to ask."
He leaned in and kissed you, a slow, passionate kiss that deepened with each passing moment. You ran your fingers through his hair, relishing the feel of his body against yours.
When you finally broke apart, breathless, he looked at you with a hopeful expression. "Can we…?" he started, then hesitated. "Can we be… closer?"
You knew what he was asking. The fear was still there, lurking in the back of your mind, but it was no longer as overwhelming as it had been. You trusted him, and you trusted yourself.
"Yes," you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. "But we take it slow, okay? And if anything hurts, you tell me immediately."
He grinned, his eyes sparkling with joy. "Deal."
"Wait until after dinner though," you muttered, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "I don't want to get distracted and burn the food."
Carlos pouted, his eyes drifting to the tray of hospital cuisine that had been delivered earlier. "But I hate this hospital food," he begged.
"Nope, you have to eat," you said firmly, placing a hand on his cheek. "Do it for me." You tried to make it sound like a playful dare, but the underlying concern was clear.
He groaned, his eyes drifting to the tray of hospital food that looked as appealing as a soggy cardboard box. "Come on," he whined. "You know how much I hate this stuff."
"I do," you said, your voice laced with amusement. "But it's part of the deal. You want to get better, right?"
With a dramatic sigh, he picked up his plastic fork and poked at the lifeless pile of food on his tray. "Fine," he grumbled, taking a tiny bite. "But you're going to pay for this later."
You couldn't help but laugh, the tension between you momentarily easing. "How about I make you a deal?" you suggested. "If you eat all of this, I'll give you a little something extra to make it worth your while."
His eyes lit up. "What kind of extra?"
You leaned closer, your breath tickling his ear. "The kind of extra that involves me, you, and a lot of gentle touches."
He swallowed hard, the food suddenly seeming a bit more palatable. "Deal," he said, attacking the meal with renewed enthusiasm.
Each bite he took was a silent declaration of his love and desire for you, his stomach grumbling in protest but his resolve unwavering. You watched him with a smile, feeling a thrill of excitement building in your core.
As he worked his way through the meal, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to the promise you had made. Your body grew warm with anticipation, and you felt the familiar ache between your legs.
You had missed this, the thrill of the chase, the delicious buildup to something so much more satisfying than any meal could ever be.
When the last bite was gone, he looked at you expectantly. "Well?"
You took a deep breath, your hand shaking slightly as you reached for the tray. "Alright, you win," you said, setting it aside. "But only because you ate all your food."
He grinned mischievously. "I'm not just playing for fun, you know," he murmured, his hand sliding down to your waist, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip.
You felt your cheeks flush as you turned to face him. "What do you mean?"
Carlos' grin grew wider, his eyes darkening with desire. "I mean, I've missed feeling your body against mine, your breath on my skin, your touch driving me wild."
His hand moved to your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline. "I want you, all of you. But we're going to take it slow, just like you said."
Your heart raced as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, tentative kiss. His movements were cautious, as if he was afraid to startle you or cause him any pain.
You melted into him, the gentle pressure of his mouth on yours sending waves of need crashing through your body. Your hands found his shoulders, holding him close, as you deepened the kiss.
"Carlos," you murmured against his mouth, your voice filled with a desperation that had been building for weeks.
He pulled back slightly, searching your eyes for any signs of doubt. "Are you sure?"
You nodded, your pulse pounding in your throat. "Yes. I need this. We need this."
He smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached his eyes. "Okay, then. But…" he paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "We have to be careful. I don't want to rip my stitches."
You chuckled, relief flooding through you. "Believe me, I'm acutely aware of your stitches. We'll take it very, very slow."
He nodded, his eyes still filled with that hopeful look that made you want to do anything for him.
You moved closer, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose before trailing your lips down to the corner of his mouth, feeling the stubble of his unshaven cheek against your skin.
His eyes fluttered closed, a contented sigh escaping his lips as you continued to explore his face with gentle pecks.
"I've missed this," he whispered, his hand moving to the small of your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine.
You nodded, feeling the same longing. "Me too."
Taking his hand in yours, you led him to the bedroom, the dim light of the hallway casting shadows that danced across the wall. The room was filled with the faint scent of his cologne, a comforting reminder of the life you shared before the surgery.
You helped him onto the bed, his weight shifting the mattress beneath you as he settled in, wincing slightly at the movement.
You took a moment to admire him, his strong frame now marred by the surgery scar that snaked under the bandages across his abdomen.
The sight of it brought back the fear of that night, the helplessness you felt as you watched the doctor's face grow grim with the news of his condition. But here he was, alive and with you, and that was all that mattered.
"Lay down," you instructed softly, your voice a gentle command that made him comply without question.
The bedroom was a sanctuary, a place where you had shared countless moments of passion before the surgery. Now, it was a battleground of nerves and anticipation. You approached him with the grace of a gazelle, each step measured and careful.
"I'm okay," he reassured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the air. "Really."
You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the last few weeks slowly lifting from your shoulders. You straddled his legs, his hands coming up to rest gently on your thighs.
The fabric of your pajamas was the only barrier between his skin and yours, a barrier that was suddenly unbearable.
"Can I take these off?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
"If you promise to be gentle," he said with a hint of a smirk.
You nodded, your fingers trembling slightly as you began to peel back the bandages. The stark white of the gauze was a stark contrast to the tanned skin of his stomach.
You took a moment to examine the neat line of his incision, the skin around it slightly pink and tender. You kissed it softly, feeling the warmth of his body under your lips.
"Careful," he warned, his eyes half-closed with pleasure.
You nodded, taking in the sight of his body before you. You had seen him naked countless times before, but this was different. There was a newfound respect, a newfound gentleness in the way you regarded his body now.
Each scar, each imperfection, was a testament to his strength and the life you had together.
You began to kiss him again, starting at his forehead, moving down to his cheeks, his neck, his collarbone. Each kiss was a declaration of your love and your care, a promise to be gentle, to cherish him.
Your mouth found the pulse at the base of his neck, his heartbeat a steady rhythm that matched yours. You felt his breathing quicken, his body responding to your touch.
He reached up, his hand cupping the back of your head as he guided your mouth back to his. His kisses grew more insistent, his tongue sliding against yours, a silent plea for more.
You felt your body come alive, the ache between your legs growing more intense.
As you kissed him, you felt his hand slide under the fabric of your shirt, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin of your back. He groaned, the sound resonating through your body like a physical caress.
It was a sound that had always made you melt, a sound that had always meant he wanted more, needed more, and now it was back, a sweet reminder of the passion you shared.
You pulled away for a moment, looking into his eyes. "Are you okay?" you asked, the question almost redundant as the desire in his gaze was answer enough.
He groaned, not from pain but from pure need. "More than okay," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.
Encouraged by his response, you allowed his hands to roam, feeling the warmth of his palms as they glided over your skin.
They traced the contours of your body, exploring every curve and dip with a reverence that made you feel cherished, desired despite his weakened state. His thumbs grazed the sensitive skin of your ribcage, sending shivers up your spine.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.
You blushed, feeling vulnerable and exposed. "You make me feel like it," you whispered.
As your kisses grew more fervent, you became acutely aware of your weight, the softness of your body that you had always loved, and sometimes loathed. You shifted slightly, trying to balance yourself so that you weren't putting too much pressure on his stitches.
The thought of causing him pain was unbearable, so you carefully placed your hands on his chest, using your arms to hold yourself up as you kissed him.
"Put all your weight on me," Carlos murmured, his eyes open and searching yours for any sign of hesitation.
You bit your bottom lip, feeling the heat of his body beneath you. The urge to give in was strong, but the fear of causing him pain held you back. "I don't want to hurt you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.
"Trust me, I've got you," he said, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. "I can handle it."
You took a deep breath and did as he asked, feeling the softness of your flesh pressing against the firmness of his abdomen. The sensation was strange at first, a mix of fear and excitement.
But as he kissed you harder, as his hands roamed over your back and his hips began to move slightly beneath you, the fear melted away, leaving only desire.
You felt the heat of his skin, the steady throb of his heart against your palms. His breaths grew quicker, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.
The sensation was exquisite, a gentle reminder of the passion that had always burned between you. You could feel his erection growing, pressing against your center, but you held back, not wanting to push him too far, too fast.
"We can stop," you whispered, your voice laced with concern.
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. "No, please don't stop." His voice was thick with need, the words a desperate plea.
You leaned back slightly, breaking the kiss to remove your shirt, revealing your braless breasts to the cool air of the room. His eyes followed the movement, dark with desire.
You watched as his hand hovered over the fabric of your pajama pants, his knuckles brushing against the swollen bud of your clit. You gasped, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice a strained whisper.
You nodded, unable to form coherent words as his hand slipped under the waistband, his fingers finding your slick heat. He stroked you gently, his movements tentative and careful, as if he was worried that even the slightest touch would shatter you.
But as he grew more confident, his touch grew bolder, his thumb circling your clit as his fingers delved deeper.
Your hips began to rock against his hand, the pleasure building with each stroke. You moaned into his neck, your teeth grazing his skin, leaving a trail of kisses along his collarbone.
His breaths grew shallower, his hand moving faster as he matched the rhythm of your movements.
"You're so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with amazement and hunger. "You're always so wet for me."
You felt your cheeks flush with heat at his words. "It's just… you make me feel so… alive."
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your chest. "Good to know I still have that effect on you."
You leaned down to kiss him again, your tongues dancing together as your bodies grew more in sync. His other hand found your breast, his thumb brushing against the tightened peak of your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.
As you reached down to undo the button of his pants, he stopped you, his hand covering yours. "Let me," he said, his voice strained with effort.
With trembling hands, he managed to open his fly, the sound of the zipper echoing in the quiet room. His erection sprang free, a testament to his desire.
You felt your own need growing, a warm ache that spread from your core to every part of your body. You reached out tentatively, wrapping your hand around his length, feeling the pulse of his blood beneath your fingertips.
"Careful," he warned, his voice tight with arousal.
You nodded, stroking him slowly, savoring the velvety feel of his skin against your palm. His eyes fell closed, his head tilting back into the pillow as he let out a low groan.
You watched him, memorizing the way his chest rose and fell, the way his abs tensed with each breath. You felt a strange mix of tenderness and hunger, a desire to both protect and claim him.
The sight of his scar, a stark reminder of his vulnerability, only served to fuel your passion.
As you worked your hand up and down his shaft, you leaned in to kiss him again, feeling his hips shift beneath you, urging you closer. The kiss grew deeper, his tongue sliding against yours in a silent demand for more.
Your body responded, arching into him, seeking the contact that you had been denied for so long.
"I need you," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
You nodded, understanding the desperation in his words. You leaned back, sliding off his pants and boxers, exposing him fully to the cool air. His cock stood at attention, a silent plea for your touch.
You kissed your way down his body, your mouth worshipping every inch of his skin. Your breasts brushed against his thighs as you moved, sending waves of sensation through you.
Positioning yourself above him, you hovered, your pussy mere inches from his erection. His hands tightened on your thighs, urging you closer.
You paused, looking down at him, his eyes full of need. The weight of his gaze was almost too much to bear, but the fear was still there, whispering in the back of your mind.
"I'm okay," he assured you, his voice strained with want. "I need you, baby. I need to feel you."
You took a deep breath and allowed yourself to sink down, feeling the tip of his cock press against your opening. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt through your body.
You hesitated, waiting for any sign of pain from him. When he only moaned in pleasure, you began to lower yourself, inch by delicious inch.
His cock slid into you, filling you completely. You bit your bottom lip to stifle a moan, feeling a mix of pleasure and relief. It had been too long since you had felt this connection, too long since you had been this intimate.
His eyes never left yours, his expression one of pure adoration.
"Oh, Carlos," you murmured, his name a prayer on your lips.
He groaned, his hips lifting slightly to meet yours. You began to move, the rhythm slow and steady. Each movement was a declaration of your love, a gentle dance that you both knew so well.
You could feel his cock stretching you, the sensation of fullness that you had missed for weeks. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and valley with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes.
You leaned back, sitting up straight as you rode him. The new angle allowed you to take him deeper, the feeling of him inside you making you dizzy with pleasure.
Your breasts bounced with each movement, the tips tightening with every stroke. His eyes never left you, drinking in the sight of your body, his hands moving to cup your breasts, his thumbs playing with your nipples.
The friction grew, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. The ache between your legs grew stronger, your body begging for release. You leaned back further, placing your hands on his thighs for support.
The new angle allowed you to grind against him, the pressure building with every move. You watched his face, the way his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth gritted with each thrust.
"Mi amor," he whispered, the Spanish endearment rolling off his tongue like a warm caress. His hand slid down to the small of your back, guiding you, urging you to move in a way that brought him the most pleasure.
You felt a warmth spread through your body, a gentle wave of passion that grew stronger with every beat of his heart. You knew he was holding back, trying not to let the pain of his recent surgery overwhelm him.
But you could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed with each movement. It was a dance you knew well, a delicate balance of pleasure and pain.
Leaning forward, you kissed him again, your mouths moving in a silent conversation of love and lust. His hands found their way to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he urged you faster.
Your breasts pressed against his chest, the friction of your bodies setting your nerves alight. The room felt like it was spinning, the only anchor the warmth of his cock inside you.
"Más," he murmured, the word a plea that sent your body into overdrive. You picked up the pace, your hips moving in a rhythm that was as natural as breathing.
His breath grew ragged, his grip on your hips tightening as you rode him. His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours. "Te amo," he said, the words a declaration that sent a shiver down your spine. "I love you."
You felt the orgasm build, a coil of pleasure that grew tighter with each stroke. You whispered the words back, the English translation feeling inadequate next to the Spanish. But you knew he understood, knew that your love was as deep and vast as the ocean.
His eyes searched yours, the depths of his love and desire reflecting in their dark pools. You felt his muscles tense beneath you, his cock swell even further inside you.
You knew he was close, could feel the tremor in his hands, the way his hips jerked with each movement.
"I'm going to come," he warned, his voice tight with restraint.
You nodded, feeling the same urgency building within you. Your walls tightened around him, the sensation of his impending release sending you hurtling towards your own climax. His eyes never left yours, the connection between you palpable.
You felt the muscles in his abdomen contract, a silent promise of the pleasure to come.
With a final, deep thrust, you felt him release inside you, his warmth filling you completely. Your own orgasm crashed over you, waves of pleasure that made your vision blur and your body quiver.
You collapsed onto him, your chest heaving as you both fought to catch your breath. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly as if he never wanted to let go.
The feel of his heart hammering against your cheek was a sweet symphony that only the two of you could understand.
"I love you," you murmured into his neck, feeling the sticky sweat on his skin.
"Te amo," he replied, his voice hoarse.
You remained still for a moment, basking in the afterglow, the fear of his fragility forgotten in the face of the overwhelming love you felt. But as your breathing slowed, the reality of his condition began to creep back in.
You lifted yourself off of him, careful not to cause any discomfort.
"How are you feeling?" you asked, your voice filled with concern.
He winced slightly as you moved, his hand coming to rest on the bandage across his stomach. "I'm okay," he assured you. "A little sore, but nothing I can't handle."
You kissed the spot gently, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric. "Thank you," you whispered. "For letting me… for being so patient."
He chuckled, the sound a little strained. "What can I say, I'm a trooper."
You couldn't help but laugh, the tension in the room dissipating like mist in the morning sun. "Yes, you are," you said, your eyes sparkling with affection.
The days that followed were a gentle reawakening of your love, a rediscovery of the passion that had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface. Each touch was a declaration of your care and desire, each kiss a promise that you would always be there for him.
One morning, you awoke to the feeling of his hand on your hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. You rolled over to face him, his eyes already open, watching you with a soft smile.
"Morning," he murmured, leaning in to kiss you.
You returned the kiss, feeling the warmth of his breath on your cheek. "Morning," you murmured back.
He shifted, his hand sliding down to cup your ass, pulling you closer. "Ready for round two?" he asked, his voice filled with mischief.
You raised an eyebrow, smiling despite yourself. "You're not going to let me have a break?" you said, feigning exasperation.
Carlos' grin widened, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "What? You don't want to?"
You playfully slapped his chest, unable to resist the flirty banter. "You're insatiable," you said, your voice filled with affection.
He chuckled, his grip tightening on your ass. "Only when it comes to you."
You felt a warm blush creep up your cheeks. "Well, if you promise to be gentle…"
"Always," he assured you, his voice a low, seductive rumble. . . .
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deunmiu-dessie · 1 year ago
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(unedited) simon loves you, he's just not the best at showing or saying it.
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"no, simon. you don't-," you swallow thickly and forcefully pull your wrist away from his grip. "- you don't get to leave and come back when it's convenient for you." your lips are set but they wobble, teetering with the storm of emotions brewing within you. "i'm done trying. i can't do, whatever this…this twisted game is between us." [i’m sorry.]
he's been silent your whole talk, he seems so stoic as if the conversation is a hassle- like he could care less; and maybe he could. you can never guess what simon was feeling. he was like an impenetrable wall, unwavering— even for you; it left you feeling alone most days.
your eyes flit over his face, hoping to see something, anything that would make you second guess what you were saying. but as usual, he’s unreadable; and tears well up in your eyes as you continue, your voice trembling with a mixture of something akin to pleading and sadness. "i've given you countless chances, simon. i've allowed you to come and go as you please, hoping that one day you would realize the love i have for you. but i can't keep living in this constant state of uncertainty, never knowing when you'll decide to leave again." [no more, never again will i leave you. i swear it.]
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you take a deep shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself, but the pain in your chest hurts fiercely. it steals your breath away, and flushes your cheeks with heat. "i deserve better than this, simon. i deserve someone who will be there for me, someone who won't treat me like an option. i can't keep waiting for you to change, to finally see my worth." [i see you. i love you with every breath that i take. until my lungs give out.]
your words hang heavy in the air, you wait for him to say something, to tell you that he loves you, that he’ll do anything to get you to stay. say something, you think. "i've spent too long trying to make this work, trying to convince myself that your attention is enough. but it's not. it's never been enough." [say something! tell her you love her, that you'd die for her. say something, simon.]
a singular, angry and furstrated tear escapes, tracing a path down your cheek. "i deserve a love that is whole, that is unwavering. i deserve someone who will fight for me, who will choose me every single day. and if you can't be that person, then i have to let you go." [don't say that, please. i love you.]
your brows furrow and your chin sets, your hands coiling into fists. tears flow in rivulets down your cheeks and you lift one fist and hit his chest weakly. “say something, you coward.” you utter, your other fist raises to hit him once again. “i hate that i love you so much, i hate you for being the only thing that i think about. i hate you simon.” [i love you, so much that you're the only thing i think about. i love you _____.]
your punches get heavier but he's unmoving, a tic starting in his jaw. in a sudden burst of frustration, you shove at him, your lips pressed tightly together, and your cheeks burning. yet, he remains motionless, his gaze steady and unwavering. “say something, damn it!” you wail, preparing to hit him again, however, his large hands swiftly seize your raised fist before you can and he pulls you into his chest, cupping the nape of your neck and engulfing you in…him. "i love you."
and you know you shouldn't but you melt in his arms, go completely slack, and cry harder. “then say that.” simon presses a kiss to your temple, and you freeze at the tremble of his lips, his chest rumbling as he speaks again. “i love you so much.” and just like that, he reeled you back in, just like he always does; and it felt like coming home. the familiarity of his touch, the warmth of his embrace, it all felt so right, as if you were finally where you were meant to be.
but you knew that as soon as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, that the cracks in your situationship would begin to show. and part of you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, you were fated to live this exact bittersweet cycle with simon until the end of time.
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my eyes were sweating a little when i was writing this ngl
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success life story ♡
heyy i'm here to share about my success story, the beginning is only before i started manifesting and about when i just started, all my success are on the very end of the blog, so feel free to skip directly at it if you're not interest by all the rambling !
have a good read ☆
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michiko is so pretty, i've literally been told so many times i looked liker <3
the old story that i don’t live in anymore
okay so before i didn’t hate my life, at all, but i just found very dull and so poor of entertaining like it was just too fucking regular and repetitive.also a bit depressing. i thought of myself of such an unlucky girl before and i was like affirming all the fucking time that i was unlucky and guess what? everything really used to go the way i didn’t want it to go every single damn time and i’d be like i knew it im so unlucky boo-hoo.
same for the money i would just go every single fucking day rambling to my friends how poor i was and how i wanted money so bad and the same story every single fucking for days, weeks, months.
i really wanted a new appartement and my own room cause i used to share same room as my sister and it really was getting on my nerves, i had no privacy and place for myself. the apartment was small, my mum always kept complaining about it and then she would argue about my dad about it but the reason why we couldn’t move out despite trying for several months was cause my dad had whole lotta debts and my mom had a really low paying and hard job she was exhausted and, it was quiet hard to see them being this unhappy and they still tried their hardest to make us happy so i really wanted to get back at them.
about social life i had very few friends and barely went out, i'd say probably one time a month. and i really wanted to get that life of the party, and those big ass friends group and also i was crazy desperate about having black friends cause i am black and literally the only black out here without none of black friends and i felt pretty left out like wtf am i the only black girl with no black friends cause all of them (that's so dumb tho.. ) were friends and gets invited to the most fun hangouts and i was embarrassingly jealous of that and also complained a lot about it…and kept asking tf was wrong with me.
STRONGLY on this one : i wanted a relationship so bad and i kept hating and being sad to those couple on tiktok’s. one time i actually cried cuz i wanted a boys’s love so bad like i was craving it so bad. i was in such despair state before..cringy ahh ☠️
i used to be rlly insecure about my looks too even tho at some moments i felt more confident, i kept comparing myself and waisting dozens of minutes enumerating my "flaws ". i knew about manifestation but not really about law of assumption , for me manifesting was really all about listening to subliminals, method and scripting. we all once knew that phase yeah? i used to manifest from time to time but then would just give up again,since i was not seeing results and so on. so useful wow.and then there’s the others things like mediocre grades, poor family health, just constant tiredness and fatigue feeling,
tw : mention of being depressed,sh,ed, : felt empty like life had absolutely no meaning, suicidal thoughts, tried to end by over-consumption of medication, self-harm and bulimia, constant complaining and NEGATIVE ONLY mindset.
but now, NOW i tell you ever single thing i’ve just listed changed completely like every single damn thing i’ve just listed is no more, it’s out of the date, dead, buried and no longer existing !
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it clicked
then at some point at my life i was just like. yk what? fuck i just wanna change it all. then i really like really  got into it all over again and for good. no more 1 week i try then giving up cause i ain’t seeing no « results ».
i watched hours and hours of ppl talking about loa (i’m not saying you should do this at all it’s just that i was very under-informed and wanted to know everything about loa)on youtube, shoutout to rita kaminski and hyler who really put me into it and informed me. then i started reading neville’s pdf books, and tumblr blogs, kinda overconsuming but i liked getting myself informed.
and then that’s where everything started and that i got aware of all the power i actually hold. all the things i actually can do just cause of my mind. i wrote down all my wishes in present tense ,like every single aspect i wanted to change/have in my life. and i started fully living in the end like really got myself into and at first of course, wavering from time to time in the beginning. it was pretty easy for me since i was used to manifestation.but what i didn’t do before is persist no matter what and that’s what was really tricky for me in the beginning to persist no matter what and not just give up to bullshit 3D. but when i kept moving forward no matter the 3D and made it facts the only my 4D matters and everything has already happened, ALL and every single wish down to the last one flowed into my life. ONE by ONE every single hour of the day i would get my manifestations down to the last letter i wrote in my notes.every single thing
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success storyy
in a matter of few weeks like really 3 week-ish like- 1 month max.
starting off LUCK i’m extremely lucky now every single time i play gambling activities i win. i’ve won insane amounts at scratch cards i think i’ve won in total more than 5’000$. JUST FROM SCRATCH CARDS.and before i started i NEVER EVER WON. now whenever i play there’s not one time that i’ll win absolutely nothing even just a small prize
won huge lottery prize (from 200 to 12k the biggest i’ve won yet)
winning a gambling games, either online or dice rolling luck,bets, bingos etc.. its literally insane every one keep telling that i literally has got god’s blessing (i’m the god guys🥰)
financially freedom, my parents upgraded jobs and i’ve got lots of incomes + the money my parents give me 
all the debts my dad had, he got rid of ALL of them and when i tell you mf had a lot of em☠️
move out in a new huge ass condo which is a duplex (like really like i wrote it it’s actually scary how powerful we are..) I’VE FINALLY GOT MY OWN ROOM and we’re getting my desired furnitures and decorating the house i’m so grateful
friends and popularity i think biggest shock for me is really this. like my social life has gone from very paisible to completely fully booked and passioning life. like seriously i’ve been to more parties, concerts, birthdays, and hangouts during the last 2 weeks holidays than in my entire life
got lot of new friends, healthy relationships and quality time passed on lots of fun activities and sm memories
black groups friend. WITH AN S.so thankful to myself to be this good a manifestation i litteraly got into a black friend group of girls and i’ve never felt more at my place and understood this much. and these girls know the black group boys (when i tell you that 2y ago they were the person that i wanted to be close with so bad..also they’re really hot and funny lol)so we hung out with them and i was literally so highlighted and became pretty much friends with all of them !! 
my man. HELLO I LITERALLY MANIFESTED MY DREAM RELATIONSHIP? when i met him i didn’t actually realize right on the spot that he was exactly how i wanted him to be and reading back to when i scripted out all the things i wanted at the beginning, everything matched. he’s literally physically and mentally the man of my dream LIKE REALLY. we’re no bf and gf YET cause it’s just a little soon but we see each others super often and we have the best relationship ever i swear it’s giving wattpad. the flirting is crazyyy.
dream bod.from head to toe my desired body. heavy on the lower body all for that azz and wide hips.ive got smooth and clear skin and smell good all the time!! litteraly flawless face + got my braces which suits so much and dimples
plenty of vacations (went to ibiza, usa and dubai )
lenient parents they use to be so strict before i swear its crazy they let me go so easily now, i can hangout without asking 3 days ,like they accept even if i've gotta go in the next hour or if wanna go on trip that's in another country. i can come back home so much later too
attractive & magnetic aura + being really charismatic (everyone i met keep telling me i’ve got this thing that really makes them want me, get closer to me)
good grades without doing much
perfect self-concept - as i kept living 24/7 in the state of wish fulfilled, my self concept only got better making me really know what i’m worth and never wavering/ going back to the old story
whole ass pc set up
all of my desired skincare/makeups/shoes/clothes
and so much more...
outro
i hope y'all liked my blog and that it motivated some of you to NEVER GIVE UP cause y'all are reallyy some powerful mfs and y'all already got all of yours desires !!
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ honey kisses, shayama
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thatfandomslut · 1 year ago
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Princess
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Regina George x Reader
Word Count: 1.1k
Trigger Warnings: homophobia, physical bullying that results in injury, fluffy ending
Frankly this isn't my favorite fic I've written but I have tried my very best.
Request:
HEYYY omggg can i request ANYTHING with regina pls i dont care what it is:3 thank you!!
Synopsis:
After someone hurts the reader, Regina will make sure everyone knows not to hurt her princess.
Mean Girls (2024) requests are open.
Regina George was the Queen Bee at North Shore High. She was confident, brilliant, and ambitious. Regina could bring the entire school to their knees if she wanted. Only one person rivaled Regina George in popularity, and that was the only person Regina had a soft spot for. (Y/n) (L/n) was proclaimed Regina's princess by none other than Regina herself. On her own, (Y/n) didn't feel special, but Regina ensured she knew she was. While Regina lived for the popularity, (Y/n) could care less, but it was nice not to get bullied by the jock branch of the school's social structure.
While Gretchen Wieners was Regina's right-hand woman, as she deemed herself to be, (Y/n) could always be found on Regina's side. Regina was someone who was motivated by words of affirmation and physical touch. So, while she was touching (Y/n) in some way, whether their knees were touching or her hand was placed delicately on (Y/n)'s thigh, she reveled in the compliments she received from her girlfriend. Nothing boosted Regina's ego more than the love of her life, her princess, flirting with her shamelessly at the lunch table, not caring if Gretchen, Cady, or Karen heard.
However, today (Y/n) wasn't at the lunch table, in her usual spot. She tended to have everything ready for Regina by the time she reached the cafeteria. This ensured a few minutes alone as the other Plastics were forced to wait in line while (Y/n) and Regina talked about whatever they wanted without the listening ears of the other girls. Regina's brows furrowed as she looked around and didn't see the girl still. "Maybe she's still in class," Gretchen offered, earning a glare from Regina who sent a message to (Y/n), wondering where she was. Perhaps Gretchen was right though. As time passed, Regina grew impatient and agitated over (Y/n)'s absence.
After all, Regina knew that (Y/n) was present that day. They had walked to their homeroom class and their shared first period together. Tapping her fingers on the table, she was becoming more restless. "I'm going to go find her," Regina stated, standing up to leave. The girls went to follow her, but Regina stopped them. She wanted to go alone, and she didn't need Gretchen's constant pestering during their search. Quite frankly, she was also slightly annoyed over the fact that (Y/n) hadn't answered her text message.
As she passed one of the stairwells, Regina heard sniffling causing her to take a step back to see if it was who she thought it was. "Princess," her voice echoed the area, and (Y/n) looked up. Regina's previous annoyance was now abandoned as she saw the puffy lip and bruising eye adorning her girlfriend's face. Making her way over, Regina took (Y/n)'s chin into her feeling delicately as she wiped away some of the driving blood under her busted lip. "Who did this?" Her voice sounded leveled and cold. (Y/n) wiped a tear from her good eye, nervous to touch her other one since it was still stinging. Noticing this, Regina brushed a gentle finger to help rid the girl of her tears.
(Y/n) was led to the bathroom as Regina cleaned her face up. Only (Y/n) was allowed to be exposed to how gentle she could be. "You still haven't answered me, princess," Regina whispered, examining her face, and searching to make sure there was nothing she missed. "You felt like they had the right to hurt you? I need to know so I can burn them to the ground." For someone who was threatening (Y/n)'s bully, she only sounded calm and caring towards the girl in front of her. (Y/n) knew deep down that she also wasn't going to keep it from Regina. She just didn't want to be a snitch or make things worse. But maybe things were already worse at this point. After all, Regina had the sweetest tone in her voice but the most dangerous fire (Y/n) had ever seen in her eyes.
(Y/n) swallowed thickly wincing slightly when she licked her lip. She had forgotten how swollen and sore it was. "Marianne Hayes," she told Regina quietly, feeling Regina's fingers intertwine with (Y/n)'s. Regina's brow rose, wanting to hear everything that had happened. "She said I was sinning, being with a girl as she walked by me in the hall. So, I told her to say it to my face. That's when she turned and punched me. She got another punch in before her friend pulled her off. She reminded them that I was your girlfriend. Marianne made sure to point out that I was defenseless without you before she left, too. Which I'm not! The punch just caught me off guard and… I don't know. She always says things like that to me." (Y/n) expressed, sighing softly as the bell rang. They were supposed to be going to class, but neither of them moved.
(Y/n)'s words were also a revelation to Regina. Nodding slowly, she listened intently. "What do you mean she always says things like that to you? Why didn't you tell me she was talking shit to you?" Regina questioned. The quirk in her brow never left her face as she stared at her girlfriend with care and worry.
"I guess I never felt like it was important to bring up." (Y/n) muttered, looking away. A clear indication she was lying. There was more, and Regina squeezed her hands comfortingly. (Y/n) could be honest with her. She'd always listen to anything and everything that she had to say. "Okay, I suppose I felt like… If I didn't handle this, she'd be right, That I was just your little dog who couldn't defend myself. I wanted to prove that, yes, I'm your girlfriend, and yes, I'm proud, but… I can also defend myself. When I finally had the opportunity, she punched me."
Regina kissed her forehead in understanding. "You are not my dog. You are so much more than whatever the fuck Marianne, of all people, thinks of you. I will make sure she burns to the ground. You are my girlfriend, princess, and I know that you think you need to do things on your own, but I'm here for you." Regina cupped (Y/n)'s cheek gently. For anyone else in the school, seeing Regina this caring and soft was strange. But for (Y/n), this was her girlfriend. She was always this soft with her. "Now, come on. We're going to my house and we are going to watch a dumb romcom." (Y/n) smiled at this, allowing Regina to lead her out of the school, thankful to spend the rest of the day cuddled up to the blonde with She's All That playing on her wide-screen TV.
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bunni-v1 · 1 month ago
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Stargazing
🍓It's not technically his birthday in Japan or in the States, but I'm super busy for his (assumed) birthday. So I'm posting this now as a little early birthday gift. I do hope you all enjoy. It's been a while since I've written him, so please be nice. I'm rusty. I have Wrio headcannons coming up after this, and then I'm planning on doing wrio/ifa and some Hugo stuff. Please be patient, I am busy.
TW: Allusions to Aventurines past (nothing graphic mentioned); Nsfw; Angst; editing errors(?)
Info: Aventurine x Reader; Angst to fluff to smut; Aventurine is referred to as both Aventurine and Kakavasha
MDNI
It’s quiet when Aventurine steps through the front door, the lights are off, the air is still, and you are nowhere in sight—likely cozied up in bed, fast asleep in one of his old shirts. When he steps into the bedroom, you’ll get up and greet him with a groggy little hello, and it’ll be a fight to get into his pajamas before you try pulling him into your arms to sleep for the night. It’s the routine he loves, peaceful and reliable, unlike how the rest of his day has been.
His birthday was hell for Aventurine. The whole day was just a constant reminder that he was still alive. All the wishes and thoughtless gifts were just obnoxious reminders for him, things he could honestly go without. If he had the power, he would erase the date from the calendars, or at least spend the whole of it sleeping, so he didn’t have to see those bright smiles and hear those fake niceties.
It was too much of a reminder for him of what he’d lost, and that his cursed luck had forced him to live on with that agonizing pain, and would continue to do so until the end of time. He wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow found the answer to immortality and was forced to endure life until the very universe ripped apart at the seams. Still alive, still breathing, still watching everyone he could ever care for fade away and slip from his fingertips.
He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, shrugging his coat off and hanging it up alongside his hat. He knew he shouldn’t get so caught up in his negativity; it only perpetuated the pain cycle, but the ache in his chest was very demanding on days like these. Every sliver of kindness his colleagues showed him felt like a brutal gut punch, a reminder of the gentleness his sister had once shown him. A gentleness he was never afforded by anyone other than you.
The last birthday he recalled enjoying was eons ago. When he was still young and unaware of the things happening around him – untainted by the people who meant him and his planet harm. He and his sister never had money, nor did they have the resources for meals or gifts or anything lavish like that. They only had each other, and back then that was enough; He still thought it was enough.
She’d taken him out to an empty field – one of the only ones with tall grass on the planet. It was dry and hardly clinging to life, scratching at his skin as they stood in it, but he wasn’t focused on that. No, what they were there for was to look at the stars. One of the bonuses of living on a technologically unadvanced planet like Sigonia was the crystal clear night sky. The stars glittered like diamonds, smiling down upon him and kissing his skin in their gentle shimmer.
She had told him that night that stars were the souls of those long past. She said their parents were up there, watching over them just like their beloved goddess. He didn’t even buy it back then, but it was poetic rhetoric that he couldn’t blame her for. At least it was a somewhat happy end for the suffering of the Avgin people, even if it was a honey-coated lie. When she died only shortly after that night, he found himself revisiting that field and praying that she was right, that she was a twinkling star smiling down upon him. It’s what she deserved, to be able to shine.
He pressed his fingers to the glass window, gazing up at the stars once again. They weren’t nearly as beautiful here, dimmed by the city lights, but still hanging in the sky. If she were up there now, what would she think of him? Would she be proud of her little Kakavasha, or would she be ashamed of the things he’d done? He hopes she could find it in her heart to still love him the same way he still loved her. If she were still alive, he’d treat her to the sweetest chocolate cake he could find, and they’d make up every single birthday they never got to celebrate together.
The quiet creak of the bedroom door pulls him out of his thoughts, a soft smile quirking up the corner of his lips as he hears you shuffling down the hall. It only grows when you peek around the corner, drowning in an oversized shirt and a sleepy expression. You slide yourself over to him wordlessly, and he wraps you up in his arms on instinct. You are so warm and inviting, melting away all his tiresome thoughts with just a little touch.
“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” He asks, carding his fingers through your hair.
He can feel you smile into his chest, “Nope, I could just sense your presence.”
He hums, “Oh? Here I thought I was being sneaky.”
“Can’t hide from me,” You yawn out.
He chuckles at you, finding your sleepiness positively adorable. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, returning his eyes to the sky again. He could never definitively say what his sister might think of his life choices, she was long gone, and nothing he could do or say would bring her back. He knew one thing, though, and that was that she would love you too. Out of all the decisions he’s made in his life, all the bets and risks and challenges he’s faced, you were his greatest victory.
He got you right the first time. Maybe it was his luck that he managed to snag you, and for that, he’d have to thank Gaiathra for the first time in his life. Kind, funny, understanding, and his. There was nothing in the universe he was happier for. Even if his luck ran out tomorrow and he died a brutal death, he could die knowing that he was lucky enough to know what loving you felt like. He smiled up at the stars, warmly, as if his sister really were up there watching him now. 
You look up at him with a similar look in your eyes, watching him with such reverence that it would make an Aeon jealous. Tentative fingers brush against his jaw, returning his focus to you. You don’t ask him what he was thinking about, you know that’s between him and his mind, he’ll tell you when he’s ready to. So, instead, you lean up to give him a loving kiss.
“I know you don’t celebrate your birthday, but… I made us a cake. I figured it would be a nice treat after work,” You hum out softly.
He smiles, “Chocolate?”
“With rich chocolate icing, of course!” 
You tug him excitedly to the kitchen, plopping him down in a chair and dancing around as you grab what you need. A knife, a lighter, some candles, and the cake itself. It’s nothing special, just a single-layer cake with some nice icing job on top, but the thought of it makes his heart melt. You probably spend hours of your day making it for him, and while he wasn’t exactly a fan of typical birthday celebrations, he didn’t mind it for you.
You place the candles and light all of them with a wide smile across your cheeks, singing him a little song, and cheering when he ‘makes a wish’. Just like any regular family would do. It makes guilt gnaw at his stomach when you start slicing the cake for him, knowing his family never got to experience it. How he was feeling so bad for himself just moments ago when he had you here being so sweet to him.
He didn’t deserve to celebrate, because his family couldn’t do it with him. Because he had done horrible things to stay alive and keep going despite it all. Yet, he shouldn’t feel bad, because he was privileged enough to have someone who wanted to share these moments with him. He wasn’t appreciative enough of the things he already had, and it was unfair to you and your efforts.
He glares at the slice of cake like it had personally offended him, as if he could offload all his annoying, petty thoughts onto the little thing. You let him for as long as it takes you to put the cake back in the fridge and sidle up next to him with your own slice. It was hard to see him so tense like this, some kind of unspeakable conflict in his eyes that you had no means of soothing over for him.
You lay a hand on his, worrying your lip between your teeth when he jumps. His eyes send a shock through your system, panicked and wide, then melt into calm when he takes you in. He seems almost bashful when you smile at him, unsure of himself now that you’ve caught him in his head. There is a guilty look in his eyes, one that you know is somehow related to everything you’ve done here for him. You want to wash his worries away, but there is nothing more you can offer him than kindness when he gets lost in himself.
“Vasha,” You whisper, “I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, and even if I did, I don’t think I could understand it the way you do. Whatever it is, though, just know that I love you. I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
He melts, worry and pain washing away to relief. There is love that simmers to the surface of his eyes, warm and adoring as it always is when he looks at you. He opens his mouth to speak, fingers drawing across your cheekbones reverently, but he thinks better of it and snaps his jaw closed. Instead, he leans forward, slow enough that you can reject him, and presses a long kiss to your lips.
It is full of desperation and need, like he could breathe the appreciation into you through his kiss. You get the message and try to match his desperation with little success. One of his hands falls to your waist to pull you in closer, the other caressing your jaw with all the care he could muster. It’s the most breathtaking kiss he has ever shared with you, and it leaves you dizzy when he pulls away.
He gasps for air when he rests his forehead against yours, searching your face for something. You give him a soft smile, hoping that might help. It only makes him dive in for another kiss, this time sliding his tongue into your mouth. Pulling you closer until you are practically in his lap, fingers curling into your hair like you might pull away and disappear from him forever if he lets you go now.
You wrap your arms around him in reassurance that you won’t, but he is already too lost in you to come down now. It’s impossible to keep up with the way his tongue devours you whole, swirling around yours excitedly. You sigh when his hands fall from your hair and onto your hips, dragging you in long strokes against his hardening crotch. Your own need was hard to ignore as you pressed down into him, just as eager.
He trails his lips down your jaw, giving you freedom to breathe, painting a path down to your pulse point. He holds his lips there for a long moment, feeling your heartbeat beneath them. A little smile quirks up his lips as he kisses the spot again, paying close attention to it as if thanking your heart for beating in your chest. When he pulls away, his eyes lock onto yours, and there is nothing but love for you shimmering there.
No lust, just unadulterated adoration staring you down. It makes your heart skip a beat, lashes fluttering at the intensity of the feeling welling up in your chest. You didn’t think an I love you would warrant such a reaction, but your Kakavasha was a strange man who worked in stranger ways. If he were happy, you wouldn’t complain about it.
As such, you return the look, cupping his face in your hands and massaging your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. He sighs at the affection, melting against you yet again.
“You are the greatest thing to ever happen to me,” He hums, squeezing your hips where the rest against him.
“I could say the same about you.” You return.
He shakes his head, not dismissively, but as if you don’t understand. You don’t understand, not to the extent that he does, how much you mean to him. What you’ve done for him and what he would do for you. He cannot find the words to explain this burning in his chest, so he instead leans forward and kisses a burning path across your throat, cradling your head in his hand when it rolls back.
Wordlessly, he shoves the plates to the other side of the countertop, picking you up and setting you in their place. He lays you out upon it, leaning over you while his hands slide down your body, pooling his shirt around your hips so his fingers could easily dance along the hem of your underwear. It gets you to squirm beneath him, pressing yourself against him enough to have him sigh into your skin.
He would normally take the time to eat you out, maybe finger you for a little while, something to tease you for your desperation. Yet, you hear him already fiddling with his belt, the clinking of metal, and the shifting of clothes getting you to twitch in anticipation. It takes only a few seconds after releasing himself from his confines to have him pressing himself against your clothed pussy.
He slides himself against your slick, stained underwear a few times, the head of his dick catching over your clit a few times and making you shudder. He is gasping desperately after only a few strokes against your heat, fingers curling into your hair. He is rarely so desperate for you, which means that you haven’t upset him at the very least. When he cannot find the words for his feelings, he uses his actions to show his care. This need was just a manifestation of an I love you that he didn’t have the words for.
You hum when he peels your underwear to the side, sliding himself against you another few times. The warmth of his skin against yours had both of you groaning, and that was enough for him to begin pressing his tip into your heat. Your pussy sucked him in readily, clenching around him as if welcoming him home itself. He is already trembling at just that, pulling out immediately after bottoming out. 
It’s like he does not have the time to waste tonight, like he could lose it all if he stopped for even a moment. It leaves you breathless and lightheaded much faster than you normally might be. There is no teasing, no playful banter, just the sound of skin meeting skin and his rough grunts as he makes love to you. The hand in your hair comes down to your hand, interlocking your fingers together next to your head.
With each thrust he gives, his fingers squeeze yours gently between them. A physical tether ties you back to the moment through the barrage of pleasure in your loins. His tongue laps at your throat, showering the exposed skin with all the love it can give. It’s so intensely passionate, the way he is touching you, it already has your legs trembling weakly at his sides.
He is no better with the way his fingers seem to shake between yours, overwhelmed and overtaken by his feelings. It’s all he can do to cling to you like this, sweaty and dazed as his climax grows ever closer. It’s a side he rarely allows you to see, and you wish you were more coherent so you could appreciate the way he looks down at you so reverently and properly.
It becomes alright when he dips you down into a deep kiss, changing his pace to slow and deep thrusts. Each movement of his hips is intent on extending your pleasure just a second longer, not ready to let the feeling end just yet. You could spend the rest of your life like this if you could, and you know he shares the sentiment now. His lips follow his thrusts in swallowing you up with each movement, letting both of you get lost in your adoration for one another. 
You feel his climax coming before you realize yours is about to tumble down upon you, too. He twitches inside you, his fingers between your gripping slightly too hard, his tongue burying itself in your mouth to muffle his moan. It does a poor job; the sound still surrounds both of you, followed by your own when your walls clench suddenly.
The pleasure rolls over you slowly, enveloping each inch of your body and wrapping both of you up in a warm blanket, shielding you from the outside world. It keeps you safe and protected as both of you come down, breathing heated air and gazing at one another. Kakavasha smiles at you, huffing out an affectionate laugh when you flutter your eyelashes at him.
His hand is still holding yours in its grasp, squeezing intermittently to help you come back down to earth. He presses his forehead to yours softly when you squeeze back, freehand brushing your hair from your face as you hum appreciatively at him. He still looks completely unflappable, despite having just given you a creampie that made your head spin. That’s part of what you love so much about him, though.
The silence between you is broken by a quiet question, “Would you like to go stargazing sometime?”
It’s a bit of an odd question, but you don’t bother asking him for the context, “Is that something you like?”
“Mmm, you could say that.”
You smile warmly, “Then, yeah, I’d love to. The stars are always pretty.”
“They are, aren’t they?” He whispers back.
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artificial-transmutations · 10 months ago
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The Last Chance!
My head was throbbing, and lights danced in front of me. Distorted music was blaring and for a moment, I felt like throwing up. When my sight cleared a bit, I could see a slim metal lectern in front of me and grabbed it to stabilize myself. Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly, the nausea subsided enough to look around. I was not alone, far from it. I was bathed in bright lights from above and from the sides, and I had to squint to be able to discern my surroundings. There were three more lecterns, arranged in a half circle, and behind that, three more people who didn't look any better than I felt.
In the middle of the circle, there was a big leather chair that was currently empty. Still, most of the lights - artificial lights, headlights - were directed at the empty chair. To all sides, behind the big island of brightness, I could see grandstands with people in the dark, producing a constant loud chattering noise. The room was huge, but had, apparently, no windows.
Even though I've never been in one, it looked a lot like a TV studio to me. The setup looked like a game show of sorts, which means the empty chair was for the host, and I was at one of the contestant's spots.
Which brought me back to the most pressing question: How the hell did I get here?
Let's see, what do I remember... I am Evan, kindergarten teacher, 32 years old, and...
Right. I wasn't very well right now. My boyfriend broke up with me, it was pretty ugly, and then, I went to a bar. I was pretty drunk, but I think I remember leaving the bar again, in the middle of the night and then...
No, total blackout. Nothing that could explain how I got into a TV studio.
I looked at the other contestants, who seemed to be in various states of confusion as well. At the front of the lecterns, I could read their names:
Right next to me, there was Victoria. She looked like a librarian, or a secretary of some sorts. Pretty unremarkable. She seemed perhaps the least uncomfortable and eyed the rest of us with sharp intelligent eyes, nodding slightly as she caught my gaze.
Then, there was Lucas. He looked like he worked as a security guard, or maybe a bouncer, but not one for an exclusive club. His face was broad and his jaw strong and adorned with a goatee, and he wore a tight t-shirt and loose cargo pants. His posture was intimidating, but his eyes were friendly, if perhaps a bit simple.
At the far end, behind the lectern was Blake. He looked a bit like a teacher or a scientist, to be honest. He was slim and tall, had a brown pony tail and wore pretty unfashionable clothes.
For the sake of completion, my own name read "Evan", as expected. I was a pretty normal guy, wearing jeans and t-shirt. I was quite average looking, neither very good nor very bad, and had a bit of a tummy. In short, a very typical guy.
When I looked up again, there was suddenly a man sitting in the chair, wearing a fancy suit, looking into the cameras with a wide smile. I was sure I had not seen him entering, which seemed strange.
Immediately, the chattering from the audience ceased, and the man, who must have been the host, began to speak. So much for trying to escape the situation before the show started.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, and all creatures! Welcome to this wonderful, bombastic, extraordinary episode of 'The last chance'! I'm your host, the magnificent Mr. Mephistolon."
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There was a moment of applause and cheering from the dark grandstands, before the man continued. What an odd introduction! Being inclusive is good and all, but 'all creatures'?
"And today, we have our best contestants ever. Give me a cheer for Blake, Lucas, Victoria and Evan!"
Again, there was some applause, which was nice, but I was still confused. What kind of game show was this?
"The rules are simple! Here at 'The last chance', everything is possible. In three exciting elimination rounds, our contestants will fight for the grand mystery prize. You, the audience will vote after each round who you like the least, and the one with the most votes has to leave, never to be seen again."
I decided I didn't like the humor of the host very much, but the explanation continued.
"Whoever survives the third round is the winner of tonight's show! They will receive the grand mystery prize"
He held up a sealed red envelope.
"And, of course, gets to go home."
It would probably have been funnier if I remembered how I got here. The charming host made it sound like we were kidnapped, but that was hardly possible, not on live TV. So, it was probably just a joke.
"But! How can you sway the audience to not vote you out, you ask? What is the game, you want to know? It's easy! In each round, each and every one of you gets a spin on our wheel of fortune. In addition, you will be dealt three cards. In every round, you must use whatever the wheel shows and one of your cards to *change* yourself and one other contestant of your choice. It doesn't matter who you choose for what, as long as one change applies to yourself and one to another one. And remember: All changes are always permanent!"
The host chuckled as if his last statement was especially funny. I didn't quite understand what 'changes' he meant, but the rest was pretty clear.
As soon as the host finished explaining, a gorgeous woman with a long flowing dress and a big deck of cards approached us. Her eyes sparkled, and her skin was smooth, and the long dress made it look like she had a tail under it. She gave every one of us contestants three cards. Mine read "Masculine", with a big blue mars symbol on it, "Submissive", depicting a figure looking down at their feet, and "Chubby", a pink pudgy figure.
After we had a moment to look at our cards, the host spoke up again.
"And without further ado, let's get started! This round begins with..."
The drum rolls in the background sounded very stereotypical.
"Victoria! Ladies first!"
With a fanfare, a big wheel of fortune was unveiled, and set into motion with one swift motion from Mr. Mephistolon. I couldn't make out what the labels on the wheel said until it slowed down and landed on the symbol of a large eggplant. It read "hung".
It had to be one of these late-night game shows with a sexual edge to it. I didn't feel very comfortable.
"Alright, Victoria! The wheel shows 'hung'. You need to choose one of your cards, and then apply both changes, one to you, and one to another contestant!"
The woman studied her cards carefully before choosing one. She held it up and smiled.
"Okay. I pick this card here for myself. It says: 'Big-Chested'. And I'll apply 'hung' to..."
She looked around her three male contestants before finally settling on me. "Evan!"
"Alright, a good choice, Victoria! Remember, the changes will apply after everyone has chosen. Let's continue with Lucas!"
The wheel spun and landed on the picture of a pink, hairless arm, which said "Smooth".
Lucas had looked into his cards up until here and scratched his head.
"Okay, so we're supposed to be nice to each other, right? Okay, so, I... Can I give both to the other guys?"
"I'm sorry Lucas, but the rules are that you have to change yourself as well!" The host smiled with endless professional patience.
"Oh, okay." The guy really wasn't all too bright.
"Then... I take 'smooth' for myself and give Victoria my 'Slim'. That works, right?"
"Yes, Lucas, that's possible! Great job!" The host cheered before looking at Blake and spinning the wheel. It finally settled on "Nerdy", adorned with a pair of glasses.
Blake's eyes darted between his cards and the rest of us. Finally, he decided.
"Okay, I don't think we're supposed to be nice to each other, here. At least, I only have rather negative cards. Since I have to play one on myself, I choose 'Dominant'". He held up a card showing a figure with held up high head and a broad stance.
"And the 'nerdy' from the wheel goes to... Lucas."
The audience murmured and the host nodded approvingly.
"It seems like you have understood pretty quickly! Alright! Let's get to our last one for this round. Evan!"
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He set the wheel in motion, and I watched until it stopped at the picture of a broad chest, reading 'muscular'. I looked down on my cards. So, even if I didn't understand the whole 'change' part, it was obvious I should give positive things to myself and negative things to other people. The wheel showed 'muscular', which was obviously positive, and 'masculine' in my hand was positive as well. So, I needed to choose between 'submissive' and 'chubby'. The thought of the big bouncer having the 'submissive' card was pretty hilarious, so I decided on that.
"I'll take 'muscular' for myself and give my 'submissive' to Lucas." I announce.
"Great choices, all around. Alright. So, we get to the changes! Victoria, you got 'Big-Chested' from yourself, and 'slim' from Lucas. Let's see how you look like!"
Whatever I expected, it was not that. Before my very eyes, Victoria's modest breasts swelled until her blouse was bursting. Her body lost any excess fat, and her hips became narrower as well, forming a perfect hourglass shape. If I had been straight, I would have surely started to drool.
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"Very nice! Now, let's see the guys. Lucas! You have your own 'smooth', and Blake's 'nerdy' as well as Evan's 'submissive'. Quite a lot, if you ask me!"
As expected, Lucas lost all body hair, except his head and face. Then, his eyebrows thinned out and his nose grew a bit more pronounced. I thought I heard the word 'sissy' being called from the audience. A thick pair of glasses snapped into existence, and his clothing shifted to an awkward, nerdy look. And something seemed to happen behind his eyes. Where before, he looked the host in the eye, he suddenly looked at his shoes.
"I'm sorry, master." He muttered.
"What was that, Lucas?" The host asked, smiling.
"I'm sorry, Master. I don't deserve to look into your eyes." Laughter from the audience.
Lucas was still pretty broad, but his new posture and clothing veiled that pretty well. He looked pathetic all in all.
"Alright, Lucas. Let's switch to Blake. Here, we have your own 'Dominant' and... That’s it! Your antagonists decided to go easy on you, as it seems."
The shift in Blake's demeanor was subtle. His body stayed the same, but his posture changed, as he spread his legs a bit wider and raised his shoulders. His facial expression shifted, and I was sure to see traces of cruelty or arrogance in it, now.
"Aaand, finally. Evan. 'Muscular' from yourself and 'hung' from Victoria. Seems like the other contestants like you, Evan!"
Victoria, the new, busty, Victoria leaned over and smiled as she whispered: "You're welcome."
Suddenly, my body felt tingly and weird all over. I watched in a mix of amazement and horror, as my muscles grew all over the place, quickly filling out my clothes that shifted subtly to make way for the new bulges.
The crowd cheered, and I looked at them for a moment. Then, I was distracted by a feeling in my groin. It took all my self-control not to check with my hands, but I could clearly see the bulge of my cock grow in my pants. I wasn't getting hard - although the feeling was pretty erotic - but my dick was just quickly gaining size, until the bulge was clearly visible through my pants now. I could even see the soft rod hanging down one leg and make out the shape of my balls. With my head red, I stepped closer to the lectern.
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"That's all changes for round 1!" The host announced. "And it's time to say goodbye to one of our contestants now. Please, cast your vote."
While the audience voted, I looked around. Busty Victoria was probably pretty safe, as was I - I didn't have a mirror, but I must have looked pretty good. If the audience voted by looks - which I suspected - then it would either hit Blake or Lucas. Since Blake had changed the least, he was probably the most boring one, so I suspected he would be voted out.
It was Lucas, by a small margin.
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"Well, then, Lucas! Here goes your 'Last Chance'!" The host smiled, a smile I would describe as cruel, and all of a sudden, a flame shot up where Lucas had been standing just a few moments ago. When the flame was gone, so was Lucas. Wow. That was either a pretty cool special effect or... No, it was a special effect.
As the host turned to Victoria again, I got the feeling this game show was more serious than I thought.
The wheel stopped at the word 'needy'. Victoria looked into her cards and whispered to me: "Let's work together this round."
Since the spot next to her was empty, I was the only one she could whisper to, even though I must have been the bigger threat in her eyes. Her plan was to concentrate on Blake this round and then eliminate me in the next.
"I give 'Needy' to Blake, and I'll take..." She flashed a smile to the audience. "'Big Behind'" The card showed the rather unsubtle outline of a large ass. Victoria was *dangerous*. She had adapted lightning fast and knew how to manipulate the audience.
Blake looked at her with contempt, possibly due to his new dominant demeanor, until the wheel stopped in front of him. It showed a naked male chest, heavily adorned with tattoos.
"Oookay. I take 'Tattooed' from the wheel for myself, and I play this card on Evan."
My heart sunk as he produced a card showing a naked figure that read 'Exhibitionistic'. Crap. The smile in Blake's face was cold. He, too, was dangerous. And from his announcement in the first round, I knew he had more negative cards in his hand.
"So, Evan, take your pick."
I hadn't even realized that the wheel had already stopped, and I looked at it quickly. It showed a pelt of hair on a breast and read 'hairy'. I quickly looked down on my cards. I had 'masculine' and 'chubby'. It was probably a good idea to keep chubby for the last round, so I had to play 'masculine'. The apparent solution was to play it on myself and give 'hairy' to Blake, if I wanted to do what Victoria suggested. However, hairy probably wouldn't hurt Blake much, and neither would 'masculine'. I could sacrifice my 'chubby', but then I'd probably lose the next round for sure. I pondered. No, Victoria was more dangerous. I could play 'hairy' on her... But wait! She was slim and busty, and she was about to give herself a big ass. Combined with hairy, that would be strange, but what if I took out her feminine advantage?
"I take 'hairy' for myself." I began. It didn't make much difference if I was hairy or not. "And I play 'masculine' on Victoria."
The audience went crazy as Victoria's transformation began. Her ass ballooned out, making her even more beautiful by heterosexual standards for a second. But that changed when her body shifted and crossed the gender boundary quickly. A bulge formed both in her throat and in her groin, and her clothes shifted to a masculine style. However, just as I had planned, she still had the other traits. Her - no, his - chest formed decidedly male but rather big man-tits, and his ass was fat. The rest of him, however, including the arms and legs, were thin and slim, looking decidedly grotesque on his male frame.
"I guess we should call you 'Victor' now" smiled the host before the attention shifted towards Blake.
"Let's see how Blake looks after his new changes: 'Tattooed' and 'Needy'".
Blake's skin quickly filled with ink, giving the man an even more dangerous aura. For a moment, I was afraid that Blake would get a stronger position due to his changes, but then, a loud moan came out of his mouth.
"Please! I need someone to..." he was confused as hell, I could see that, as his dominant and his needy side came to a weird compromise.
"... to order to fuck my hole. Please!"
The audience erupted in laughter, and even the host had to smile. It was pitiful.
"And now for Evan."
Crap, what were my changes again? I had completely forgotten that I was being changed as well.
"Let's give you... 'hairy' and 'exhibitionistic'!"
Fuck, and it was all negative. I looked down on my muscular body and I could see body hair growing in, all over my exposed arms and legs, even some in my face. However, the worst was yet to come.
My mind was filled with an overwhelming need. I *had* to show off my body. I *had* to put it on display for everyone to see. Accompanied by the laughter of the audience, I pulled off my shirt and exposed my furry, muscular chest for everyone to see. It felt good, but I wasn't finished. Next, the shoes, socks and pants came off. My underwear was filled to the brim with my large cock, and a thick bush of hair erupted from it as well. And my underwear got even tighter as I felt the rush of satisfaction it gave me to expose myself like that. I could stop now, I probably had enough self-control. However, I hesitated. It was all about the audience vote, right? Perhaps I had better chances if I played the role, to the end. So, I hooked both my thumbs into my strained boxer shorts and, with a quick motion, pulled them off, freeing the absolute python of my semi-hard cock. I even took a few steps back from my lectern, so everyone could see me in all of my hairy, muscular glory.
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The audience went wild. With some satisfaction, I noticed that almost no one voted me out. Instead, most of the votes fell on Blake.
"So long, Blake!" said the host, and Blake, too, disappeared in a sudden flame.
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"Seems like it's just Victor and Evan left. Let's see who survives this round and takes the grand mystery prize home! Let me spin the wheel for Victor!"
The wheel slowed down on the sweaty face emoticon. However, it didn't read 'sweaty', but instead 'horny'. Victor smiled and shot me an apologetic look.
"Sorry, big guy, but that's it for you. Let's see how needy you get. I choose 'horny' for Evan and for me... 'Charming'". The new man produced his last card, which showed a handsome prince. Crap. That was a good combination.
I looked down at my 'chubby' card, and only as the wheel stopped, I realized my mistake. I had kept the strongest negative card until the end, but I didn't anticipate that the wheel might *also* show something negative. I stared at the head-scratching figure on the wheel and the word below that. 'Dumb'. Shit.
What were my options? I could give myself chubby and Victor dumb. Perhaps, hopefully, chubby wouldn't look too bad on my muscled body, but it hardly mattered if Victor was dumb or not. Charme worked regardless of intelligence.
Then again, I could give Victor 'chubby', which would probably work well in making him even less attractive and grotesque. But that would mean I'd have to take 'dumb'. And all changes were permanent, the host had said so.
I thought back to the flame effect that had consumed Blake and Lucas. No, I had to win this, no matter the cost.
I forced a smile for the audience. "Perfect!" I exclaimed. "I'm big all over already, and hairy and naked. So, I'll gladly take the 'dumb' - make me a real himbo!"
I didn't want to be 'a real himbo', for sure, but it might still be better than the alternative. And it would fit into the 'horny' I was about to get.
"And Victor gets my last card: 'Chubby'!"
His eyes went wide, as he suddenly wasn't so sure of his victory anymore. And really, he immediately began to change. His thin body got softer and rounder, especially his stomach and butt. Even his man-tits grew even larger. However, at the same time, his face grew a well-groomed beard, and his eyes got a sparkle to it. Even though his form was bloated, he still looked nice enough. Fuck.
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Then, all eyes went to me. I closed my eyes as Mr. Mephistolon announced my changes. 'Dumb' and 'Horny'. No bodily changes, thankfully. My body was still glorious and on full display. The first effect I felt was in my groin again. I grew hot and flustered, and my previously semi-hard cock quickly expanded into its full length, hard and throbbing, pointing directly ahead. That wasn't bad, I had to admit. As I was leaking precum on the floor, I enjoyed the attention of my body on display like that, and there was certainly a lot to see. But the next change hit my mind. My thoughts felt sluggish and slow. It was as if the gears in my head were covered in syrup or mud. Or that other thing, what was it... Cum, right. I had to grin dumbly. Yeah, my thoughts were slow as if they went through cum. That thought amused me and distracted me for longer than I would have been comfortable to admit before. But now, I just didn't care. When I opened my eyes again, all higher intellect was gone, and I was just happy for all the attention and was feeling horny. Well, I was always feeling horny, right? Automatically, my large right hand gripped my fuckstick and I started to slowly stroke it, while smearing precum into the pelt on my chest with the left one. The audience cheered.
"Alright, here are the final votes!", the host announced, ripping my attention momentarily from my own body.
"It seems like, with a *very* narrow margin, Victor has lost this round."
I looked at him quizzically. Was that good?
"That means Evan wins tonight's show!"
The audience went wild and clapped, and I felt happy. Apparently, I had done something right!
"Congratulations, Evan! Now, let's see what tonight's grand mystery prize is."
With a big gesture, the host opened the envelope and read out the contents.
"The winner - that's you, Evan - gets to transform the host freely, to his liking. Now that's something we haven't seen in this show for a long time!"
Even though that meant I was allowed to change him to my whim, Mr. Mephistolon didn't seem unhappy. Instead, he licked his lips.
"Go on then, Evan! What do you want to change about me?"
"Uhhh..."
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I thought hard about it.
"Make you... Make you big. Big and... strong. But not as strong as me. More like lean, but sturdy. I still want to be the one to fuck you. And... uh, make you... Make you have big dick and big balls."
I was a bit confused about the last two points. My mind had trouble thinking, but I also had a big dick and big balls, and those were good, right? So, I wanted them for him, too.
"Alright, let's see what Evan gets."
I watched curiously as Mr. Mephistolon slowly began to change.
He gained muscles, but nothing like I had. He stayed rather thin, but his arms, chest and abs looked very nice. His feet grew, and lean muscle set in, making him able to withstand a lot of force when I would pound his hole, later. I could hardly wait and was stroking my cock again.
As expected, his cock and balls swelled, and grew hairy. He was not as hung as me, but that was probably good. After all, he wouldn't really need his cock, his ass was the important part.
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After his transformation was finished, I saw him look at his new body and his cock, and then into the crowd, before his eyes landed on me.
"Well then, that's all for tonight, folks! I guess I'm going home with Evan now!"
And with the last round of applause, our surroundings shifted until I was in my apartment again. Still the same bull of a man, with my target right in front of me. I licked my lips as I approached the host. I would fuck him silly, that's for sure.
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vamprincessrina · 4 months ago
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𝕳𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖔 𝕱𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝕾𝖍𝖎𝖋𝖙 (𝕺𝖗 𝕳𝖔𝖜 𝕴 𝕯𝖎𝖉)
I've always struggled with the concept of reality shifting. I had no problem when it came to manifesting in the “confines” of my current reality, but for some reason I could not, for the life of me, apply everything I knew when it came to making that bigger shift. I took breaks, I tried to “change” myself: I tried what felt like everything. And that was the issue. 
I feel like there's a big emphasis in the community on not over-consuming or over-complicating shifting, but that often left my mind wondering why? I was supposed to “know” how to do it, “it's natural”, but my ego had disagreements. I think in the shifting community and, in a broader sense the manifestation community, has this constant reiteration of not questioning yourself, and just “letting it happen”. And of course I don't think that's bad advice necessarily. But, for me (and I'm sure others), that was something that never sat well until I learned better. It was creating so much resistance for me that ended up holding me back for longer than necessary. 
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Do not ignore that whisper of doubt inside of you. No, your doubts do not matter. But, that should not be conflated with ignoring them. You will doubt yourself. Your ego exists simultaneously with your highest self. Something that I did for a long time was thinking that I had to completely eliminate that in order to shift. Not only was I creating more doubts and confusion within myself, but I was imprinting in my subconscious that I had to become something in order to shift. 
You can literally be the biggest skeptic on planet earth and if you still persist despite that fact, you can still shift and manifest. Imagine using that energy? 
In the LOA community, it's often encouraged to “live in the end”. You're supposed to feel the feelings of having your desire, right? So, that would mean (or at least it did for me when it came to shifting) that I would have to be happy all the time, right? This can be incredibly misleading, I think, and it's funny how I let it be a factor in my own life when it came to shifting despite being a practiced manifestor. Thinking that you have to be happy all the time can be a very toxic mindset to have with yourself. First off, it can lead to a limerence relationship with shifting; conditioning yourself to believe that in order to be happy it requires being in that reality. Especially if, like me, you have a history with depression. I was basically telling myself that “I wasn't good enough to live in this reality unless I felt like ___.". It can also create a negative relationship with other emotions. No emotion is "good" or "bad". All parts of the ego exist to protect you. I have a post on this that I'd really encourage you to read if you struggle with this.
Another issue that came from my approach was, for the longest time, I was focusing on one reality that I wanted to shift to and told myself through constant affirmations and meditation that I was already there, "I've already shifted", etc. And while, YES, I knew that was true in the 4D, I was not able to shift for the entire year I persisted until I finally gave up. Do you know why it didn't work for me?
Because I wasn't able to fully convince myself that was true. And because of that, I wondered what was wrong with me. Surely, the method was fullproof, right? I told myself that it was because of my maladaptive daydreaming that I couldn't, I told myself it was because I wasn't in a good mental state that I couldn't. I started to unintentionally condition myself to think that anytime that I wasn't living in the end, I wasn't going to shift. I forgot the key part of it: letting go. But I couldn't. I had become so insistent on shifting realities and so stubborn in persisting in the way that I was doing it that it was detrimental to me. I didn't realize that I was boxing myself in: that I was telling myself, subconsciously, that I have to think like "THIS" to shift. I was also only limiting myself to the one reality that I was trying to shift to. I was limiting myself. 
It was ridiculous, really, that it felt so easy to manifest everything else, but not this one thing. It was no wonder I was never shifting. It was no wonder I was constantly crashing and relapsing on self-destructive habits after having a good stint. I was ignoring my ego. I was telling myself, and living, a constant lie. I was so incredibly hard on myself and was teaching myself to believe that I wasn't good enough because I “couldn't” shift which was a problem for multiple reasons.
It was only when I reached the bottom again that I decided to stop being so hard on myself. I stopped telling myself that I had to do x,y,z. I stopped telling myself that the 3D doesn't matter. I love everyone, but I do take a big problem with telling people to ignore the 3D without expanding upon it. Yes. I could probably find a handful of my own posts where I said the same thing. Let me be clear: no, the 3D does not matter. Because it does not define you. However, do not fucking ignore it. Do not neglect yourself. Stop treating the 3D like it's your mortal enemy. 
The 3D is your FRIEND. She is showing you the OLD PROGRAM. Now I want to pause to bring up another issue I had. And that is, putting all the weight on your own shoulders. “Oh, it must be my fault if the 3D isn't shifting”, “I'm not doing it right”, “This isn't working”. Stop, stop, stop. 
Something that often led me astray was conflating “the 3D shows your past beliefs” with “time does not exist”. I used to be so confused by that. Okay, if time doesn't exist and everything is just a “state of being”, and if the “3D is showing my past beliefs”, how does that work? It didn't seem to matter for me when manifesting. I could tell myself that things were going on in the background and I could trust the process. But, when it came to shifting, I kept wondering when the 3D would reflect. It was harder to trust the process because it wasn't like there would be a gradual change like with manifesting. I was expecting to just wake up in the reality I was manifesting and it started to grow increasingly frustrating when I didn't and I continued to tell myself that I was in fact there. 
Once again, I didn't realize I was boxing myself in. I had an EXPECTATION of what the manifestation was going to look like, while manifesting an open ended result to shifting. I kept manifesting that I was in ___ reality, but my ego was like no you fucking aren't? Basically, I was manifesting reality shifting in a way that didn't make sense for me. And by doing that, I was creating resistance.
And while, yes, manifesting that you have something in the 4D works. It IS how you can manifest with LOA. You DO have it in the 4D. It wasn't working for me when I was expecting a stark visual difference. What I'm trying to say is that, my approach to reality shifting using LOA wasn't working for me in the way that I was doing it.
So I took a step back. I got out my journal and I started thinking back on all that I knew. This is what I want to emphasize and what I think isn't said well enough by many. When we say each shifting journey is personal. WE MEAN IT. It took me way too fucking long of being stubborn with Neville Goddard's teachings and what my OWN idea of manifestation was and applying that to reality shifting before I reanalyzed.
If you are a skeptic, NOTE THAT. If you are depressed, NOTE THAT TOO. If you are telling yourself that you're in a different reality than you currently are and you're a naturally skeptic person (this is a self call out), then NO WONDER IT'S NOT WORKING. I was so stubborn in doing it one way until I had to break it down to basics and say, "Oh yeah there's more than one way to manifest so there's a lot more than one way to shift too." No kidding, right? But sometimes it's easy to forget these basics, even when you have experience.
The whole idea of over-complicating shifting (and manifestation) comes more from how much resistance you're creating for yourself and less what you do. I thought that if I tried to do "shifting attempts" then I would be over-complicating it. When in reality, I was over-complicating shifting by trying to constantly affirm something that I don't think I'd ever believe.
So, what did I do? First off, I decided that from now on I would stop telling myself I was in one reality and just "wait" for it to change. I'm sure that works for some people but it sure as hell wasn't working for me. I decided, instead, that I would meditate for a couple minutes before bed and just think about my desired reality. I would only give myself a little bit of time. By doing this, I would be affirming that it should NOT take more time than that to shift. And that, in that time, whatever I did should be enough. If when I stopped and opened my eyes I was still in my old reality, fine! All that means is that there's still more reprogramming to do. Doesn't mean that I'm doing anything wrong.
I would remind myself this at the time of the attempt and throughout the day. No matter how I felt, I would tell myself that, with enough persistence, the time would come where I WOULD shift just like that. I could also just roll over and shift in my sleep. By designating specific times to shift, I stopped letting it rule my life and beating myself up over it.
I would affirm "I believe I CAN shift", "failure does not faze me". Things like that. I also wanted to keep the "attempts" short, because I didn't want to come out of it with anxiety over not shifting. Was I allowed to be upset? YES. I stopped telling myself what I could or couldn't feel. I didn't need a reason to shift to a particular reality. I also no longer only had to focus on one reality by beginning to shift this way. If I wanted to attempt to shift to a FAME DR one night? Sure! If I wanted to attempt to shift to DCU the next? Great!
I stopped defining the "where" I needed to go and more so focused on the "how", if that makes sense. I told myself that this was about believing I can shift, NOT where I can shift. And so I persisted in this. If I decided to take a couple nights off, fine. It still was allowed to happen randomly when I slept. In fact, another thing I started to convince myself was that dreaming was a form of shifting and I sure as hell knew I could dream every night.
Of course, shifting is different than dreaming. But, I always had very vivid dreams. So, I just reminded myself that they're likely controlled by the same part of the brain and that dreaming is just a very loose, uncontrolled, and unintentional shift. And in a way, I do believe that it is. For me, a logician, I knew that I dreamed, lucid dreamed, and even astral projected once before, so it didn't seem unrealistic that shifting was real and was something I could do.
I was reprogramming my mind by doing something hands-on. By doing something measurable and tangible. Which I felt, with something like this, I needed to do. I'm a skeptic person. I have trust issues. If I created a controlled environment for myself to shift, then it could happen. And it did.
I needed trust in order to shift. I needed trust in order to manifest. My way of achieving those two things ended up being different and that's okay. I manifest a little differently than I reality shift. I stopped forcing myself to think that it all had to work the same way because I was limiting myself by doing that. I get depressed. I have trust issues. And that is okay. I still deserve to experience other realities and I don't have to do jack shit. I could have the worst day of my life and I can still meditate 5 minutes before bed and shift just like that. This is the new story I started to imprint on my subconscious.
Failure doesn't matter because I know that in the 4D this method WORKS and the universe is ALWAYS conspiring in my favor. I affirmed this. I reminded myself of this when I got doubts. My doubts were, and are, valid. All I needed to do was continue to have those attempts. Continue to believe that the 3D WILL update. That there is divine timing and have TRUST in that. To trust IS to surrender. I was finally able to surrender when it came to shifting by doing this method. And sure enough, I eventually did shift.
I hope this helps all of those who are frustrated and at their wit's end. Out of anyone else, you deserve it. You deserve it more than anyone just as you are.
 𝕽𝖎𝖓𝖆.
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blueraith · 6 months ago
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It's wild to me just how badly Vi's arc is misunderstood in S2. The claims I've seen that it was bad because she didn't join up with Ekko to help liberate Zaun or didn't "have enough stuff to do."
Big 'ole S1 Vi analysis under the cut because some "hot" takes seem to forget that Vi's S1 arc even exists.
Like, sorry, but that was never the direction her character was going to go. This was spelled out for us in the very first episode of the show when Vander is giving her that lecture.
"When people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish."
"Whatever happens, it's on you."
This is the first conversation in the show that carries an impactful character building statement. We are effectively being given the start of Vi's character arc verbatim.
She is not allowed to be selfish.
And as S1 Act 1 progresses, and Vi expresses a will to fight, to rebel, to revolt, she is constantly and consistently shut down and discouraged from that way of thinking by her father figure. She's fifteen years old or so, Vander is the only authority figure in her life that she respects. Why wouldn’t she internalize any of this as is, let alone after all the tragedy she's forced to endure at the end of this act?
Then we get to tragedy. Vander tells her two very specific things before and after the showdown with Silco.
"Take care of the family."
"Take care of Powder."
You know. Not, "hey, take over my mantle as Hound of the Underground."
Or "lead Zaun to freedom" or whatever the fuck.
He tells her to look after their family. The people closest to Vi.
And I don't know how many of you are older siblings. Or even older sisters. But I question if some of Vi's most heated critics are either neither of those things or lack any knowledge of sibling dynamics, period. When you are handed this tiny baby from a young age and are told "this is your baby sibling, you have to help take care of them, we won't always be here but they'll always have you" by your parents, that shit sticks with you forever. For better or worse.
If you're parentified on top of that through either circumstance or abuse, then that sentiment turns toxic. Vander, as well-meaning as he is in his talks with Vi, inadvertently presents a pretty black and white viewpoint. When paired with Vi's reaction to his (first) death and learning what Powder did, it becomes even worse.
Think about it. Most people seem to focus solely on Vi's anger issues when she strikes Powder for obvious reasons. But there's this selfishness that Vi temporarily succumbs to when she hits Powder as well. She's not thinking of Powder's emotional state or devastation as she realizes what she's done, Vi is mired in her own grief and anger.
She then walks away from Powder to take a moment to herself and presumably recollect her own composure, also a selfish move.
Now, when I call these actions selfish, I'm not assigning any negative connotations to them. Selfishness is not always a bad thing, putting yourself and your own needs first does not make someone a bad person by default. It can be healthy to take some time for self-care.
The "issue" is that Arcane is a tragedy. The narrative punishes Vi for lashing out and temporarily leaving Powder by having Marcus kidnap her and Silco adopt her sister. Not that Vi even knows that much when it happens. For all she knew, Silco murdered Powder.
So, then Vi spends something like seven years in Stillwater in constant limbo wondering if Powder is even alive. The sheer guilt she must have felt at "failing" to protect her baby sister would have likely been agonizing.
Seven.
Years.
Then she gets out. And all Vi cares about is finding her sister. She doesn't care about the Hexgem besides the fact that it's directly related to Jinx, and Caitlyn lied to her by ommission about it.
She's not trying to retake the Lanes in Vander's name. She only cares about bringing Silco's empire down because of what he did to her family. She wants her sister back first and foremost, she does not care to stick with the Firelights and even leaves Ekko and Cailtyn on the bridge initially to go after Jinx.
It's really her burgeoning feelings for Caitlyn that ever cracks this near obsessive compulsion to chase after her sister. Vi was going to choose Jinx until the point Caitlyn was injured and then the both of them were shot at by Jinx.
Even the moment she falls in love with Caitlyn is tied to her guilt about leaving Powder. The story she tells while they're on Caitlyn’s bed, her obvious grief and guilt over her sister. She's mired in this moment of pain until Caitlyn reaches out to comfort her. Like, Jinx and Caitlyn have always been intertwined in Vi's arc after she meets Caitlyn. There is no overarching thread to connect Vi to any of the political plot points in this story.
Vi's arc is character driven. Always has been. She's motivated by her warring desire to protect those she loves with EVERYTHING she has, and this by now guilty pleasure to finally develop something purely for herself.
It's why she pushes Caitlyn away during the infamous Oil and Water breakup. The class differences she's citing are an excuse, an easy thing she can point at to push Caitlyn away. What's really going on is that she failed to get the Council to decisively act against Silco. She's failed Jinx again in her own mind, he's still out there poisoning her mind, and now she needs to take care of him herself. Caitlyn proved to be a distraction from her goal, and so must be removed.
Even after teaming up with Jayce and then going her own way, Vi does not go after more shimmer factories. She's not rallying the Lanes to revolt with Hextech weaponry in (on) hand. She immediately goes to the Last Drop to challenge Sevika, someone she hates specifically because she'd betrayed Vander. She had every intention to confront Silco right after that.
Then we get the tea party, and Vi has to come to terms with the fact that the sister she loved is fundamentally changed in more ways than one. She's given an ultimatum to choose between her self-imposed duty as an older sister and Caitlyn. The only relationship Vi has ever formed purely for herself.
And she can't do it. It's an impossible choice. Jinx ends up triggered intensely, Caitlyn is struck by indecision and doesn't take the shot because of Vi's pleas, and Jinx goes on to fire that rocket.
Like this is just Season. One. Every single important character moment Vi has is tied to either Jinx, Caitlyn, or both. This is not a new thing S2 did with Vi's character. Her arc was always about how much she was giving to other characters without much thought to herself.
I just don't get how some people expected that to radically change in S2. It was never going to happen. I'll probably make an analysis on S2 Vi as well, but this is already getting very long. It's also a good way to remind some folks that each season of this show does not exist in a vacuum. I've read a lot of takes that seem to just... ignore S1. It's pretty bizarre.
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youronlinedadsblog · 7 months ago
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TW:- Stalking,rape
On an ordinary day, as you geared up for the usual work routine, the doorbell's ring jolted you from the everyday humdrum. Intrigued, you opened a package to find a set of unsettling pictures of you. They weren't just any photos - they were snapshots of your own home, from your bedroom to the living room and even the bathroom. It was like someone had been snooping around your life without you knowing. Someone had been stalking you.
Mixed in with these creepy photos was a letter that gave off some seriously creepy vibes. It spoke of someone watching you closely, almost like a silent companion in your personal space. The words painted a picture of a mysterious figure who seemed to know a bit too much about your private moments. He's seen you rubbing your cunt to disgusting rape porn. He knows how much of a pathetic slut you are
A shiver ran down your spine as you read the letter, a mixture of fear and an unexpected thrill coursing through you. A puzzling sensation of arousal washes over you, leaving you perplexed by its unexpected presence.
Your entire workday was a series of fantasies, each moment consumed by vivid thoughts of what he might do to you. After leaving the workplace, you headed homeward, yet a constant fear lingered, worrying that unseen eyes might be keeping watch on your every move.Entering a state of submission, a mix of fear and a hint of arousal washes over you. These scenarios have been the stuff of fantasies, but reality hits unexpectedly. You grasp the situation, realizing there's no recourse but to embrace the unfolding events. You put on the sluttiest outfit you own.Fear gripped you as you stood there, anxiously anticipating the arrival of your stalker.
Your mind is abuzz with conflicting thoughts: fear and panic on the one hand, and excitement and anticipation on the other.
After waiting a long time, the sound of footsteps coming from your back startled you. As the footsteps get louder, your body begins to quiver with anticipation. The door swung open, and before you can react, a man clad in black entered. As you turned around to run, he caught your arms and dragged you onto the floor. You try to scream, but he covers your mouth with his hand, rendering you helpless.
As he unzips his pants and takes out his dick, the only thing on your mind is, "I'm going to be fucked by a stranger. I'm going to be raped."
You were terrified of what might happen. However, at the same time, the idea of being taken advantage of in this manner was exciting. The thought of giving up control and submitting to his will, becoming a helpless slut for him to use as he pleases, made you wet. You were conflicted, yet you didn't care. You didn't have a choice anymore.
His cock slid into your dripping cunt. As he pounded you hard, your body writhed uncontrollably, the pleasure building up as his cock rubbed against your sweet spot. His grunts and moans were a sign of his approaching orgasm. As his cum flooded your womb, you came, too, squirting all over his cock.
Your first time having sex was with a man you don't know. He had violated you and impregnated you without your permission. Yet, it was the most enjoyable fuck of your life.
"You're a great fuck, and you're going to make a wonderful mother. I've always wanted a child."
Those were his parting words, leaving you dumbfounded. You couldn't believe what had just happened, but it was the truth. You'd just had your first fuck and had been impregnated by a man you didn't know.
It had been a strange experience. You'd felt violated, but also, in a strange way, fulfilled. It was like something you'd been missing your whole life had suddenly been filled.
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lionlena · 7 months ago
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Even if you fall apart... (Marcus Acacius x wife!reader)
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I'm back! (For a moment)
Marcus Acacius pulled me out of the hole of the abyss and the lack of desire to write.
Summary: Marcus returns from war and has a PTSD attack. (Yes, I know it's ancient Rome and there was no such term back then, but I'm sure that even in ancient times many soldiers had to deal with the emotional consequences of war)
Warnings: established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, soft!Marcus, mention of miscarriage, mention of blood, and death of a side character
*I've established canon that Marcus loves dogs…
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Even if you fall apart…
You hated it when Marcus wasn't home. You hated the emperor's greed and his wars. You and Marcus had been married for three years, but you didn't see him often because of the constant wars. The first time he had to leave you right after your wedding night and you felt devastated. But when he returned, he proved to you what a caring and loving husband he was. When he left you for the second time, you were pregnant. But when he came back, he had to face your sadness after losing your child and then he proved to you what a supportive and compassionate husband he was. When he left you for the third time, he promised you that it would be the last time, but when he came back, you could easily see the sadness and tiredness in him. And you knew that the emperor would send him to the battlefield again, so you understood that despite how much you hated Marcus' absence, you had to focus on the good times.
You tried that this time too, but you saw that Marcus had returned as someone else. More tired, more sad. Even his warm smile didn't reach his eyes. You knew that he had lost his loyal friend in the battle, and you tried to show him support.
Knowing how much he loves dogs you decided to bring home a new puppy and it seemed to cheer him up as he watched the playful pup run around the floors.
"He's really fast," he remarked one evening as the pup chased a firefly. "I'll need him on the hunt…"
"He's untamed." You muttered and took the glass of wine from Marcus.
"Like my lady."
You snorted in mock outrage and rolled your eyes, earning a quiet chuckle from him that warmed your heart. It seemed like everything was going in the right direction. But suddenly, in his crazy play, the puppy knocked over the table, from which the vase fell. You saw the exact moment Marcus' face changed. He flinched at the sound of the bang and dropped his wine glass, which shocked him even more. His eyes widened and his face contorted in pain. The wine flowing on the floor resembled blood.
"Marcus… Honey?"
"NO!"
His scream shocked you. You had never seen him like this. You caught the puppy in your arms and immediately pushed him into the arms of the maid who was standing nearby.
"Leave us alone!" You growled.
You usually tried to treat your servants with respect, but that wasn't important at that moment. You saw her curious gaze and you were sure that something bad was happening with Marcus and you didn't want anyone else to witness it.
When you were alone, you ran up to Marcus and grabbed him by the arms:
"Should I call a medic and…"
You didn't finish your sentence because Marcus screamed and pushed you away with such force that you fell to the floor. You didn't know what was happening. Your husband would never, ever intentionally do any harm to you. You saw him retreat to the wall, pressing his back against it. You had the impression that he was terrified. Only Marcus was never afraid. He wasn't stupid or reckless, but he wasn't timid either. He was a Roman general who rushed into battle without batting an eyelid. And yet you could clearly see the state he was in.
You slowly got up from the floor and looked at him sadly. It hurt you that he was suffering.
"Marcus… my dearest…"
You saw Marcus put his hand on his chest and try to catch his breath. This time you approached him slowly like a wounded animal.
"Honey, it's me… Y/n… I'll come closer… try to breathe…"
You took a step forward.
"Breathe… I'm here…"
You tried your best to keep your voice steady and calm. Even though you were trembling inside.
"Can I come closer?"
You saw a small change in him. He blinked and took a deep breath, then nodded.
You were so close you could touch him, but you held back, feeling that he had to decide about it.
"Can I help you somehow?"
In response, he extended his hand towards you. You immediately took it. Your small and delicate hand contrasted with his large, strong, and calloused one. You felt him squeeze you tightly.
"Y/n…"
"I'm here, honey. I'm here all the time."
You saw him sigh with relief, and then he slowly slid down the wall to the floor, pulling you with him. You knelt next to him and placed your free hand over his heart. You stayed silent for a few moments. You watched as your husband's breathing returned to normal. Finally, you asked quietly:
"What was that?"
Marcus swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at you with sadness and embarrassment.
"I'm sorry… I don't know… I'm so ashamed…"
You turned towards him and took his face in your hands.
"No, no… Don't blame yourself or apologize. What happened was in no way your fault and it won't make me respect you any less."
Marcus took a shaky breath and covered your small hands with his large ones.
"It was like a nightmare… Like a memory and a dream in one… I… I was there again… I heard the crash of the ships falling apart…" He closed his eyes and whispered: "I felt fear… fear that I would fall apart…"
You looked at him sympathetically, your thumbs rubbing his stubbled cheeks.
"Even if you fall apart, I will pick you up."
Marcus looked at you with love and devotion. He couldn't hold back anymore and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair.
"You are a blessing from the gods."
You stroked his hair tenderly.
"No… You are my blessing…"
And you meant those words. Because you knew that among Roman husbands, domineering, demanding, and strict, yours was an exception.
You hugged him tightly and kissed his temple. You felt Marcus relax and that was the most important thing to you at that moment. Although deep inside you felt your own fear. Fear for Marcus, for another war expedition. And you silently prayed to the gods to surround him with care and not let him fall apart when you were not around.
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Permanentny tag list: @harriedandharassed
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igotanidea · 2 months ago
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Tricks and fools: Dick Grayson x reader
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Aka: the one when your teasing attitude takes control but your boyfriend ups you to it
***
"Good morning... "She was woken up with a soft whisper coming from her boyfriend and soft kiss placed on the back of her shoulder.
"It's April fool's day, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is. Why?"
"Because I'm already bracing myself for whatever may be coming for me?" She rolled to face him
"Whatever may be coming for you? Y/n! Love of my life, you're breaking my heart."
"Mhm. Okay."
"Okay? What do you mean ok??? You're gonna dance to the sound of my heartbeat stopping??"
"dick-"
"You know what, fine...." He sighed dramatically, falling back on the bed, putting a hand to his forehead, acting like a Romeo after finding Juliet dead. And the healing bruises and cuts on his bare chest only added to the effect. "Fine... Leave me to it! I'm gonna give my last breath while-"
"so dramatic..." Y/n half groaned, half laughed getting out of bed. Or - trying to get out of bed.
"`where do you think you're going? Come back here!" Two strong arms wrapped around her middle pulling her back into the sheets in the accompaniment of squeaks and squeals and w groan when she fell so unfortunately that her elbow hit his newest injury.
"shit. Shit, Dick are you ok? Where does it hurt? Where - oh my god, you freaking idiot!"
Bracing herself for possible intricate schemes and scenarios with a vigilante, she fell right into the simplest trap that wasn't even planned by him!
Groaning internally cause she should have known better.
"I hate you!"
"haha, very funny. It's April fool's day, keep trying harder, princess."
"oh, I'm dead serious. I soooo hate you. In fact, maybe he was right and I'm too good for you...."
"wait, what? He? What he? Who's he?? Come on..." Dick felt the tension rising but put a fun front to it. "You're joking, right? Hilarious, y/n/n. But you can stop now. You had your laughs, haha, and now we can forget about it right?"
Y/n just kept looking at him without a single word, and a cold sweat run down his back.
As if he didn't know she was too good for him.
As if he didn't know she was in constant danger and state of loneliness because of him.
As if he didn't know he was being a selfish fool by keeping her with him, instead of-
"you - you're gonna leave me...?"
"absolutely."
Ok, the brutal honesty of this statement was not what he anticipated coming.
"I am absolutely going to leave you right now, cause work is calling, and I can't keep relying on my emotionally unstable boyfriend." The widest grin ever bloomed on her face.
"you're terrible!"
"and I said I'm leaving -"
"doesn't make you any less terrible!"
"but I've makes me less visible!"
"god! Y/n! This was not a joke! This was a freaking heart attack stimulus!"
"so you don't hate me?"
"do you?"
"i don't know--"
He cut her off by pressing lips to hers, getting a groan, roll of the eyes and a gentle push on his shoulders when she pulled back.
"you think you can kiss your way out of everything, don't you?"
"yes. Though the main reason I get out of trouble with you is because I know you love me."
" i dare to ob- mpfh!" Another kiss another halt in the train of thought
"and most importantly, I love you too?"
"April fool's day?" She muttered, connecting their foreheads
"not this time. And the fact you're calling in sick today, is also not a joke." He stated.
"call in sick? The hell you mean?"
"what do you think? We have my entire family to go prank and I can't do it without my partner in crime. And I gotta make some phones, call some shit off before we put my pranks for you in motion..."
It was about to be a long day and more probably than not, someone (or multiple someones) were going to end up hurt.
Higher power save y/n from Wayne family playing tricks on each other.
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