#but we have to live in the world we live in and the time we live in at the same time or else there's no point

[777bae]

FALLING INTO PLACE LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: You’ve always been best friends with Jack, but it’s his quieter, more patient brother Luke who’s been there all along. As you grow older, the bond between you and Luke transforms into something deeper, forcing you to finally see him in a new light.

Warnings :: reader is literally blind, small age gap (reader is the same age as Jack), unrequited love (+ a small amount of heartbreak), angst with eventual fluff, childhood friends(ish) to lovers, kissing, mini arguments, brief description of minor injuries, pining

Word count :: 22.3k

The Hughes family had always been a part of your life.

From the moment you were born, they were there—just next door, just across the lawn, just within reach. Your parents had moved into the neighborhood the same year you and Jack were born, and from the time you were old enough to crawl, your lives had been tangled together like the overgrown vines on the fences separating your yards.

There was never a time when Jack Hughes wasn’t in your world. He was there for every scraped knee, every birthday candle, every summer afternoon spent chasing fireflies. The moment you took your first wobbly steps, Jack had been beside you, already running, already pulling you along with that infectious, boundless energy of his. He wasn’t just your neighbor; he was your person.

It was inevitable, really. Your parents had been close from the start, the kind of friendship that formed effortlessly when two young families found themselves living side by side, both navigating sleepless nights with newborns. Your mothers had bonded over shared exhaustion—late-night feedings, first words, first steps—and before long, you and Jack had become an extension of that bond.

He was the first friend you ever made. And for the longest time, he was the only one that mattered.

Your days had a rhythm, an unspoken routine that started long before either of you were old enough to understand what routine even meant.

Every morning—without fail—there was a knock on your bedroom window. Not a polite tap, not a soft greeting, but a loud, impatient thud thud thud that had your parents groaning in the next room, already knowing exactly who it was.

“Jack, sweetheart, use the front door like a normal person,” your mother had called out once, exasperated.

“But it’s faster this way!” Jack had shot back, as if that explained everything.

And so, every morning, you would shuffle to the window, still half-asleep, and push it open. Jack’s face—grinning, eager, already bursting with energy—would be waiting for you.

“Come on,” he’d say, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We’re racing bikes today.” Or “Quinn says we can use his hockey net!” Or “Mom made waffles. You have to come over.”

It didn’t matter what the plan was. You always went. Because Jack always made everything sound like the most exciting thing in the world.

Some mornings, he barely gave you time to get dressed before dragging you outside. There were days when you stumbled out of your house still in your pajamas, only half-awake, your hair a tangled mess, while Jack was already running down the driveway, laughing over his shoulder, challenging you to catch up.

Other days, he climbed right into your room through the window, ignoring every possible protest, flopping onto your bed as if it was his own, acting like there was nothing unusual about breaking into his best friend’s house before 8 AM.

“Jack, you can’t just—”

“Hurry up, Y/N!” he’d groan dramatically, burying his face in your pillow. “We’re wasting daylight!”

You had long since stopped trying to argue with him.

The Hughes’ house wasn’t just Jack’s home—it was yours, too. It had been for as long as you could remember.

You knew that house like the back of your hand. You knew exactly which steps on the staircase creaked the loudest—the third from the bottom and the second from the top—making it impossible to sneak around undetected. You knew where Ellen kept the extra blankets in the hall closet, the ones you always pulled out when you inevitably fell asleep on their couch after a long day of playing outside. You knew that Jim liked his coffee strong and black, and that Jack—despite his endless energy—could never function properly before noon without something sweet to eat.

Their fridge might as well have been yours. You never thought twice about opening it and grabbing a snack, just as Jack never hesitated to raid your pantry for whatever chips or cookies your mom had bought that week. If the Hughes were ordering pizza, there was always an unspoken assumption that you were staying for dinner.

There were no formalities in their home. No knocking on doors, no need for permission. You walked in and out as freely as if it was your own house.

Ellen treated you like one of her own, scolding you and Jack equally when you got into trouble (which was often). Quinn, the responsible older brother, always made sure you were safe, always keeping an eye on you when Jack got too carried away. And Luke… well, Luke had always been there, too.

The Hughes house was warmth and laughter, noise and chaos. It was yelling over video games in the basement, the sound of skates scraping against the driveway, the echo of Jack’s voice calling your name as he ran up to your door, never bothering to knock before barging in.

It was home.

You fit there. As if you had always belonged.

But Jack wasn’t the only Hughes brother in your life.

From the very beginning, Quinn had taken on the role of your unofficial older brother.

He was only a few years older than you and Jack, but at that age, those few years felt like a lifetime. He was bigger, stronger, wiser, as you and Jack had once believed. In a world where Jack was all reckless enthusiasm and boundless energy, Quinn was the counterbalance—the quiet, steady presence who made sure neither of you got into too much trouble.

It wasn’t that Quinn didn’t join in on the chaos—he did, when it suited him—but he was always the one who knew better. The one who thought things through. And, more often than not, the one who had to clean up whatever mess you and Jack inevitably got yourselves into.

If Jack came up with a stupid idea, it was Quinn who sighed, crossed his arms, and shook his head.

“You’re going to break something.”

“No, we’re not!” Jack would insist, already halfway through convincing you to do whatever dangerous, poorly thought-out scheme he had concocted that day.

Quinn would roll his eyes, mumbling something about how he was too young to be dealing with this, but he never truly left you to your own devices. Because when—not if, but when—Jack’s plan went sideways, Quinn was always the one to step in and make sure neither of you got too hurt.

When you were five, Jack decided he was going to make you a hockey player.

It was a rainy afternoon, and the three of you were stuck inside, boredom settling in like an itch that neither you nor Jack could stand for long. You had spent the last hour sitting in the Hughes’ living room, fidgeting, when Jack suddenly bolted upright, eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Let’s play mini sticks!” he had declared, already sprinting toward the basement.

You had barely even known what mini sticks were at the time, but you followed anyway, because that was just how things worked—Jack decided something, and you went along with it.

The moment you got downstairs, Jack shoved a tiny plastic stick into your hands and pointed at the net they had set up against the far wall.

“Okay, you have to score on me,” he said, crouching down in front of the goal, holding a goalie stick that was nearly as big as he was.

You looked down at the mini stick, then back at Jack.

“How?”

Jack groaned dramatically, as if your question physically pained him.

“Just hit the ball into the net! It’s not that hard!”

But it was hard. You didn’t know how to hold the stick properly, didn’t know how to control the ball, and every time you tried to take a shot, it rolled harmlessly to Jack’s feet.

Jack, to his credit, lasted all of three minutes before he got frustrated.

“No, no, no!” he huffed, marching over to you. “You’re doing it all wrong!”

“Well, I don’t know how to do it right!” you shot back, annoyed.

Jack groaned again, clearly ready to give up, but before he could, another voice chimed in.

“Here—like this.”

You looked up to see Quinn kneeling beside you, his own mini stick in hand. Unlike Jack, he was patient. He adjusted your grip, gently moving your hands into the right position. He showed you how to angle your stick, how to follow through on a shot.

“It’s all about control,” he explained, demonstrating with an easy flick of his wrist. The ball soared cleanly into the top corner of the net.

Your eyes widened. That was how you were supposed to do it?

“Try again,” Quinn encouraged, nudging the ball toward you.

You did. And this time, the shot actually had some power behind it. Not much—but enough.

Quinn smiled.

Jack groaned.

“Okay, fine, she’s kinda good,” Jack admitted.

But even after that, whenever you struggled with something—hockey or otherwise—it was always Quinn you turned to. Because where Jack would get frustrated and impatient, Quinn would always take the time to help.

Jack’s impulsive nature meant that you got into a lot of trouble growing up.

One summer, when you were seven, Jack had come up with what he insisted was a foolproof plan—jumping off the swing at its highest point to see who could land the farthest.

“It’s so easy,” Jack had said, already climbing onto the seat. “You just have to time it right.”

You had been hesitant.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, obviously.”

Quinn, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, had sighed heavily.

“You’re going to break your arm, idiot.”

Jack ignored him.

And, predictably, about five seconds later, Jack launched himself off the swing, flailed wildly in the air, and landed in an ungraceful heap on the grass.

To his credit, he hadn’t broken his arm. But he had managed to knock the wind out of himself so badly that he lay there gasping like a fish while Quinn stood over him, unimpressed.

“I told you,” Quinn muttered, before turning to you. “Do not listen to him.”

You listened. Mostly.

But there were still plenty of times when Jack managed to drag you into his ridiculous plans. And, inevitably, there were times when you got hurt.

There had been one particular summer afternoon when Jack had dared you to race him down the street on your bikes.

“I bet I can beat you by so much,” he had taunted, grinning as he climbed onto his bike.

“You wish,” you had shot back, determined to win.

The race had started off fine—pedaling furiously, wind rushing past your face, Jack laughing beside you—but then you hit a pothole.

The bike jolted violently. You lost control.

And the next thing you knew, you were flying over the handlebars.

Pain exploded across your knees and palms as you skidded across the pavement, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Jack had screeched to a stop, his face a mask of horror.

“Oh my God. Oh my God—are you okay?!”

Your knees were scraped raw, blood trickling down your shins, and your palms stung so badly you thought they might be on fire. You wanted to be tough, wanted to brush it off, but your throat was tight, and tears were already pricking at your eyes.

And then, before you even had time to process what had happened, Quinn was there.

“Jesus, you guys,” he muttered, crouching beside you.

You sniffled, still trying to hold back tears, but Quinn didn’t make a big deal about it. He just scooped you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly, and started walking you home.

“You’re okay,” he said, voice calm and steady. “We’ll get you cleaned up.”

Jack trailed behind, looking guilty as hell.

“I—I didn’t think she’d actually fall,” he mumbled.

Quinn shot him a look.

“Of course she fell, Jack. You two don’t think before you do anything.”

Jack had no argument for that.

But even as Quinn sighed, even as he grumbled about “having to babysit two disasters,” you knew he cared.

Because Quinn never let anything happen to you.

And he never would.

Then there was Luke.

Luke had been there from the almost start, having arrived two years late to the world you and Jack had already built together.

It wasn’t that he was unwelcome—not at all. But in the early years, he had been younger—just enough behind you and Jack that the gap felt significant. When you were five, he was three. When you and Jack were racing bikes down the street, Luke was still on training wheels. When you were climbing trees and dangling from the highest branches, Luke was stuck at the bottom, his small hands barely able to reach the first grip.

And no matter how much he wanted to be included, the truth was, there were just some things he was too little for.

Where Jack dragged you into every wild idea that popped into his head, Luke was the one who stood on the sidelines, watching. His wide, eager eyes followed your every move, his tiny fists clenched with determination, his whole body buzzing with the desperate hope that this time—this time—you and Jack might let him in.

“Can I play?” he would ask, gripping his little hockey stick so tightly his knuckles turned white, his gaze flicking between you and Jack.

Jack, more often than not, would groan. “Luke, you’re too little.”

And because Jack was your best friend—the leader of every game, the one who decided what was and wasn’t fun—you had gone along with it.

“Maybe next time, Lukey,” you had said, ruffling his hair before turning to chase after Jack, never noticing the way Luke’s shoulders slumped as he watched you run away.

Luke always wanted to be part of your world.

But back then, you had only seen him as Jack’s little brother.

That didn’t stop Luke from following you both everywhere.

If you and Jack were playing knee hockey in the basement, Luke was there, sitting on the sidelines, cross-legged on the carpet, watching intently. If Jack scored, Luke cheered. If you fell, Luke was the one scrambling up to check if you were okay before Jack even noticed.

If you and Jack were racing across the backyard, Luke was trailing behind, his little legs working furiously to keep up, his breath coming in short, determined puffs.

“Wait for me!”

“Luke, hurry up!” Jack would yell, already halfway across the lawn.

And Luke would hurry. He always hurried, always pushed himself to the limit just to try and close the distance, just to prove that he could keep up with you and Jack.

But more often than not, by the time he caught up, the game had already changed. Jack had already moved on to something bigger, something better.

And Luke—still catching his breath, still trying to process the game that had just ended—would be left standing there, watching as you and Jack disappeared into the next adventure without him.

But Luke never left.

Even when he wasn’t included, even when Jack brushed him off or you followed Jack’s lead without a second thought, Luke stayed.

Because if he couldn’t play, then he would watch.

And when Jack inevitably got bored and abandoned a game to chase after something else—when his attention flitted from knee hockey to soccer to wrestling to something entirely new—Luke was the one who stayed behind.

If Jack left the net in the basement empty, Luke picked up a stick and asked you to shoot on him instead.

If Jack abandoned a game of tag to go inside for a snack, Luke asked you to keep playing.

He never demanded your attention the way Jack did. Never insisted that you pick him first, never threw tantrums when he was left out.

He just waited.

Waited for the moments Jack wasn’t around.

Waited for the moments you finally turned to him.

And you? You never really thought much of it.

Not then.

To you, Luke was just there.

Just part of the background of your life—always orbiting close by, always tagging along if it meant he could be newr you.

It was the summer you were seven, a time when everything still felt simple and innocent. The world was filled with endless possibilities, and your days were spent on adventures with your best friend, Jack. You both had a rhythm—an unspoken understanding that no matter what, you would always be together, running, playing, dreaming. The world had no limits when Jack was by your side. And that evening, in particular, was no different. Or so you thought.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the park, the colors in the sky blending into soft hues of orange and pink. The kind of evening that made everything look surreal, like the entire world was pausing to admire the beauty of the moment. You and Jack were sitting on your usual bench—the wooden one that creaked under the weight of years of memories, positioned perfectly to overlook the expansive field that stretched out before you. The warm summer breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and the sweet scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the distant hum of crickets chirping in the cooling air.

Jack was sitting beside you, legs dangling off the edge of the bench, his sneakers brushing against the ground as he swung his feet back and forth. He was talking, as he always did, hands gesturing wildly as he described yet another hockey game he’d watched on TV with his dad or something that had happened on the ice at practice. His voice was animated, full of the kind of energy that made it impossible not to pay attention. His dark brown eyes were wide with enthusiasm as he recounted the details—who scored the most goals, what move one of the players had pulled off, how he couldn’t wait to try it himself in his next game. It wasn’t surprising to you; hockey was everything to Jack. He lived and breathed it, and you could tell by the way he spoke, by the way his hands moved in the air to illustrate what he was saying, that this game, this sport, was a piece of his very identity.

You smiled at him, your head tilted back against the cool wood of the bench as you half-listened, half-watched the way his face lit up. Jack had always been a little bit wild in his energy. There was something so captivating about the way he threw himself into everything. Whether it was talking about hockey, creating new games to play, or just dragging you along on some new adventure, Jack’s passion was infectious.

But tonight—tonight something felt different. It wasn’t that Jack was any less enthusiastic about hockey, but there was a subtle shift in the air between the two of you. As he spoke, his words becoming more animated, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of something unfamiliar. It was a strange sensation that started somewhere in the pit of your stomach and spread out, slowly working its way into your chest. Maybe it was just the energy of the evening—the warm glow of the setting sun, the peacefulness of the park, or maybe it was something else, something you didn’t fully understand yet. But as Jack’s words flowed around you, you found yourself caught in a strange mix of emotions that you couldn’t name.

You were used to listening to him talk about hockey, about his dreams and his wild plans, but tonight, for the first time, you weren’t just hearing the words. You were feeling them.

You turned to look at him, still speaking at full speed, his words coming faster now, his enthusiasm growing with every sentence. He didn’t even notice you watching him in that way, the way you were suddenly hyper-aware of every little movement—how his hands were moving as he spoke, how the sun reflected off his hair, how his voice had a different cadence tonight, more alive, more… intimate, for lack of a better word. It wasn’t anything tangible. There was no clear reason for why it felt different, but the air between you seemed to hum with a silent understanding that had never been there before.

But then, in the midst of his animated storytelling, Jack turned to you with that familiar mischievous grin, the one that always made your heart flutter a little. You had known that grin for as long as you could remember. It was the kind of grin that meant Jack was about to do or say something unexpected, something that would probably make you laugh or roll your eyes, depending on the day. But tonight, something about it felt different.

Jack was always a whirlwind of energy, the kind of kid who could never sit still for more than five seconds. He had an incredible ability to make anything sound like the best idea in the world. And when he spoke, it was with an infectious excitement, like the entire world was waiting for him to tell it what to do. He could make even the simplest things feel like the start of some grand adventure. And, for the most part, you always followed him. He was your best friend, your partner in crime, and his ideas were always bigger than yours, always more fun.

“We should get married when we’re older,” he said, completely casually, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked, your mind briefly stalling as you processed the words. Your head turned toward him in confusion, trying to make sense of what he’d just said. You weren’t sure whether he was joking, serious, or if it was just another one of his wild ideas. It had to be a joke, right?

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, like you weren’t sure if you’d heard him correctly. You tilted your head, looking up at him with a puzzled expression.

Jack didn’t seem to notice the sudden tension in the air. He just smiled wider, clearly pleased with himself for getting your attention. His eyes sparkled as he leaned back, still sitting on the bench beside you, looking out at the sunset like it was the most natural thing in the world. He always had a way of making everything sound so simple, so easy. Like the world was just a place where everything worked out the way it was supposed to. And this—this idea—was no different.

“You can’t just decide that,” you said with a playful shove, trying to brush it off. You wanted to laugh, to keep things light, because it felt like a joke, right? Jack was your best friend, and this was just another one of his offhand remarks. You nudged his shoulder gently, trying to play along, but deep down, you felt a strange fluttering sensation in your chest that you didn’t fully understand.

Jack, however, didn’t back down. His smile didn’t waver for a second. In fact, he seemed to lean into it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He was so sure of himself, his confidence radiating in the way he sat there, relaxed and unfazed by the unexpected question he had just tossed into the air. It was as if he had always known this was where the conversation would lead.

“Why not?” he said with a shrug, as though it was an entirely reasonable suggestion. “You’re my best friend. And married people are best friends, right?”

The words hit you differently than you’d expected. You’d heard about marriage before, sure, but it was always in fairy tales, with knights and princesses and happily-ever-afters. You didn’t really know what marriage meant in a deep, meaningful way, but you understood one thing—Jack was asking you to be with him forever. And though you didn’t know exactly what that looked like, the idea of it felt warm, like the gentle glow of the setting sun.

You laughed, trying to push down the feeling welling up inside you. It was absurd. It was just Jack being Jack, always saying the first thing that popped into his head. Of course, it didn’t mean anything serious. You weren’t even sure he understood what he was really saying.

But still… something about the way he said it—so casually, so confidently—made your heart beat just a little bit faster. The idea of always being with him, of never being apart, settled somewhere deep in your chest. And for the first time, the word “marriage” didn’t feel like a fairy tale. It felt like a real possibility.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. The playful, teasing tone you wanted to use felt wrong all of a sudden. Jack’s grin hadn’t faltered, and his eyes were sparkling with the kind of certainty that only he could have. But you weren’t sure anymore whether you were laughing because it was funny, or because it felt real. Too real.

“Yeah, but…” you trailed off, staring at the ground for a moment, unsure of how to explain the confusion that was building inside of you. “We’re just kids. You can’t just decide to get married.”

Jack didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. He shrugged again, unbothered by your hesitation. “Why not? You’re my best friend. We’ve always done everything together. It just makes sense.”

His words lingered in the air, carrying a strange weight you hadn’t expected. His logic was simple, almost childishly so, but it struck something inside of you that made your chest tighten. You looked at him, really looked at him, for what felt like the first time in ages. Jack wasn’t just your best friend. He was something else, something more. And suddenly, you were hyper-aware of everything—the way his hand rested just inches from yours, the way the sun hit his hair, casting a golden halo around him. His words echoed in your mind. It just makes sense.

You felt a sudden rush of warmth flood your chest, spreading outward like the soft heat of the sun sinking lower on the horizon. You wanted to brush it off, to laugh it off, to keep things the way they always had been between the two of you. But deep down, you knew something had shifted.

You hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t expected it, but suddenly you couldn’t imagine a world where Jack wasn’t your best friend, where he wasn’t the person you shared every adventure with. And the thought of being by his side, of being his in a way that was more than just friends, settled over you in a way that made your heart race.

But it didn’t make sense, right? Not now. You were just seven. You didn’t know what marriage was supposed to mean. You didn’t know what love was. It was silly, wasn’t it? Just a passing thought.

Still, something inside you—something deep and soft—wanted it to be real. Wanted Jack to be that person. Always.

Behind you, just a few feet away, Luke had been quietly swinging, his tiny legs kicking rhythmically, the chains of the swing creaking softly with each motion. It had been a peaceful moment for him, one of those simple, innocent afternoons where he felt content in his small world. But now, in the middle of your conversation with Jack, something shifted for him.

Luke had always been content in his little world, his world of swings and sunsets, of quiet afternoons that stretched on forever. There was something peaceful about the way he lived, the simplicity of his routine, and the certainty that his big brother, Jack, would always be there beside him. And you—you had always been a steady presence in that world too, a familiar face in the background, someone who would push him on the swing when he asked or cheer him on when he kicked the ball to the other side of the yard.

But today, something was different. The moment he stopped swinging—dragging his feet against the ground, the sudden halt so jarring that the swing swayed a little before coming to a stop—it was like the entire air around him had shifted. He didn’t quite understand why, but something in his chest felt tight, something unsettled bubbled up from deep inside him. His feet dragged through the dirt, and his small body seemed to freeze mid-motion. The world around him, so familiar and safe just moments ago, now felt too big, too loud, too heavy.

He didn’t quite know what it was that had made him stop, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from it. Something in the way you and Jack were talking made him feel like he didn’t quite fit anymore. At first, he hadn’t understood the words—you were talking about things he didn’t know about, like the future and marriage, things that didn’t make sense to him at all. But it wasn’t the words themselves that caught his attention. It was the way you were both acting, the way you were standing there, so close to each other, like there was something that didn’t include him. Like there was a secret between you two, something that made him feel like he was no longer part of the picture.

His hands, which had once been gripping the swing chains tightly, now hung limp at his sides. He could feel the stillness in his body, a strange weight settling in his chest. He looked at you both, his little body small in comparison, trying to make sense of the way you were standing together, the way your attention was so entirely focused on Jack’s words, as though he was no longer someone who mattered in the conversation. You were his world too. You had always been his world. But now… now he wasn’t so sure.

Luke didn’t understand what was happening. Not really. He didn’t know what it meant when Jack said, “We should get married when we’re older.” All he knew was that something had shifted in the air, something unspoken, and it made him feel small. He wasn’t sure why, but the words left an ache in his chest that didn’t quite make sense. The way Jack spoke about it—so casually, so easily—made Luke feel like he was standing in the middle of something big, something important that he couldn’t be a part of. And for the first time, he felt like an outsider in a world he had once felt so safe in.

His feet shuffled in the dirt, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, feeling the uncomfortable tension settle deeper in his little heart. His big eyes, full of curiosity and innocence, were fixed on you both. But there was no joy in them, no spark of the usual childlike wonder. Instead, there was a quiet sadness, an intensity that seemed far too old for a seven-year-old. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He didn’t understand why he felt left out, why his world suddenly felt off-balance.

The truth was, he had always looked up to Jack. Jack had been his hero, his older brother, the one who showed him the ropes, made him laugh, and taught him how to throw a ball. But now, in this moment, Luke could sense a shift—a shift that was happening between you and Jack, one that made him feel like there was a new kind of connection between you two that he wasn’t part of. Something unspoken, something important. And that feeling of not being included, not being part of whatever was happening, felt too big for him to carry.

His little shoulders hunched, trying to make himself smaller, trying to avoid the strange feelings crawling up his spine. His feet dragged a little more as he turned away, walking back toward the swings, but he didn’t swing this time. He didn’t know if he could swing anymore, not with the weight in his chest, not with the way his mind felt heavy and confused. So, instead, he just stood there, watching the two of you, trying to make sense of it all.

From his vantage point, everything seemed too complicated. The way you and Jack laughed, how you exchanged looks, the way your attention was so fully on him—it was all so much. It wasn’t like it had been before. It wasn’t like the afternoons where you would smile at him and push him on the swing, where everything felt simple and clear. Now, there was a distance that seemed impossible to bridge, even though he had no idea what it was. All he knew was that he wanted to be a part of it again. He wanted to be included in that world, but he didn’t know how to get back to it.

He glanced over his shoulder at you once more, his eyes full of that quiet sadness, and in that moment, it felt like you were so far away. As if you had crossed some invisible line, and now there was a space between you that couldn’t be closed. His heart hurt. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t even understand marriage, but he understood the feeling—the feeling of not being enough, of not being included in something that had once been his.

But then, just as quietly, he turned back toward the swing. It was all he could do, this small child with no words for the ache in his chest, with no way to express the confusion that was crawling through his mind. He started to push the swing gently with his foot, the creaking chains barely audible over the stillness that hung in the air. But even as he moved, there was a heaviness in him, a quiet realization that something had changed. And that change—whatever it was—made him feel like he was standing on the outside looking in.

He couldn’t understand everything, not yet. But he could feel it. He could feel the change. And that was enough to make him pause, to make him stop swinging, to make him turn away. Because even without the words, he knew that whatever was happening between you and Jack was something that didn’t quite fit with the world he had always known. And in that small, quiet moment, he realized something that made his chest ache all the more: he was no longer the center of that world.

The lake house had always felt like a second home to you. It wasn’t just the lake that made it special, or the house itself, but the feeling of being away from everything familiar, yet somehow closer to everyone that mattered. That first summer you were invited to spend there when you were eight was a turning point in your childhood, a mark in time where everything seemed to shift, like the beginning of a chapter in a story that you didn’t know was going to be so important.

It was the first day, when the sun was still high and the smell of fresh pine and saltwater clung to the air, that you felt the magic of it all. You and Jack had already wasted no time in rushing to the water, shoes abandoned on the dock as you dove in, laughing, splashing, racing to see who could swim the fastest to the floating platform in the middle of the lake.

“I’m going to beat you!” Jack called, swimming ahead, his strokes cutting through the water with ease.

You kicked harder, determined not to let him win. “You wish!” you shouted back, splashing water in his direction.

“Last one there is a rotten egg!” Jack laughed, kicking his legs to build speed, his eyes bright with excitement.

But you could feel the burn in your muscles, the fatigue setting in as the floating platform grew closer. Jack was always faster, always the one who would win the challenges you came up with, but that didn’t matter. He made it fun—he always did. Every game felt like a race, and every race felt like it was the most important thing in the world. You were in it together, the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.

You finally reached the platform, gasping for breath, and Jack was already standing there, grinning with triumph. “You’re getting slow,” he teased, splashing water in your face.

You wiped your eyes and smirked. “I let you win,” you said, playfully sticking your tongue out at him.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack laughed, rolling his eyes. “But next time, I’m not going to make it so easy for you.”

You both floated there, letting the water gently rock you, eyes squinting up at the bright sky above. The feeling of the cool water against your skin was enough to make the heat of the summer day feel far away. But then, just as you were catching your breath, you noticed him.

Luke.

He was standing on the edge of the dock, his small frame barely noticeable as he gripped the edge tightly, watching you and Jack with wide eyes. He wasn’t in the water like you, wasn’t playing along with the games. He was just there, standing a little off to the side, as always.

You were so used to Jack’s loud presence, his infectious energy that drew everyone in, that it took a moment for you to really see Luke. He wasn’t as loud, wasn’t as reckless. He wasn’t the one making every day an adventure like Jack did. But there was something about the way he looked at you—something quiet and unspoken—that made your heart twinge. You were used to Luke tagging along, used to him always watching from the sidelines, but in that moment, it felt like something more. It felt like he was waiting for something that you couldn’t give him, at least not in the same way you gave Jack.

“Luke!” you called, waving at him from the water. “Come in, it’s awesome!”

Luke hesitated, his small fingers tightening on the dock as he glanced at Jack, who was still lounging on the platform. “I don’t know…” Luke mumbled, his voice quiet, unsure.

Jack perked up at the sound of his brother’s voice. “What’s the matter, Lukey? You scared?” He flashed a teasing grin, but there was a hint of challenge in his words.

Luke’s face scrunched, his little brows furrowing. “No,” he muttered, though there was no conviction behind it.

“Come on, Luke!” you called again, trying to sound enthusiastic. “It’s not that deep, and we’re having so much fun! You’ll love it!”

He bit his lip, clearly torn, before his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Okay. Fine.” He pulled off his sneakers and set them beside the dock, dipping one foot into the water cautiously.

You and Jack watched him for a moment, both of you already knowing that Luke wasn’t as confident as you were in the water. But after a few more encouraging shouts, Luke finally stepped in, wading slowly, his head barely above the water. You swam over to him, grinning.

“I knew you could do it!” you said, reaching out and offering him your hand. “Come on, we’re gonna race back to the dock.”

Luke took your hand, his grip tight but still tentative. He glanced at Jack, who had already started swimming back toward the shore. “I don’t think I can beat you two.”

“You don’t have to beat us,” you said with a shrug, smiling warmly. “Just swim with us. It’s more fun that way.”

He seemed to relax a little at your words, and for a few moments, the three of you swam together, splashing and laughing, the water cool against your skin. But even as you swam and played, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Luke wasn’t quite part of the same world as you and Jack. He was there, yes, but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t as comfortable in the water, wasn’t as reckless in the way he approached everything. He seemed to linger at the edges of every game, a little hesitant to jump in fully, waiting for the perfect moment.

The sun soon set, leading the group of you to settle around the fire pit. As the flames crackled, casting their warm orange glow against the night, Luke couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease settling into his chest. He sat on the edge of the fire, a little further away from everyone else, trying to blend into the background. Jack’s ghost stories were always a source of amusement for everyone, but for Luke, they felt different. It wasn’t the ghosts themselves—he wasn’t afraid of that—but the way his older brother’s voice seemed to pull all the attention, to draw everyone in so effortlessly. And the way you—you—would laugh and play along, giving Jack that familiar, easy smile that made Luke’s heart flutter in a way he couldn’t ignore.

Luke had always been quiet, content with simple games and easy fun, where he didn’t have to think too much about anything. But lately, something had been shifting, and it seemed to revolve around you. It was as though something had clicked that afternoon a few weeks back—something small, but unmistakable—and now, as he sat on the edge of the firelight, his eyes kept drifting to you. Your laughter rang out as Jack continued with his stories. Every time Jack made a dramatic gesture or spoke in his spooky voice, you would laugh, your eyes lighting up with amusement, and Luke’s chest tightened with something he didn’t understand.

There was something in the way you looked at Jack—a warmth, a familiarity—that made Luke feel as though he was standing on the outside of a world he wasn’t allowed to be a part of. He wasn’t angry, exactly, just… distant. A seed of something had been planted in his chest, and it made him feel like he was growing up too fast, like everything around him was changing in ways he couldn’t keep up with.

As Jack’s voice dropped into that familiar eerie tone, Luke tried to focus on the flames. But the words Jack spoke carried a weight that Luke couldn’t shake.

“…and they say the ghost of the old man still haunts the lake,” Jack was saying, his voice dropping to an almost whisper, “waiting for someone to come too close to the water. They say if you stand on the dock at midnight, you can hear his footsteps behind you, dragging along the wood…”

You let out a little laugh and elbowed Jack in the side. “Jack, come on, that’s the oldest story in the book! You’re just trying to scare us.”

Jack grinned, clearly enjoying the reaction. “You don’t know that!” He leaned in closer, his voice lowering even further. “They say if you get too close to the edge, he’ll grab your ankle and pull you in, dragging you down into the depths of the lake, never to be seen again…”

You made a face, clearly pretending to be spooked. “Okay, okay, I’ll bite. But I’m still not scared.”

Luke found himself watching you intently as Jack wove his tale, his words spinning a web of eerie suspense. There was something in the way you played along—how you looked at Jack with that warm, teasing affection—that made something stir inside of him. But it was the way you glanced over at him in that moment, your eyes briefly catching his, that made his heart leap in his chest.

When you reached out and grabbed Luke’s arm during the spookiest part of the story, he froze. For a moment, he thought maybe it was just his imagination, but then he felt your fingers—warm and firm—wrap around his wrist. The touch was small, but it sent a rush of heat through him, making his heart race in his chest. He clenched his fingers instinctively, as if afraid the moment would slip away too quickly if he didn’t hold on. It felt like the whole world paused, and Luke couldn’t stop the flush that crept up his neck.

His fingers felt large and awkward beneath yours, but you didn’t pull away. And for that one brief moment, the ghost story, Jack’s teasing, everything else seemed to fade into the background. He was lost in the quiet of the space between you, the warmth of your hand on his wrist.

But then, just as quickly, you let go, laughing again, your fingers slipping from his. The moment passed so easily, so quickly, as if it had never happened at all. And Luke was left staring at his own hand, the lingering warmth still there, the ache in his chest growing.

Jack’s voice brought him back to the present. “And that’s when they say you’ll hear the screams of the old man, echoing across the water…”

Luke barely heard the rest. He didn’t want to hear it. Instead, he found himself once more focusing on you, sitting next to Jack, your laughter mixing with the sounds of the night.

The group moved down to the dock, and Luke stayed behind, slipping his feet into the cool water. The night was beautiful—deep and vast, the stars scattered above like jewels—but the beauty did little to soothe the tightness in his chest. He glanced over at you again, now lying on the dock next to Jack, both of you staring up at the stars. Jack was rambling on about his plans for the future, his voice excited, and you were listening so intently, leaning toward him. The way you looked at Jack, the way you gave him your full attention, made Luke feel even more distant.

Jack’s enthusiasm was too loud. His laughter rang too sharp against the silence, and Luke found himself retreating further into the stillness of the water, where he didn’t have to fight for attention. Where he could be just there, unnoticed, and just try to understand the confusion that swirled inside him.

It was Quinn who broke the silence, standing at the edge of the dock, his eyes catching Luke’s. The older boy had a way of knowing things without needing to be told. Quinn’s gaze softened, his expression unreadable, but Luke could sense the shift in him. The quiet understanding.

Luke quickly turned his eyes back to the water, not wanting Quinn to see, not wanting anyone to know how much he was changing inside. But Quinn had already seen it.

A small, almost knowing smile curled at Quinn’s lips. He nodded once, just a slight tilt of his head, as if acknowledging the unspoken shift that had started to settle in Luke’s heart.

Quinn didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. And in that moment, Luke felt something settle in his chest—something lighter, something like reassurance. He wasn’t sure if Quinn understood everything, but he felt a little less alone in it all.

But the night carried on, and Luke stayed at the edge of the world, staring at the stars, waiting for something to change, waiting for the gap between him and the rest of the world to close. He didn’t want to be left behind. Not anymore. But the ache inside him—stronger than before—was something he wasn’t sure how to share. He wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap between the feeling he had and the words he couldn’t find.

For now, though, he stayed silent. He stayed at the edge of the dock, watching the night pass by, hoping that one day, it would all come together. That the ache in his chest would make sense, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to carry it alone anymore.

The summers always stretched on endlessly, the lake house becoming more familiar with each passing day, and yet every time you and Jack rushed down the dock or leapt off the platform, the excitement felt new. It was a rhythm you had come to depend on, like the pulse of the water beneath you, the steady pattern of life that had taken root here by the lake.

But despite the constant flow of games and adventures, there were moments when the world seemed to slow, when the noise of the days fell away, leaving only the stars, the soft rustle of the trees, and the quiet company of Luke.

One of those nights had arrived by the end of the week, when the air had turned cool, and the sky stretched out above you like an endless canvas. You and Jack had spent the entire day competing—arguing over who could jump from the highest point on the dock, who could hold their breath underwater the longest, who could run from the house to the dock in the shortest time. It was the same thing every summer, the same challenges, the same breathless laughter. But as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, fatigue settled into your limbs, and for once, you and Jack let yourselves slow down.

Jack had gone inside to grab some snacks, leaving you alone with Luke.

Luke had been sitting quietly at the edge of the dock, his legs crossed, his hands braced behind him as he leaned back to stare at the night sky. He wasn’t as loud as Jack, never the first one to dive into the chaos, but there was something about the way he existed in these moments—so quietly, so fully—that made it feel like he belonged here just as much as anyone else.

You stretched out beside him, letting your legs dangle off the dock, the cool wood pressing against your bare skin. The air smelled like pine and lake water, thick with the warmth of the day fading into the crispness of the evening. The kind of night that felt so still, like everything in the world had paused just to let you breathe.

Luke shifted slightly beside you, and you noticed how he always sat a little closer than usual, how his knee brushed against yours every now and then as if he couldn’t quite figure out the space between you. But he didn’t say anything, and neither did you.

Instead, you both just watched the stars, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a blanket.

From Luke’s perspective, everything felt like it was slowing down.

The stars were so big tonight. They seemed to stretch on forever, like they were waiting for him to notice. He didn’t often sit this still, didn’t usually spend his time just watching the sky. There were rocks to skip and trees to climb, adventures to go on. But tonight, it felt different. Maybe it was the way the night air cooled his skin, the way the breeze felt like a promise, or the way you were beside him, the only sound your soft breaths mixing with the rustle of leaves in the trees.

He glanced at you. You looked so comfortable, so at ease, like the world was something you understood in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. Luke had always been quieter than Jack. He didn’t speak as easily, didn’t have the same kind of loud energy that Jack did. But in these moments with you, he didn’t feel like he needed to be anyone else. He didn’t need to act like Jack, didn’t have to say anything clever or jump into a race to prove himself.

Your quiet presence was enough.

But it was also something else. Something that made his stomach twist a little, made his thoughts turn into a confusing jumble. It was the way your knee brushed against his, how you never pulled away, how it felt like you had no problem being near him. You hadn’t noticed, of course. But Luke was aware. More aware than he should have been. His thoughts, his heart, they didn’t make sense. He had never been good at understanding what he was feeling.

He looked at the stars, trying to keep his mind occupied with something else. But there was a part of him that wanted to ask you questions. Wanted to talk to you, share something with you. But what could he say? What did he even feel?

“What’s that one?” he asked suddenly, pointing at a cluster of stars near the horizon.

You turned your head slightly, following his finger. “That’s Orion’s Belt,” you said, shifting to sit up a little. “Those three stars in a line. You can find them every year, and it’s said that they’re the hunter.”

Luke furrowed his brow. He wasn’t sure what the hunter meant. He didn’t know if he even understood the stars the way you did, but he wanted to know. Wanted to understand the world like you seemed to. “Why is he a hunter?” Luke asked, feeling the weight of the question in his chest, “What’s he hunting?”

You paused, and for a second, Luke thought maybe you hadn’t heard him, but then you responded, your voice soft, “I don’t know. I think it’s just something from old stories. Maybe he’s hunting for adventure or something big. He probably had dreams like we do.”

Luke stayed quiet for a moment, digesting your words. He watched the stars again, his mind turning over the idea. He wasn’t sure what adventure meant, but the idea of it—the feeling of searching for something more—caught his attention. He looked at you, your face lit by the soft glow of starlight, and he felt a sudden urge to ask another question. Not about stars this time, but something bigger.

“Do you think we’ll have adventures like that when we’re older?”

It was a question that felt too big, like a thought that had been floating in his chest for a while, and now it had finally found its way out. He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like he was standing on the edge of something—something he couldn’t quite see, but that made his heart beat faster. His voice was soft, quieter than usual. Almost uncertain. He wanted to know the answer, but he was also afraid of hearing it.

Luke’s question took you by surprise.

It was a simple question, really. But you could hear the quiet weight behind it, the way it lingered in the air, like Luke was asking for something more than just an answer about adventures. He was asking about the future. About his future. What kind of life he would have when things weren’t just about running around and having fun at the lake. What kind of person he would be when the world wasn’t as simple anymore.

You didn’t know. You hadn’t figured that out for yourself. You had spent so many summers here, growing up with Jack, and yet you couldn’t predict the next few years, let alone the kind of future Luke would have.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice soft as you turned back to the stars. “I think everyone has their own adventure. Maybe they’re different, but they’re all important. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Luke didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel the way his eyes lingered on you. You didn’t know exactly what was going on inside him, but you could tell that something had shifted in him tonight. Something you hadn’t seen before. There was a stillness to him now, a quiet understanding, and it felt like it was building up inside him, like he had caught a glimpse of something bigger, and it was all tangled up in that simple question.

And when you glanced at him, he wasn’t just looking at you. He was hearing you, too. His gaze was intense, thoughtful, and for a moment, it made your heart beat a little faster. You didn’t know what it meant. But it felt important.

After a while, Jack came back with a bag of chips, shoving the screen door open with a loud bang, breaking the quiet spell between you and Luke. The night faded back into its usual rhythm—Jack talking too loud, the crinkle of plastic as he ripped open the bag, the familiar chaos of another summer night at the lake.

But you couldn’t help noticing how Luke stayed close to you after that.

How he sat just a little closer than before, how he lingered beside you when Jack wasn’t looking, how he seemed to seek out your presence in little, unspoken ways. You didn’t know what it meant, but it felt different.

And even though you didn’t understand it yet, something about it felt like a beginning. Something you couldn’t quite name, but something you were starting to notice more each day.

For now, the night would go on, and Jack would fill it with his usual boisterous energy. But there was a shift, a quiet shift in Luke, that made you feel like the summer was moving forward in a way you hadn’t expected. The lake, the stars, the nights spent in quiet company—this was all part of it, part of the change that was unfolding slowly, one conversation, one glance at a time.

The next day dawned bright and cloudless, the kind of summer morning where the air was already thick with warmth, the sun glittering off the water like a thousand tiny diamonds. The lake was calm, barely a ripple disturbing its glassy surface, and the excitement buzzing between you and the boys was almost tangible.

Jack, as expected, was already hyped up, practically bouncing on the dock as he grabbed his paddle. His energy was endless, like he was constantly running on some invisible fuel that no one else could match. He turned to you and Luke, his grin wide and mischievous. “Alright,” he announced, puffing out his chest like a true competitor, “first one to the floating platform and back wins. No cheating.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’re just saying that because you’re the biggest cheater here.”

Jack gasped in mock offense. “Me? A cheater? Please. I’m just naturally faster than you.”

Luke, who had been kneeling beside his canoe, adjusting his paddle, snorted. “You always cheat, Jack. You just call it strategy.”

Jack waggled his eyebrows. “It’s not my fault I’m smarter than you.”

“You’re not smarter,” Luke shot back. “You’re just reckless.”

Jack only grinned wider, already lowering himself into his canoe. “Same thing.”

With that, he was off, shoving away from the dock with an exaggerated push, his paddle slicing through the water in wild, hurried strokes. You barely had time to climb into your own canoe before Jack was halfway across the lake, moving with all the grace of a bull charging forward.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, grabbing your paddle and pushing off.

Luke, still on the dock, rolled his eyes before easing himself into his canoe, far less rushed than either of you. You could see the difference instantly—where Jack was all force and chaos, Luke moved carefully, steadily. His strokes were slower but more controlled, his canoe gliding through the water rather than thrashing against it.

You tried to catch up with Jack, pushing yourself forward, your arms already burning from the effort. The lake was bigger than it seemed from the shore, and the floating platform in the middle felt impossibly far away. Water splashed against your arms as you paddled harder, your breath coming in short, determined huffs. Jack was still ahead, but he wasn’t as smooth as he thought—his frantic paddling caused his canoe to veer slightly off course every now and then, forcing him to correct himself.

“You’re wasting energy!” you called out, laughing as you gained on him.

Jack only grinned over his shoulder. “Yeah, but I’m still winning!”

It wasn’t until you reached the platform that you let yourself rest, your canoe bumping gently against the side of the wooden float. Jack was already there, panting slightly but triumphant. He smacked his hand against the platform dramatically, as if claiming victory. “Boom. Winner.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Race isn’t over yet.”

Jack laughed, already pushing his canoe back toward the shore. “Better hurry up then!”

You were about to follow when you glanced back, realizing that Luke was still a little ways behind. He wasn’t struggling—far from it—but he wasn’t racing either. His strokes remained patient, steady, as if he wasn’t concerned about beating anyone. He was simply moving, letting the water carry him as much as he carried himself.

Something about that made you pause. Jack had already disappeared ahead, but suddenly, winning didn’t seem as important anymore. Instead of rushing after him, you turned your canoe slightly, slowing your strokes to match Luke’s pace.

He glanced up at you, surprised. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

You shrugged, resting your paddle across your lap for a moment. “I don’t mind.”

A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn’t say anything right away, but you could tell he appreciated it. The two of you paddled side by side, the sounds of the water lapping gently against the canoes filling the quiet between you.

Luke hesitated, then spoke, his voice softer than before. “Jack always makes everything a competition.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a laugh, shaking your head. “He doesn’t really know how to do things any other way.”

Luke glanced at you, thoughtful. “Do you like that?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

Luke’s paddle skimmed the surface of the water, creating small ripples. “Always having to race. Having everything be about winning.”

You exhaled, considering. With Jack, it had always been like that—fast-paced, wild, a constant need to prove something. And it was fun, most of the time. But there was something different about the way you were moving now, next to Luke, with no urgency, no need to rush.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing toward the shore where Jack was already climbing onto the dock, victorious. “I guess sometimes it’s nice to just—be.”

Luke nodded, his gaze fixed on the water. “Yeah.”

Neither of you spoke for a while after that, just paddling together in a comfortable silence. The sun was higher in the sky now, reflecting golden streaks onto the lake’s surface. You let yourself get lost in the rhythm of it, the slow, unhurried way Luke moved, how it felt like he wasn’t trying to chase anything—just experiencing it as it came.

By the time you finally reached the shore, Jack was waiting, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. “What took you guys so long?”

You shrugged, stepping out of the canoe and stretching your arms. “We were enjoying the view.”

Jack scoffed, but Luke just smiled knowingly. You caught the small look he gave you—like he understood something you hadn’t fully realized yet. And in that moment, standing there on the dock with the water dripping from your fingertips and the summer sun warming your skin, you realized that maybe, just maybe, Luke had the right idea all along.

The rainy days at the lake house had a magic of their own. They brought with them the soft patter of raindrops against the windows, the smell of damp earth rising from the porch, and the hum of restless energy that filled the house as you all searched for ways to entertain yourselves. The moment the first drops fell, signaling that you’d be stuck inside for the day, Jack would immediately declare, “Knee hockey tournament. Living room. Right now.”

It was a tradition. The coffee table was shoved to the side, pillows lined the edges of the room as makeshift boards, and everyone knew the stakes were high. Jack, naturally, was the most competitive, his grin practically splitting his face as he grabbed a mini stick and tossed you another. “Dream team, back again,” he announced, bumping his shoulder against yours. You caught the stick easily, already grinning. You and Jack were always the duo to beat, your quick reflexes and synchronized movement making you nearly unstoppable.

Quinn, ever the strategist, took his time choosing his teammate, tapping his chin dramatically before slinging an arm around Luke’s shoulders. “I’ll take Luke,” he said, grinning as if he knew something you didn’t.

Luke shifted beside him, his expression unreadable at first, but there was something in his eyes—something determined, something that almost looked like anticipation. He didn’t protest.

Jack just scoffed. “Good luck,” he teased, twirling his stick between his fingers. “You’ll need it.”

The first game was fast-paced, the sound of the plastic ball slapping against the hardwood floor echoing through the house. Jack and you worked in tandem, passing quickly, faking each other out, weaving through the small space with an ease that only came from years of playing together. Every goal you scored, Jack celebrated like it was a Stanley Cup game, yelling dramatically and sliding across the floor on his knees.

But Luke and Quinn weren’t easy to beat.

Luke wasn’t as fast as Jack, and he didn’t have Quinn’s sharp strategic mind, but he had something else—a quiet patience, a precision in the way he moved. He watched the plays unfold, predicting your movements, using his body and stick to block your best shots. He wasn’t reckless like Jack, wasn’t rushing headfirst into every play. Instead, he was steady, deliberate, thinking two steps ahead.

At first, you barely noticed. You were too caught up in the thrill of the game, too focused on scoring. But then, every time you tried to cut around him, he was just… there. Anticipating. Blocking. Smirking a little when he managed to steal the ball from you.

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “You’re getting good at this, Lukey.”

He shrugged, but there was something teasing in the tilt of his lips. “Maybe I’ve always been good. You just never noticed.”

That threw you off more than it should have.

Jack groaned dramatically, cutting between you. “Stop flirting and play the game!”

You blinked, heat rushing to your face. “We’re not—”

But Luke just grinned, turning back to the game as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just sent your mind into a tailspin.

As the summers passed, knee hockey remained a staple of the rainy days, but something about those moments with Luke started to shift. It wasn’t just the way he played anymore—it was the way he was. The way he carried himself. He was taller now, his movements more confident. He didn’t hesitate as much, didn’t linger in Jack’s shadow like he used to.

And then there were the moments—small, fleeting, but impossible to ignore.

Like when you had just swum back to the dock one afternoon, breathless from racing Jack across the lake, your arms aching from the effort. Jack had already hoisted himself up, shaking out his wet hair like a dog before flopping onto his back. You reached for the dock’s edge, ready to pull yourself up when suddenly, there was Luke.

He was crouched at the edge, one hand outstretched toward you. His fingers curled slightly in a silent offer.

You hesitated for just a second before reaching up. His hand was warm despite the coolness of the water, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you up. For a moment, your fingers lingered together, your skin slick with water, your breath caught in your throat for reasons you didn’t quite understand.

And then, just as quickly as it had happened, Luke cleared his throat, dropping his gaze as he let go, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

You swallowed, trying to shake off whatever that had been.

Jack, oblivious as always, sat up, running a hand through his damp hair. “C’mon, let’s go again. Best two out of three.”

But Luke was still looking at you—like he knew something had shifted.

And maybe… maybe you did too.

Some nights, after the chaos of the day had settled and the others had gone inside, you and Luke found yourselves lying on the dock, staring up at the stars. It was never planned, never something you spoke about beforehand—it just happened.

Jack was usually the one who exhausted himself first, retreating inside after a long day of swimming and competing. Quinn would follow soon after, leaving you and Luke behind in the quiet lull of the night, the water gently lapping against the dock.

Luke lay beside you, arms folded behind his head, his gaze fixed on the sky. “Do you think it’s weird that everything looks so big at night?” he asked suddenly, his voice low.

You turned your head slightly to look at him. “Big?”

“Yeah,” he continued, his brows knitting together in thought. “Like, during the day, everything feels… normal. But at night, when you look up, it’s like—you realize how small you are.”

You stared up at the stars, the vast, endless expanse of them. “I guess so,” you murmured. “But I think that’s kind of nice. Like, it makes everything else—everything that feels too big—seem smaller.”

Luke was quiet for a moment, as if letting your words settle. Then, softly, “Yeah. I like that.”

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words.

Then, in a softer voice, Luke asked, “Do you ever think about what happens after this?”

You turned your head to look at him again, surprised by the question. “After what?”

“After all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the lake, at the sky. “After we grow up.”

You exhaled, staring up at the stars again. “Sometimes. But I try not to think about it too much. I like it here. I like now.”

Luke nodded slowly, as if he understood. And maybe he did. Maybe he felt the same.

The summers were changing. You were changing. And Luke wasn’t just Jack’s little brother anymore. He was something else—someone else. Though your heart still truly belonged to his older brother, no matter how hard Luke tried.

At sixteen, Jack told you after practice one afternoon, back home, when summer was still weeks away.

You had stayed late at the rink, the way you always did, dragging out the minutes after his practice because neither of you were ever in a hurry to leave. The ice had already been cleaned, the faint smell of Zamboni fumes still lingering in the air, and most of his teammates had already headed out. But Jack had slung an arm around your shoulders and said, “One more round,” and you never could say no to him.

So you skated circles around each other for another twenty minutes, taking lazy shots on goal, passing the puck back and forth without speaking. It was comfortable, easy. The way it had always been.

And then, after you finally dragged yourselves off the ice, you sat together outside the rink, letting the cool spring breeze dry the sweat still clinging to your skin. His hockey bag was tossed carelessly beside him, skates still half-laced like he hadn’t quite decided if he was done for the day. The sun was warm against your face, the kind of warmth that made the air feel electric, buzzing with the quiet anticipation of summer.

Jack leaned back on his elbows, stretching his legs out in front of him, and kicked absently at a dandelion sprouting between the cracks in the pavement. His voice was casual, easy, when he said it.

“Oh, by the way, I’ve got a girlfriend now.”

It took a second for the words to sink in.

You had been in the middle of reaching for your water bottle, fingers curling around the plastic, when the sentence hit you like a slap.

“What?”

Jack turned his head toward you, squinting against the sun, his mouth curling into that familiar lopsided grin. “Yeah. Alyssa. You know her, right? She’s in our chem class.”

You did know her.

She was blonde, pretty, and effortlessly cool—the kind of girl who seemed to float through life with an ease you had never quite mastered. The kind of girl who made sense for Jack, in a way you suddenly felt like you didn’t.

“Oh,” you said, forcing your expression into something neutral, something that wouldn’t betray the way your stomach had twisted into a knot. “That’s… cool.”

Jack’s grin widened, oblivious to the way your voice had faltered. “Yeah, she’s awesome. You’ll love her.”

You nodded, pretending to be interested, pretending that the sudden ache in your chest was nothing more than an odd reaction to the heat.

And then, as if the news itself hadn’t been enough, he added, “She’s coming to the lake house this summer.”

You felt like the ground had been yanked out from under you.

The lake house.

Your lake house.

The place that had always been yours—yours and Jack’s, yours and the Hughes’, yours and the memories you had built there for nearly a decade.

You swallowed, forcing your expression to stay neutral. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Jack didn’t seem to notice your hesitation. He just stretched his arms over his head, looking out at the parking lot like this was just another conversation, just another day. “It’s gonna be great. She’s never been, so I’ll need you to help me show her around.”

You wanted to tell him no.

You wanted to tell him she didn’t belong there, that the lake house wasn’t just some place—it was home. It was the sound of Jack’s laughter echoing off the water, the endless knee hockey battles on rainy days, the constellations you used to trace in the sky when the two of you were kids, whispering dreams about the future.

It wasn’t supposed to change.

But instead, you just nodded.

“Yeah,” you said, the word barely making it past the lump in your throat. “It’ll be fun.”

Jack grinned, already moving on, already pulling out his phone to check his messages, like he hadn’t just turned your entire world upside down.

And just like that, everything shifted.

The first night at the lake house, you couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t Alyssa’s fault. Not really.

She was nice in the effortless way that pretty girls always seemed to be. She laughed at Jack’s jokes, tucked herself easily into the spaces that had once been yours, fit in with the family like she had always belonged. She had only been here for a few hours, and yet somehow, she already knew which cabinet the cereal was in, already had Quinn rolling his eyes at one of Jack’s ridiculous stories, already knew exactly how to lean into Jack’s side at the dinner table like she had always been the one sitting next to him.

Like that seat had never been yours to begin with.

Maybe it never was.

Maybe you were the one who had been holding onto something that had never really belonged to you.

So you smiled. You nodded when she spoke to you, laughed when you were supposed to, played the role of best friend because that’s all you had ever been. And if your fingers curled a little too tightly around the edge of the table, if your stomach twisted every time Jack whispered something into her ear, if the food on your plate went mostly untouched—no one noticed.

Or at least, you thought they didn’t.

The house settled into a comfortable quiet as the night stretched on, the familiar creaks of the wooden floors, the distant hum of crickets beyond the porch screens. Jack and Alyssa had disappeared upstairs together after dinner, their laughter trailing up the staircase, and you had felt something inside of you unravel.

So you had slipped out onto the porch, closing the door quietly behind you, needing air, needing space, needing something to dull the ache in your chest.

The lake stretched out before you, dark and endless, the water lapping gently against the dock. It should have been comforting. It always had been before. But tonight, it felt hollow.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, pressing your fingers into your ribs as if that would somehow keep the hurt from spilling out.

The door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn, but you knew who it was before he even spoke.

Luke.

He was always the one who lingered. The one who noticed things even when you tried to hide them.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed against yours, his body warm against the cool night air. He didn’t try to fill the silence, didn’t try to force words where they didn’t belong.

And for some reason, that was what undid you.

The tears came before you could stop them, silent at first, then harder, faster, your shoulders shaking as you tried to hold it in, tried to pretend you weren’t breaking apart right there on the porch.

Luke let out a quiet breath, barely audible over the sound of the water. And then, without hesitation, he reached out, pulling you into him.

You didn’t resist.

You buried your face against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his sweatshirt like it was the only thing keeping you from shattering completely.

He was warm. Solid. Safe.

His arms tightened around you, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head as he let you sob into him, let you break apart without saying a word.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—curled into Luke’s chest, the fabric of his sweatshirt damp beneath your cheek, your fingers still twisted into the material like you were afraid to let go. But Luke never moved. Never let go. He just held you like he had been waiting to, like he had always known this moment would come.

And maybe it was because you were crying too hard, or maybe it was because your mind was too clouded with grief for something you had never really had—but you didn’t hear it.

You didn’t hear the way Luke exhaled shakily, like he was holding back something too big to say aloud.

You didn’t hear the quiet, broken words he finally let slip.

“If only I were him.”

But Quinn did.

He had been walking past on his way to the kitchen, pausing at the doorway when he saw the two of you.

His expression was unreadable as he stood there, watching the way Luke held you, the way his fingers curled ever so slightly into the fabric of your sweatshirt, the way he looked at you.

And then, without a word, Quinn turned and walked away.

You had eventually left him there.

Slipped out of his arms, whispered a quiet ‘thank you’, and disappeared back into the house before he could stop you. Before he could say anything—before he could ask you to stay.

Luke had let you go, even though everything in him had wanted to hold on just a little longer. Just long enough to keep you close, to keep you from slipping through his fingers like water, like you always did.

Now, the dock was empty except for him.

But the ghost of you remained.

The warmth of you still clung to his sweatshirt, the scent of lake water and the faintest hint of whatever soap you used lingering in the fabric. The weight of you had pressed into his side, curled into his chest as you cried, and even though you were gone, he still felt you there.

Luke sat motionless, staring out at the water, his breath slow and uneven. The lake stretched out in front of him, vast and endless, its surface dark except for where the moonlight painted streaks of silver. It was quiet now—no laughter, no voices drifting from the house, just the steady lapping of the water against the dock, the occasional rustling of the trees in the breeze.

He should have gone inside.

Should have shaken it off, pretended like nothing had happened. Like holding you, feeling you tremble against him, hadn’t carved something deep into his chest. Like it hadn’t made him ache in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from.

But he couldn’t move.

Because the truth sat too heavy in his bones, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

Because the words had already slipped past his lips.

Soft, quiet, spoken to no one but the night itself.

‘If only I were him.’

Luke squeezed his eyes shut, dragging a hand down his face, as if he could erase the thought from his mind, as if he could shove it back down into the part of himself that he had spent years trying to ignore.

But it was too late.

Because the words were out there now, hanging in the cool night air, impossible to take back.

He wished he were Jack.

He wished, just for a second, that he had been born in a different place, with a different name, with a different place in your heart.

Because then maybe—just maybe—you would have seen him.

Not as Jack’s little brother.

Not as a second choice.

Not as the boy who was always just a little too young, a little too quiet, a little too easy to overlook.

But as someone.

As yours.

Luke let out a slow breath, staring down at his hands. His fingers curled into his sweatshirt—your sweatshirt now, because he knew you’d probably stolen it from Jack’s room at some point. His grip tightened, like if he held on tight enough, he could still feel you there.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you hadn’t heard him.

You hadn’t heard the quiet confession, the words that had been sitting in his chest for longer than he wanted to admit.

And even if you had…

You still wouldn’t have understood what they meant.

But Quinn had heard.

Luke heard the footsteps before he saw him.

The quiet creak of the old wooden boards, the familiar rhythm of Quinn’s stride—it was enough to tell him he wasn’t alone anymore. But he didn’t look up. He just kept his gaze locked on the water, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he could wring the frustration from his bones.

Quinn didn’t speak as he lowered himself onto the dock beside him, stretching his legs out in front of him, their shoulders barely brushing. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The night was still, the lake stretching out before them, dark and endless. The moon carved a silver path across its surface, shimmering in the gentle ripple of the waves. It should have been peaceful. It had always been peaceful before. But now, the silence only seemed to amplify the storm raging in Luke’s chest.

He stared at the water, trying to steady himself, trying to ignore the way his pulse still hadn’t settled since you had been in his arms, since your tears had soaked into his sweatshirt, since you had disappeared inside without ever hearing what he had said, the words still sitting bitter on his tongue.

Quinn exhaled beside him, breaking the quiet with a sigh that felt heavier than it should have. And then, finally, he spoke.

“You love her.”

Not a question. Just fact.

Luke let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head. His grip on his hands tightened, knuckles white in the moonlight. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Quinn’s voice was softer this time, but there was something firm underneath it, something unyielding. “You should tell her.”

Luke scoffed, shaking his head. His throat burned, the weight of it all pressing down on him. “She loves Jack.”

The words came out sharp, clipped. He hadn’t meant them to. But saying them aloud made them feel heavier, like they held more truth than they should.

Quinn didn’t say anything for a long time.

The air between them was thick with something unspoken, something impossible to name. Luke could hear everything—the soft rustling of the trees, the distant hum of crickets, the steady lapping of the lake against the dock. It all felt too loud, too sharp against the quiet ache settling in his chest.

And then, finally, Quinn broke the silence.

“She thinks she does.” His voice was careful, measured. “But she’s never even thought about you as an option.”

The words hit Luke harder than he expected.

Because they were true.

You had never looked at him the way you looked at Jack. Never let your gaze linger. Never let your fingers brush his just to feel the contact. Never let yourself wonder if maybe—just maybe—he could be someone to you.

Because to you, there was only ever Jack.

Luke clenched his jaw, his chest tight, his stomach twisting itself into knots. His fists curled against his knees, nails biting into his palms.

“Because I was born in the wrong place,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “If I were Jack…”

But Quinn cut him off before he could finish.

“But you’re not Jack.” His voice was quiet, steady, but there was something firm beneath it, something final. “And maybe that’s a good thing.”

Luke swallowed hard, staring out at the water, at the reflection of the stars shimmering in the dark.

But he wasn’t sure Quinn was right.

Because if being himself meant always being second, always being the afterthought, always sitting alone on this damn dock while you smiled at someone else—then he wasn’t sure he wanted to be Luke at all.

Luke never brought it up. And neither did you.

The night you had cried into his chest, the way his arms had wrapped around you so tightly—like he could somehow hold you together—it was never mentioned again. It became one of those moments that lived in the quiet spaces between you, something fragile and unspoken.

But it lingered.

He felt it every time you sat at the dinner table, smiling when you were supposed to, nodding along as Alyssa laughed at something Jack said. Every time your fingers curled around the edge of your glass just a little too tightly. Every time your eyes drifted toward them—toward Jack and the girl at his side—and took on that faraway look, glassy and unreadable.

Luke knew you were hurting.

And God, he hated it.

But there was nothing he could do.

Because even though he wanted to reach across the space between you, to shake you, to tell you that Jack wasn’t the only person in the world worth loving—you didn’t see it.

You didn’t see him.

And Luke didn’t know which was worse: the fact that you were in love with Jack or the fact that you didn’t even realize how much Luke loved you.

So he stayed quiet.

He watched as the summer stretched on, as you smiled when you were supposed to, as you forced yourself to be okay. And maybe to everyone else, it worked. Maybe Jack and Alyssa and even Quinn believed the act.

But Luke didn’t.

He saw how your hands clenched in your lap every time Jack threw an arm around Alyssa’s shoulders. He saw the way your throat tightened when she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He saw the way you looked away, always just a second too late, always after the damage had already been done.

And it killed him.

Because you deserved more than this—more than spending the summer pretending you were fine, pretending your heart wasn’t breaking every time Jack smiled at someone who wasn’t you.

Luke wanted to tell you that.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just kept sitting beside you on the dock, kept making quiet jokes when the house got too loud, kept handing you a marshmallow before you even had to ask for one by the fire. Kept being there, in the only way you would let him be.

And maybe that wasn’t enough.

But it was all he had.

The first time you missed the trip to the lake house, it seemed trivial. Just a weekend, right? You could make up some reason—something simple that wouldn’t raise suspicions. Family obligations, work commitments, even the classic “I’ve got a lot of homework” excuse would be enough. After all, you’d been going to the lake house for as long as you could remember. It had become a part of you, woven into the fabric of your summers, a backdrop to countless memories with Jack, Luke, and Quinn. A weekend away wouldn’t change anything, right?

But it did.

You could feel it the moment you hung up the phone with Jack. The weight in your chest, heavy and undeniable. You thought you could escape the feeling, put it out of your mind, but it lingered in the corners of your thoughts. The lake house wasn’t just a place; it was a memory, a comfort, and now it was a reminder of everything you were trying to avoid.

You told yourself it would just be one weekend. That you were just taking a break. You convinced yourself it was temporary. You were busy, that’s all. There would be another time. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple. There was something more, something unspoken between you and the others that you didn’t know how to confront. It had been brewing for weeks now, something under the surface, something you couldn’t put into words.

When Jack called, you almost dreaded hearing his voice. It was familiar, comforting, but also the thing that felt like a weight around your neck. The guilt hit you all over again, curling deep in your stomach.

“Hey, are you coming this weekend?” Jack’s voice was casual, but there was an edge of expectation underneath it. “We’ll be at the lake house, like always.”

You could hear the unspoken promise in his tone—this is what we always do. And you hated yourself for it. Hated that you couldn’t just say yes, that you couldn’t be there like you always were. Your hand gripped the edge of the counter, your knuckles white, as your mind raced for an answer.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to slip back into that familiar rhythm, to fall into the comfort of the lake house and the people who filled it. You wanted to be with Jack and Quinn, and especially Luke, but the thought of seeing them all together made your chest tighten. You weren’t ready. Not yet. You didn’t know how to face them, how to face yourself in that space. You couldn’t bear to see their faces, not when you had so much left unsaid, so much you hadn’t dealt with.

“I… I can’t, Jack,” you said, your voice faltering just slightly as you tried to keep the lie steady. “I’ve got work.” The words sounded hollow, even to your own ears, and the guilt twisted in your gut. “Maybe next time.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. You could almost hear him processing, trying to understand, but the confusion lingered there in the quiet. You hated that it was so easy to lie, that the words came so naturally. You hadn’t been ready to deal with what was really going on inside you, and so you just pushed it all down.

Jack sighed, a sound that carried a touch of disappointment, but also something more—something patient. He always knew how to give you space when you needed it, even when it hurt him. “Alright,” he said softly, his tone still holding that hint of sadness. “Well, we’ll miss you. But I get it. Just… don’t stay away too long, okay?”

You promised him you wouldn’t, but deep down, you knew you were lying. You didn’t know when you’d go back, or if you would. And as soon as you hung up the phone, you knew the distance between you and the lake house, between you and them, was widening.

The next weekend came, and you stayed home again. And the one after that. And then it became easier—slipping out of the routine, making new excuses, burying yourself in other things so that you wouldn’t have to think about it. It was easier to hide behind a wall of work and other commitments than to face the truth.

And what was the truth? That you weren’t ready. Not for the lake house, not for Jack and Alyssa, not for Luke. It was easier this way, wasn’t it? To stay away. To pretend like everything was fine, like you didn’t feel the aching pull between what was and what could never be again.

The absence didn’t go unnoticed, though. Not by Jack, and certainly not by Luke.

Jack didn’t say much. Maybe he didn’t want to push you too hard. You were always good at deflecting, at making light of things, and maybe that’s what Jack saw in you—a person who was always willing to pull herself together, even when it didn’t make sense. But Luke? Luke noticed everything. Every little shift, every subtle change. And when you weren’t there, when you stopped showing up, it was like a part of him was missing too.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks, and you knew it. The last time you’d crossed paths had been so fleeting—just a few minutes at the grocery store, the briefest exchange of glances. He’d smiled at you, but it wasn’t the smile you remembered. It was distant, guarded, like he was afraid to get too close. And maybe he was. You were afraid too.

It wasn’t just that Luke noticed your absence—it was the weight of what was left unsaid between you, the quiet space that had grown larger with every missed trip. Every time you saw him from a distance, there was something in his eyes that pulled at you, something unspoken that you couldn’t ignore, but also couldn’t face. You had known him longer than anyone else, and yet now, he was the one you couldn’t quite reach.

The weeks stretched on, and the distance between you and the lake house deepened. It wasn’t just the physical distance—it was the emotional gap that had started to separate you from Jack, from Luke, from everything you had once known.

And Luke? Luke was the hardest part of all. Because no matter how hard you tried to keep your distance, no matter how many excuses you made, you couldn’t escape the way your heart twisted whenever you thought of him. You couldn’t escape the way you missed him—missed the way he’d been there for you, the way his presence had felt like home. It was easier to pretend, to tell yourself that you were just busy, but you knew the truth: you were avoiding him. You were avoiding everything, and truly you didn’t understand why.

The silence between you and the lake house grew louder with each passing day. And somehow, you felt yourself drifting further away—not just from the lake house, but from everyone you once considered family. But you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Because if you did, if you allowed yourself to face them, then you’d have to face everything you were running from. And that was the hardest part of all.

The week after the summer had ended and you missed yet another lake house trip, Quinn found you. He hadn’t been looking for you exactly. He wasn’t sure what had driven him to come, but the truth was he knew something was wrong. You’d stopped coming, and it was starting to weigh on him. The silence between your absence and Luke’s growing frustration wasn’t something Quinn could ignore, even though Luke never said a word about it. But Quinn could feel it—could feel how the absence of you was slowly becoming too heavy for all of them to carry.

Quinn had no clear plan as he stood outside your door, his knuckles hovering just above the wood, unsure of whether he should knock or simply leave. The house had always been a place of comfort, a home that felt like his, but today, it seemed different. Quiet in a way that made his chest tighten, the sounds of your laughter no longer filling the corners. The soft shuffle of your footsteps, the casual conversations you’d had over the years—those sounds were missing, and in their place was a hollow emptiness that Quinn could almost taste.

You answered the door slowly, and for a moment, he wondered if you had been expecting someone else. Your eyes were too tired, too distant, and there was something about the way you stood there, half hiding behind the door, that made him feel as though you were trying to shield yourself from something—or maybe from him. He couldn’t quite tell.

He didn’t want to make things worse. He wasn’t sure how much to push, how much you’d be willing to share. The hesitation in his step betrayed his uncertainty, but when you met his gaze, he saw something that twisted in his chest: something sad and lost.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, the words hanging in the air between you.

You gave a small smile, but it was strained, and Quinn could see right through it. He didn’t believe you for a second.

“Yeah, just… busy with school and everything. You know how it is.” You shrugged, but the motion felt hollow, and your eyes never quite met his.

Quinn nodded, but he knew it wasn’t the whole story. He could feel it—could feel how your words didn’t match what was in your eyes.

“You haven’t been around the lake house much, though,” Quinn ventured, his voice calm but holding a trace of concern that you couldn’t miss.

You shifted slightly, the space between you both feeling thicker than it should. “I’ve just got a lot going on.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t the real reason, not by a long shot. “Really? Because Jack misses you. We all miss you.”

At that, he saw it—the brief flicker in your eyes. It was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. Hurt. Regret. Whatever it was, it made Quinn’s chest ache, his heartbeat a little heavier. There was something more to this than you were letting on, something that made him wonder if you even saw how much everyone else was hurting.

A long silence stretched out between you both, a quiet that felt like it would swallow him whole. The distance was painful. It had always been easy between you and him—friendly, easygoing. But this, this was something different. Something that Quinn didn’t know how to fix, but something he couldn’t leave unresolved either.

Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Quinn. It just doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and heavy, and Quinn’s heart sank. He had always known you as part of the rhythm of the lake house, the one constant they could count on. And now, you were drifting away, and he had no idea how to pull you back in.

“What do you mean?” Quinn asked, trying to keep his voice steady. It wasn’t like you to avoid questions like this, to shy away from the truth.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, a flicker of pain passing over your features before you spoke again. “Everything’s changed. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Maybe it’s not about fixing it,” Quinn said, his voice gentle but firm. “Maybe you don’t need to fix anything. Just… come back. Come back to the lake house. We miss you.”

You shook your head slightly, stepping back from the door, as if you were trying to distance yourself from him, from everyone else. “I can’t. It’s too hard.”

Quinn’s stomach twisted with the weight of your words. It wasn’t just that you were avoiding the lake house—it was that you had withdrawn from everything. From everyone. And that scared him more than he let on.

“It’s not about being perfect,” Quinn said, his voice quiet now. “We’re all just… trying to figure things out.” He took a step closer, his eyes softening as he met your gaze. “We just need you to be there. We all do.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time, but Quinn could feel how your breath quickened, how the weight of what he was saying started to sink in.

“I don’t belong there anymore,” you murmured, your voice cracking on the last word.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of realization. It wasn’t just about the lake house. It was about you, about how you had come to see yourself outside of all of them, outside of the family you’d once been a part of. And that hurt. It hurt more than he was prepared for.

“Of course, you belong there,” Quinn said, his voice breaking a little. “You always have.”

But you didn’t believe it, did you? Quinn could see it in your eyes—the sadness that seemed to swirl just below the surface, a darkness he couldn’t reach. He felt helpless in a way he never had before. He didn’t know how to make it right, how to bring you back to them.

“I miss you at the lake house,” he admitted, his voice softer now, raw with emotion. “We all do. Jack misses you. Luke misses you more than you know.”

Your chest tightened at that, the truth of his words cutting through your defenses. You knew Luke missed you. In fact, it was one of the hardest things to face—that the one person you didn’t know how to deal with, the one person you couldn’t bring yourself to confront, was the one who missed you most.

“Maybe,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “but it doesn’t matter. Things are different now.”

Quinn studied you for a long time, his gaze intense and unwavering. You wanted to look away, to shut him out, but his eyes held you captive. You saw it then—the rawness, the vulnerability, the care that Quinn had never been one to show so openly.

“I know you think it’s different,” Quinn said quietly, “but you’re wrong. Things haven’t changed as much as you think. You’re still part of this family. You always will be.”

And in that moment, with those words hanging in the air between you both, you could feel something shifting. You didn’t know if it would be enough to bring you back to the lake house, back to them, but you could feel it in your bones: the connection, the love, the deep-rooted truth that no matter how far you pulled away, they would always be there, waiting.

The next few weeks were a blur. Jack kept calling, trying to bridge the gap, and you kept finding reasons to avoid his calls. Work. Homework. Other commitments. It never seemed to stop, and every time you answered with another excuse, the guilt only piled higher.

But Luke… you hadn’t seen Luke in weeks. And that absence? That ache in your chest that you just couldn’t explain when you thought about him? It was always there, quietly gnawing at you, reminding you of what you were running from.

Then, one afternoon, Jack showed up at your door.

His presence was like a weight, a storm that had been gathering, ready to break. Standing there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by something quieter, more serious. The frustration in his eyes was unmistakable, and his voice, when he spoke, was softer than it had ever been.

“I don’t get it,” Jack said, his words hanging between you both. “What happened? Why are you pulling away?”

You swallowed hard, a lump rising in your throat. There was no easy way to answer, no simple excuse you could give to make it go away. “I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… need space.”

Jack’s expression softened, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell how deeply he felt the distance. “You don’t need to do this alone, you know? We’re all here for you.”

You nodded, but even the words felt hollow. “I know. I just… I’m not sure how to fit back in.”

Jack took a step forward, his gaze intense as it locked with yours. “Don’t shut us out. We’re your family.”

And just like that, the weight of it all hit you—the weight of the lake house, of Jack, of Luke. You couldn’t keep running away, not anymore. But you weren’t sure how to face the truth. The truth that Luke was still there, waiting, somewhere in the shadows, and the hardest part of it all was knowing that, maybe, you hadn’t been able to face him yet.

The air was beginning to shift as the first hints of fall whispered across the trees, rustling the leaves in the distance. It had been another summer of avoidance—weeks stretching into months, each one slipping by as you found more and more reasons to stay away from the lake house, from Jack, from Luke. The reasons weren’t as simple as school or work or family, but they were the excuses you told yourself to make it easier. To convince yourself that pulling away didn’t matter. But as you sat behind the wheel of your car, driving down the familiar road leading to the lake, you couldn’t deny the knot in your stomach.

You didn’t know how you’d gotten here, but you could feel the weight of it in your bones—the guilt, the emptiness. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt truly connected to any of it. To the people, to the place that had once been everything. It was as if, over the course of a summer, the distance between you and them had grown to a point where it felt too difficult to cross back.

You could see the lake house in the distance, the same wooden structure that had once felt like home, but now it was just a shadow of itself. Everything about it felt different, hollow in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

As you stepped out of your car and made your way down the familiar path that led to the dock, you wondered why you were here. You had avoided coming for so long—avoided the people, avoided Luke. And now, walking in the direction of the place you had always felt safest, you couldn’t help but feel like a stranger.

Your eyes scanned the area as you approached the dock, the soft sound of water lapping against the shore mixing with the gentle rustling of the trees in the breeze. It felt peaceful, serene even, but there was an ache in your chest you couldn’t ignore. A heaviness that made your steps feel uncertain, as if you weren’t quite sure you were supposed to be here.

And then you saw him.

Luke was sitting on the edge of the dock by the water, his back stiff, his hands resting on the wooden panels beneath him. He hadn’t noticed you yet, his gaze fixed out toward the horizon, where the golden light from the setting sun danced across the surface of the lake. His hat was pulled low over his face, casting a shadow that made his expression unreadable, but there was something about the stillness of his figure that made your chest tighten.

It was like time had paused in that moment. The world around you faded as you watched him, your eyes tracing the outline of his silhouette, the familiar shape of him that you hadn’t seen in weeks. There was a distance between you now, one that seemed to stretch out endlessly, a chasm that you had been too afraid to face.

You hadn’t meant to avoid him, not really. But with Jack and Alyssa together, everything had changed. And with every day that passed, the more it seemed impossible to go back to how it was before. You missed Luke. You missed the way he’d been there for you, the way he had always been in the background, supportive and understanding in a way that was easy to take for granted. And yet, when you thought about him, you always found yourself circling back to the same thought: It’s too late now.

The wind picked up, and the leaves in the trees swayed gently, their movement in rhythm with the pulse in your chest. You stood still for a long moment, just watching him, unsure of what to do next. The quiet between you felt suffocating, a reminder of the unspoken words that had been left unsaid for so long. You wanted to call out to him, to ask how he had been, to break the silence and bridge the gap that had been growing between you. But you stayed silent, not knowing what to say, what right you had to speak when you had stayed away for so long.

Then, as if sensing your presence, Luke shifted slightly. His body tensed for a moment before he turned, his eyes lifting slowly from the horizon to meet yours.

In that instant, everything in you seemed to stop. His gaze was heavy, intense, as if he had been waiting for this moment—waiting for you to come back. But there was something more in his eyes, something deeper. His expression was unreadable, but there was an undeniable pull in the way he looked at you, like he was seeing through all the walls you’d built up, all the excuses you’d made.

“Y/N,” Luke said quietly, his voice carrying across the distance between you. He didn’t stand up, didn’t move. He just stayed there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if you hadn’t been avoiding him for months.

You couldn’t find the words. You wanted to say something, anything to break the silence, but nothing came. Instead, you just took a step closer, stopping a few feet away from him. You both stared at each other for a long time, the quiet stretching out longer than either of you was comfortable with.

Finally, Luke broke the silence. “Why do you keep running away?” His voice wasn’t angry, but there was a rawness to it that you hadn’t expected.

You froze, the question hitting you harder than you thought it would. “I’m not running,” you said quickly, trying to sound calm, but even you could hear the lie in your voice.

“Yes, you are,” Luke replied, his words sharp now, like they had been building up for a long time. “From the lake house, from me.”

The words stung more than you wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You just stood there, unable to process what he had said, what he was implying. You felt something inside you snap, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it.

“Luke, what are you talking about?” you finally asked, your voice coming out softer than you had intended.

Luke let out a sharp breath, like the weight of everything he had been holding in was finally too much. He stood up then, but didn’t come closer. Instead, he looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time in a long while, like he was waiting for you to really see him, to understand what he had been carrying.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, the words slipping out of his mouth like a confession he had been holding onto for years. “I’ve loved you since before I even knew what love was.”

The world around you seemed to stop. The trees, the water, even the air itself seemed to freeze in place, leaving you standing there, staring at him in stunned silence. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came.

Luke took a step closer, his voice growing quieter now, but more intense. “But you never saw me, did you? I was just Jack’s little brother to you. I was always just there. In the background. You never noticed me for anything else.”

His words hit you like a freight train, shattering everything you thought you knew about yourself, about him, about what had been right in front of you all along. You stood there, frozen, as if the world around you had suddenly slowed down. His confession wasn’t just a declaration—it was a breaking point, a revelation that you couldn’t escape. You had always thought you knew who Luke was, always thought you understood the quiet, steady presence he had been in your life. But you had been blind.

The memories flooded back all at once—those small, seemingly insignificant moments you had brushed aside without a second thought. The way Luke’s gaze would linger on you when you laughed, how he would stay behind after everyone else had gone home to help clean up, how his voice had always been a little softer, a little more patient whenever he spoke to you. The way he had stood in the background, never demanding anything from you, never asking for more, but always there. Always just a little too quiet, a little too distant, a little too kind for you to notice. And now, as the weight of what he had just said hung heavy in the air, you understood. All those moments weren’t coincidences. They had been his way of loving you without you ever realizing it.

You opened your mouth to speak, to process it all, but the words were stuck in your throat. I never knew. The thought echoed relentlessly in your mind, but you couldn’t say it aloud. You couldn’t bring yourself to voice the truth, not yet. It was too overwhelming, too raw, and yet, as much as you wanted to deny it, you felt the heavy sting of regret curling up from somewhere deep within you. You had missed it. You had missed him.

You took a small step forward, the movement feeling more like a leap into an unknown space, like walking on the edge of something fragile and delicate. Every part of you felt exposed, the rawness of the moment too intense for your usual walls to hold up. Your heart was hammering in your chest, each beat louder than the last, thumping in your ears as if to remind you how real this was.

Luke was still watching you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those familiar eyes—spoke everything. There was a softness in them now, a quiet vulnerability that you had never seen before. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look bitter. He didn’t look like he had been holding onto this for years just to lash out. No, instead, he was just standing there—quiet, patient, waiting. Waiting for you to see him. Waiting for you to finally look at him the way he had always looked at you.

You took another step closer, the words that had been building in your chest finally spilling out. “Luke…” Your voice trembled, barely a whisper, but it was enough for him to hear. Enough for the world to hear the weight of it all. “I never knew.”

There was no sudden shift in him—no dramatic reaction, no sigh of relief. He didn’t move. He didn’t take a step toward you or away from you. Instead, his expression softened even further, and for the first time in years, you saw Luke as he truly was—vulnerable, raw, and, in that moment, completely open to you. He wasn’t holding back anymore. He wasn’t hiding his feelings, wasn’t waiting for you to come to him. He had already given everything he could, and now it was up to you to decide what came next.

“I know,” he whispered back, his voice so soft that you almost couldn’t hear it over the pounding of your heart. It was a simple response, but it felt like it contained the weight of everything he had carried, everything he had hoped for. “But I needed you to.”

The words hung in the air, a delicate thread between you both, and you felt the weight of them settle in your chest. He needed you to see him. He needed you to stop running, to stop avoiding the truth that had always been there, hiding behind the easy smiles and the comfort of friendship. He needed you to finally understand that, all this time, he had been right there. Right in front of you. And you had missed him.

It wasn’t just about the lake house, or Jack, or the old memories of summers past. It was about you and Luke. About everything that had been unsaid, everything that had been quietly building up in the background while you had been so caught up in your own confusion, your own feelings for Jack. You had never allowed yourself to see what was standing right there in front of you—what had been waiting for you all along.

A sudden ache pierced through your chest, a mix of regret, guilt, and something else—something you couldn’t quite name. You had been running from him. You had been running from his love, from the possibility of something deeper, something real. And now, standing there, with him just a few feet away, you realized just how much you had lost by not seeing him sooner.

Luke was still standing there, waiting. He wasn’t pushing you, wasn’t asking for anything. He had already given you everything. His love. His time. His patience. He had been there for you in ways you hadn’t even understood until now. And for the first time, you felt the full weight of it.

You took a deep breath, the air around you thick with emotion, and you felt something shift inside you. You had been running for so long, but now, in this moment, you didn’t want to run anymore. You didn’t want to hide from the truth. You wanted to stop pretending that everything was fine, that you had everything figured out when, in reality, you had been avoiding the one thing that could make everything right.

The silence hung in the air, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t a chasm between you that needed to be filled with words, but a soft space of understanding, a quiet kind of anticipation. It was as though everything that had once been said, and everything that had been left unsaid, was coming together in this one moment. The weight of what Luke had shared with you, the rawness of his confession, it wasn’t a burden anymore—it was a bridge between you, and you could feel it stretching out before you.

You stood there, a few feet away, and your mind raced, scrambling to find a way to process what had just happened. But no matter how hard you tried to make sense of it, you kept coming back to one thing—Luke. Luke, standing there, his eyes soft, his expression vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. He was no longer just Jack’s younger brother. He was Luke—the boy who had been there for you in every way, without ever asking for anything in return.

It was almost as if, in that moment, you could feel the shift deep inside of you. Everything you had been running from, everything you had been hiding from, came rushing to the surface. You realized, with a sharp clarity, that you had been avoiding him, yes—but you had also been avoiding yourself. Avoiding the truth that had always been right in front of you.

And then, without thinking, without hesitating, you closed the space between you. One step. Then another. The sound of your heartbeat was the loudest thing you could hear, each beat reverberating in your chest, urging you closer. You had no plan, no idea what you were doing, but somehow, in that moment, you knew. You knew you had to stop running.

Your breath caught as you stopped just inches from him, the world narrowing down to the two of you. His presence seemed to envelop you, a warmth that you had once only felt in his friendship, but now… it felt different. It felt like it was pulling you in, like gravity itself had shifted, and the only place you could go was to him.

You raised your hand instinctively, your fingers brushing against his sleeve, and then, without saying a word, your lips met his.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t the wild, impetuous kiss of a first love or an overwhelming rush of emotion. It was something softer, quieter—a hesitant question that had never been asked. You could feel the uncertainty between you both, as if neither of you was sure what this meant, but you both knew you needed it. You needed to close the gap, to answer the question that had hung between you for so long. It was a kiss that felt like the very beginning of something, not a culmination.

But then, as the seconds stretched, as the warmth of his lips against yours seemed to sink deeper into your skin, something shifted. The hesitation melted away. It was like the dam inside you had finally broken, letting all the emotions that had been bottled up for years flow out in one sweeping wave. The kiss deepened, soft and slow, but urgent now—as if you were both finally allowing yourselves to feel everything you had kept locked away. His hand gently cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get close enough. And you—your hands found their place on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The rhythm matched your own, and it felt like you were syncing with him in a way that was more intimate than anything you had ever known.

In that moment, you felt like you were being seen—not just as the girl who loved Jack, but as yourself. As you—the person Luke had always seen and loved in his quiet, steady way, even when you had been blind to it. It wasn’t just the touch of his lips on yours. It was everything—his patience, his understanding, his willingness to wait for you to finally see him for who he truly was.

When you pulled away, your breath came in short, shaky bursts. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so exposed, so utterly vulnerable. But at the same time, it felt like everything had fallen into place. All the fear, all the doubt—it had evaporated in the warmth of the kiss, leaving only the quiet certainty that this, whatever this was, was real.

You rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling together as you both tried to catch your breath, to come back to reality. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening either. The two of you, standing there in the quiet of the evening, under the pale light of the setting sun, it felt surreal, but it was also exactly where you were meant to be.

Luke’s thumb brushed over your cheek, the motion tender and slow, like he was memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch. He opened his eyes then, looking at you with a depth that made your heart skip a beat. There was no anger in his gaze, no resentment for the years you had spent blind to him. There was only something softer—something more powerful. Something that told you he had always known you would come back to him, even if you didn’t know it yourself.

He let out a shaky breath, the words escaping him quietly, as if he were confessing something deeply private. “I’ve waited so long for you to see me like this. To see me for me.”

The weight of his words landed on you like a soft wave, gentle but impossible to ignore. You hadn’t seen him—not truly. Not until now. But now, in this moment, you could see everything. Every little piece of him that had been hidden in the quiet corners of your heart, waiting for you to wake up.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a second, savoring the feeling of being held, of finally being seen. His words echoed in your mind, and you felt an overwhelming ache in your chest, a deep sense of longing that had always been there but had been buried under years of hesitation, confusion, and missed opportunities.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking as the truth finally tumbled from your lips. “I didn’t know. I should’ve seen you. I should’ve been there. I didn’t…”

He shook his head softly, interrupting you with a quiet smile, the kind that made your heart ache with tenderness. “You’re here now,” he said, his voice full of warmth, of understanding, of everything he had been waiting for. “That’s all that matters.”

And in that moment, you realized that he was right. The past didn’t matter anymore. The things you had missed, the time you had wasted—it didn’t matter, because you were here now. Together.

You took a deep breath, pulling away slightly to look at him. The future was still uncertain—still unknown. But standing here, in the quiet, the world around you seemed to fade. The wind ruffling the trees, the soft murmur of the lake—it all became background noise, insignificant compared to the pull between the two of you.

And when you looked at Luke, you didn’t see Jack’s younger brother anymore. You didn’t see the boy who had been stuck in the shadows of his older brother’s life. You saw Luke—the boy who had always been there, waiting, loving, patient. And for the first time, you were able to see him for who he truly was.

And that was enough. That was more than enough.

The next summer at the lake house felt like a new chapter, a fresh breeze sweeping through the familiar spaces. The house, though unchanged in its appearance, felt different to you—like it had grown, expanded, become something more than it had ever been. The old rhythms were still there. Jack’s easy laugh echoed in the kitchen, Alyssa’s chatter floated through the air, and Quinn’s voice was a steady undercurrent, always with that knowing smile. But there was something new now. Something you couldn’t put into words, something that had shifted in the space between you and Luke, something that made the house feel like a home.

As you walked through the front door, your heart fluttered slightly in your chest, a mixture of excitement and nerves. The familiar scent of the lake, the wood of the house, and the salty air filled your senses. You had missed it all, but it felt different now. You had avoided this place for so long, spent so many months running from it, running from him. And now, standing here, you felt a mix of both vulnerability and relief. You knew what had changed—it was the way you saw Luke now, not just a background figure in your life. He was Luke. And he was everything you had needed and didn’t know you had been waiting for.

When you walked into the living room, your eyes immediately found him. Luke was standing by the window, his broad shoulders relaxed, and that warm smile of his lighting up his face. It was the same smile you had seen a thousand times, but now it felt like it was meant for you, and you couldn’t help but return it. His gaze flickered over to you, and his smile deepened—no longer the shy, almost hesitant grin you had seen before, but a confident, knowing one. He waved, his eyes playful, but there was no longer any hesitation between you. No more distance. No more of the quiet longing that had once been there. Just Luke. Just the two of you.

You found yourself walking toward him, almost instinctively, like you were following some unseen thread that had always been pulling you closer. As you approached, he reached for your hand, slipping his fingers into yours with an ease that felt completely natural. The touch felt right, as though the universe had always intended for you two to be this way.

Jack was sitting on the couch, his arm around Alyssa, and Quinn was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed but with a small, knowing smile on his face. It was as if Quinn could see something in you and Luke that no one else could, like he had been waiting for this moment for years. His smile was subtle, but there was a quiet pride in it, a quiet satisfaction. He knew what this meant. He had watched his younger brother love you from the sidelines, and now, as he looked at the way you and Luke stood together, there was a peace in his eyes. It was as if he had been holding his breath for so long, waiting for Luke’s feelings to be reciprocated, and now, finally, they were.

The evening passed like it always did, with laughter and familiar chatter filling the space. But there was a new dynamic now—one that everyone could feel. Jack, ever the easygoing older brother, noticed the subtle but undeniable shift between you and Luke. He didn’t say anything, but you could see it in his eyes when he caught your gaze—acknowledgment, understanding, and maybe even a little relief. Jack had never been the type to need to understand everything, but he could see what had always been there between you and Luke, and now, seeing the way Luke’s eyes lit up when he looked at you, seeing the way you seemed to belong by his side—it was clear. There was no need for words. The change had come, and it was undeniable.

When the evening wore on and the sun began to dip low over the lake, painting the sky in warm golden hues, you and Luke found yourselves outside. The air had cooled, the breeze soft and comforting, and you both gravitated to the old bench by the water. It was the same bench where so much had unfolded between you in the past, where you had first realized the depth of your feelings, where you had started to see Luke in a new light. It felt almost like fate that you would return here, as if this spot, this place by the water, was the point where everything had started to change.

Luke sat down first, his hand still holding yours, and you followed suit, settling beside him. His arm brushed against yours, and for a moment, the two of you just sat there, letting the quiet wash over you. The soft rustling of the trees, the gentle lapping of the water, the distant call of birds settling in for the night—it was all so familiar, yet now it felt new. The air between you and Luke was filled with an unspoken understanding, a peace that neither of you had ever experienced before. You didn’t need to say anything. You didn’t need to explain the emotions swirling between you, because you both felt them. You were here. Together. And that was enough.

Luke’s hand gently slid into yours, his fingers entwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. You looked over at him, your heart swelling as you realized how far you had come. The awkwardness, the uncertainty, the hesitation—they were all gone now, replaced with something deep and sure. You finally felt like you had arrived, not just at the lake house, but at a place where you could truly be yourself, where you could finally see Luke for who he was and love him the way he had always loved you.

The stars began to twinkle overhead, the sky darkening as the night crept in. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was peaceful. And when you looked over at Luke, you saw him looking up at the sky too, a soft smile on his lips, the glow from the stars reflecting in his eyes.

“I never thought this would happen,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the peaceful sounds of the night. “I didn’t know I was running from the one thing that was right in front of me all along.”

Luke’s eyes met yours then, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re here now,” he said, his voice steady and full of warmth. “And that’s all that matters.”

The words were simple, but they held so much weight. You had been running, yes, but you had stopped now. And in stopping, you had found something more beautiful than you had ever imagined. You had found him. And that was enough.

As you sat there, side by side, under the stars, you realized that everything had come full circle. All the years of missed moments, all the moments of doubt and confusion—they were behind you now. You were finally here, with Luke, where you both belonged. And as the cool breeze ruffled your hair and the distant hum of the night surrounded you, you felt like the world was finally right again.

And from where you sat, you could see Quinn watching from the porch, that small but knowing smile still on his face, as if he knew this moment was a long time coming. Luke had always deserved this. And now, finally, he had it. He had you. And you had him.

In that moment, there was nothing left to do but lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beside you. The world might have been uncertain, but here, with him, you felt more certain than you ever had before. And you knew that, for once, you wouldn’t run anymore. You were right where you were meant to be.

[sinstear]

happy valentines 🍫💐💌

vi notices the way you’ve been distant for the last couple of days with her, barely talking to her, glancing in her direction when she practically wraps herself around your body when you’re in the kitchen making breakfast, or doesn’t even let her on your phone. you never had a problem with that before, but that’s suddenly changed. she doesn’t even get a smile from you. at first she assumed you had enough, maybe you didn’t love her anymore, found someone new, someone else to be obsessed and utterly in love with. then she tried to recall the last week, had something happened and you were just figuring it out? did she say something that made you upset? if so, why weren’t you talking to her.

she doesn’t have much time to figure out why, not when there’s an abrupt groan and scuffle at the front door then a loud bang that has her sitting up on the couch, blinking repeatedly until she can hear you cursing under your breath. “stupid fuckin’ thing,” or something like that. if she didn’t feel so upset over something that had she no idea about, then she would have laughed, ran to help you, but she didn’t, she just sat there in; clad in one of your hoodies and slumped deeper into the couch. 

pathetically, like a lost puppy, she perks up at the sound of your voice again. “vi, baby, are you awake?” 

“yes,” she mumbled back, more like scoffed but you weren’t paying attention. “m’in here.”

“okay, uh, can you close your eyes for a second, please?”

doing as you asked, vi closes her eyes, takes her hands out of her lap and nervously fumbles with her fingers. the sound of you cursing and grumbling got louder yet closer the longer she sits here and waits for you to do whatever it was that you were doing, and it’s only when you stumbled, almost tripping over your own feet, into the living room, you find her slumped there, chewing at her bottom lip and sniffling. “don’t open them, just give me like 2 minutes, don’t peek, i know what you’re like.” you warned playfully.

she has no idea what you’re doing, but her only thought in her mind right now was that you’re breaking up with her, this is it. you’re going through all of this just to tell her you’re not in love with her anymore, that you’ve found someone else, that she doesn’t make you happy and maybe she could handle that, but not when she loves you so much—

“you can open them now.” you murmured exactly 2 minutes later.

when her eyes flutter open, violet finds you standing in the doorway, looking somewhat nervous, the living room covered with dark and light pink balloons, rose petals scattered over the floor, a huge bouquet of red roses sit on the coffee table, accompanied by a big box of chocolates, ones you know she loves, one of those giant teddy bears, looking at her like it was trying to read all her secrets, and a gift bag on her lap. light pink with a card taped to the side. “happy valentines day!” 

“y…you’re not breaking up with me?” is what comes out her mouth first, blinking. taking in the sight before her. had she gotten all her worries wrong?

the question catches you off guard and you blinked too, then frowned and shook your head quickly. “no! my god, why would i break up with you?” you rushed over to her and sat beside her before taking her hands into yours. “hey, no, don’t cry, why would i break up with you?”

“you’ve been distant, so i thought—”

“it’s very hard to keep surprises from you, you know?” you laughed softly and wiped away the tears that ran down her cheek. “but no, m’not breaking up with you, you’re my world, and i love you, so much.”

“i’ve never had valentines before” vi admits sadly. 

“i know, i wanted your first to be special,” you admitted softly and smiled. “if it’s too much, we don’t have to open them yet, we can just leave them until—”

“no! i just, i haven’t gotten you anything yet so,” vi suddenly becomes quiet and fumbles with the gift tag nervously. “m’sorry—”

“i have you, don’t i? that’s all i ever need. if i have you, i don’t need anything else,” you admitted and kissed her temple. “it’s your first valentines, it’s not about me, it’s about you, and i want you to know how much i love you, and how much you mean to me. even if there is a creepy teddy bear looking at me.”

vi giggles and wipes away her tears, a blush creeping up on her face. “how did you even get that in here?”

“i carried that thing up 7 flights of stairs, it was a struggle, i admit.”

looking up at you, vi smiles shyly and is quick to bury her face in the crook of your neck. “thank you,” she sniffled and gripped your arm tightly. “i love you so much.”

“i love you more, baby,” you smiled and kissed the top of her head. “how about we make breakfast, take a walk, and when we’ll sit down and you can open your gifts? when you’re not as overwhelmed?”

“i’d like that, but that teddy needs to be turned around, as much as i love it, it’s creeping me out”

“agreed. remind me to not bring it into the bedroom tonight.”

[antifainternational]

I have a group of acquaintances from my hometown who are mostly “moderate Republicans”, but only because they don’t really pay attention and are young straight white men from an affluent suburb. I don’t hang out with them, but we’re all in a group chat together (that they keep adding me to every time I try to leave). I figured since I was there, I might as well try to introduce them to some leftist, anti-authoritarian ideas. It’s been working—I’ve even seen a shift with the one proper alt-right guy from constantly posting evil shit unfettered to keeping his mouth shut except to occasionally completely make a fool of himself while trying to debate me—but it’s slow. With everything else that’s happening in the US, I’m wondering if this is a worthwhile use of time.

You've already shifted one of your acquaintances from the red pill/alt-right pipeline a bit, so you've answered your own question, Anon! We suggest you keep up the good work here. In fact, we've got some resources for you: If you dig through our Asks Archive, you'll find lots of examples where we responded to the most common bullshit peddled by the far-right. There might be good ammo in there for you to use to continue swaying these guys. The Western States Center has a number of guides offering solid advice on how to respond when people close to you are going down the wrong path. Generally, avoid name-calling and responding with facts is effective. A good way to frame what you say is to Affirm, Answer, & ReDirect: -Affirm that what the person is saying is real and comes from a place of real concern that you understand. This validates them and makes them more open to listening to you. -Answer (or respond) to what they're saying factually. You want to be clear, concise, and concrete when you answer. Make your answer as clear, direct, and succinct as possible and based it on real-world, concrete evidence. -Now you want to ReDirect the person's concern or anger away from the target they thought was appropriate to where they should be angry. To demonstrate: Person 1: I'm fed up with not being able to afford proper housing! There's just not enough homes in this country with all the immigrants coming here! We need to close our borders to makes sure we can house our own people! Person 2: (Affirming): I definitely hear you. It sickens me that so many people are living on the streets here. Rents our out of control. We shouldn't have to worry about whether or not we're going to have a roof over our heads from one month to the next. (Answering): But what is the real problem here? We're one of the richest countries in the world, yet for every one person living on the streets, there are 28 vacant homes available that the owners are just sitting on. The top 20 corporate landlords control over 1.4 million homes. Turning housing from a basic necessity into something to speculate on and try to get rich with means sky-high rents and homes sitting empty while people sleep in the streets. (Redirecting): Immigrants aren't the reason for the housing crisis - relying on capitalism to provide housing when it's only designed to provide profits is the reason! If you are genuinely upset about housing situation here, you need to focus on the people that created the problem and profit from it - wealthy landlords and landowners and the politicians that pass laws that only make them wealthier, at the expense of the rest of us!

[medusas-daughter]

Watching the first two episodes of Yellowjackets season 3 was so fascinating from an anthropological point of view. These girls are experiencing the beginning of civilisation, the way traditions and rituals are born out of necessity, the benefits of having a routine, the holidays and creating a reason to celebrate and make life worth living, the miracle that is spring, the magic of animals both as loving companions and nourishment, the god-like ways of Nature, how it's both giving and deadly in equal measure, the birth of a religion, (Lottie calls it faith and it's not even a funny woowoo moment it is faith how is it any different than the other existing religions?) the searching for meaning the way some find comfort in finding a hidden meaning a bigger picture the way others cope better by accepting there is none and the existential dread of both paths, the social contract between a group and their leader and the balance between power respect and responsibility (adult Nat said it the first time we met her, she had purpose back there and now we see it), what we owe to each other what the saying "it takes a village" means, all things we learn from books and they're learning on a day to day basis. And like Tai said, this isnt something they're learning in parallel to the life or death shit, this is life or death, all of these are aspects of survival as a community, as a species.

And then by the end of episode 2 I thought imagine going through the dizzying highs and lows of that then going back to the "real world" and having to beg nepo babies to do business with your husband so you can earn fake money to be able to put food on your table and put your daughter through college, I'd crash out too, I'd find the mere prospect of it excruciating torture too.

[mynameisnot-carl]

Of the ones I'm more familiar with:

Wonderland: too weird. I'd probably die to in some cave full of talking spiders before actually getting to meet anyone interesting.

Wizarding world: hell no fuck British people

Pokémon: I think the times we see the Pokémon world as a 10-14 year old aren't 100% accurate to what's it's like there tbh. It feels implied that the lives of the people living there are a lot more normal, just with cool monsters. Also, I've heard the argument that they don't want to ve smited by a rayquaza or some shit but like Pokémon always show some level of sentience and morals and I doubt they'd kill you over nothing yk. Overall great choice

ATLA: Awesome power system but idk if it's worth living that far back in the past

One piece: HELLLLLL NO. Oppressive government is bad enough irl I don't want them to have super powers!! Plus even if I was strong enough to make it to the grand line there's I chance I'd get squad wiped bc someone like Hawkeye was bored 😭😭😭

[mohfamily]

🌟 A Plea from Gaza: Rola’s Story 🌟

Hello, my name is Rola, and I am a mother of two children living in the Gaza Strip. Our lives were once filled with love, laughter, and dreams for the future. But everything changed on October 7th, when the war shattered not only our home but our entire world.

That morning, my family and I were enjoying coffee together on the balcony. Out of nowhere, an explosion erupted, shaking our home violently. My husband and son ran for cover, falling over each other in panic, while I stood frozen, still holding my cup, unable to process the chaos around me. When I looked out the window, I saw that our neighbor’s house, once filled with life, had been reduced to rubble. Ambulances rushed to the scene as people scrambled to rescue the injured and pull bodies from the debris.

The bombings didn’t stop. At night, the rain poured heavily, and the cold seeped into our bones. I stayed awake, covering my children to keep them warm and praying for their safety. But safety is an illusion here. Another explosion shattered the night, and our neighbors’ home was destroyed. Their children, who had been sleeping peacefully under a blanket, were found lifeless, their cover soaked in blood.

I looked at my children with tears in my eyes and thought, How can I protect you? We had to flee our home with nothing but the clothes on our backs. We left behind my children’s toys, their clothes, and their beautiful bedroom. Everything we had worked so hard to build is gone.

Our Current Reality Now, we are displaced and living in a nightmare. Food is scarce, and prices are unimaginably high—$10 for a kilo of sugar! The fear of death hangs over us constantly. My children deserve a life of joy and hope, not one defined by fear and loss. Why can’t we live like everyone else—go to work, visit family, and watch our children play in safety? Why do our children have to grow up surrounded by death and destruction?

How You Can Help I am pleading for your kindness to help us rebuild our lives. We need your support to: 💔 Rebuild our home, so my children can feel safe again. 🌍 Evacuate from Gaza, seeking a future where my family can live with dignity. 🩺 Provide urgent medical care for my children, who need protection from this nightmare.

Even the smallest donation can make a difference. If you can’t donate, please share my story. Every share brings us closer to hope.

What Your Support Means Your kindness is not just about helping us survive; it’s about giving us a chance to dream again. To rebuild what we’ve lost and to ensure my children have a future filled with possibilities, not fear.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Your support means the world to us. Let’s work together to rebuild hope, one step at a time.

🌸 Please share our story and consider donating today. 🌸

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

0v0 Leona brainrot may I request a thing on Leona x reader where reader is mute from family trauma 0v0 (note love your stuff you feed my brain rot everyday also if you) also can you make it that in the story we have Reader think Grim is now our Son/or we see little brother and we talk to only him but then as per Leona x reader we talk to Leona at some point

Arm still hurts, but I put on a brace, so LET'S GO (don't follow my example)

Thank you for the Request! Leona has consumed my thoughts as well.

Synopsis: Reader with selective mutism slowly grows fond of the cold lion.

TW: mentions of reader having a bad family life; reader has selective mutism; reader is initially scared of Leona

Selective mutism can be caused by a variety of factors such as an anxiety disorder, self-esteem issues, speech problems, and etc.. Yours stemmed from. . . poor family relationships, to put it delicately.

Coming to Twisted Wonderland was like both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because you made it out

A curse because, well, YOU WERE TOSSED INTO ANOTHER WORLD WITH NO TIME TO PROCESS. So, of course, your anxiety levels spiked.

It took you a bit to figure out how to explain to Crowley that you struggled with selective mutism, and even when you did, he took it as you trying to say you were entirely mute. You supposed you could live with that. It would definitely help quell the intrusive questions and ignorant statement if not just by a bit.

It took a while, but you managed to get comfortable enough around Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts to talk. You had grown to see them as the family you never had. A family you chose.

You weren't sure whether to classify Grim as a younger brother or a son, but you figured that wasn't all that important of a distinction for you to make. He's your family and that's what counts.

When you did finally talk for the first time around this little group they were certainly shocked, Grim more so than the ghosts. However, they were patient and allowed you the time and space to explain (even if that was because the ghosts held Grim's mouth shut).

In the end, you all decided it was probably best that you keep the reality of your muteness a secret as people knowing could cause problems (and just be annoying for those too ignorant to understand or too curious to understand personal space).

When you first met Leona, it was when you stepped on his tail in the botanical garden. You bowed profusely as a way of saying sorry, but he either didn't get it or didn't care.

"D*mn Herbivore." He growled. "You think you can just step on my tail and get away with it? Not even gonna properly apologize for waking me with your foot digging into my tail?"

Clearly, he had not been paying attention at orientation. You were never too great with confrontation, quite frankly, it scared you, so you ran. You could hear his angry shouts from behind you as you booked it out of there, but you paid no mind to his words (not that you could even hear them with the blood pumping so violently in your ears from the adrenaline).

The next time you met him, like truly met and talked to him, was after the spelldrive game when you got nailed in the head with the disk.

When the unusual group of Ace, Deuce, Jack, Ruggie, Leona, and Grim came into the infirmary you were understandably wary. Afterall, Leona hadn't exactly made a stellar first impression.

However, your opinion shifted a bit when a little ball of energy and pure joy came bursting into the room to meet Leona. You had felt some sympathy for him after seeing his dream, you didn't have the best family life either, but you also weren't a massive jerk. A hint of worry grew in your stomach when you saw the small lion jump on Leona's bed and bounce on his stomach, but you froze when you saw the man's reaction.

He may have seemed harsh to most with the way he treated and talked to the child, but you could tell he was anything but. The way his eyes softened ever so slightly and his muscles relaxed. And, if you didn't know any better, you would've sworn you saw the corners of his lips twitch upwards just a bit.

The way someone treats their family can tell you a lot. The way Leona treated Cheka told you a lot.

You turned your attention away from Leona to sign something to Deuce (he learned a bit of sign language from his mom).

Leona would have cursed had Cheka not been right there. Great. Now he felt like an *ss.

Perhaps that guilt is what led him to so easily letting you stay in Savanaclaw during book 3.

He led you up to his room and told you how to fold out the couch (it was a futon). However, other than that, he didn't say much.

The only word you heard him speak the first night was a brief "sorry". He didn't elaborate on it, but you were fairly sure you knew what he was apologizing for.

At some point, you had made a habit of lightly tugging on your friends' sleeve when you needed their attention. Out of habit, you accidentally did this to Leona once. You didn't even notice until you saw the other Savanaclaw students' horrified faces. You whipped around to apologize to Leona, but he looked entirely unbothered.

"What'd ya need?"

On the last night when you needed to get Leona's help, you didn't exactly have the option of yelling, and banging pots and pans didn't exactly cross your mind. At that moment, you were just so tired and so stressed that all you did was silently tear up.

When he noticed your crying he momentarily froze. His eyes widened to the size of saucers and he just stared at you.

You really had a knack for making Leona feel scummy.

Before he knew it, he was getting up and trudging across the room.

You flinched.

Leona mentally bashed his head into a wall repeatedly.

"I'll help. . .just. . .cut it out with the water works." He handed you a tissue box and that was that.

You grew steadily closer over time, but he didn't hear your voice until around the end of book 6.

You had gotten back from STYX and your dorm was still in shambles, so you were left to stay at Savanaclaw. Other dorms were going to offer, but before they could even open their mouths, Leona sighed dramatically loud and announced that he guessed you'd have to stay at Savanaclaw sing you had absolutely no other options.

You trudged into his room together and watched as Grim immediately conked out on a plush chair next to the couch.

Leona was about to collapse on the bed (he was too tired to shower or even change clothes) when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his torso and a wet spot forming on his chest as your tears soaked through his shirt.

He was not cut out for these kinds of situations.

Despite this thought, he soon sighed and wrapped his arms around your back as well. The two of you stood there like that for what felt like an eternity before the silence was finally broken.

And not by him.

"I-I'm so glad you're safe." Your voice was hoarse from lack of use, and your words were hard to decipher as they came out as more of choked sobs.

A million questions ran through Leona's mind at that moment, but none of them left his lips. Instead, he simply replied: "Yeah. . .'m glad you are too."

His questions could wait until tomorrow.

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[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton, p5

masterpost please no crit or editing, I know there are mistakes. this migraine is on day 7 and killing me <3

Danny swiped his finger over one of the hanging crystals in the waiting room window of Marvelous Mina’s Spiritual Nexus: or, in other words, the old, tiny, craftsman building that was crammed between two mid rises that Wilhelmina Aleshire had inherited from her grandmother several years ago.

There wasn’t any sort of spiritual nexus in the place. Mina was actually completely inept at conversing with the dead (Danny excluded). What Mina was unusually skilled at lay in the realm of psychic readings, specifically those involving divination such as tarot and oracle cards. She was also quite good at reading living people.

(Danny might have been a little jealous of that.)

Danny had first stumbled upon Mina and her ‘nexus’ when they were both dealing with the same ghost: him from the spirit itself and her from the bereaved widower of the man. Working together had wrapped things up quite quickly. It had also actually been enjoyable.

Mina was weird, energetic, and curious. It was an overwhelming combination at times, but other times it was just perfect. It was especially welcome when Danny got into a slump of some sort, usually between jobs or partners or when he wanted to kill and then end an annoying new roommate.

Not that he would ever do that.

(But Brad came damn close.)

A crying woman came dashing out through the curtain that separated the foyer waiting room from the sitting room that Mina used for her readings. She wiped dramatically at her eyes as she got to the door, heaved a massive sigh, tossed her hair back, and headed back out into the world.

“Wow. What did you tell her?” Danny asked, not even turning to look at Mina yet, though he knew she would be standing at the open curtain on the edge between the two spaces where old, cracked black and white tiles met darkly stained hardwood painted with hena style flowers.

“Oh, you know, the usual thing people hate to hear; it won’t work out between her and her current boyfriend,” Mina said. She dropped into the seat next to Danny, and he finally turned to look at her. Her mass of dark blond hair was piled up on top of her head in a sort of gibson girl bun that looked effortlessly, messily stylish. Mina was good at that—being effortlessly stylish in a disheveled sort of way. She brushed back her bangs and continued. “He’s actually already being set to be engaged by his family to ‘someone proper’, which he’ll give into for the inheritance—which is all she was after anyways. She’ll get over it.”

“Something something fish in the sea,” Danny said. He reached out and plucked a petal from Mina’s hair. It was from a bright orange zinnia. Mina’s favorite.

Mina hummed. “And how is your fishing going, Mr. Fenton?”

“Currently in an absolute drought, no where to fish around here.”

“Danny, you live in San Francisco. A bi man such as yourself is not allowed to say there is no fish around.”

Danny scowled, “No fish that don’t want to eat me and spit me out.”

“I mean…”

“Not like that!” Danny explained, a quick blush rising on in his cheeks. “I meant like, viciously.”

“I mean…” Mina repeated with a lascivious smirk.

“I regret coming to you for help.”

“No,” Mina whined, drawing out the word. “What help? Do you have a new ghost problem? What sort of help do you need? Danny, let me help!”

Danny managed to glare at her, but only for a few moments before he relented with an over wrought sigh. “Fine, you can help. Can we go talk now or do you have another appointment?”

“Not until four,” she said. She took Danny’s hand and practically dragged him through the door to the right and into the private section of the once stately home. “Which tea do you want?”

“Dealer's choice. Whatever tea you think is best for a weird talk about a weird ghost,” Danny said. He had his favorites of Mina's diverse tea selection, sure, but she had a way of always choosing the best blend foe the day if he left the choice to her.

She narrowed her eyes as she studied Danny in a way that always made the back of his neck itch. He put up with it dutifully, but relaxed noticeably when she nodded and continued them on to the kitchen.

The room was painted a warm, coral orange. The color should have clashed with the the pale blue cabinets and pale butcher top counters, but instead it just worked. It was very Mina.

Danny sat at the table and idly scratched Hubris on the head.

Hubris was Mina’s ancient grey cat. He had one single golden eye left and used it to glare pitifully at whoever was near until the pet him. He also purred like a wood chipper.

“So give me the deets,” Mina demanded once she had set down the two cups of tea.

Danny sighed and took a sip of his tea. “They’re different. It’s not like they’re made of smoke or mist, it’s like they’re full of static. And they don’t look dead either. I actually—I finally got a got a good look at them this last episode.”

“I don’t like the way you say ‘episode’,” Mina said. Her eyes narrowed over the top of her tea cup.

“You shouldn't,” Danny said with a frown as pulled out the sketch and unfolded it. “They’re seizures, I think? Not like I’ve gone to a doctor about them. I don’t think ‘the ghost person touches me and the world goes technicolor kaleidoscope’ would go over well with a medical professional.”

Hubris opened his one eye with a snort as Mina’s cup clanged down onto her saucer.

“Seizures?! Danny! What the f! You can’t just mess around with seizures.”

“You can say fuck, Mina, we’re both adults,” Danny said dryly.

She leaned forward. “I will throw my tea at you, Danny, unless you explain.”

“But I can’t exactly. They’re not a regular ghost, and I’ve never had anything like this happen before. Mina, look. They look alive.” He turned the drawing around to face her and slid it her way. “I drew this after the episode yesterday. I saw them so clearly. Their eyes had a spark, their skin was healthy skin with a flush and everything, and I even think they breathed. I don’t… Mina, I’m worried that they’re not a ghost.”

Mina picked up the sketch carefully. Her brows were furrowed. “But if they’re not a ghost, why are they contacting you?”

Danny shook his head. “No, if they’re not a ghost, how are they contacting me. And why am I their only option?”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty much. But that’s why I’m here. I want to try things a different way. I want you to try and read for them, Mina.”

[marzipanandminutiae]

I genuinely think there were far more trans people in 19th century western history than we're aware of, simply because of the nature of how most LGBTQ people lived their lives back then

namely, though of course this varied WILDLY by time, place, cultlure, race, gender, etc., in relative secrecy

if you go back far enough, legal identifying documents were barely a thing for many people. and even if they existed, circumstances in which they'd be checked were few and far between. surveillance was nowhere near what it is now simply because of technological limitations. and due to those same technological limitation, people were more used to accepting at face value the identities of people with bodies that varied from the norm

Gilbert and Sullivan mention, in their 1885 song "I've Got A Little List," the singer's "auntie with a mustache" (albeit in a negative context). not "well, I don't hold with all this woke DEI nonsense and have we checked Auntie's genitals and what's the marker on this alleged woman's passport?" is it very probable that the auntie was cisgender? yes. there are plenty of reasons for cis women to grow more facial hair than is average, ranging from genetics to PCOS to post-menopausal hormone shifts. before HRT, in a time with few readily accessible safe hair removal techniques (though they tried, and electrolysis had been technically available- at ruinously expensive rates -since the 1870s), you'd be more likely to encounter cis women with facial hair who chose not to try removing it. and you assumed all women were cis. so your set concept of A Woman included, potentially, facial hair, and it was less likely to make you question someone's gender

EDIT: wow okay so that is NOT an original G&S lyric! it's so borderline in terms of Poor Taste that I assumed it must be 19th century. nonetheless, references to old women with whiskers and moustaches abound in Victorian and earlier literature, so the point still stands

besides which, for a very long time, personal questions along the lines of "what's in your trousers/skirt" were considered HIGHLY impertinent

so, while there would be a world of trouble if a trans person was caught or if suspicions began to arise about their gender for some reason- the past was not a trans-friendly utopia by any means -it was often somewhat easier to fly under the radar than it generally is today. the transphobic powers-that-were were less aware of this possibility and therefore not on high alert for it, generally speaking

and since most trans people then and now want to have jobs and social circles and families and do things to which being trans is incidental, while trans, it wasn't likely that they'd call attention to themselves in a time when Closet = Safe. indeed, most trans people from that era that we know about are only publicly known because their death wishes to be buried without autopsy were not respected. I'm thinking of Dr. James Barry, Charley Parkhurst, and earlier the Chevaliere d'Eon [no, that's not a misspelling; it's the feminine form of Chevalier since she was a woman]

(you hear about more transmasc people in the history of this era because it was harder to establish an independent life as a woman, at all, without some kind of support network/establishment of Reputation in the area where you were living. unless you were a sex worker, and while we do know about some transfem sex workers of the era, the specifics of their identities are often obscured behind salacious news reports of Man Disguised As Woman Tricks Other Men Into Doing Icky Gay Things. so figuring out whether they saw themselves as women or crossdressing men can be difficult. Mary Jones comes immediately to mind)

how many similar wishes were respected? how many people slipped through history with their gender variance unremarked-upon? there's literally no way of knowing- which is good in terms of immediate postmortem respect, but leaves historians of queer subjects nowadays with a herculean task

I think, in light of all that's happening right now, I just want to remind everyone that trans people have always existed, will always exist, and are an integral part of humanity's fabric

[gallusrostromegalus]

Do you have any plans for what happens with Urahara's shop once Aizen is dealt with? I mostly ask cus the other day I binged the AIEWAM tag, then had a dream about the Shinigami using it as a base of operations in Karakura. I don't know if that is likely, or plausible, but it was fun to picture random shinigami doing customer service.

No that's more or less what happens to it!

After Aizen is dealt with, Urahara is facing some pretty significant personal problems: his rejection by the 12th division, being pregnant with his first child (and Yoruichi's nervous breakdown of impending parenthood) and Nihofornia's National Tax Agency finally catching up to him. As a shinigami, Urahara is aware of the many ways to shimmy around death, but there is no certainty like Taxes.

It's Don Kanonji, the most reasonable and level-headed adult in the whole damn fic, who proposes the solution: between his careers of swimsuit model, UN Translator, exorcist and fashion designer, Don is also a Certified Accountant. After going over she shoebox full of miscellaneous receipts and assorted Papers That Might Be Important, Don negotiates a deal with the tax agency around Kisuke's dubious status as a citizen and even more dubious bookkeeping: kisuke will sell the business to someone with a real social security number and pay up a large percentage of the staggering amount of money he owes in exchange for being allowed to rent the building from the new owners and continue his path to legitimate citizenship and no further financial chicanery.

"Okay, but who's going to pony up the cash? I don't have that kind of money!" Kisuke wails, fully in the grip of second-trimester hormone swings.

"Urahara-san. Kisuke. Sandalhat. Buddy. Pal." Ichigo's classmate Keigo sighs, fondly patting the man on the shoulders as he sat down on the couch beside Urahara. "We're friends, right?"

"We're people who know each other's home addresses." Kisuke sniffles.

"Close enough!" Mizuiro waves, sitting down on Urahara's other side. "-and you're former second division, real cloak-and-dagger stuff. So you know that sometimes it's best to not ask so many questions, right?"

Kisuke frowned with growing suspicion. "I might have been..."

"Great! All you need to do is make Tessai clean out the garage, turn the paperwork over to me and Mizuiro, keep an ear on the line to soul society, and focus on getting this place ready for your little bundle of joy-" Keigo smiled, gesturing around the decidedly bachelor padded living room.

"-and don't worry about where this came from!" Mizuiro chirped happily, hefting a large briefcase onto the table with a loud thud that popped open the lid, revealing a frankly alarming amount of cash inside.

"I'm worrying." Kisuke grimaced.

"We very specifically requested the opposite of that." Keigo pouted.

"That's at least thirty grand in there." Don remarked with a casual glance at the carefully packed but decidedly used bills inside.

"There is Thirty-one thousand, two hundred seventy-eight point oh-six Troyen, which is exactly two and a half times this shop's discretionary income last year, and a very generous price for the business!" Mizuiro beamed.

"Why can't you guys use a normal currency like Kan?" Kisuke pouted, trying to do conversion rates in his head.

"Well for one thing, fiat currency is a hell of a lot better than anything based on the value of rice." Keigo nodded. "Though it is kinda stupid that we didn't update the name after we went off the gold standard during world war three."

"There was a third world war?" Kisuke yelped.

"A cold one, back in the eighties. You didn't notice were busy making sure Isshin and Masaki Kurosaki didn't implode." Tessai called from the kitchen.

"Oh." Urahra mumbled.

"Look, it's really quite simple- you'll go on basically as you have been with the candy shop-" Mizuiro smiled with the soothing demeanor of an unexpected adder. "-only I'll be your landlord and Keigo will be your manager!"

Urahra stared blankly at the boys, then looked up at Don Kanonji, who was reading over the contents of the file folder Mizuiro had handed him when the boys came in. "...That can't possibly be legal, right?"

"Hm?" Don hummed, looking up over his glasses. "Oh, yes. The government would really prefer a check but cash is perfectly legal tender to settle all debts with."

"But they're kids!" Kisuke gestured hysterically between them.

"Okay, Mizuiro might be babyfaced but he turned eighteen last spring and I'll be an adult by the time we turn in all this paperwork in April." Keigo groaned.

"And- and this is clearly Mob Money!" Urahara continued, waving at the briefcase of cash.

"Mister Urahara! I would NEVER-!" Mizuiro gasped with great offense. "I'll have you know all this money came from Perfectly Legitimate Enterprises!" He sniffed, arms crossed and lip pouting.

"That's the name of the Mobile Tech Support business Mizu and I have been running since freshman year!" Keigo beamed. "Makes a good packet, you wouldn't believe the kind of tips the old biddies will give a Nice Young Man in a Smart Uniform who scrapes malware off her online mahjong machine!"

Urahara stared at them blankly, gaze slowly tipping down to the briefcase full of money. "I should learn how to use living world computers."

"NO." Every single person in the building, including the shop kids and Ichigo, who had been passed out under the table after training, but was stirred to consciousness by an impending sense of danger before passing out again.

"Killjoys." Urahra muttered, sulking under his hat.

"Regardless, its a perfectly legal and honestly very generous offer for this heap, and as your financial advisor, I urge you to take it." Don Kanonji glared over his glasses at Urahara.

"So what, you boys get a cut of the candy money and rent? Cause that ain't much of a savvy deal on your end. This place runs at a debt."

"Oh no, you can keep the candy revenue and I'll only ask for enough rent to cover utilities." Mizuiro smiled. "What we want is a cut of your commission as a licensed Gotei-13 outlet contractor!"

"...But I'm not a contractor?" Urahara blinked.

"...Do you just. Not read things before you sign them?" Keigo glared.

"Yeah, you're not just in hock to the NTA, the Soul Revenue Service is after you too for running a fake Gotei-13 service center, and bailing on a century's worth of filings by faking your death." Mizuiro frowned at him with concern. "So e of those papers you signed when you resumed your identity and job as captain- however briefly were the result of Captain Kyoraku cutting you one HELL of a parole deal with the SRS, but the agreement was that Urahara Shoten would be the base of operations for ALL the shinigami operating in Karakura, under the direct supervision and control of the Gotei-13 and he sure wasn't stingy with the budget he gave you! Well. The budget he gave me and Keigo to spend since I'd be the property owner and Keigo would be the business owner."

"Aaaand since you also signed the soul society official secrets agreement, it's not like you can ask someone else to buy you out from the NTA, so not only are we your best offer, we're your ONLY offer!" Keigo grinned.

Urahra stared at them blankly. "You've set me up." He mumbled.

"You sent yourself up for this when you failed to do your due diligence when signing contracts." Don Kanonji corrected him, pulling some documents out of the folder and signing them, before pushing them across the table. "Please actually read these before you si- you've already signed them." Don Kanonji groaned as Urahara slapped the pen back down on the table with spite.

"Fine, fine- I guess I'm back to following orders instead of giving them. What do you want, Boss?" He glared at Keigo.

"Put your feet up and finish putting together that gift list for the baby shower." Keigo nodded. "We weren't kidding that your first priority is getting this place ready for baby... Does it have a name yet?"

"...No." Kisuke wilted despondently. "Yoruichi still isn't answering my texts!"

"Hm." Keigo nodded. "Okay, put your feet up, finish that baby shower list and think of a name for the little rugrat. Just leave the rest to us for now!"

"You guys are good kids." Kisuke smiled weakly.

"Would you be willing to make a sworn statement to that effect, so we can have it on file for any future HR disputes?" Mizuiro smiled.

"Absolutely goddamn not." Kisuke glared.

[lilianne-tarot]

⋆.˚PICK A CARD: "What Are They Really Feeling About You" ⋆.˚

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I. II. III.

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Hey there loves! Welcome to another PAC reading on my blog page—I hope you all enjoy it! Comment down what you felt about the reading and if it resonated with you and please show some love, Your support means everything to me!<3

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

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⋆✮ Pile I

"I have so many feelings for you, but I don’t know how to handle it."

These cards are laid out in front of me, and whew—the energy is giving emotional confusion and major mixed signals. Like, imagine someone typing out a long-ass paragraph to send to you, deleting it, and then hitting you with a dry "hey" instead. That’s the vibe we’re working with here. typical situationship situation. There’s this undeniable connection between you two—the kind which makes yalll like, "what are we?" . But The World Reversed tells me they feel like something between you is incomplete or not quite where it should be. Maybe y’all had a near miss, an almost-relationship, or things just never fully clicked into place the way they were supposed to. OR—they’re still caught up in past issues, cycles, or even other people who are messing with their perception of this connection. And then—BOOM—the Queen of Swords Reversed—This person sees you as intelligent, sharp, and perceptive, but also a bit intimidating. They might feel like if they were to step to you, they’d have to bring their absolute A-game because you don’t fall for weak, half-hearted energy. (And tbh, they’re lowkey scared of getting called out if they’re moving weird). They could also think you’re a bit distant or hard to read at times—like, do you actually like them back, or are you just naturally that cool? (Spoiler: they’re dying to know).

Okay, but what’s holding them back? The Five of Cups is coming in here , showing that this person is stuck in regret, sadness, or some kind of emotional baggage that’s stopping them from moving forward with you. If this is an ex or a situationship, they definitely still think about you, but they’re too caught up in the "what went wrong" instead of focusing on "what could go right." I just feel like this spread is mainly for people who are stuck in a situationship or are pondering over an ex. So yeah, they feel something deep and nostalgic for you, whether you’ve known each other forever or not. They might replay certain memories, old conversations, or even compare new people they meet to you—because you set a standard, babe. There’s something pure about how they feel toward you, even if their emotions are a hot mess express. They might fantasize about simpler times between you two, or even wonder if there’s a way to rekindle or repair things if you’ve grown apart. They feel drawn to you in a way they can’t ignore. You’re on their mind more than they’ll ever admit (probably even to themselves).

At this point, it’s their move. Will they break free from their past and step toward you? Or will they keep living in the land of "what ifs" and "almost"

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˙⋆✮ Pile II

"They are literally perfect, I’m obsessed."

Like, this person thinks about you way more than they probably should. Your person doesn’t just think of you in passing—nah, you stick in their brain like a catchy song they can’t get rid of. There’s something fated about this connection in their mind (Wheel of Fortune is SCREAMING destiny vibes, and especially when I RARELY get this card in my spreads so you just KNOW). Whether they admit it or not, they feel like you’re significant in some way. They don’t know why, they don’t know how, but the thought of you feels important—like a turning point in their life, even if nothing has happened between you two yet. But here’s where it gets messy (and a little spicy). The Judgement card is staring me in the face like 👁️👄👁️, and I’m telling you right now, your person sees you as someone who forces them to self-reflect. You’re triggering something deep in them. This person sees you as someone who’s put together, maybe even out of their league. You give off an "I know who I am, and I don’t settle for less" vibe—even if you don’t feel that way inside, that’s what they’re perceiving. They might assume you have high standards that makes them second-guess how they should act around you. (Like, are they worthy???)

And the funny part? They think you have your life figured out. But seriously, you project this energy of wisdom, tradition, and stability, and it’s making them think twice before approaching. "What if they don’t take me seriously?" is a VERY real fear they have. They don’t want to come at you wrong and fumble before they even get a chance. Also, sidenote—this card sometimes gives ‘teacher/student’ energy. Not literally, but like, they feel like they could learn a lot from you. Now, let’s talk about the Two of Pentacles Reversed, because this is where the real mess begins. This person is struggling internally when it comes to you. They admire you, they think you’re lowkey untouchable, and they are absolutely not treating this as just a casual crush or just lightly. Whether they realize it or not, And let me be real with you—they’re not going to approach unless the universe forces them to. They’re waiting for some kind of cosmic push (Wheel of Fortune) to make things happen because right now, they’re paralyzed by their own overthinking. THEY ARE TIED UP IN KNOTS ABOUT THIS.

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˙⋆✮ Pile III

"Who are they?? Why do they live in my head??"

Ohhh, Pile 3’s situation is serving mystery, intrigue, and a whole lot of overthinking on their person’s end. If this is someone who only sees you from a distance—like a coworker, a classmate, or someone —then whew, the way they have created an entire personality for you in their head is actually insane.

To them, you are literally the hardest puzzle they've ever encountered, and it's driving them nuts. Like, you know how in movies, there’s always that one person who walks into a room and suddenly the main character is hyper-aware of their presence? That’s you to them. Even if you don’t talk much, or at all, your energy is too loud to ignore. They probably observe you a lot but feel like they never get the full picture. It’s giving “they seem so cool but I have no idea what’s actually going on in their head”. You might be quiet, reserved, or just really selective with who you engage with, and that makes you feel even more untouchable to them. If you are talkative or social, you still confuse them because you might act differently around different people. One second you’re laughing with someone, the next you’re in your own world? It’s throwing them off. 😂 But here’s the thing: this isn’t just curiosity. No, bestie, this is a full-on obsession. They don’t just want to know more about you—they NEED to. Their brain is playing detective without their permission. The Magician here is interesting because it means they think you’re in control, while they feel completely out of control around you. It’s giving “they probably don’t even know I exist, but I can’t stop thinking about them” energy. due of 10 of cups here, I can say, they’ve already mentally placed you in a soft-focus fantasy movie of their future.(just marry yall😭😭) They don’t just see you as someone cool—they see you as someone who could be the perfect person for them. even if they’ve never spoken to you, they already imagine what kind of relationship they’d have with you. You are the “dream person” in their head, but here’s the problem: they have no clue who you actually are. It’s like they’ve created a whole storyline about you without fact-checking it first 😭. Basically, their mental image of you is 50% real, 50% a fanfiction they wrote in their head.

Bestie, listen… If you’ve ever caught them staring at you like they’re trying to solve a crime, that’s exactly what they’re doing. They’re dying to know who you actually are because right now, you exist as a walking mystery and a romanticized daydream in their head.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog—it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! ♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[somuchanxietysolittletime]

Yesterday, I was nobody. I went hungry every other week, saving money for the light bill. I complained about the price of eggs, but bought them anyway. I had big opinions about the government, but never voiced them in any meaningful way. I was a star, in that I was surrounded by trillions of brighter lights in the night sky and destined to be extinguished without anyone noticing.

Today, I was woken up by tires screeching to a halt outside. A line of black vehicles tore through whatever counted as my yard, encircling the tiny trailer I called home.

"Honey, stay calm." My husband said, sitting on the edge of our bed and staring out at the chaos. Calm. The quiet of the morning was ruined by the beat of blades above.

Helicopters?

I opened my mouth to say something, anything.

"This is a good day for you. The CIA didn't make it first." My husband was saying.

My mind reeled. "The CIA?" I repeated as he pushed me to the laundry.

"You'll want to get dressed. Here's your favorite shirt, I already pressed it for you."

When did he learn to do that? We had an old iron, but it was never used. Not since we started working remotely. The computer screen didn't mind wrinkled shirts.

"Who's outside?" I asked as I pulled on a jade green shirt, tucking it into my favorite leggings.

"Don't freak out."

"I won't."

"You always do." He said in resignation. "Outside is General MacAvoy, he will take you to our acting president."

I freaked out.

"The president?" My voice cracked, my mind reeled. "This is a joke. You set up a joke. How did you set this up?"

He steadied me. I blinked away tears until he looked clear again.

"Listen, they are going to let me explain first, because you respond best when I do."

"Do I have amnesia? Retrograde?" I ask, trying to piece together the broken information I was given. My husband didn't look a day older. The same pile of laundry sat undisturbed on our dryer, as it did when I went to sleep last night. A scratch marked by wrist, from where I picked too hard at a scab just days before.

No, not amnesia.

"You already know it's not." My husband confirmed. "The world has been locked, repeating the same 24 hours for the last... God... Fifteen thousand years, now?"

I opened my mouth again, trying to even process that amount of time.

My husband rubbed his hands down my arms, smiling despite the grim news.

"I can't even imagine..." We say at the same time.

"You knew I'd..." He says with me again.

"Is this all you've known?" My voice is weak, his is strong.

"I know you." He continues, stroking a hand down my face. "Every facet of you now. Every secret. I spent hundreds of years hiding you from the rest of the world, to keep anyone from learning that you weren't looping."

"Why?" I ask, a chill running up a spine.

He looks at me patiently, and I knew. Being different was dangerous. "It started with people wanting to know you, because you didn't see everything coming. You were easily surprised, and it added fun to their lives. Then they looked down on you, because we all grew while you stayed the same. Then you became the closest thing to a child we have. Even toddlers outstripped you."

A felt a prick in my pride, jutting my jaw out in something close to a pout.

He kisses me, soft and gentle. "It's fine. You just had less time." He stroked back my wild hair. "But then, things took a turn. Cruel thrill seekers would race to our home, because you're the only person who hasn't become numb to dying. To being killed. They loved your fear. And the CIA filled itself with so-called scientists who thought you could break the loop, if they could just study your every dissected cell closely enough."

His hands trembled. Slightly. Almost imperceptively. "You've died so many ways. Died screaming, every time. Sometimes, I just let it happen. I got so tired of protecting you, just to fail at it again and again. Rinse and repeat."

I swallowed hard, wanting to comfort him. How? How would I even begin? "I forgive you." My words feel distant.

He smiled, "You always do. And that makes it so much worse."

The door opens, and in walks a man. No, a boy. He barely reached my ribs, with strawberry blond curls and big green eyes. A child.

"I am not a child." The boy said, hands folded behind his back. "I am General MacAvoy. For the next twenty-three hours you are in my protection, as you have been for the last two years. Ma'am, we will keep you safe."

I swallow.

Yesterday, I was a nobody.

God, I wish I still was.

Apparently, you are living in a time loop. Also apparently, you are the only person on Earth who DOESN'T remember the previous iterations. This is the first time you've experienced today; the rest of humanity has been stuck reliving today for years now.

[mariclerc]

Hi, I wanted to ask if you could write something with Charles Leclerc based on the song Sports Car by tate mcrae

thank you for this request darling!! I did my best trying to recreate the exact meaning and the essence of the song into the blurb, I hope you like it!!

Let's go ride | cl16

Warning: fluff, suggestive language, insecure reader, somewhat unprotected smut don't try this at home (+18). Based on "Sports car" by Tate McRae.

It's late at night in Monte Carlo, the streets are so quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights and the twinkling lights of the harbor. You and Charles are in his Ferrari, the cool night air rushing through your hair. You’ve been dating for a while now, feeling comfortable in each other’s presence, but still with a spark of excitement that keeps things fresh.

The Ferrari cruises slowly along the waterfront, the music is low, some chilled-out electronic beats. You lean back in your seat, watching the lights dance on the water.

You sighed contentedly. “It’s so beautiful here baby, thank you for bringing me out.”

He glanced at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “My pleasure, amour. Sometimes it’s nice to escape the chaos of the fast paced world and just… breathe... Especially with you.” (love)

He reaches out and takes your hand, squeezing it gently and you squeezed it back.

You look around. “It's crazy, though, seeing all this wealth, all this luxury… it almost feels unreal.”

He chuckled softly. “Welcome to Monaco! It's a different world, yeah, it is. But you get used to it.”

“I don't think I ever will, to be honest. It's like something out of a movie.” you say softly and he smiled.

“Maybe it is... Our very own movie, starring you and me.” he wink at you.

He drives in silence for a few minutes, navigating the winding streets with practiced ease. You watch him, admiring the way his hands move on the wheel, the way his jawline catches the light.

“You make it look so easy.” you think aloud.

“What, driving?” he asked, confused.

“Everything... Racing, dealing with the pressure, living this crazy life… you handle it all with such grace.”

He scoffed playfully. “Grace? You should see me after a bad race. I'm not always so… composed.”

“I know, but even then, you’re still… you. That’s what I admire.” you smiled.

His voice soft. “Thank you, babe. It’s not always easy, living in the spotlight. But having you by my side… it makes it a little bit easier... A lot easier.”

He turns down a quiet side alley, away from the main traffic. He pulls over to the side of the road, killing the engine, the silence is broken only by the sound of the waves lapping against the shore.

“What are you doing?”

He turned to face you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I thought we could use a little… privacy, don't you think?”

He leans in and kisses you, a slow, tender kiss that lingers. You melt into him, your hands reaching up to cup his face.

You pulled away slightly, breathless. “Privacy, huh?”

He nodded. “Yeah, and maybe a little bit of… this.”

He kisses you again, this time more passionately, his hands sliding down to your waist. You moan softly, your body tingling with anticipation.

He pulled you closer. “You are so beautiful, stellina. Do you know that?” (little star)

You blushed. “Yeah, I know... You tell me that all the time.” you giggled.

He nods. “Good, because I'm going to keep telling you until you believe it.”

He pulls you onto his lap, straddling him. You gasp slightly, surprised by the sudden movement.

“Charles! What are you doing?” you laughed nervously.

He kisses your neck. “Making sure my baby is comfortable. Are you comfortable, darling?” you nodded.

He continues to kiss you, his hands exploring your body. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close.

After a few moments of passionate kissing, you pull back slightly, a daring and wild idea forming in your mind.

You look at him, your voice is a little husky. “Charles…?”

His voice low, filled with desire. “Yes, tesoro?” (darling)

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should say what you're thinking. But the heat of the moment, the thrill of being with him, overpowers your shyness. He has always made you feel confident, both physically and mentally, and when it comes to being intimate, well, you're a little bit shy... But you have a feeling that might change tonight.

You speak with a newfound boldness. “I want to ride you.” you say softly, but sure.

Charles freezes, his eyes widening in surprise. The air crackles with a sudden electricity. “Ri… ride me? Here? Now?” he says, stammering.

You nodded, your eyes locking with his. “Yes... Here... Now.”

He swallowed hard. “But… amore.” (love)

“Is that a no?” you asked teasingly.

He shakes his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “No, is not a no... Just… unexpected. But definitely… intriguing.”

“Good, because I've been thinking about it all night.” you smile.

His voice dropping to a whisper. “And what exactly have you been thinking about, stellina?”

You leaned closer, whispering softly. “About how good it would feel… to be on top, to be in control.”

Charles shivers, his eyes darkening with desire. “My god, baby... You are going to be the death of me.” his voice hoarse.

“Maybe, but it will be a good death.” you smiled mischievously.

You lean in and kiss him again, a kiss that promises a night of passion and exploration... This time, the kiss is more demanding, more urgent. You want him, and you want him now.

He pulled away slightly, his breathing ragged. “Alright, amore, you want to be in control, huh? Then show me.”

He leans back in his seat, giving you the space to move and you straddle him more fully, your bodies pressing together and you can feel his arousal against you, a confirmation of his desire.

The small confines of the Ferrari feel suddenly intimate, charged with a palpable energy. The city lights outside seem to fade into a soft blur as your focus narrows to Charles, to the heat radiating from his body, to the promise in his eyes.

He watches you, a mixture of awe and anticipation on his face, as you reach down and begin to unbutton your jacket. Your movements are slow, deliberate, each button undone a small act of defiance against the night, against the quiet alley, against the expectations of the world outside.

“Piano, amore. There's no rush.” his voice's husky, almost a whisper. (slow, love)

You looked up at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I know... But I want you.”

You shrug off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor of the car. You're now wearing a simple dress that clings to your curves, Charles' gaze intensifies, tracing the lines of your body with an almost tangible heat.

His voice thick with desire. “You are breathtaking.”

You blush, your confidence is growing, fueled by his admiration. You reach behind you, fumbling with the zipper of your dress.

“Can you help me with this, please?” you struggle slightly.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he carefully lowers the zipper and a shiver runs down your spine.

His voice soft against your ear. “Of course, it's always a pleasure.”

As the zipper reaches the bottom, the dress slips off your shoulders, pooling around your waist. You're now straddling him in your lingerie - a set you chose specifically for this occasion, something that makes you feel both sensual and empowered.

Charles' breath hitches in his throat. He reaches out, gently tracing the lace of your bra with his fingertips.

His voice reverent. “Exquisite, just like you.” he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone. “May I…?” he whispered.

You nod, unable to speak, your heart pounding in your chest.

He gently unhooks the clasp of your bra, releasing your breasts. He gazes at them, his eyes filled with admiration.

“Perfect.” his voice husky and low.

He leans in and kisses one breast, then the other, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. You arch your back, moaning softly.

Now it's your turn and you reach out to him, your hands trembling slightly, and begin to unbutton his shirt. The fabric feels warm beneath your fingertips, infused with his scent. Charles closes his eyes, surrendering to your touch.

As you unbutton each button, you catch glimpses of his chest - the strong muscles, the faint scars that tell a story of a life lived on the edge. You trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips, then lean in and kiss his neck and he groans softly, his hands gripping your waist.

You finish unbuttoning his shirt and gently push it off his shoulders, his chest is now bare, exposed to your loving gaze. You run your hands across his skin, feeling the warmth, the strength, the life that pulses beneath.

“You are beautiful, Charles, so incredibly beautiful.” you whispered.

He opens his eyes, his gaze filled with love and gratitude. “And so are you, amore mio. So are you.” his voice soft, filled with emotion. (my love)

You reach down and unbuckle his belt, then slowly lower the zipper of his trousers. He sucks in a breath, his body tense with anticipation. You slide his trousers down his legs, revealing his boxer briefs, you pause, looking up at him, seeking his permission and he nodded, his eyes filled with desire.

You lower his boxer briefs, revealing his arousal. He is magnificent, powerful, and utterly vulnerable.

You reach out, gently cupping him in your hand. He groans, his body arching towards you.

His voice hoarse. “Oh, holy… fuck...”

You begin to caress him, your touch both gentle and firm, exploring every curve, every contour. He closes his eyes, surrendering to the pleasure, his body trembling with need.

After a few moments, you stop, looking up at him, your eyes filled with a challenge.

“What now, amore?” you asked him in a whisper.

He opens his eyes, his gaze burning with desire. “Now… you ride me.” his voice barely audible.

The moonlight catches the planes of his face, highlighting the desire that burns in his eyes. He's surrendered control, placing his pleasure, his trust, completely in your hands.

You straddle him fully, your thighs pressing against his, igniting a firestorm of sensations. The leather of the seat is cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Charles' body. You lean down, your breasts brushing against his chest, and whisper in his ear.

Your voice husky, filled with a newfound confidence. “Are you ready, baby?”

He groans softly, his hands gripping your waist. “More than ready.”

You lean back slightly, giving yourself a moment to take him in. His eyes are closed, his face contorted in a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability. You run your hands down his chest, feeling the hard muscles, the rapid pulse of his heart.

“Open your eyes, Charles. I want you to see me.” you whispered.

He obeys, his eyes meeting yours. They're dark, dilated with desire.

You begin to move, slowly at first, rocking your hips back and forth. The sensation is electrifying, the friction igniting a firestorm within you.

His voice strained. “Oh god… fuck...”

You increase the pace, your movements becoming more rhythmic, more demanding. You can feel him straining beneath you, his muscles tense, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Does that feel good, babe?” you whispered exhilarated.

He nods, unable to speak, his body arching towards you.

You continue to ride him, your movements becoming more frantic, more desperate.. You can feel yourself spiraling out of control, your body consumed by a tidal wave of pleasure.

“Oh, Charles…” you moaned.

He reaches up, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements, intensifying the pleasure. “Faster, amore. Faster…” his voice's ragged with pleasure.

You obey, your body moving in perfect sync with his. You can feel the pressure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you.

“I’m close, Charlie… so close…” you gasped.

He pulls you closer, his mouth finding yours in a desperate and heated kiss. His tongue plunges into your mouth, mirroring the rhythm of your bodies, intensifying the sensation.

And then, it hits you; a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washes over you, your body convulsing in a series of intense, shuddering orgasms. You cry out his name, your body trembling, your mind blank.

He groans, his body arching beneath you, his muscles tense and rigid. He reaches the same peak, his orgasm erupting within you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

You both collapse against each other, breathless and exhausted, your bodies slick with sweat. The small confines of the car feel suddenly too small to contain the intensity of your shared experience.

You lie there for a long moment, catching your breath, listening to the sound of your own racing heart. The silence is broken only by the soft moans and groans of satisfaction.

Finally, you pull back slightly, looking down at Charles. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed, a small smile playing on his plumped lips.

“Are you alright?” you whispered softly.

He opens his eyes, his gaze filled with love and admiration. “More than alright, chérie. More than alright.” his voice soft, filled with emotion. He reaches up, gently stroking your hair. “Thank you… for that.” he whispered. (honey)

You smile, your heart swelling with joy. “You liked it?” you asked teasingly.

He laughs softly.

“I loved it baby, you were… incredible.” his voice serious. Then he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. “You know, I never thought I would enjoy being on the receiving end of that so much.” he whispered.

You laugh, pushing him playfully.

“Oh, really?” you say teasing.

His voice earnest. “Really, it was… liberating. To let go of control, to surrender to you.” he pulled you closer, holding you tight. “You have a power over me, amore. A power that I’ve never felt before.” he whispered.

You snuggle into his embrace, feeling safe and loved.

“And you have a power over me, Charles. A power that makes me want to be… daring, to be brave and get out of my comfort zone from time to time.” you whispered softly.

Suddenly you pause, considering your next words carefully.

“So... What now?” you whispered.

He smiles, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Now… we clean up. And then… we find somewhere a little more comfortable.” he whispered. “Perhaps, our bed, huh?” he says and you giggled.

“Now you speak my language!” you smiled and smuggled closer to him.

He made a heart on the fogged up car window and you just smiled at the sight, a late night escape route ended up being something completely different and all thanks to your restlessness and need to be more daring in the intimacy and, of course, thanks to him who gives you that impulse to do it.

[goldfades]

★ DAY JUST FOR US ─── JOE BURROW⁹ [012] SWEET ON YOU

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine

FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | valentines day with joe! (sweet on you edition)

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | nothing but tooth rotting fluff!

The house was quiet—eerily so, almost unfamiliar in its stillness. No tiny footsteps padding across the hardwood, no early morning giggles, no faint sounds of cartoons filtering in from the living room. Just the low hum of the heater and the soft rustling of sheets as you turned over in bed, stretching into the empty space beside you.

Joe was already awake. You could hear him somewhere in the house, the faint clatter of dishes and the subtle creak of cabinet doors opening and closing.

And then, as if right on cue, the scent hit you.

Coffee. Fresh, strong, just how you liked it. And something sweeter—vanilla, cinnamon, maybe a hint of chocolate.

You smiled to yourself, sinking deeper into the pillows before reluctantly sitting up. The soft, golden morning light streamed through the curtains, casting warm patterns over the bed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you had woken up naturally—not to the sound of a baby monitor crackling to life or a toddler calling for you.

You missed Hayes, of course. But God, this was nice.

Pushing the covers off, you padded out of the bedroom, following the scent that was practically pulling you in like a cartoon character floating toward a fresh pie on a windowsill.

And there he was.

Joe stood in the kitchen, completely in his element, wearing sweats and a hoodie, barefoot, hair still mussed from sleep. His brow furrowed in concentration as he flipped a pancake, and next to him on the counter was a tray—two mugs of coffee, fresh fruit, a little vase with a single rose, a ridiculously romantic setup for someone who always insisted he wasn’t ‘good at this stuff.’

You leaned against the doorway, watching him for a moment.

"You look suspiciously domestic right now," you teased, crossing your arms.

Joe turned, caught off guard for a split second before his face split into a grin. "Well, good morning to you too," he said, flipping the pancake one last time before sliding it onto the plate. "Figured I’d let you sleep in. Big romantic gesture and all."

You walked over, wrapping your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. "You didn’t have to do all this."

Joe huffed out a laugh. "I kind of did. My son has been hogging you for two years straight—I needed at least one day where I get you all to myself."

You smiled against his hoodie. "Fair point."

Joe turned in your arms, looping his own around your waist, his hands warm against the small of your back. He kissed your forehead, then your temple, then finally your lips—soft, slow, unhurried.

"Happy Valentine’s Day," he murmured.

"Happy Valentine’s Day," you whispered back, fingers curling into his sweatshirt.

And for a moment, it felt like you were in your own little world, wrapped in warmth, in love, in everything that made you two, you.

Joe pulled back slightly, eyeing the tray behind him. "I was gonna bring that to you in bed, you know."

You glanced at the tray, the effort he had put into it, and then back up at him. "How about I take my coffee, and we eat at the table like normal people?"

Joe smirked. "Deal. But only if you promise me one thing."

You raised an eyebrow. "What’s that?"

He leaned in, voice dropping slightly. "That you’re not too full for dessert later."

Your stomach flipped, and your cheeks warmed at the implication, but you rolled your eyes, pushing his chest playfully. "You’re ridiculous."

Joe just grinned. "And you love me for it."

And he was right. You really, really did.

--

The morning felt like something out of a dream—slow, sweet, wrapped in warmth and easy laughter. Just the two of you. No tiny hands tugging at your clothes, no early-morning cartoons playing in the background, no chaotic mess of toys scattered across the floor.

Just you and Joe, husband and wife, sitting at the kitchen table, your legs tangled beneath it as you shared a stack of pancakes, sipped on coffee, and indulged in something you hadn’t felt in a while—time.

“I forgot what hot coffee tastes like,” you sighed dramatically, cradling the mug in your hands.

Joe snorted. “See? This is why I planned today. You deserve a break.”

You tilted your head at him, eyes soft. “So do you.”

He shrugged, slicing his fork through a pancake. “I don’t mind the chaos as much as you think. I mean, yeah, Hayes is a maniac sometimes, but I kinda love it.”

You grinned. “Says the man who handed me a half-asleep baby last week and whispered, ‘Please, for the love of God, take him. I need to lay down before I pass out on the floor.’”

Joe laughed, setting his fork down. “Okay, fair, but in my defense, that was after he made me run around the house with him for like an hour straight. And then he made me read ‘Goodnight Moon’ four times in a row before he even thought about sleeping.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “He’s obsessed with you. Full-on daddy’s boy.”

Joe smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, today is about me being obsessed with you.”

His words sent a little shiver down your spine.

It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, with that low, confident drawl that made you feel like the only woman in the world.

You swallowed, setting your coffee down. “So, what exactly do you have planned for today?”

Joe stretched, crossing his arms behind his head. “Well, since my mom has Hayes until tomorrow, I figured we’d do whatever you want. No distractions, no responsibilities, no ‘Mommy, Daddy, look at me!’ Just us.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Anything I want?”

Joe’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Anything.”

Your lips curled into a slow smile. “In that case, I say we start with a bath. A long, hot, uninterrupted bath.”

Joe’s smirk widened. “Sounds like a solid plan. But only if I’m invited.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the table. “Come on, Casanova.”

Joe was already on his feet, grabbing your waist and pulling you close. His hands slid down to your hips, his lips grazing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to today,” he murmured.

And neither did you—not until now.

Because after everything—the sleepless nights, the never-ending chaos, the constant whirlwind of parenting—it was easy to forget this part of your relationship.

But Joe had never forgotten.

And today, he was making sure you didn’t either.

The afternoon passed in a blur of easy conversation, warm touches, and stolen kisses between store aisles. Shopping together wasn’t something you got to do often—not without a tiny pair of hands reaching for everything in sight or a little voice repeatedly asking, “Can we go home now?”

But today, it was just the two of you.

Joe held your hand as you wandered through a boutique downtown, his fingers lazily playing with yours, rubbing circles against your palm. You weren’t even shopping for anything specific, just enjoying the act of browsing, of laughing over ridiculous designer price tags and testing expensive perfumes on your wrists.

At one point, he caught you eyeing a dainty gold bracelet in one of the glass cases, and without hesitation, he flagged down the salesperson. You tried to stop him, playfully swatting at his arm, but he just grinned and said, “Let me spoil my wife.”

And how could you argue with that?

After shopping, you made your way to one of your favorite restaurants, tucked away in the city. It was dimly lit, intimate, the kind of place that made you feel like the rest of the world faded away the second you stepped inside.

Joe let you order whatever you wanted, insisting you get the expensive cocktail you usually turned down and ordering extra appetizers just because.

“This is so much food,” you laughed, eyeing the plates covering the table.

Joe shrugged, cutting into his steak. “Yeah, well, if I’m gonna get my wife alone for the first time in forever, I’m gonna make the most of it.”

You sipped your drink, warmth spreading through your chest—not just from the alcohol, but from him, from the way he always made you feel like you were the most important thing in the world.

By the time you made it home, the sun had long set, and you were curled up on the couch together, presents sitting in front of you on the coffee table.

Joe leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, who’s first?”

You grinned, grabbing the wrapped box in front of you and placing it in his lap. “You.”

His brows lifted, clearly intrigued. He didn’t hesitate to tear off the wrapping, lifting the lid of the box, and as soon as he did, his eyes went wide.

“No way,” he murmured, pulling out the ultra-rare Mike Vrabel jersey, the signature scrawled perfectly across the front. His fingers brushed over the fabric, as if making sure it was real.

You laughed at his stunned expression. “Took a while to find that.”

Joe just shook his head, a disbelieving smile spreading across his face. “This is insane. Do you know how rare this is?”

You smirked. “Oh, I know.”

He set the jersey aside carefully before reaching for the next box, pulling out the Rolex inside. His mouth parted slightly as he turned it over in his hands, the weight of it settling against his palm.

“Baby,” he breathed, looking up at you.

You shrugged. “You needed a new one.”

He laughed, slipping it onto his wrist, twisting it just right to catch the light. “This is—god, this is incredible.”

You leaned closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You like it?”

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love it.”

You beamed, but before you could say anything else, he grabbed a small envelope from the table and handed it to you.

You raised an eyebrow. “An envelope?”

Joe smirked. “Just open it.”

You did, carefully sliding out the paper inside, eyes scanning over the words. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized what it was—an all-expenses-paid spa weekend, booked just for you.

“Joe…” you whispered, looking up at him.

His smirk softened into something more tender. “Figured you could use a real break. No baby, no responsibilities—just you getting spoiled for a whole weekend.”

Your throat tightened, overwhelmed with gratitude. “You even planned for your mom to take Hayes?”

He nodded. “She and my dad want more time with him anyway. They’re excited.”

You shook your head in awe. “You’re really the best, you know that?”

Joe smiled, reaching for you, pulling you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, strong and steady, holding you close.

“You deserve it,” he murmured against your temple.

You closed your eyes, sinking into him, feeling the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against yours.

And in that moment, wrapped up in his arms, you knew—this was exactly where you were meant to be.

--

Sunday evening rolled in slow and sweet, the lingering relaxation of your spa weekend still wrapped around you like a warm hug. Your muscles had never felt looser, your mind never clearer, and you had Joe to thank for that. He was grinning like an idiot as you strolled into the house, barefoot and in one of the plush robes he had insisted you bring back because, according to him, "You deserve to be comfy at all times."

You had barely dropped your overnight bag in the bedroom before you felt Joe’s arms snake around your waist from behind, his chin resting against your shoulder.

"Feel good?" he murmured, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to the side of your neck.

You hummed, leaning back into his embrace, your fingers trailing over his arms, feeling the solid warmth of him. "Like a brand-new woman."

"Good," he said, his voice thick with something unreadable, and you could feel his smile against your skin. "Because I have one more surprise for you."

You turned in his arms, immediately skeptical. "Joe..."

His lips twitched, and he took your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "I already planned it, and before you say anything—I cleared it with my parents. Hayes is gonna be more than fine. Actually, I think they might be more excited than we are."

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out what he was playing at. "What are you talking about?"

Joe pulled back just enough to grab his phone from the nightstand, tapping a few times before turning the screen to face you.

Your stomach flipped.

Staring back at you was a confirmation email for a week-long trip to Bora Bora—an overwater villa, pristine turquoise waters stretching for miles, the kind of place you had dreamed about visiting for years but never thought you’d actually get to see.

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Joe’s smirk widened. "So, what do you think?"

"Are you serious?" you finally managed to breathe out, your heart racing.

"Dead serious," he said, his hands finding your waist again, his fingers pressing into your hips. "I booked it months ago, just wanted to wait for the right time to tell you."

Your mind was spinning. Bora Bora. The dream destination. The place you had casually mentioned a hundred times, always in a wistful, "Maybe someday" way.

"But—Joe, a whole week?" Your voice was laced with both excitement and hesitancy. "What about Hayes? We've never left him for that long."

Joe nodded, as if he had expected that concern. "I know. But he's old enough now, and my parents are already planning a full itinerary of things to do with him. He’s gonna be spoiled rotten. And we haven’t had a real vacation since before he was born, baby."

You swallowed, processing it, weighing it against the part of you that always felt guilty for leaving Hayes. But Joe was right. The closest thing to a vacation you’d had in the last couple of years was a weekend here and there, always with Hayes in tow.

The thought of spending an entire week alone with Joe, uninterrupted, no responsibilities, no late-night wake-ups, no cartoons playing in the background of every conversation—it was tempting.

No, it was needed.

Joe must’ve caught the shift in your expression because his smirk softened into something more knowing, his hands squeezing your waist. "You deserve this, and so do I. Just you and me, away from everything for a little while."

Your lips curled into a slow smile. "Bora Bora, huh?"

Joe leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. "Nothing but us, white sand, crystal-clear water, and a private villa for a whole week," he murmured, his voice warm and full of promise. "Think you can handle that?"

You pretended to think for a second before finally giving in, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I think I can manage."

Joe grinned, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your lips, one that left no room for doubt.

Bora Bora.

Just the two of you.

It was really happening.

[rhad-barks]

everyone abstaining from voting or voting third party because both main candidates are awful are absolutely losing the plot i'm sorry. the two party system is so horribly huge that if you don't vote blue you're basically voting for trump, and it might not seem like it matters when both him and kamala are horrible, it really does. which one do you think will be easier to organize for a better country under: the one who's openly trying to lock the country into a totalitarian regime where as many minorities' rights as possible are stripped away, or the one that is still awful but with a much subtler impact?

under kamala there is a much greater chance we can rise up together and put a stop to israel's genocidal rampage. under trump we will be crushed like bugs. you do not have to support kamala to understand which one is the more survivable choice.

[egophiliac]

starting off with an amuse-bouche of some of my initial favorite bits! y'all, this update was WILD.