#community imagine

[hanasnx]

life in technicolor.

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: not edited mb | f!reader | sex tape | sexual content | established relationship | riding. NOTES: dedicated to @murdrdocs. credit for the cam idea

ABED NADIR had rented out that clunky camera from the film department ages ago. It sits in his living room precariously balanced on a stack of books on a shelf, and you cannot stop staring at it. It draws you in like a moth to flame, constantly staring into its lens. One part of you is paranoid it’s recording because it’s like Abed to leave it on to capture life as it exists, and the other part secretly daydreams he left it on to capture something else. Regardless of any fantasies, you know he wouldn’t just leave it on on purpose, right?

You chew your lower lip as you watch it and wonder what it would be like if he’d planned to make a movie with you. One without inhibitions or clothes. That kind of spontaneity isn’t within his peripheral, but you still hold out hope.

“What are you looking at?” his question snaps you out of your stupor, jumping in place before meeting his expectant gaze. The noises of the movie playing come into focus as your mouth parts only to expel silence. “You were looking over there so I just thought there was something to look at.” Abed answers your hesitance as if he anticipated your confusion, gesturing with a finger in the direction of the camera while his hand is still wrapped around the spoon in his cereal bowl.

“Oh!” you exclaim, glancing between him and the lens, shaking your head. “It’s nothing.” Uncomfortably, you shift in your seat, stuffing your clasped hands between your thighs. He notes that with a twitch to his brow. “I was just staring off into space.”

He continues to test the waters, adjusting the point of his finger towards the TV, “Is the movie boring?”

“Mm-mm.” You press your lips together and shake your head again. When you sigh, you visibly relax, sinking into his couch.

“You’re doing that thing you do.”

You hum in inquiry, frowning at him.

“The deflection.” He’s not a stranger to getting lost in thought, but you sure do get lost the most when you’re watching that camera. Regardless of his inexperience in the physical intimacy facet of a relationship, he knows how to read people, and he certainly knows what cameras are used for. He recognizes that flush in your cheeks. “You wanna try it out?”

At first he kept experimenting, showing you the buttons to press, demonstrating how to hold it, observing your reactions. You aren’t interested in being a film major, he knows that, but now that you’ve learned how to use it, who’s to decide what you’ll use it on? It’s easy to deduce where it’s headed, and it gets real dirty real fast.

“Point it down- between us.” Those breathless words send shivers down your spine, especially because he’s usually so silent when he’s inside you. You do as he says, recording where your bodies conjoin: his ruts up into you, your hole swallowing him up, the ring of cream forming at his base. It’s not often he gets to indulge you in the physical side of sensuality, this is his way of appeasing you. He’ll trim it up, edit it, make it pretty, and let you have a copy of the sex tape he has a hand in making right now. He doesn’t mind, his face isn’t in it anyway. Nobody’ll know it’s his tan dick fucking your insides. “I like you… like this.” he confesses, and a grin stretches onto your lips when you feel his hands squeeze your hips.

“You mean when I’m on top?”

“Yes,” he grunts, and a sting shoots through your abdomen. “I like what you look like. You look really pretty. Up there.” Broken phrases are interrupted by his sounds of effort, lithe body bucking into you as you struggle to keep the camera steady.

“Do I feel good?” you whisper, and Abed’s head tilts back. It defines his adam’s apple, and if this camera wasn’t in your way you’d lean down to lick it.

Your question does not go unheeded for he knows intimately how important verbal praise is to you, so he tries to be vocal. This is for you. He sucks in a breath, “Yes. Yes, very.”

[itsmarsss]

Community Masterlist

Abed Nadir x Reader

empty for now!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Requests for this fandom are closed for now.

[xiaq]

Your first pride story was touching and all but you still married a man.

Yeah, bisexuals do that sometimes.

[adhdwannabewriter]

Bad news, y'all

You really gotta write the damn book to become a published author

[urfriendlywriter]

specific tropes in romance that always heal something in me that it never broke

like, forehead kisses, soft love confessions, peppering kisses all over the lover's face. promises that are kept, hands those are held with a gentle love, and hugs that engulf the heart too.

or when they rest their head on your chest, or lean on you for support.

"your tears kill me," kinda thing. or when a sunshine character finally cries and bawls their entire life's hurt out into their comfort grumpy character (plus point, if the grump feels guilty thinking if they had done something to trigger this emotional outburst)

communication. no matter hard the topic is, how big your differences are.

listening to the other person yap

admiring their facial features and seeing not just the outer structure but the person that they really are.

them getting angry on ur behalf

cradling each other in hugs basically

feeling emotional walls break when you're with that one person particularly

gentle communication. yearning to do more for your lover (!!!!)

affectionate smiles and eyes crinkling with a smile that's directed specially at you.

finding their laugh contagious.

the feeling of being accepted, despite flaws and all

silent domestic acts like being in the kitchen together, dressing up together, them drying ur hair while u sit between their legs

occasionally stolen kisses

or one deep kiss that just lights your world and fulfills your soul and heart.

sleepily nuzzling into each other!!

reaching for each other despite being asleep, with mumbled endearments and whispers of need!!!

laughter coming easily by their side, like happiness is just another day to day thing (this can also be about self love. when u truly love urself and prioritize your own rights and cherish the fact that you're you. happiness becomes beautiful even in solitude)

their fingers buried deep in yo- OOPS.?! :)

[deathdetermineslife]

"I don't want ppl to think I'm cringe—" NO. you go draw yourself smooching that fictional character RIGHT NOW. they LOVE YOU. be FREE. you have an entire community of ppl who support you, now shoo, go write that drabble!

[sillyselfshippy]

Reblog this to support the selfship(s) of the person you reblogged it from!

Since some days, an indirect showing of support is just a lil easier. ♥

[soapbbox]

consider: cogless Megatron on his throne, trying and failing to look intimidating. can’t even get a good Evil Slouch going, he’s too small to use both the armrests at the same time.

Chair is currently off limits

[heyyallitssatan]

I love when Gotham treats the bats as respected heroes solidly in the moral good most of the time

And then the entire rest of the world views them as unhinged dubiously moral vigilantes barely held back by the superhero community that trusts them for some inexplicable reason

And they don’t present themselves any differently Gotham just has such a skewed sense of good and normal that the bats seem pretty sane and reasonable

[hanasnx]

too bad i forget.

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: takes place during s2e2 where annie, abed, and troy break into a lawyers office | not sure how i feel about this bcos it was stuck in my head and i felt like i was trying to fit too many things in but whatevs

“You guys!” you exclaim, stamping your foot in frustration. “I’m the smartest one in the group and all I’ve been used for is bait and distraction.” With each angry bounce in place—conveying your mini temper tantrum as you complain—you hadn’t realized your chest rippled from the impacts of your stomps until their eyes drifted and remained there. Both Troy and ABED NADIR watch your curves move under the thin material of your form-fitting dress, and you scoff in offense. Your arms cross over, veiling your cleavage and breaking their trance. Finally, they meet your gaze as you frown at them. It’s humiliating enough to be looked at like a piece of meat, but you would’ve never expected that behavior from Abed.

A little later, it furthers still when you lift a box of files to prop open the door. Your little heels don’t stay under you when you crouch, sliding to a sit on the floor with your legs folded out on either side of you, and your ass jiggles from your firm landing. Embarrassed, you squeak, and whirl your head around to face the boys, checking if they caught your blunder. Troy has his back turned, but Abed’s unabashedly watching. His eyes follow the deep arch of your back, how your ass fans out sat against the floor, your smooth legs tucked in a most exquisite way. It shocks you enough to idle as he tilts his head. Only when you scramble up, face hot and deeply colored, does Abed return to his task of searching the computer for evidence. Hastily, you dust off your outfit, and make sure it’s not exposing more than it already was. Briefly, you remember the way he scanned you, and you feel a disappointment you didn’t let that linger a little longer.

You and Abed aren’t a thing, but you know how upset he sounded when he heard Jeff had kissed you that night, after the dance. The big reveal right in that study room had him practically storm out after verbalizing Jeff’s blatant disregard for human decency. It was mortifying to say the least, you’d never seen Abed so upset. His voice had a subtle edge that you may have never noticed if you didn’t spend so much time with him. Additionally, there was that one time that Pierce had described you and Britta as—what he believed to be—your most identifying features: one of you was “flat-ass” and the other was “the one Abed wants to nail.” One million questions had flooded your head all of them having to do with the latter. Another time was pottery class, and you hadn’t realized it in the moment, but sculpting a defined phallic shape accidentally had caught the eye of both Abed and Jeff. Running your wet hands up and down the shaft of the clay had brought them both to pensive silence as they observed your graceful movements. All this evidence kept piling up to explain Abed’s strange behavior tonight, but you keep denying it.

You keep denying it right up until you can’t take it anymore, right up until you’re back at his place, straddling him. Your lips against his, you find him oddly stiff. The kiss itself isn’t unpleasant, but you can feel his hesitance. Or maybe he’s just nervous, manifesting in rigid movements. Nevertheless, you find it appealing. A guy who gets worked up kissing strikes your fancy because you’ve always imagined yourself as the one to take it slow. It’s refreshing that he’s beating you to it. Your dress is cascaded over his pelvis, and his head is propped up on the armrest of his couch. Sweetly, he’s returning your kiss the best of his ability, even parting your lips with his when he slips you a glimpse of tongue.

You pull away to speak, but he interrupts your path. “Did I not do it right?” he asks, but his tone is characteristically devoid of concern. Instead, it’s calculative, as if he’s been measuring your enjoyment inside his head and is surprised to have been incorrect just now.

“Oh, you’re doing fine.” you reply with a relieved grin, clutching onto the front of his shirt. “I just wanted to say…” You lean down, pecking his willing lips. “you could… you know, touch me a little.” Those hands of his have been faithfully laying atop your thighs this entire exchange, and he glances warily down at them. So you help him. “Like this.” You palm the backs of his hands and gently glide them along your body, riding up your dress as they come to sit at the space right above your ass. Searching his eyes, you can see a glint of enthusiasm pass through them, and then those curious hands invite themselves to take a generous grope of your backside, incidentally rutting your core against the crotch of his jeans. You exhale, disbelief mixed with pleasure, and you could predict he was gonna say he saw this move in a movie once. Didn’t give him the chance though, pressing your chest against his to recapture his lips.

Strangely forward, Abed experimentally rocks you. Shallow jostles back and forth which is not at all what you expected from him. It’s unnerving until a twang slips from his lips, “Gonna ride me like a cowgirl tonight, huh?”

It becomes clear. You can tell he’s getting nervous treading into unknown territory, and falling back on a reference you don’t understand playing a character you don’t know is a way to diffuse that. “This is not a movie, Abed.” you chide.

“Sorry.”

[carlyraejepsans]

you know what's a chapter 4 idea i have that has absolutely no basis in the text but that i still believe with all my heart?

if gerson had somehow managed to get his letter delivered to the light world while maintaining the exact wording he chose when he wrote it, alvin would've been able to misunderstand it. just like he always misunderstood him while he was alive.

asking Susie to transcribe it for him was both a way to encourage her creativity and physically necessary to carry the message from dark world to light world. but i do think he couldn't say it right on his own. her translation helped the message be passed on in more than one way

[orochiposting]

“I can fix him dw” [drill sounds] {screaming} [chainsaw revving]

[deimostes]

thing i keep thinking about

part 2

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | two string bathing suit

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : your f1!boyfriend reacting to you showing him two strings as a bathing suit (tiktok trend - click for reference)

୨ৎ : genre : romance comedy ୨ৎ : tws : slightly suggestive ୨ৎ : word count : 2073

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : a rare wednesday post that isn't a solo story !! also i will be putting a pause on request bc my inbox is flooded, but once i have released a majority of the stories (within the next few weeks everyday there will be a new post in honor of 10k) they will open up again ty guys so much for the support <3

ʚ・max verstappen

“max,” you called from the bathroom, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “don’t freak out.”

he barely looked up from his phone. “that’s the worst way to start a sentence.”

you stepped out, deadpan. wearing… if you could even call it that… a “swimsuit” made of two threads, three knots, and maybe half a square inch of material. total. it looked like it was crocheted by a sleep-deprived spider. you posed with a straight face.

max blinked. then blinked again, slower.

“no,” he said, setting his phone down with almost religious care. “absolutely not.”

“what do you mean?” you said, fighting to keep a straight face. “it’s trendy. minimalist.”

“that’s not minimalist. that’s missing.”

you twirled, the strings shifting dangerously. “it’s high fashion.”

max stood up like he was about to perform an exorcism. “that’s not fashion. that’s barely science. you could sneeze and the whole thing would combust.”

“i think it’s cute.”

“i think it’s… illegal.”

you walked over slowly. he didn’t move, just looked absolutely offended by the garment clinging to your body with the hope and optimism of dental floss. “so… i can’t wear it on the yacht?”

he stared at you, stunned. “if you wear that on the yacht, i’m jumping into the ocean and letting nature take me.”

you burst out laughing, and he immediately buried his face in his hands. “who sold you that? who allowed this to exist?”

“i made it myself.”

his head snapped up in horror. “what.”

“yarn. patience. emotional damage.”

max grabbed the nearest towel and threw it around your shoulders like he was shielding your soul. “you need help. professional help.”

you leaned in, still grinning. “so that’s a no?”

he groaned. “i love you. but you’re grounded.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you stepped out slowly. wearing… well, calling it a swimsuit would be legally questionable. two strings of yarn tied together with the optimism of a third-grader’s friendship bracelet. honestly, it looked like you raided a kindergarten art bin and called it couture.

lewis lowered his sunglasses.

paused.

stared.

“be honest,” he said, slowly standing up. “did you lose a bet? or is this, like, a charity stunt i don’t know about?”

you fought to keep a straight face. “it’s my new swimsuit. do you like it?”

“do i like it?” he walked in a slow circle around you, studying it like a museum exhibit. “you look like someone gave a hamster a crochet hook and no supervision.”

“be serious.”

“oh, i am.” he waved a hand at the barely-there strings. “you’re out here dressed like a cursed macramé project.”

you pouted. “it’s artistic.”

“it’s traumatic.”

you posed dramatically. “but imagine this on the beach… champagne… sun setting…”

“yeah, and a full-blown scandal.” he crossed his arms. “you’re gonna flash everyone.”

you smirked. “so you’re saying it’s a little much?”

“i’m saying it’s one wardrobe malfunction away from me throwing my entire body over yours like a security guard.”

you grinned, stepping closer. “but you’d still let me wear it?”

he paused.

then? “yes. but only indoors. with the curtains closed. and a blanket.”

you laughed as he wrapped you up in the nearest hoodie and muttered, “i need a drink. and therapy. and maybe a glue gun.”

ʚ・george russell

you walked into the living room with the fakest innocent smile on your face and the largest box you could find on amazon. george was sitting on the couch, laptop open, looking like a ceo of something important.

“i got something for the trip,” you said sweetly.

he looked up. “that box is huge. did you order a tent?”

you beamed. “bikini.”

he blinked. “that’s not a bikini-sized box. that’s an appliance-sized box.”

you set it down and started dramatically peeling off the layers — tissue paper, unnecessary foam, even a fake ribbon — while george just watched in mild horror.

“is this an unboxing video?” he asked, deadpan. “should i film this for content? are we reviewing the manufacturer’s efficiency?”

you reached the final layer.

and pulled out the swimsuit.

or… the two lonely strings of yarn and a prayer that you were calling a swimsuit.

george stared.

and stared.

“…where’s the rest of it?” he finally asked, voice cracking ever so slightly.

“that’s it!”

he shut his laptop slowly. “that’s not it. that’s… that’s not a garment. that’s yarn.”

“it’s cute!”

“it’s nonexistent.”

you turned it around, holding it by the strings like it was a spider you weren’t sure was dead. “you don’t think it’s cute?”

he stood up like he needed to physically confront the reality of the situation. “how did you even find this? who sold it to you? did you blackmail someone? did it come with a warning label?”

“i packaged it myself.”

he blinked. “you what.”

“it’s a prank, babe.”

silence.

then, he slowly sank back onto the couch, covered his face, and mumbled, “you’re the reason i have stress dreams.”

you dropped the string bikini on his chest and smiled. “but you love me anyway.”

“i do,” he sighed. “i just… wish you loved fabric.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos was lying on the bed, one arm behind his head, scrolling his phone while you rifled through your suitcase.

“i got a new swimsuit for the trip,” you said casually, pulling out a folded towel to fake wrap the "swimsuit" in.

he hummed. “another one?”

you smirked. “this one’s special.”

he turned his head just in time to see you dramatically unwrap what could only be described as two strings of yarn connected by stubbornness and delusion.

carlos sat up.

paused.

blinked.

“…dios mío.”

you fought to keep a straight face. “it’s cute, right?”

he stood up slowly, like his body was moving while his brain was buffering. “that’s not a swimsuit. that’s—that’s a trap. you wear that, and i’m fighting everyone.”

you held it up by the strings. “it’s kind of artistic.”

“it’s kind of criminal.”

you twirled it once. “it’s technically wearable.”

“it’s technically two pieces of string and a death wish.”

you laughed, tossing it onto the bed. “so you’re saying you don’t want me wearing it at the hotel pool?”

“hotel pool?” he gave you an incredulous look. “you can’t even wear that in our apartment without risking emotional damage.”

“too much?”

“i’ve seen paper towels with more coverage.”

you walked over and looped your arms around his neck, grinning. “jealous?”

he rested his forehead against yours, sighing dramatically. “no. i’m concerned. for your safety. and my blood pressure.”

you leaned in close. “you’re just mad because you know i’d steal the show.”

he kissed your cheek. “i’m mad because i know i’d get arrested for public indecency by association.”

you laughed into his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around you like a man who had just stared into the abyss.

“i’m hiding that,” he muttered. “i don’t even trust you to prank me with it again.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

“charles?” you called sweetly, stepping into the hotel room with a mischievous grin and a suspicious little shopping bag.

he glanced up from the bed, where he was sitting with his ipad and airpods, one brow raised. “yes, amour?”

“i got a swimsuit for this weekend. want to see it?”

he smiled, setting the ipad aside. “of course.”

you pulled it from the bag slowly, two strings. only strings. it might have once been a swimsuit, but now? it was a scandal waiting to happen.

charles stared.

then blinked once.

then smiled. slowly.

“mon dieu…” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “is that legal?”

“technically,” you shrugged, holding it up. “there’s a front. and a back. i kind of wish it was thinner.”

he tilted his head, eyes trailing the string in your hands with the fascination of a man watching his entire moral compass short-circuit. “and you plan to wear this in public…it's already thin enough?”

“maybe. why?”

he stood, crossing the room in three slow, measured steps. “because, chérie… if you wear that outside, i will never survive it.”

you smirked. “you hate it?”

he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “no,” he whispered. “i want you to wear it. but only where i can see you.”

you blinked.

“put it on,” he said, voice low, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. “let me see everything.”

you burst out laughing, hitting his chest lightly. “charles!”

he laughed too, pulling you in by the waist. “you’re evil,” he said against your neck, voice playful. “you come in here with two strings and expect me to be normal?”

“you seemed pretty into it.”

“i am,” he said shamelessly. “but mon amour… if you wear that out, i’ll have to start swinging. and i don’t want to go to jail in monaco.”

ʚ・lando norris

you stood in front of the mirror, struggling to keep a straight face as you unwrapped the tiny bag you’d stuffed the “swimsuit” into. two strings. one knot. less coverage than a shoelace.

“baaaabe,” you called sweetly. “i got a new swimsuit. wanna see?”

“yeah, sure!” lando shouted from the other room. “wait—should i come in there or—?”

you opened the door slowly, string bikini dangling from one finger like it was a precious artifact. “no need. just look.”

he turned.

froze.

squinted.

then: “what is that?!”

you fought a grin. “it’s my new bikini.”

“that’s not a bikini,” he said, already walking toward you like he needed to inspect it up close for safety reasons. “that’s—that’s a joke, right?”

you turned it around like a qvc host. “front and back. simple.”

he gaped at you. “it’s a crime scene.”

“very fashion-forward.”

“it’s barely forward! it’s not even forward-adjacent!”

you were shaking with laughter now as he waved his arms in genuine disbelief. “where did you even buy that? why did you buy that? how did they ship it? in a matchbox?!”

“i thought it’d be cute on the beach.”

he took the swimsuit carefully, like it might bite him, and held it up with two fingers. “there is more fabric in a tea bag.”

“i think you’re being dramatic.”

“i think you’re being dangerous.”

you stepped in close, resting your hands on his chest. “so you don’t want me to wear it?”

lando looked at you. then at the strings. then back at you.

“i want you to burn it.”

you grinned. “too late. i packed it.”

“i’m not letting you leave the hotel room.”

“promise?”

his jaw dropped. “you’re the worst.”

you winked. “and yet.”

he groaned into your shoulder, muttering, “i need therapy. and a one-piece. for you.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

you didn’t warn him.

you just walked into the hotel room, holding what looked like a piece of yarn with a dream. no dramatic intro, no buildup — just straight chaos.

“new swimsuit,” you said casually, tossing it onto the bed like it wasn’t about to destroy him.

oscar turned from his laptop, expression as flat and unreadable as always… until he saw it.

he stared.

blink.

longer stare.

“…that’s it?”

“that’s it.”

he sat back in the chair slowly, arms crossed. “that’s not a swimsuit.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you don’t like it?”

he took a very long pause. processing. buffering. internally screaming.

“i… don’t disapprove,” he said finally, choosing his words like they were part of a hostage negotiation. “but… i’m trying to understand where the rest of it went.”

you held it up by a single string. “it’s trendy. daring. very… cute.”

“it’s barely thread.”

you grinned. “so you do disapprove.”

he didn’t answer right away, just tilted his head, looking you up and down like he was trying to calculate structural integrity. “…if it makes you happy to wear that, then it’s fine.”

you squinted. “but you’re dying inside.”

he blinked. “a little.”

you walked closer, draping the swimsuit over his shoulder like a sash. “you don’t think i’d look hot?”

“that’s not the issue,” he said immediately, not even blinking. “the issue is physics.”

you burst out laughing, and that finally cracked a smile from him — soft, a little resigned, but full of affection.

“i trust you,” he added, voice quiet but firm. “i just… don’t trust gravity. or wind. or humanity.”

you kissed his cheek. “so private pool only?”

he nodded. “preferably with no windows.”

you leaned back, watching him eye the bikini like it was a cursed relic. “you’re kind of obsessed with me.”

he smiled again, this time without hesitation. “obviously.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[itsrlymine]

Stop Lying To Yourself About Not Having It When You Do

Your reality “changes” when you do. It “changes” when you decide it has changed. Nothing can happen for you before that. It moves with you and isn’t separate from you. That’s why I hate hearing people, in the year of 2025 like cmon bc so fucking fr, say that you need to ignore the 3d because it’s old. Focus on the 4d omg……. Babes, I’m not gonna hold your hand when I say this. EVERYTHING IS THE SAME AND EVERYTHING IS NOW FUCK. As the operant power, you literally get to label everything around you and give it the meaning you want. As long as you keep calling the 3d old and something that needs to catch up, it’s always gonna reflect that because that’s how you see it. You don’t ever go in front of a mirror and think you are seeing something old. You believe you are seeing something as it is in the moment. That’s how you need to view the world. Tell yourself you are seeing exactly what you want to see because you are. There is no “waiting” or “time delay” unless you literally say so bro wtf.  Nothing can delay your manifestation because you already have it. You already are it. That’s it. Stop playing around. Stop thinking you are being delusional. You know this information for a reason so use it for your benefit. You don’t get to just pretend you don’t know how this works anymore. If you want to sit around and watch people in this community create the life they want while you watch on the sidelines, that’s your business babes. Go you. Also, you are manifesting success for them by doing that so again do yourself a favor and just decide.  People get so tripped up by. The "just decide" or "just be" statements when it literally just means tell a new story about yourself or a thing. You want a new job ………. “Omg I love my new job.” You want a new place to live ……… “Omg my place is perfect wtf I did that fr.” You want to be in a relationship …….. “Why are we in such a perfect relationship omg this eats.” Stop overcomplicating it. Stop overthinking negatively and stop telling yourself you are doing something wrong or you need to do more to have what you want. Stop thinking you have to reprogram your subconscious mind. I’m not sorry at all y’all. Why the fuck do you have to reprogram your mind when you already have what you want? Did you reprogram you mind so you can be sure the moon comes out at night???? You didn’t so why are you trying to do that for anything else. For something you already have????????????? You can tell yourself once or 100k times it doesn’t matter. As long as you know that as the operant power in your reality that your words aren’t going into some empty void and that they will do what you sent them to do, they will. They have to. So choose differently and stop giving a fuck about doubt. Stop trying to put in effort towards getting something you already have. Who the fuck is doubt and who the fuck are you? Oh okay.