#multi level mess

[multilevelmess]

Time for another sporadic update from the graveyard -

Tonight was a very stressful shift for me. I fully expected it to be given the type of event we were doing, although most of the stress ended up coming from an unexpected change in plans. I ended up having to fill in on a position I've never worked before and have zero know how or training on.

--

It feels like every day I check Twitter and wonder "is this it? Is this where I finally abandon all the accounts I love to follow and my largest following and quit?"

And I see a post about dogs or something and I stay another day.

If the block function does get removed I am definitely leaving though. That feature exists for a reason (and not just because of app store requirements).

The emptiness here reminds me of when I first started the blog/channel a few years ago. Every new follow felt like a little miracle. I mean honestly, it still feels like that to be honest lol. I am grateful for everyone who actually cares about my content.

--

I finally re-recorded most of that video I've been meaning to do today before work. It's been so hot lately that it was difficult to find a time to sit down without the fan running long enough to record. There's still some snippets to do, but my time today ran short.

--

We found an old piece of a squeaker from one of Levi's toys today. It must have been wedged under the sofa or something. I guess he's still managing to surprise us from time to time, even almost a year after his passing. It doesn’t feel like it's really been that long, though. I feel like I've been on hiatus for maybe a couple months. And I still sometimes wake up expecting to roll over and see him next to me.

And it's moments like that where I'm grateful to feel the weight of Mia against my legs - to hear her little "mrr" as I accidentally rouse her.

--

I've been making some progress on myself lately. It's not something I necessarily am ready to talk about yet because it would require quite a bit of vulnerability on my part. But I'm sure in time I will share about it. What I will say is change is a slow, gradual process. My brain struggles with positive thinking, but I really am trying to allow myself to take pride in the small steps I take towards my larger goals.

--

My notebook has a page in it filled with ideas for potential future Fictional Cult Breakdowns. I just need to find my groove again.

If this upcoming video doesn't destroy me. Because I am not just speaking about her anymore. There's another person who needs to be addressed. And that person has a following that could ruin me.

But some things need to be said.

[al-luviec]

vito

[scarefox]

glad he told him right away!

[villain-in-love]

Now, allow me to get aggressive about Thistle's infantilization again. This post was brought to you by a whole year of my observations and frustrations.

I keep getting annoyed every time someone points out this moment in the manga and goes "Of course, it all makes sense, he has bad handwriting because he's a CHILD!"

Excuse you, how old do you think Thistle is, fucking 8 or 9 years old? Most kids develop their handwriting by the end of elementary school. He is sure as hell older than that, and had decades to practice. He just naturally has a shitty handwriting, leave him alone.

This also goes for people acting like he took over the dungeon and locked everyone up in this fucked up purgatory "because he's a kid". Did they miss the whole "Sooner or later, all dungeon lords go insane" part of the lore that was directly explained to the readers?

Some Thistle fans seem to misunderstand Thistle's circumstances – he didn't just take over the dungeon like a child who immediately goes for the extremes. It was his last resort after everything else failed, and at this point it was the only way the Golden Kingdom could be saved.

He didn't lock everyone up for eternity in the dungeon and went spiralling into paranoia just because he broke under the pressure, because of "adult responsibilities being placed on a child", he fell under the dungeon's harmful influence that was canonically explained to make all dungeon lords murderous and paranoid. He literally had the Winged Lion gradually consuming his other desires which is likely what made him this obsessive and single-minded.

Not saying that he would have been okay without those influences, his life was deeply messed up, and being responsible for the entire country is a goddamn nightmare, especially for a young person, but I doubt it would have gotten this bad.

And yes, speaking of, Thistle's background (you know, being supposedly abandoned by his parents in childhood, being brought into a foreign environment where it was made crystal clear that he's seen as an outsider and a potential threat, having an unequal power dynamic and unstable position in relation to people he considered to be his new family...) already fundamentally fucked him up as a person. That kind of trauma, especially untreated and unacknowledged, can make anyone at any age make batshit decisions. And then the dungeon and the demon just made it all worse.

Also people talking about Thistle being scared of people close to him dying as if it's an indicator of him being a little kid. Excuse me, but have you forgotten about Delgal, a grown-ass man, who was also the one afraid of death, and couldn't cope with his son dying? Who was begging Thistle to do any possible magic to prevent that? If his thirty-or-forty-something-year-old brother couldn't accept death, what the fuck do you expect from Thistle himself, who was indeed undeniably mentally younger than Delgal? And because he couldn't reassure his older brother about their shared trauma (you know, the assassination of king Freinag definitely influenced them both), it suddenly means that he's a little baby? (I legit once saw a person who claimed that if Thistle was indeed not a child, he should have acted like an actual older brother and helped Delgal get over it...)

I remember this moment also being pointed out in trying to prove how "childish" he is, as if this isn't the most classic line of any villain who tries to justify their abuse of power:

Also another person talked about Thistle being childish in going overboard by wishing for the Golden Kingdom citizens to "live in peace forever, not be troubled by illness, natural disasters, sudden deaths and starvation". But in my opinion, he did great, he got it all covered!

Because in the "Pandora Hearts" I already witnessed Xerxes (or rather, Kevin) making a mistake of simply asking the Will of Abyss to turn back time and prevent that incident of mass murder from occurring... Which just ended with the people he cared for still dying, but a few years later, because he didn't think far enough to wish for the Sinclair family to live long and well, which is what he actually wanted, he just asked for a specific situation to not happen. And he was 24 at that time, just for the record.

And like. Thistle was just plainly asked "What is your wish" by some book. That wasn't a question of "what you would realistically expect to achieve?" We're talking about desires, not actual plans. And in any case, what is so childish about a desire for the people of his kingdom to know no suffering? That the ultimate goal of the every government anyways! (By the way, at that moment he didn't mention absolute immortality, which would actually be unreasonable, just early and unnatural deaths, so it's safe to assume that the idea to completely "prohibit" dying came to him later, most likely after he started going insane... And that is supported by the fact that people did continue to age for at least ten or twenty more years, for Delgal's son to grow up and have a kid of his own, and then that kid growing up to at least teenage years).

Another point is that Thistle never knew about the full effect the dungeon has on it's ruler and the dangers posed by it. From his perspective and with knowledge available, he wasn't even trying to take any huge risks (aside from possibly violating international laws regulating the usage of ancient magic, but who gives a shit about those). And it wasn't his own foolishness or immaturity causing this ignorance, because there was the entire plot point about the elven nation hiding this information from other kingdoms and races for centuries. Thistle literally had no information available that could have indicated that this idea will backfire like that.

And he did all research that he could! This solution didn't suddenly drop in Thistle's hands for him immediately to use, he's been investigating those dungeon ruins and ancient magic for a while. He came to this solution himself, he clearly studied this shit and knew what he was doing.

[mariska]

well! bye everyone i'm off to re-read my fav book trilogy of all time that i havent read since their original releases when i was a teenager and also finally get to read the prequel that i never got around to reading for the first time so. i'll see u guys on the other side and by other side i mean i'll see u guys when i re-emerge into society drenched in blood and tears rambling about all the new mental evidence i will have collected for my years-long headcanon that Katniss is autistic and sobbing about how many more details of the whole story i understand on a more profound and deep level than my teenage self was capable of processing properly

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Putting together the most volatile combination of ships to make a gunpowder polycule because another fan got me into a second ship with the same character when I already had a different one

[bratbarzal]

Let It Happen (LH43) 1/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

If you're ready, all I mean is we could go, I've never craved someone's attention as much as yours.

General Warnings: an almost unbearable amount of sarcasm and snark, even more idiotic shenanigans, many affectionate empty threats of murder/violence, fluff, mentions of golf 🤢, cursing and I'm pretty sure that's it for this half

A/N: in line with the general consensus lmao this has been split, part two will be posted as soon as it's finished (lol) but it's best read as one whole fic, it isn't a multi-part situation really!! it was originally supposed to be my submission for the eras tour fic challenge (hence the graphic I'm too attached to to change) but took a different direction to the song I was given, and I missed the deadline, and I pretty much listened to the secret of us exclusively while writing this whole thing. also dropping an overwhelmingly summery fic in december might actually be my brand. keep your eyes peeled for a christmas fic in july.

very special shoutout to shea @sleepretreat I made a random comment one day that luke gives seth cohen energy, and she fanned that flame like a full time job. ily shea!! I hope this lives up to any expectations and I owe a lot to your instigating!!

AS ALWAYS!!! never proofread!! I'll probably get around to it when the thought of a spelling mistake keeps me awake at night. and also!! please let me know what you think I am like a teeny tiny little plant that can only thrive under the constant shower of validation and you don't want me to wither and die do you? (I��m kidding) (I’m not)

You kind of, sort of, think you might hate summer.

You haven’t always felt this way, though. Growing up, it had always been your favourite time of the year. 

No school? Check.

Going on vacation, sometimes multiple, all expenses covered by your parents? Double check.

Getting to do all the cool things you don’t have time for in the school year with all your friends? Concerts, festivals, beach days, bonfires on the evenings. Check, check and check again.

But 4 years ago, your whole world as you knew it was torn apart, and summers have never been the same, since.

A season that was once filled with light and companionship, never ending plans and joviality, became darker - isolated, getting yourself out of the house even if everyone else was busy, driving just to drive and making the best of your own company. 

School ended up becoming your escape, especially since you had started college - your studies and the chaos of Greek life distracting you from the calamitous state of your home life, making new friends that became like family and sticking to them like glue, where possible, clingy and possessive to the point of ruin, almost - and so the lack of it in the summers now actually sends you into some sort of warped spiral.

It’s manageable in the winter and spring, the breaks no longer than a few weeks at a time, but going home for summer is somewhat of a nightmare.

It’s hard to go back, hard to ignore the mess your mind has become when it’s just you and your mother - or, you, your mother and whatever bottle of pinot she’s 3 glasses deep into at any given time of the day - and you’re sat in a house that’s a cold reminder of the warmth that once filled it. 

But when Ellie - your best friend since moving to college, the girl who took the sister part of sorority sister to the next level at all possible opportunities over the years - found out you’d put your name down to be the caretaker for your sorority house instead of going home, she had put her foot down on your summertime sadness session.

Which is how you end up moving into her family home - spending the first few weeks integrating yourself into their routine while trying to grip desperately onto some form of your own - trying not to get too used to the feeling of such a big family when you know it won’t be forever.

You braid her little sister’s hair everyday, kick a soccer ball around with her little brother when he needs someone to stand in goal, wash the dishes with her mom, talk sports with her dad, and before long, you blend like a chameleon into their dynamic.

You pick up a summer job at the country club to cling back onto your independence. Your commute provides the solitude and quiet you‘ve grown accustomed to in the years before, a bus journey through town with headphones on, watching the scenery and admiring the greenery until you get to work, donning your navy blue polo and tucking your little notepad into your hip apron as you serve tables at the clubhouse restaurant and bar. 

It’s a much needed escape from Ellie, if you’re honest.

You love that girl with all your heart, appreciate her housing you more than you’ll ever be able to say, but if you have to hear her sit and mope about how hopelessly in love she is with Jack Hughes for even a second longer, you’re going to vomit. Or scream. Or both.

Jack and Ellie grew up together - their families close, Ellie’s dad best friends with Jack’s uncle, or something - and she’s been into him since he had teeth missing - a point she loves to hammer home when it comes to you always listing that as one of his (many, if it’s up to you) cons. Considering his job, and the fact he already lost one, not too long ago, a toothless boyfriend seems like a massive ick, if you’re honest. 

But Ellie is beyond reason when it comes to him. She worships the ground he walks on - talks about him non-stop, messages him every day, regales you with stories you, awfully, but realistically, couldn’t care less about - and it’s the only real problem about living with her.

Even beyond the summer, you two had shared a room your first two years in college, still live in the same house - and it’s a year round problem.

But being unable to escape, having your days tied to close to hers, and knowing that it’s bound to be worse with proximity, Jack back in Michigan for the summer, himself, she’s starting to drive you up the wall.

It wouldn’t bother you if you had never met Jack, but the two of you don’t exactly get along. He’s rude, and self-absorbed, and had looked down on you the first time he ever laid eyes on you, and you really shouldn’t let it get to you, but you do - the thought that your best friend is in love with an asshole, and that she won’t let you hear the end of it. 

Won’t stop whining about how he’ll never feel the same, or that she can’t handle another summer of biting her tongue, of being around him, feeling the way she does, and not being able to do anything about it.

She deserves better. 

Ellie has a heart of gold, and she deserves someone who handles it with care. If Jack Hughes doesn’t like her back, that’s his loss - but you’re kind of getting sick of telling her that.

Getting through a whole summer of it is going to be hard, you think, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than being entirely alone. So you put on a brave face, use work as your escape in the same way you usually do with school, and avoid blowing your top for as long as you can, suffering through the late nights and heart to hearts where Jack is the sole topic of discussion, and bask in the good stuff.

In the chaos of her siblings, in the closeness of her family, and the way they’ve welcomed you with open arms.

This summer could be okay, you’ve just got to give it a chance. 

Luke Hughes loves summer.

He loves being back home in Michigan, spending his days out on the lake, or making the trip out to parade around Ann Arbor, catching up with all his college buddies, making the rounds at all the UMich sporting events he now gets a VIP pass to thanks to his last name.

The routine of it all is familiar, and warming, and it restores a sense of normality that playing in the NHL for the past year has so brutally ripped from him, already. 

He had enjoyed starting his summer overseas - making the team for the world championships and competing beyond the abysmal end to his rookie season - had enjoyed the time away from his brothers, if he’s honest. Quinn and the Canucks making it a few rounds into the playoffs, and Jack back home recovering from getting surgery on his shoulder - and it’s the latter he needed the reprieve from.

He does love living with his brother.

Jack looks after him in ways he’ll never really be able to make it up to him for. He always has, Quinn has too, but ever since Luke got drafted to the Devils, Jack has helped him adjust to the chaos of his career without much fuss or hardship.

And he really is grateful for that.

But, God, can he be annoying.

Especially when it comes to his infatuation with his best friend, Ellie.

Jack and Ellie have always been close - despite the fact she’s Luke’s age - and grew up thick as thieves, spending summers together, especially when the family moved to Michigan, and Ellie’s family were just on the other side of town. 

He’s always been obsessed with her, even if it hasn’t always been love - but these last few years have been different. Like a switch flipped in his head when Jack saw what Ellie was like when he came to visit Luke in his freshman year of college.

A version of Ellie that was no longer just his - no longer exclusive to their summer bubble, and lived in a world beyond lounging by the lake and hanging out with the Hughes family.

A version of Ellie who liked partying, liked schmoozing and charming everybody she came into contact with, liked being the centre of everyone else’s attention, not just Jack’s.

And it’s that version of Ellie that has driven Luke’s brother crazy, which has, in turn, started to drive Luke crazy. He talks about her non-stop, and it was those much needed weeks away in Czechia that almost had Luke forgetting just how stupid his brother has gotten about the whole thing.

Until he came home to Michigan, and Jack, in all the commotion with his shoulder, with ending his season early and starting his summer off alone, has worked himself into such a stupor about the whole thing that merely a week into his return, he has driven Luke up the wall. 

He’s grumpy, all the time - which leads to him being snarky, all the time. He huffs and puffs around the house so much Luke is starting to think he might need an inhaler, and he really can’t take any more.

Not when he’s making such a show of his irritation, stomping around with heavy feet and slamming doors that don’t need to be shut in the first place. 

“What crawled up your ass and died there?” Luke frowns as he follows Jack into the kitchen upon his return from therapy, holding out for the doors he swings open with a little too much vigour so that they don’t swing back into his brother’s slinged-shoulder. “I thought the physio is going alright?”

“It is,” Jack huffs, storming over to the fridge and yanking it open, the jars and bottles in the door clanking together in a way that makes Luke cringe. “I’m fine.”

“Tell that to all the hinges you’re testing the limits of.” 

“Don’t start with me, Luke, I’m not in the mood.”

“You just said you’re fine.” Luke rolls his eyes as he starts to scroll through his group chat with his friends from college, trying to check who said they might be free today to get him out of this vicious circle.

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly not.” It’s interactions like this that confirm to Luke just how annoying Jack has become - because what reason does he have to be so evasive? Luke is handing him the opportunity to air out his grievances on a silver platter, and he’s rather slam cupboards and create creases in his forehead from frowning 24/7.

“Fine, it’s Ellie.”

Luke wishes he never bothered asking, although he has been wondering why he’s been seeing way less of her already this summer. He had figured Ellie was away with family until he saw her at the gas station the other night - had watched from the car as Jack had what seemed like a heated conversation by the entrance. 

“She’s refusing to hang out with me.”

“Has she said why?” Luke asks, although he doesn’t really care. He’s just asking to get it out of the way in the hopes that Jack talking about it might lighten the load, might make his own life a little easier. 

It’s the bitter muttering of your name that captures Luke’s full attention, his neck audibly cracking at the speed in which his head shoots up, no longer caring what could possibly be going on with the boys in the group chat. 

“She isn’t going back to whatever fiery hell pit it is that she comes from for the summer, and she’s staying with Ellie’s family, therefore Ellie isn’t staying with us.”

Luke hasn’t heard your name in a while. Not since he left college last year, not since he got caught up in the whirlwind life in the NHL, when a schoolboy crush on a girl he interacted with once in his entire college career became the least of his worries.

But one utterance of it has his spine straightening, just like it would have done just over a year ago.

You’re in Michigan. You’re at Ellie’s, on the other side of town. You’re barely two degrees of separation from him.

“Why can’t Ellie bring her here?” Luke asks, throat dry and voice breaking so subtly that he hopes Jack doesn’t notice. That could be fun. Would make up for the hell his brother has been putting him through since he got here. 

Maybe a little glorious sunshine might finally get you to notice his existence. He wouldn’t mind third wheeling Jack and Ellie if you were there, too. It would give him the perfect opportunity to prove he’s worthy of your attention - too shy and too scared to do so, back in college, but he’s different, now. Confident, almost. More sure of himself.

“She hates me.” Jack huffs, “Last time we met she was giving me the stink eye all night.”

And of course it would be his brother to ruin his plans, yet again. You’ll probably hate him, too - a hatred so strong for Jack that it seeps through his entire bloodline, because Luke of all people knows he can be annoying like that. 

“Trust me, she probably doesn’t care enough to hate you,” Luke scoffs, not realising the spool of information he’s just given Jack to unravel. 

“You know her?”

“We had a class together. I know of her.”

Not the truth, but not exactly a lie.

Luke knows a lot about you. It’s borderline creepy, the observations he can still remember, even after so long.

He knows you like only like coffee if it’s iced, had seen you with too many clear plastic cups to count, had watched plump lips chewing at straws by the time you had finished the drink. He had even, one time, tried to zoom in on a picture of your order printed on the side in one of his many states of delusion where he had been trying to build himself up to ask you out. 

He knows you can hold your own in an argument, had watched you debate with the best of them in your business comms class, has watched you shoot down most guys that approach you with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, and has watched you take down a frat guy or two, usually in defence of your sorority sisters - who Luke noticed you’re the most protective of. 

He knows you match your perfume to the colour of your outfit, had notice you smelled citrusy like lemons in yellow, floral like roses in pink, sweet like candy in purple, and clean like fresh cotton in blue. 

He knows the pieces of hair that frame your face curl when wet from the rain. Knows you used to volunteer at the pool on the weekends it was open to the kids of the community, would teach them how to swim. He knows you listen to Taylor Swift and has heard you humming just about every song of hers he knows.

But he doesn’t really know you - not on the level Jack is assuming, when his eyes widen and hope flashes across his crystal irises.

“You know how I’m your favourite brother?”

“No,”

“And I let you live with me all year?”

“My name’s on the lease.”

“Maybe you could talk to her for me?”

Luke sighs, shoulders heavy and eyes rolling practically to the back of his head. “I already told you, I don’t really know her like that.” 

“C’mon, you could at least try! I’m dying here, Luke! She’s hogging all of Ellie’s time, and she won’t give me the time of day if I try!”

If only Jack knew how much time you’d ever given Luke, he wouldn’t be asking him such an absurd request.

You’re so out of his league, it isn’t even funny. He probably couldn’t convince you to light a candle in a power cut, much less to give his annoying brother a shot to prove himself.

“You’re wasting your time, Jack,” Luke responds, “I’m gonna meet Dylan at the club. No, you can’t come.”

And by the time Luke makes it out to his car, he’s relieved to have ditched that conversation, entirely. He knows what’s waiting when he gets home, what his brother is going to be like for the next few months to come, but a temporary relief is all he needs.

He had already been planning on getting a few late morning holes in at the club, and meeting up with Dylan had been a white lie, needing some alone time away from Jack’s incessant whining to think about how he was going to survive the summer - and seeing you on your break, perched on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard by the clubhouse bar, basking in the sun and talking with your co-worker, he feels like he might have just struck gold.

Since when do you work here?

He supposes since you decided to spend your summer with Ellie’s family - it only makes sense. Ellie doesn’t live too far from the club - not as close as the lake house, but closer than Ann Arbor, at least. She’d worked in the club shop last summer, even when Jack insisted he’d pay for whatever she needed while she was staying with them - had said it was nice to pass the time with something else while they all went off doing whatever - and he assumes you’re doing the same. 

It’s the first time he’s seen you in a while, outside of coming across your pictures on his Instagram feed occasionally, or the flash of your figure in Ellie’s stories. 

He had thought that, after the year he’s had, he’d be over schoolboy crushes like this - would be over the way his breath catches just at the sight of you, over the way the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and stand to attention, over the way his throat goes dry as he watches your eyes crinkle from afar, watches your lips curve up into a heart-stopping grin.

But it’s like he’s picked up straight from where he left off at the end of his college career, pining after you from afar with hearts in his eyes and feet that start to shuffle at just the thought of approaching you.

If he’s going to do this, though, he needs to be clever about it, he thinks.

Approaching you on your break, limited to the amount of time he can use to put his point across, wasting yours, doesn’t seem like something that will work.

Which is how he finds himself bypassing you completely and walking straight into the bar, offering a friendly nod to the guy stood at the front of house, and letting him point him toward the right section to be served in. 

It isn’t long before you’re in front of him, sidling up to his booth, and he had almost forgotten how pretty you are up close. Hair clipped up with loose strands framing your face, chewing at your plump bottom lip as you scribble on your notepad to get your pen to work. And your honeyed voice settling deep in the pit of his stomach, warmth spreading throughout as you introduce yourself, like he has no clue who you are, and tell him you’ll be his server, “What can I get for you?”

“Five minutes of your time?”

The Luke that spent his college years obsessing over you might have stuttered - his voice might have broke, squeaked or choked in your presence - but while his throat does feel a little dry, he’s able to maintain his cool now, even when you look up from your scribblings to meet his eye. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he has matured.

His heart might jump in his chest, his mouth might tingle, his spine might stiffen, but he holds your gaze, hoping if you see a reflection of confidence that you might give him the time of day.

He’s seen you interact with guys before, has familiarised himself with the ten-foot walls you have in place, has seen others fold and try find a long way around, but he thinks that maybe matching your energy is the way to break through. 

Who doesn’t love a shortcut?

Your eyes narrow back at him as pouted lips form around a response, looking him up and down before tilting your head, and coming back with, “I all of a sudden feel the need to inform you we do have security here,” you point the tip of your pen to the entrance, where he was greeted on the way in. “I meant a drink.”

“Water’s fine,” his gaze flickers to the movement of your wrist as you click the other side of your pen, not even writing it down. “Maybe with a side of conversation?”

“I’ll go get your water,” you offer a smile, and the insincerity of it does little to cool his bravado, even if you head off with mutterings of why do I always get the creeps?

He watches you as you make your way over to the bar, not creep-like whatsoever, and he channels the nerves that sneak up on him, now that you’re distanced, through fiddling with his fingers on the table, pinching at the tips of them when you glance back over your shoulder, probably telling the girl behind the bar just how lucky you were to once again get the weirdo in your section.

It surprises him how little he cares, possessing more of your attention now than he ever has before, and if he could tell the Luke from two years ago, who spent every shared Principles of Marketing class ritualistically watching you chew on the end of your pen, that he’d be able to make eye contact without dribbling and breaking out into full body sweats, he’d have lost his mind.

He embodies a strange level of dislocated arrogance that manifests itself in his body language, sinking into the booth with arms outstretched across the back, a dangerous smirk teasing the corner of his mouth when you return, placing a pitcher of water down on the table and a glass with ice. 

“I’m Luke,” he tells you, placing a hand on his chest and doing his best to ignore the thudding he feels beneath it. “Hughes. Jack’s brother,” and when you look back over to him with a raised brow, he adds, “Ellie’s Jack.”

“And who’s Ellie?” You ask with a tilt of your head, your voice dripping in teasing sarcasm. 

“Funny,” he quips, biting back the urge to call you what he actually means. He can hardly call you cute, you’d probably pour that water straight over him. “I went to UMich, we had a couple classes together.”

Your eyes narrow again, and he knows it’s an intimidation tactic, a way to make him feel smaller than he’s acting, shrinking him down to a version of himself you can stamp your authority on, but he finds himself being resilient for once, carrying on like he isn’t affected.

He is. Massively, in fact. Just not in the way you probably want. Your indifference drives him in a way that presses into his spine, an inner voice pleading, notice me, I’m breaking through!

“Bauman’s class, Business Comms, you sat in the second row, I sat in the third, you dropped your pencil one time and I-,”

“I know who you are.”

So he’s been yapping on at you for no reason? Fantastic.

He can’t let his momentum slip, though, so he forces the corners of his lips into a victorious smile, and counters, “So you know I’m not a creep.”

“You literally memorised my seat in a class from 2 years ago, so…” 

“I have a good memory,” he’s quick to defend, fighting the urge to let his eyes linger on your pouted lips.

“Right,” you roll your eyes, “What is it you want, again?”

“I came to talk about Jack and Ellie.” He nods to the other side of the booth, and has to roll his shoulders so that his chest doesn’t inflate with misplaced hubris when you shuffle into the seat with a huff, discarding your notepad to the side as you level him with another raised brow.

“What about ‘em?”

“About how they’re hopelessly in love with each other and doing nothing about it.”

“You got hopeless right. What’s that got to do with us?”

Us. Oh, he likes that.

“I’m thinking they need a little shove in the right direction. And maybe we could be the shovers.”

You presses your lips together in faux-apology, a lopsided, patronising, adorable frown taking over your expression. “No can do, I don’t shove, I’m a pacifist.”

“A nudge, then?”

He isn’t giving up easy, no matter how much sarcasm you try to throw his way. You wouldn’t have sat down if there wasn’t something about this situation that irks you, too.

If Ellie is being only half as annoying as Jack is, he knows that you’re having a bad time of it. And you’re supposed to spending her summer with her - it can’t be easy, having your friend constantly pining over someone and refusing to do anything about it, if anything, making it your problem.

“Are you here to eat or annoy me?”

“Both,” he smiles, “I just figured a problem shared is a problem solved, and all.”

“How profound.” 

“C’mon, you sat down, you at least agree they’re into each other, and I know you’re staying with her this year, so I know you’ve been getting the same grief I have.”

“I’ve been on my feet 4 hours, I wouldn’t look too deep into me sitting down.” 

“Jack’s been moping around about her for years, I can’t listen to it anymore, he’s all, she’ll never like me back, this, and, I’ll never find a girl like her, that,” he whines, imitating his brother’s voice in the most annoying, high pitched tone he can muster, “I can’t take one more breakdown of her snap stories, especially not if it’s all summer if she’s not gonna be staying over, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“How supportive,” the sarcasm in your bite does little to hide the beginnings of your smile, your glare softening into what he hopes is the start of some sort of bond, a shared feeling of exasperation. Finding your footfall in common grounds.

“It’s relentless, we can’t go a single conversation anymore without him bringing her up,” he sighs, slumping into his seat, finally giving in to all the ways this is starting to grate on him. “I don’t get why neither of them do anything.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, too, relenting a little. “She talks about him so much it kind of makes me nauseous.”

“How supportive,” he mimics, nerve endings set alight when your eyes meet his over the table, and narrow in a different way, almost appreciative, almost respectable.

“Can it, Hughes,” you scoff, “Me even entertaining this conversation right now is support enough, I’ve had it in my ear for months about how she doesn’t know how she’ll make it through another summer.”

“That’s what I’m saying. If we can get them together this summer, then we’re both better off. No more whining or crying or earaches for either of us.”

“I’d hope you didn’t make your way out here with the mere promise of no more earaches, Luke.” He tries not to preen at the way you say his name. “What’s in it for me?”

“You and Ellie can stay at our lake house.” He suggests, straightening up before he leans onto the table, elbows extending so that he can rest on them, “It’s closer to the club than her family’s place, it’s gotta be better than having her siblings running around you all the time, I can even drive you to work when I’m free, if you want?”

You blink at him slowly, as if to say, and? “So I can stay at your glorified frat house, and you can be my chauffeur?” You ask with an unimpressed raise of your brow, before letting out a humourless scoff of, “What more could a girl want to do with her summer?

“What do you want?” He asks, leaning further forward.

“To go back to work and not worry about strange guys propositioning me, funnily enough.”

Luke laughs, a deep, breathy laugh that rises from the depths of his chest and comes alive in an almost-bark, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker to his mouth when it comes out.

This is fun. 

There’s no way he’s letting you leave this table without agreeing - just the thought of one more singular interaction keeping him on his toes.

“Why don’t we make it interesting, then?”

“It’s about time you tried.” The quiver of your lip tells him everything he needs to know - and that’s without the entertained glint in your eye that accompanies it. You’re enjoying this, just as much.

“We could make a competition out of it.”

“A competition?” You ask, with a curious tilt of your head.

There it is, he thinks. Interest: piqued. He practically has you in the palm of his hand. Who would ever have thought, the way to a sorority girl’s heart would be a friendly little wager?

“Whoever actually gets them together, wins.”

It’s all he can think of in the moment - petulant and part-planned, but it seems to be enough.

“Wins what?” You lean onto your elbows, your gaze levelling his as he mirrors your positioning, having to slouch a little further forward in his seat to meet your pretty eyes. 

“Whatever you want.” He doesn’t intend it to come out as low as it does, doesn’t realise how close the two of you have gotten over the table, but he sees the flicker of something cross your features as your head tilts again, eyes still locked on his as yours begin to narrow, still just as pretty even when they’re glaring at him.

“It’s what you want that concerns me.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he jibes, watching the way your lips part in preparation of another witty comeback. “What do you say?” He asks, not giving you the chance, seeing the way it makes your skin crawl that you weren’t quick enough, for once. “Are you in?”

You heave out a sigh, shoulders slumping - a tell-tale sign that you’re about to acquiesce - and Luke starts to feel his chest puff out in victory. This feels like a shut-out. It feels like the best performance of his life. 

“You’re gonna make me regret this, aren’t you?”

“Oh definitely,” he smirks, eyes tracking you as you lean back into the booth, retreating from him in defeat, a hand running through your hair as he promises, “You’ll warm up to me soon enough, though.”

“I can’t see that happening.”

“I can,” he shrugs, leaning back too. “I’ve been told I’m inevitable.”

Luke can remember, like it was yesterday, the first time he ever saw you.

Freshman year, the week he moved into his dorm at Michigan, Jack had sent him across campus to check in on how Ellie was getting on. He had arrived with some extravagant gift basket in tow, plastic wrapped, a giant blue bow tied around the top and an assortment of snacks inside, and was left knocking for at least five minutes before you showed up.

“Please tell me you’re not another stripper-gram.”

If his throat hadn’t gone so dry all of a sudden, he thinks he would have had more wits about him to have questioned the use of another - a concept that had stuck in his head for weeks until he caught wind of a story of pledges for Pike being sent around campus and forced to lure girls to their house through way of humiliating song. 

But God, you were pretty. 

Siren eyes narrowed toward him, glossy lips pouted pensively, long lashes blinking impatiently as you awaited some kind of response that didn’t come in the form of an open, drooling mouth.

“I’m Luke.”

“Right.” You had sighed, pretty eyes rolling at him. “You’re blocking my door."

“Oh, I’m-,” he stuttered, immediately stepping to the side for you to come forward and insert your key into the lock. “Does Ellie live here?” He asked, confusion etched into his features as he watched you swing the door open, turning in your place to look him over again.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Luke.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I know her.”

“Clearly.”

“This is her basket.”

“Does she need to sign for it?”

“No, I-,”

“I’ll make sure she gets it, thanks, Lu!”

And when you had taken the basket from his hands, he had been too distracted by the way your skin brushed against his to properly respond, or worry if you had called him that as a nickname or had already forgotten his name, entirely.

He then spent days thinking about you, looking for you - at parties, in the campus coffee shop, online, despite not knowing your name - trying to commit to memory the way your eyes had sparkled when looking his way, until his first Business Communications class.

He had been a little early, first week nerves playing out and his constant craving for positive validation coming to the forefront, and was watching the door waiting for the professor to arrive. He had been slouched in his seat, chin in the palm of his hand, foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, and he had almost given himself whiplash when you walked in. 

He learned your name from there, learned a lot just from watching you in that class, but never really captured your attention.

And if the Luke that has been driving you to work every few days, who has been living with you for the past two weeks - who sits around the same dining table, laughs at the same jokes cracked when you’re all lounging around the house, sits out under the same sun, drinks from the same carton of orange juice in the morning - could tell the Luke that sat pining after you all that time, all the little ways in which he’s captured your attention lately, he’d probably have an aneurysm. 

When you and Ellie moved in, Luke had been the only one allowed to touch your stuff - and there’s a part of him that knows it was mainly because you enjoyed watching him work like a packhorse, hauling your cases up the stairs and dropping them in front of you with a huff, but there’s a larger, more delusional part that thinks you preferred him to the others, maybe even trusted him.

He’s taking credit for how quick you’ve adapted to the dynamic of the house, too. Of all the different faces coming in and out - Quinn’s friends, Jack’s friends, his friends, sometimes even his parents. If you’re around, you’re pleasant. You abide by house rules, some of them stupid, but set by the brothers so long ago that they just work now - like no phones outside of your rooms so that you can be more present. You insert yourself comfortably into conversations, you form your own relationships with everyone - you and Quinn trade book recommendations, you and Jack bicker while Ellie mediates. You do your fare share of chores - laundry, dishes, cooking, even. 

And he’s so caught up in just sharing space, just being around you, even, that for those first couple weeks, he forgets why you even agreed to be there in the first place.

At least, he forgets the incentive part - because he watches mindlessly as you interfere in Jack and Ellie’s dynamic, without a care in the world for the fact that it means he’s losing.

He watches you push one of them out of the way to claim whatever seat at the table or in the car forces them to sit beside each other. He watches you taunt Jack to just the right point where Ellie interferes, coos at him protectively and he melts into her affections. He watches you agree to plans he knows you wouldn’t in a million years follow along with, just to get them together - and all he can do is admire how easy you make it seem. 

He admires when you come out wakeboarding with the group, when you let him fasten you into a vest and don’t flinch when his fingertips brush against bare skin. Watches you bite your tongue over the fact you just got your hair blow dried - a fact you have no problems relaying back to him when he drives you to work the next day, and you’re muttering in his passenger seat about lake water giving you frizz - just so you’re not dampening the mood.

And when you agree to tag along to the golf course on your day off, despite the fact it’s so close to work if could be considered triggering, and you stick by Luke’s side so that Ellie can feign some sort of incompetence until Jack takes it upon himself to correct her form.

You stand by Luke’s side, the two of you watching with mirrored expressions of almost-disgust as Jack wraps his arms around Ellie’s body, and send a shiver down his spine when you lean in for only him to hear as you say, “I’d ask if you’ve put any more thought into what you want out of our bet, but I so have this in the bag.”

The bet.

Luke hasn’t thought about it since that day in the restaurant, if he’s honest, but he had known what he wanted then.

He’s hardly going to tell you, now, though. 

If he’s ever going to take you out on a date, he doesn’t really want to force your hand - not that he has a chance, he’s fallen so behind with this Jack and Ellie thing that it isn’t even funny.

He needs to up his game, if only for the fact that you’ll no doubt catch on to his lack of efforts, soon.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he taunts, because it’s what he does best, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“And how long do you plan on keeping them up there?” You call him out so easily, tilting your head when his eyes meet yours, mischief highlighted by the sunshine that speckles in your irises. 

“Maybe I’m luring you into a false sense of security,” he shrugs, “Maybe I’m letting you do all the heavy lifting so I can swoop in when those weak arms get tired.” He pokes at your side, basking in the way you scowl like you pertain any sort of threat to him.

He has you figured out, by now. 

“I didn’t have you pegged as being lazy, Hughes.”

“You spend a lot of time thinking about me, huh?”

“You wish,” you scoff, shoving when he dares to get too close, and it’s when Luke is biting back a full-blown grin that Ellie comes back over. 

“This sun is crazy, I think I left the sunscreen in the locker room and Jack’s nose is going all red, would you come back with me?”

You smile sweetly at your best friend and agree, only glaring at Luke over Ellie’s shoulder when she’s distracted with saying her brief, temporary goodbyes to Jack, and once you’ve turned and made your way over to the cart, he lets his eyes linger on your figure as you retreat.

The soft sway of your ponytail, the expanse of smooth skin along your legs, he’s completely hypnotised, and he needs to pull himself together, he thinks.

He tries to regain focus as he and Jack work their way through the next couple of holes, caddying their clubs around without the cart, and chatting mindlessly until Jack sighs heavily, like he’s been waiting to bring something up.

“I want to take Ellie out on the boat tomorrow,” He states as Luke tees up, resting on his club as he squints against the sun to watch his little brother, “Just the two of us, so we can talk about stuff.”

“Sounds riveting,” the disinterest in Luke’s tone is amplified by the lack of attention he’s giving overall, looking out across the green and trying to measure his swing before he takes it. “Have fun.”

“I was thinking I’d need your help for it to work.”

“I’m not being your boat-butler again,” Luke scoffs, mind immediately going to all the times their parents would make Jack take Luke out with him and his friends, and all the times he was made to wait on his older brother hand and foot to make up for crashing his hang-outs.

“I’m not asking you to tag along,” Jack scoffs, “You third-wheeling would be the ultimate buzz-kill. I thought you could be of use elsewhere.”

“You’re making whatever it is sound so fun.” 

Luke takes his swing, driving the ball and watching it soar to his desired point with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Jack watches too, stepping to Luke’s side to measure how far from his own ball it lands.

“Nice,” he mutters appreciatively as the two of them load their clubs into their stand bags. “I need you to keep Regina George busy, distract her or something, she’s stuck to Ellie like glue, it’s beyond annoying.”

If only he knew, Luke thinks, a worry in the back of his mind about how his brother owes more to you than he even realises. 

“You worried she’s gonna make her see sense?”

Jack swats at his arm and rolls his eyes.

“I’m worried she’s gonna ruin the good vibes like she usually does and I won’t be able to bite my tongue from saying something and looking like the asshole.”

Distracting you isn’t the worst thing he could be doing with his time, Luke thinks. It’s not like he has to go all out, you’ll no doubt be hanging out around the house and the two of you can hang together. All he has to do is keep you off your phone. Shouldn’t be too hard. You’ve adapted pretty well to mimicking the guys when it comes to staying off theirs.

It ticks off the box of trying to fight for a scrap of your attention. With no one else around, you’ll have no choice but to entertain his company.

And it puts him in front of your little race - lending a helping hand to Jack’s plans to talk to Ellie is surely the same as getting them together. It’s all falling so perfectly into his lap. He isn’t being lazy.

But he can’t let Jack know that, so he heaves out a sigh and offers a slow shake of his head for dramatic effect. “Fine,” he groans, “But you owe me. Big time.”

You’re starting to find it harder and harder to pretend like you don’t want to be at the Lake House.

If you’re being honest, you don’t entirely know why you’re even trying to keep up pretences, but using your disinterest as armour has become like second nature over the years, and you’re hardly going to stop now.

Even if there are already so many little things about being there that are starting to wear you down.

Quiet, early mornings, for one - birds chirping just outside your open window, sun rays pouring in through sheer curtains that flow in the slight breeze, that light feeling that blows through your chest when you’re sat out on the deck behind the house with a fresh cup of coffee, looking out over the still lake and basking in the peace of it all.

And even when it’s not so peaceful, when the kitchen is full of bodies swerving around each other to try and throw together some sort of breakfast spread - pastries and fruit, bacon and eggs, various boxes of cereal on the counter. Quinn had even made a whole batch of pancakes one morning, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t come down every day since hoping to see him donning that same frilly apron that Cole had draped around his waist and working his magic with a pan. 

You’ve never really been a part of such a full house. You had been an only child for so long - and by the time your parents split, and it was just you and your mom, on the days she wasn’t already at work when you got up - and were so ingrained in your own routine in the morning that you think you might actually need the chaos to function better. The rush of bodies, the arguments over who drank the last of the juice, the bickering over who’s turn it is to do the next grocery run - it’s a kind of entertainment you haven’t been privy to in a long time. 

Being kind of disconnected from everything else isn’t as bad as you thought it would be, either. You’re not attached to your phone, checking socials to see what everyone else is doing, to see if your dad has sent any messages yet this summer, and you find yourself connecting a little more with the people around you and leaving your family stress on the back burner. You’re more focused on what’s in front of you, and your relationships with other people. With Ellie, with some of the guys in the house, with your friends at work, even.

And it’s nice to be closer to work too. You don’t have to rush around trying to make the bus - Luke has been keeping his word and driving you to the club most days, and where he can’t, either somebody else has offered, or you’ve just ridden one of the bikes in the garage that the boys said were free to use - the helmet hair is an easy fix when you have access to the locker rooms.

It’s an adjustment, for sure, getting used to being in a full house. Especially this one - with a constant revolving door of faces, friends of the brothers switching out week by week to come and stay, departing just as you’ve started getting to know them with a promise of dropping by again soon.

So far, you’re almost at double-digits for the names you’ve had to memorise. Some of them you were already familiar with, guys from Michigan who you already knew or knew of, but others were more Jack or Quinn’s friends that you’d never had the pleasure of meeting before now.

Cole Caufield being one of them. 

He had arrived a couple of days after you and Ellie moved yourselves in, closer to Jack than the other two brothers, you had noticed, and was going to be staying longer than any of the other visitors - having his own designated room in the house, similar to you girls.

You like Cole - he’s good fun, can take a joke unlike his supposed best friend, and has the kind of smile that almost gives you a buzz whenever it’s flashed your way. Your first few interactions with him were seemingly pleasant, despite Jack constantly in his ear with a hardened glare pointed your way and no doubt unsavoury words uttered. Cole would just shrug him off, laugh, meet your eyes and drop a wink your way - a gesture you’d usually squirm and cringe at, but Cole kind of pulls it off. 

He joins in when you chirp Luke, too - which, if your honest, is your main source of entertainment since arriving, so your interactions with him grow day by day.

You haven’t really spent any one-on-one time with Cole yet, though. You were hoping to, before he left to visit home for the weekend - for no other reason than to get the scoop on something you’d happened upon at work last week - and had planned on asking him to hang out on your day off. But with Cole now gone for a few days, Jack and Ellie off doing god knows what, Quinn and Luke working out wherever, you have no choice but to spend your free Sunday lounging around the house, trying to find something to suppress your growing boredom.

You start with your nails, painting them a summery orangey-red and doing your toes to match, then do your laundry, abiding by house rules that you rotate the loads between the machines, and fold out whoever’s clothes were last in the dryer and place them in the hamper on the side. 

You’re hoping you haven’t had to fold Jack’s underwear but you decide to live in blissful ignorance - trying to identify the load based on the rest of the clothing in there is impossible when they all share, so it kind of works in your favour. 

You FaceTime your mom for almost an hour, getting an update on what she’s been up to with work, and giving her updates on how your summer is going, trying to focus on your time at the club and Ellie so she doesn’t worry too much again that you’re spending your summer in a house filled with boys. 

And by the time Luke and Quinn come back from their workout, you’re in the lounge, 50 pages deep into a book you really couldn’t care less about, but there’s something in you that refuses to beg one of them for company, so you suffer in silence.

Even when Luke does join you, throwing himself down onto the opposite side of the couch you’re occupying and pushing your feet off his side like it’s his sole purpose just to annoy you.

“I was comfortable there, asshat,” you frown, lifting your feet back into their previous position and using one to give him a light kick to his thigh.

“Yeah, well, I hardly want your feet all up in my business while I’m trying to relax,” he sighs, sinking into the cushions with hands clasped behind his head, biceps flexing and tightening the arms of his t-shirt in a way that momentarily catches your eye. You’re thankful for his closed eyes, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you divert your attention back to the mundane words on the pages in front of you.

“And yet here you are when there are 2 other couches.”

“Yeah, well, I know how much you like to be near me.”

You try to ignore him, pulling your feet a little closer to your body and focusing back on the book, but it’s hard when Luke has such a presence. You feel the little looks he keeps sending your way like a physical touch, and the couch shifts with every slight movement he makes, so when he constantly shuffles, you start to think he wants your attention.

Of course he wants your attention. This is Luke Hughes.

“Are you just sitting down here to annoy me?”

He lights up, like he’s just been waiting for you to ask, and shuffles in his seat to face you, fully, bouncing in place like a puppy being teased with a tennis ball. 

“I’m actually trying to distract you, if you must know.”

“Bold of you to assume you have enough of my attention to be distracting in the first place,” you scoff, trying not to react to the way he smirks in your peripheral, the words in front of you all blurring together. If you were actually focused on them, you’d have lost your place, already.

“I think you pay more attention to me than you’d like to admit.”

“That’s some ego you’ve got on you, Hughes,” you narrow your eyes as you look above the edge of your book, “Is that what you spend that big NHL paycheque on, charisma classes? How to flirt for dummies?”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing? Flirting?”

Damn. You walked yourself right into that one. 

Sometimes biting back at Luke comes like second nature, words first, thoughts after - and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it that way. It’s easy, the back and forth, and you can’t really think of an instance with him where you’ve sat in a lingering, awkward silence. You’ve really grown to hate silence, lately.

“You wish.”

“You think I’m charismatic,” he teases in a sing-song voice, knocking at your knee and wiggling his eyebrows when you glare at him. 

“I think you’re an idiot.”

“You’re not gonna ask what I’m distracting you from?”

“I don’t really care,” you lie, eyes darting back down and diverting the attention he so desperately craves away from him.

“Jack wanted to take Ellie out on the boat.” He says, ignoring your attempts to ignore him - pushing your buttons like a full time job. Like an operator for your last nerve.

“Good for her.”

“Alone.”

“No shit.”

“To ask her out.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

“Whoop-de-,” Luke straightens up, like a whack-a-mole with his head positioning itself over the top of your book, and you kind of wish you had one of those soft mallets right about now. It would be so satisfying to bonk at his head, you think. “What do you mean, whoop-de-doo, is this not what you agreed to be here for? To get them together?”

You scoff, flicking to the next page of the book in feigned disinterest. “He isn’t asking her out today.”

This is the exact something you had wanted to talk to Cole about - whispers in the staff lounge at work earlier in the week doing the rounds would imply otherwise, but your main source is kind of a gossip, and you’re not entirely sure of their reliability, despite the few degrees of separation to the subject at hand. 

Mutterings of Jack and Cole and their little country club connections. 

You can hardly ask Luke of all people if his brother is as much of a man-whore as everyone is making out. Cole was a safe bet - he’d probably just tell you straight up what they’re up to, wear his pride like a shining gold medal. He’s upfront about his promiscuity, at least. Luke is more protective. Of himself, of his family, you’re not entirely sure. There haven’t been as many whispers about him. 

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because he’s a spineless idiot,” you retort, eyes flicking up momentarily to take in his furrowed brow. “No offence,” comes out of nowhere, and you surprise yourself with the instinct to lessen the blow of your words for the first time in forever.

“None taken, he’s only my flesh and blood,” Luke huffs, “You’re just jealous I’m winning our bet.”

“Sure,” you drawl, eyes widening to emphasise the sarcasm as you make a point of angling your head to the next page, like you’ve taken a single word in for the past five minutes. “He’s been talking to one of the girls from work. There’s no way he’s doing that and asking Ellie out, unless he’s completely brain dead.”

And when you look back at Luke, that furrowed brow has shifted into a full blown frown, pouted lips and eyes cast down as if he’s trying to figure everything out in his head. 

It’s probably the pout that has you cushioning your words, once more.

“Again, no offence, I doubt it’s in your DNA.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m no bio student but I don’t think there’s a genetic marker for being a fuckboy.”

“No, about him talking to one of the girls at the club. He didn’t tell me that.”

Why does he have to sound like that? Let down and unsure, quieter than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s like the tone he carries goes straight to your fingers, clasping the book closed without marking your page - because what business do you have carrying on that charade?

“Do you guys tell each other everything?” You ask as you throw the book until it lands on the coffee table with a gentle thud, shuffling until you’re sat against the arm of the couch with knees bent in front of you, giving him your undivided attention and feeling guilty that it might not be enough.

“I thought we did,” he scratches at the back of his head, nervously, “He literally told me yesterday he was taking her out to talk about stuff, why would he make a point of asking me to keep you busy if he’s not serious about asking her out?”

“You don’t want to hear my answer to a question about your brother not being serious.” 

“Who’s the girl?” He asks, ignoring your comment despite the slight ghost of a smile you see flash into the corner of his mouth. 

“Jessica, she works at the pro shop, apparently they’ve been texting all summer.”

You know for a fact that since you’ve started paying attention, you’ve seen Jack on his phone a lot for a guy who chirps you for your own screen-time, and who has enforced the house rule of no phones outside your room like a prison guard yells out no touching at visitation. So it sort of checks out. You’ve tried to sneak a peak, but he’s protective of his stuff like a yappy little dog with attachment issues at the best of times, so you haven’t really put too much effort into it.

“There were a few people talking about it in the lounge at work the other day,” you shrug, “One of the girls talking about it is Jess’ best friend, so not exactly from the horse’s mouth, but I don’t think she’d be spreading lies about her friend around like that.”

“Can you find out?”

“You ask that like I haven’t been trying.” That gets a full smile, a small chuckle that lifts his shoulder, even, “I was gonna grill Caufield about it but he’s gone. But I know you guys have plans when he gets back tomorrow, so if you want to take Cole I’ll hack away at the grape vine at the club?”

“Does this mean we’re teammates?” 

“No. It absolutely does not.”

Hacking away at the grapevine is really a lot more like plucking absentmindedly at an overgrown patch of grass when it comes to workplace gossip. 

By the end of your shift, you’re leaving the club with a fist clutched full of loose blades, fingers stained green from the amount of information people were willing to ‘fess up.

Liam who works behind the bar had overheard a conversation where Jack had mentioned Jessica, but could only give you useless tidbits, like how he had to stop by the shop for a new putter, and Jess had been the one to ring him up.

Hardly incriminating, but you had a feeling it would be a small piece of a way larger puzzle. That, and guys are notoriously useless at gossiping, there’s definitely more to that story than Liam could even comprehend in his tiny man brain.

Cassidy who works at the front desk had seen Jack and Jess talking in the main lobby last week, definitely flirting, she had said - with hair flips and giggles galore - and way too familiar to be new. 

Much better.

Paola who has the alternative shifts in the pro shop was more than willing to take up ten minutes of your time ranting how Jess’ work is never fully done when it comes to a handover, and she spends half her time on her phone. Kiran, who works the bev cart every Monday, said Jack is always one of the most charming in their golfing group, so it’s no surprise if he is exchanging texts with girls from the club. 

You get dirt from most corners of the place, and it leads you all the way back to your station, to reservations set for the restaurant, where tonight’s list - unfortunately a shift you’re not set to work, although you very much question the serendipity of that - has Jack’s name down at 7pm. A table for 2 in the back corner, shielded from prying eyes and intimate.

And if it weren’t for the fact you’ve already worked a full shift, you would consider staying just to get the full scoop. 

You know Ellie isn’t going to be the one sat across from him, she’s been sending you pictures all day of her various hauls for her quiet night in. New paints and pencils, a sketchpad, some candles - she has all intentions of working on her watercolour technique.

So it has to be for him and Jessica.

Imagine his face, you think, picturing wide, panicked eyes as you roam up to his table to take his order. He’d actually crap his pants. 

But, it’s another set of eyes that you picture when you start to enjoy the scheming a little too much. The sad, teary eyes of your best friend, when she finds out the guy she’s been hung up on for half her life, who she has all but convinced herself isn’t interested, and is - absurdly - ‘far too good’ for her - yeah, right - is dating other girls while taking her out on not-so-platonic boat dates only the day before. A boat date that she had come back to your room, flung herself onto her belly on the bed, and kicked her feet as she gushed all about it. 

So you make your way back to the house after a long day, and resign yourself to the fact that you’re going to have to, yet again, get all your information on Jack’s date second hand.

You primed Cara, your colleague in the restaurant, to keep an eye out, and she promised to send updates on her breaks, and you have been holed up in yours and Ellie’s shared bedroom trying to keep her busy when there is a persistent knock at the door, and a mop of soft, curly brown hair pokes in before his eyes meet yours.

“Hey, Luke!” Ellie chimes, cheery and all too blissfully unaware of the potentially horrific circumstances you’ve stumbled upon. “You need to borrow my conditioner again?”

You scoff from your position on the bed, watching a slight pink hue flush up Luke’s neck.

“What? No,” he denies, running a hand through his hair and seemingly frowning a little at the way it feels. “I’m going to the store, wondered if either of you needed anything?”

“Nah, thanks, we’re good,” Ellie smiles, attention diverting straight back to where she’s drawing in her sketchbook, missing the way Luke widens his eyes and tilts his head as if to encourage you to take him up on his offer.

“Can I come with?” You shuffle from your position on the bed, swinging your legs out from beneath you and over the side as Ellie looks back at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you wanted something.”

“Someone’s got to show the poor guy what’s what on the haircare aisle, El.”

And you’re thankful that Ellie has settled herself in for the evening already by 6:45, showered, pyjamas on, otherwise she might have tried to tag along, too, just for something to do.

You swipe her phone before she can notice and hide it under your pillow before you leave, thinking it might reduce the risk of her getting bored and texting Jack, or, worse, checking his location.

A trip out gives you the chance for you and Luke to debrief each other on your findings of the day - or, as it turns out, just you, because Luke Hughes might be the worst information-gatherer on planet Earth.

Finding his life’s niche in hockey is fortunate, because he definitely wouldn’t cut it as an investigator.

“He just said he didn’t know anything,” Luke shrugs of his earlier encounter with Cole, and you try not to gape at him in disbelief as he fiddles with the screen in his BMW, scrolling through the interface in search of the nearest store. 

You swat his hand away with a scoff, typing in a destination, “And you believed him?”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“You’re about as useless as a chocolate teapot, Hughes. What is it with guys and gossip, are you all really that dumb?”

“That’s the address for the club,” he points out, ignoring your jibe as he starts driving.

“Well done, you can read.”

“Why?”

“Because, thankfully, one of us is a good detective.” You snark, “Jack’s there.”

“So?”

“He’s on a date.”

“No he isn’t,” Luke frowns, attention momentarily taken from the road as he looks over at you. “I’ve been with him all afternoon, he would have told me if he had a date, tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d he say he was going when he left, earlier?”

He hadn’t been home when you got back from work, but that had been around an hour ago. You figured if he was sneaky enough to book into the restaurant when you’re not working, he’d have his wits about him to avoid you, entirely. Whenever the two of you cross paths, you can’t help but try get on his last nerve, and he’s hardly going to want to start his evening in a foul mood.

“To get his hair cut.”

Jesus Christ, you think, he’s so lucky he’s cute.

“You’re so clueless. He’s at the lounge with Jessica, the girl I told you about yesterday.”

“And what are we supposed to do about that?”

“We’re gonna supervise. And maybe interfere, if necessary.” 

You don’t really have a plan, but it seems like the right thing to at least get a look in as to what the hell Jack thinks he’s doing, especially if you’re going to carry on with this whole plan of getting him and Ellie together. If he’s seriously entertaining other girls while making out to Luke that he only has eyes for Ellie, your plans might have to change. You’re not sure if Luke will be on board with the new path you’re willing to take, but you’ll be happy to kill his brother on your own.

“Interfere?” Luke’s eyes are wide, but he keeps them on the road, fingers flexing against the wheel. “I just came out for chips to make nachos, not play spies!”

“Cara’s working tonight, she said she’d keep an eye on them for me. I bet if I cover her hosting shift on Friday she’d sabotage their date. We’d just have to sit back and watch.”

“Oh,” Luke’s brows furrow, as if it’s taking any consideration at all to mess with his brother. “You really are an evil genius.”

You try not to think too hard about who’s been spewing that rhetoric already in his ear, and instead you smile when he casts his eyes your way, proud and pleased. 

“Thank you.”

It takes another 15 minutes to get to the club, considering Luke’s best Driving Miss Daisy impression, so their date is already underway by the time Cara is ushering you to a booth in the far corner, where you can see Jack’s table, but he shouldn’t be able to see yours, and agreeing to play along.

“Can I get you guys any drinks?” She asks as she hands over two menus, and you’re too interested in trying to gauge the vibe at the other table while Luke looks over his.

“Two diet cokes, shaved ice, no lemon,” he says, and you can’t help but frown at the way the specificity of that order rolls so easily off his tongue. That’s your order.

“Any food?”

“Could we just get some nachos, please?” You ask, sliding your menu across the table without even looking, not wanting to give Luke too much of a chance to peruse his own out of fear you’ll be here all night. “And extra picante on the side.”

“Extra guac, too,” Luke adds as Cara scribbles the instructions on her notepad, “And some of those chicken tenders, and extra ranch. And maybe some fries. Yeah, chilli fries. And breadsticks.”

You level him with a glare, already proven right in your decision not to give him too much time to think about what he wanted. He’ll order every appetiser on the menu, if given half the chance. 

“Thanks, Cara, that’s everything.”

“Sure thing, should be around fifteen minutes. They only just ordered,” she points her pen back to Jack’s table, where Jess is leaning onto the table and Jack is leaning back in his seat - heavy on the distance but even heavier on the eye contact. That little shit.

“Does he have any allergies?” You lean onto your own table to ask Luke, quirking a brow up when his eyes darken in response, mischief swirling in his emerald irises.

“Absolutely not,” Cara interjects, “I’m doing this so you cover my job, not make me lose it.”

“Let me guess, he ordered the steak, medium-rare?” Luke asks, and she nods, hesitantly. “Char it.”

“Won’t he complain?”

“He’ll just grumble to himself about how tough it is. It’ll put him in a bad mood. That’s what we want, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding your head to ease Cara’s worries despite what you really want is for Chef Michael to poison the cut, entirely. If Jack Hughes wants to play with your best friend’s heart, you’ll play with his gut. But you can settle for burnt meat. Luke can work some sort of magic with that, you think, convincing Jack of all people that any first date that resulted in him coming home all sour-puss and sulky should never result in a second. “Bad mood. Bingo.”

“Fine,” Cara grumbles, “But if he even thinks about asking for a manager, you’re covering my next 3 Fridays.”

She storms off to the kitchen, and you and Luke simultaneously sink into your seats, attention immediately diverted back to the table in the opposite corner of the room.

“We should have kept the menus,” Luke mutters from across the booth, “Could have hidden behind them.”

“What are we, children?” You snark, “You can’t think of any more creative ways to stay hidden?”

“I heard PDA makes people pretty uncomfortable,” he leans onto the table, dropping you a wink when you glance over out of the side of your eye, “We should make out to throw everyone off the scent.”

“In your dreams, Hughes.”

Luke sort of envies the charm you hold over people.

The way you can convince people to do your bidding with a mere flutter of your eyelashes or a flash of pearly teeth and a glimmer in your irises.

He has trouble, sometimes, skirting around his honesty or hiding his intentions - and he knows that’s not a bad thing, knows that being clear and truthful is an admirable trait, if anything - but the way you persuade others to bend to your whim with intricate white lies based on observations you’ve made or intel you’ve gathered is a praiseworthy level of genius. 

It had taken such minimal effort for you to get Cara on side, to convince her that being a little clumsy is hardly grounds for her termination, and spilling a little of Jack’s drink close to the edge of the table - close enough that it drips onto his pants and Luke can see the steams of frustration exuding from his brother’s skin from all the way on the other side of the restaurant - or bumping her hip on the edge of their table every time she passes are really just harmless irritations, not likely to cause actual complaint. 

You had used the mere tone of your voice to convince Liam from behind the bar to squeeze a little lime in Jack’s water, knowing just from observing him back at the house that he hates the taste, face curling in disgust at even the slightest hint of it, and Luke had watched your eyes gleam in delight every time Jack took a sip of his drink and tried not to spit it back out, seeking much needed reprieve to swallow down the world’s toughest steak cut. 

You’d even worked your magic on him, pouting your lips when the food had arrived at the table, and he had initially declined to share his chicken tenders with you - your grumblings at him ordering enough to feed the five thousand fresh in his memory, but so easily wiped away by the soft, sad look in your eyes, and your whining of, “But I didn’t realise how hungry I’d get. Plotting and scheming is hard work, Luke.”

You ended up eating half, but he could hardly complain - you were doing the heavy lifting out of the two of you.

He was sitting back and enjoying the show - enjoying your company, if he’s honest. Enjoying the way his gangly limbs would sometimes knock into yours under the table, enjoying the way he kept getting little nuggets of information out of you while you were distracted, sipping at your coke and making little comments about yourself, about your life, without even realising you’re doing it. 

And an unplanned, pseudo date ends up being the first time he thinks he’s had a glimpse at the real you.

The you who knows more about hockey than you’ve ever let on before, who comes back to his stories with contextual questions about the game, even has references to a few games of his back at Michigan, and keeps the conversation flowing despite your feigned disinterest, and a constant gaze cast his brother’s way.

That would usually drive him crazy.

He’s experienced it so often that he has come to expect it, people only entertaining his company to acquire the attention of his brothers, but that’s not what you’re doing. Not really.

You pay more attention to Luke than you’d ever let on.

You ask him about his time in Ostrava at the beginning of summer, even though he’s only mentioned being overseas once while you’ve been staying with him - an offhanded comment from Quinn at breakfast that you must have taken on. Ask him about all the food he tried while out there, when he mentions he doesn’t like picante, and you use it as a springboard to talk about what sort of spices he does like, or if he’s the type to try things or stick to what he knows. 

You ask him about being the youngest sibling, and it stems from an offhanded comment Luke had grumbled about always being the last to be clued in on stuff, about how Jack had probably confided in Quinn about his extracurricular activities at the club, and didn’t trust him enough to let him in on the fact he’s going out on dates. You ask if he usually figures things out himself before he’s told them, if that’s what makes him so good at observing and analysing stuff, and he hadn’t ever realised he was particularly good at those things before you brought it up. But then you reference a day in class one time, where he had picked up on something in a textbook that you never would have figured out in a million years, and his heart leaps at the praise you don’t even realise you’re giving him.

You sandwich your perceptions in your usual snark, but he doesn’t miss the slight curve of your lips anymore when he bites straight back, knowing now that there is some part of you that feels the nip of his teeth, that acknowledges his existence beyond him being a speck of inconvenience in your peripheral.

And he gets a little carried away in that acknowledgement - stops paying attention himself to what is happening on the other side of the room and tries to focus on what’s in front of him; the girl he pined after his entire college career, sat sharing nachos and pretending not to know him at a level you so clearly do.

You must get carried away, too, because neither of you notice Jack’s date wrapping up until Luke catches him hand his card over to Cara.

He’s lost count of how long the two of you have been at the club, now - way longer than it takes to get chips from the store, that’s for sure - and all he does know is that if Jack catches either of you two here, after a night of mishaps, bad food, spilled drinks and Cara’s incessant clumsiness, he’ll know who’s to blame. 

“We better get out of here before he sees us,” Luke sighs, not entirely wanting to wrap up his time with you but knowing he doesn’t really have a choice.

“I’ve just got to pick something up before we head back,” you reply, edging out of the booth at the same time Luke does, “I’ll meet you out front just give me two minutes?”

“Be quick,” he tells you before you scurry off, and he flags down Cara, who tells him you already put your bill on your worker tab. He tells her to switch it to his, and that he’ll drop by tomorrow to pay it off, promising to leave her a good tip for her stellar services for the evening. 

He waits where you asked him to, making sure to stick to the side of the entryway where he can duck for cover if his brother makes an appearance - but you show up first, skipping out from the staff lounge with a bag of tortilla chips in hand.

“Let’s go, Lukey boy!” He follows you out like a puppy on a leash, all the way to where his car is parked, almost bumping into you when you stop and turn without warning, stretching your hand out to him. “Give me your keys.”

“Are you crazy?” He snorts, “You’re not driving my car!”

“I know a shortcut!” You reason, stepping forward and making a grabby motion with your fingers, “We gotta beat Jack home, I just paid another server $20 to spill a whole drink on him before he leaves and he’s gonna be pissed. I want to see the meltdown back at the house and you drive like a nun!”

Luke doesn’t know why he gives in so easy - it could be the proximity, the way you’re so close you have to look up at him, eyes twinkling softly under the moonlight, voice carrying over to him like a siren song, or it could just be because he’s weak - but he hands his keys over with a roll of his eyes and climbs into the passenger side, sliding the seat back with a huff to accommodate his long legs and watching as you adjust the driver’s side, cringing at the way he’s gonna have to figure out exactly how he had it before.

You drive like a maniac, to the point where Luke has to screw his eyes shut as you use some back road, can hear the squelch of mud beneath his tires and squirms at the thought of having to take it to the car wash, tomorrow. 

But you make it back to the lake house much quicker than if he were driving, he’ll give you that. So quick that you feel comfortable enough to turn to him once you’ve pulled up, in no rush to unbuckle and get out to get inside before Jack gets home.

“Just so we’re clear, this is a point under my name. You’re not claiming tonight as a win.”

Luke chuckles, turning in his seat to face you, features illuminated by the dim overhead light that turns on when the engine switches off and a slight flush of exhilaration to your cheeks. There’s no pretending you haven’t enjoyed yourself, not tonight. “But the steak thing was my idea?”

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be sat watching baseball and thinking he was getting a 3 hour haircut, you can’t seriously be trying to steal this from me, I thought you athletes had integrity!”

“You’re really keeping score?”

“You’re not?”

If Luke’s honest, he hasn’t really thought about your whole wager all night. He’s been too wrapped up in the idea that his brother had lied to him. Twice. And now his whole plan for the two of you all summer has potentially been messed up. But hearing you mention it, hearing you talk about it like it hasn’t been flushed down the toilet by his brother’s idiocy sparks something in him - excitement, anticipation. He doesn’t want to let this go.

“I actually think we made a good team back there,” he shrugs, eyes meeting yours to gauge your reaction to the thought of doing this together.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re gonna lose,” you retort, eyes sparkling with those same sentiments he had just felt. 

“Probably,” he acquiesces, “Also ‘cause you kind of scare me a little after tonight, last thing I wanna do is go up against you when you have the power to turn half the country club against me.”

You smirk, and his eyes are drawn to the plush curve of your lips, watching them as they form around the softly spoken words, “God forbid you can’t go a round of golf without your caddy breaking down.”

“Exactly.” He mutters back, glad to see your gaze is still zeroed in on him when he meets it again. He can feel the thump thump thump of his pulse in his ears, and takes a deep breath before proposing, “Partners?”

He cocks a brow and holds his pinky out over the centre console, and you eye the digit, sceptically, narrowing your eyes into a glare before raising them to meet his. “Fine,” you grumble, then hook your little finger through his and tighten it to shake, a slight yelp of surprise filling the car when he tugs, your lax arm giving way until your knuckle touches his lips and he kisses it.

“Ew,” you whine, snatching your finger back as he fills the space himself with a hearty chuckle, wiping it on his hoody in disgust. “That’s gross!”

“No take backs,” he smiles, victorious, with his chest puffed out, primed for you to swat at with the flex of your hand, and the two of you are only pulled out of the moment by the sound of tyres pulling up on the gravel behind you, both of you stumbling to unbuckle yourselves and climb out of the car. 

Jack is exiting his own vehicle behind, and stomps down the driveway, shouldering past you until he realises who he has passed, turning back and looking at you with suspicion cast across his features. 

“Where have you twobeen?” Jack asks, glancing a curious eye between the two of you before meeting Luke’s gaze, levelling him with an inquisitive glare.

“We went to the store for chips,” Luke holds the bag up, the crinkle loud enough for Jack to hear, and he feels an insurgence rising within him, spurred on by the way his brother is looking at him like he’s the one who should be ashamed of his actions. “Nice haircut.”

Jack runs a hand through his hair, surprise crossing his features in a brief flash at the call out, like he had never even expected Luke to notice his hair looks no different to the last time he saw him mere hours ago, like he would never even need to question his alibi.

“Oh, yeah, I got the day wrong. Went out for dinner instead.”

“On your own?” You ask from beside him, your presence giving Luke the kind of back up he very much needs right now, a new target for Jack’s narrowed eyes that takes the heat off of him a little, lessens the burden of lying to his brother - despite Jack being the one who started it, it doesn’t make Luke feel any less bad, doesn’t quell the need to word vomit and admit to all the ludicrous things he had done to ruin Jack’s night. “You end up having a little accident there, bud?”

Luke tries not to outwardly laugh as his attention is diverted to the wet patch that still soaks up the front of Jack’s pants, lips quivering as he presses them together, oblivious to the steam pouring out of his brother’s ears as he immediately gets riled up. 

“One of your esteemed colleagues at the club apparently lacks hand eye co-ordination. Plus, some of us like our own company,” Jack scoffs, “Some of us can go an evening without the need to annoy anybody else.”

“It’s not news to me that you’re in love with yourself, dude,” you retort back, entirely unbothered by his jibes. “Bet you’ve got all sorts of riveting thoughts swirling around that ginormous head of yours, must keep you busy for hours on end.”

“At least I have thoughts, at least I’m not some airheaded-,”

“Hey,” Luke’s tone is authoritative when he calls out, stern and demanding, “Cut it out, Jack.”

“She started it!”

“She asked you a question,” Luke frowns, disappointed with how quick his brother had taken to escalating the situation, all in an attempt to deflect the attention from his own deception. He knows you don’t need him to protect you from Jack’s sharp tongue, knows you can very much defend yourself, but he needs to vent his frustrations, somehow, without causing a bust up on the driveway. “You could have just give her a straight answer without biting her head off.”

He feels like you’re a little closer, all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know it’s the slight brush of your arm against his or if it’s something else, something less tangible - but it warms him, all the same. Steadies the static thump of his heart in his chest at the thought of starting an argument with his brother out of nowhere. 

“Whatever,” Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m going to bed.”

And as Jack turns, Luke sees your lips part, ready to send him off with the last word until a large hand clamps itself over your mouth, and your wide eyes meet his over the sides of his fingers.

He’s not sure why he did it, why he all of a sudden feels comfortable enough to cross the boundaries of purposeful touch, but he doesn’t entirely regret it.

Plush lips press mid-word against his palm, and your skin is soft, cheeks warming ever so slightly beneath his hand.

“You gotta let him go, there’s no use fighting with him tonight, it’s better to drag it out. Didn’t think I’d have to teach you about the beauty of the long game,” he says, voice low as he watches his brother retreat to the house, waiting until he’s safe inside to retract his hand. “Not like this, anyway.”

“Your brother’s an asshole,” you grumble, “Full offence.”

“No arguments from me,” Luke concedes, holding his hands as if surrendering to the fact, himself. “What are you gonna tell Ellie?”

“Nothing.” You sigh, stepping a little down the drive and toward the house before turning back to him. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, partner.”

There have only been a handful of times in your life you’ve ever been thankful for work coinciding with huge plans, but when the group had decided that they wanted to go see Zach Bryan play Ford Field, you had thanked your lucky stars you had been put down to work a full shift at the restaurant and wouldn’t be able to go.

Not only for the fact that he isn’t really your thing, but for the fact that you’re finally getting a full evening to yourself.

So far, in your time at the house, most evenings have been spent with everyone else - group dinners, game nights, movie nights, even a couple of girls nights with just you and Ellie scattered in there, but nothing on your own, yet. 

You can’t wait. And with an empty house, you have a full pamper night planned. You’ve been stocking up odd bits on your trips to the store over the past couple of weeks - sheet masks, aromatherapy candles, you’ve even picked up some flower petals from the spa at the club, in the hopes that you might even treat yourself to a relaxing soak in the bathtub. You can play whatever music you want, make whatever food you want, sit wherever you want in the house, out on the deck, overlooking the lake with a book in hand and no chirpy voices in your ear all night.

You can’t wait.

The only downside is not having a ride home, but you haven’t finished too late. The sun will still be up for a couple of hours, and a walk in the simmering heat back to the house doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

Your feet carry you with ease down the back roads, and you even make the journey without your headphones on, taking in the scenery, the blissful peace of your surroundings, so lost in the tranquility of it all that the sight of Luke washing his car on the drive when you get home dampens your mood as quick as a torrential downpour of rain, flash floods coursing through your evening and wrecking your plans entirely. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You can’t help the bite in your tone as you approach, sneakers crunching against the gravel as Luke pauses the hose, looks over at you with the sun in his eyes, and you have to remind yourself he’s just ruined the one night you have for yourself before you get distracted by the fact that he’s shirtless.

“Washing my car?” he calls back, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Detroit right now?”

Luke shrugs, and you have to will your eyeballs not to move any lower than his neck to watch his shoulders lift and drop, lest you get too caught up in the broad expanse of his chest and do something ridiculous like drool.

“Wasn’t feeling it.”

“You weren’t feeling a concert you guys haven’t shut up about for weeks, but you were feeling washing your car?”

He’s dead. When he’s finished with his car and he retreats to his room, you’re gonna smother him with a pillow and discard of his body in the lake. You’re not even gonna let him shower, first. That’s what the lake’s for.

He’s crapping all over your plans because he wasn’t feeling it?

“It needs cleaning,” he shrugs again, and you swear you’re gonna jump in and run him over with the damn thing, “In fact, you really should be helping me.”

There’s a small part of you that feels like the thoughts of violence are worryingly aggressive, but then a larger part of you realises he must have a death wish.

“How’d you get to that conclusion?”

“You’re the one who drove us through a swamp,” he scoffs, a pointed hand flung toward the body of his car, where the sides are lined with a thick layer of dried dirt from the other night, “You get it dirty, you clean it up.”

“As much as I would absolutely love to fulfil your pervy car wash fantasy, I have much better things I could be doing with my time.”

Or you did, until Luke rained all over your parade of solitude.

“Like what?”

“Literally anything but this.” You gesture at the show he’s putting on. The suds dripping from the roof of the car, the hose in his hand, the buckets scattered around the perimeter. “I need to shower, I just walked from the club and I-,”

A death wish might actually be an understatement.

Luke wants you to murder him in the most gruesome, horrific way you could possibly muster - he has to, because there’s no other explanation for why he’d turn the hose on, point it straight at you, and drench the front of you, entirely. 

You can feel the fabric of your t-shirt dampening and sticking to your chest, and you scrunch your eyes shut to stop droplets of water slipping into them, thankful that when they open again, his own are looking back at you, and not any lower.

You’d really have a reason to kill him, then. 

“You did not just do that.” You growl, glaring back at him with a clenched jaw as the fucker beams back at you, pressing the trigger once more in a short burst that fires straight at your chest, again.

“What, that?”

“You’re so dead.”

You drop your bag and launch for him, aiming to take the hose from his grip, but he fires it again out of sheer panic, the water spouting out from between your splayed fingers, cold and pressured, and it soaks the both of you, raining down as you grapple for the head and Luke remains unrelenting.

There are squeals and yelps called out into the misty air between the two of you, and you get to a point you can’t tell what sounds are coming from who, but you manage to wrestle the hose from his grip and point it straight at him as he jets away with a laugh that rumbles straight from his belly.

It’s the kind of laugh that elicits another, and you don’t realise until he’s circling back to you that the laughter is coming from you - giggling, even, as the two of you engage in a water fight like misbehaving children - and it isn’t long until all aggressive thoughts wash away with the suds that slip to the gravel, forgetting why you were even annoyed in the first place.

It shouldn’t be as fun as it is, but after the long day at work, and the tiring walk back, letting your guard down and engaging it a little mindless chaos seems to wake you up a little.

Your childish game gets Luke what he wanted, anyway, the two of you working together to clean his car when you realise he’s only running in front of all the parts that actually need hosing off and relying on you having bad aim to get the job done, and you figure getting your hands a little dirty is harmless when you’re already soaked through and in dire need of a shower.

And your pamper-plans of a bubble bath and self-care don’t entirely come to fruition, but Luke promises to make up for his petulance by ordering pizza and sticking a movie on, so you bite your tongue to refrain from voicing your initial complaints, and decide to just go with the flow, for once - he hasn’t exactly led you astray, yet.  

You take a little longer in the shower than normal, with no one around to complain about hogging the bathroom or worry about them barging in unannounced, and you suppose that’s a small victory - one little luxury you get to cling to as you bask in the steam, letting all the tension slip from your aching muscles after being on your feet all day.

And once you’re out, hair dried just enough with a towel that it isn’t going to drip or soak your t-shirt, and you’re dressed in your pyjamas, you make your way downstairs, where Luke has already set up a plethora of snacks in the living room.

Nachos, popcorn, candy and drinks scattered across the coffee table as he relaxes on the couch, hair extra curly after his shower and an old Michigan t-shirt stretched tight across his now much-broader chest. 

“Thought I’d wait for you to pick a movie,” he chimes up from where he’s sat, gesturing with a lazy point to the wall of blu-rays beside the TV. 

“Did Netflix never make it to the Hughes household?” You scoff in disbelief as you take them all in properly for the first time. You’d seen them in your peripheral when you’d been hanging out down here, before, but actually looking at them up close, reading all the titles, seeing the sheer volume of how many there are, it kind of surprises you.

“We can look on Netflix if you want. They always take stuff off, though.”

You know. All your favourite movies get taken off of streaming, and you only ever find out about it when you’re really in the mood to watch them. As soon as you realise the wall is alphabetised, you know exactly where to look.

“That’s alright,” you shrug, stepping to the side as you track backwards, through M, L, K and J. “You guys are pretty analogue, I’ve noticed.”

“What do you mean?”

“The board games, the DVDs, the whole no phones around the house thing.”

“No phones around the house is common courtesy,” he chuckles, “But I guess we’re a little weird about the other stuff.”

“It’s pretty cool,” you shrug, spotting the DVD you want and sliding it out to assess the case. “It’s old school. Probably better for the brain. My little brothers can’t really function without an iPad and they’re 5, it’s freaky, like they’re haunted by the capitalist ghost of Steve Jobs or something.”

“I didn’t know you had brothers,” Luke frowns where you almost expect him to laugh, and you spin on your heel to face him. He has this look about him like he should have known that - like the two of you have ever conversed in anything other than sarcastic quips and scrunched up faces, or whatever attempts at flirting have been on his part. 

“Technically they’re half brothers,” you shrug, “They live out in Philly with my dad and step mom, I don’t really get to see them much.”

“Didn’t know you were from Philly, either.”

“I’m not, my dad moved out there when him and my mom got divorced.”

It’s not something you really love talking about. 

The few times you’ve tried, you’ve been shot down, patronising tones scoffing at how your biggest trauma is the separation of your parents, as if your whole world didn’t crumble down with the demise of their relationship, the demise of life as you knew and very dearly loved it.

“You don’t see him even in the summer?”

“Him and his family are on vacation in Europe for 6 weeks. England, France, Spain, Germany, the boys are into soccer so they’ll be out there until the Euros.”

You don’t miss the way Luke’s face scrunches at how you call them his family, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him to start pitying you, so you throw the DVD case toward him before you can second guess your choice.

Interstellar. 

You hope he doesn’t pick up on why it might be one of your favourites. Especially not considering the topic of the conversation at hand. Something about the crippling regret Cooper has for leaving Murph behind plucks harmoniously at some unidentifiable strings deep within you, but you’re hardly about to admit that to Luke, of all people.

“I love this movie,” he smiles, almost surprised, as if he expected you to throw The Notebook his way. Maybe next time - he’d probably love that movie, too, if he gave it a chance. 

“Me too. I love space movies.”

“Like Space Jam?” He asks as he pushes himself up, going toward the TV to set up the movie with the DVD in one hand and the remote control in the other. 

“No, like movies about Space,” you say, throwing yourself down onto the same couch he just vacated and tucking your feet beneath you to get comfortable. “Although I guess Space Jam would technically fit into that bracket.”

“I didn’t realise that was a genre,” he chuckles.

“Not the scary ones, though, I don’t wanna be freaked out by space.”

“Is that like a thing? You just like any movie set in space?”

“I like anything about space, period. Movies, documentaries, books. Thinking about it makes me feel really insignificant.”

“Insignificant? Is that not a bad thing?” He asks as he makes his way back, settling into his side and angling his body toward yours.

“Do you ever think about how big the universe is, Hughes? It’s humongous! If I ever feel anxious or panicky I think about just how big it is and how I’m not even a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. If I’m so tiny, how big can my problems actually be?”

“I guess that makes sense,” he seems to mull it over in his head, the thought of him even considering it and not making you feel stupid warms your chest - makes you forget just how much of yourself you’ve shared with him in the last couple of minutes alone, makes you worry less that you’re sharing too much. “I think I might be the opposite, though. Probably the youngest brother in me, I only feel better if I feel bigger.”

You think that might be why he’s always trying to one up you - sassy comments and inappropriate jokes galore. Not that you mind any of it, not really.

“What about you? What movies do you like?”

“You’re gonna be so shocked.”

“Sports movies?”

“Look at you, knowing me like the back of your hand.” He coos, nudging at your knee with his hand. “I’ll watch anything, though. We should take it in turns, whenever it’s just us,” he says like the thought of spending time alone with you has only just crossed his mind. “Picking a movie to show each other.”

You think there’s a lot of yourself in the media you consume. The movies you watch, the music you listen to, and sharing those things with Luke feels like giving him the only other key to a high security vault. It’s something you’ve avoided so far - letting him play his songs in the car, avoiding making any sort of pick in the group movie nights. It’s daunting, and it’s a lot of pressure, and so you don’t know why you agree with so much ease - a shrug, and a casual muttering of, “Sure, why not?”

The pieces of your dynamic slowly start to slot together, and you start to realise why you’ve been entertaining his company so often, lately. Why your mood so quickly de-escalated itself, earlier. Why you’ve found yourself curled up on the same couch as him, instead of literally anywhere else in the house, doing anything other than this. Why you’re so quick to agree to letting him access all these unseen parts of you.

And why you think he might be able to read your mind, after he asks, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Only if I get to ask one back.”

“What were you gonna do tonight, if you were on your own?”

Thank God, you think, your heart jumping at the thought of anything else he could have asked.

“I was gonna do a sheet mask and steal the bottle of wine Quinn stashed behind the laundry detergent.” You admit with a nonchalant shrug, the plans you had been looking forward to all day seeming mundane in comparison to this. “Why’d you stay behind? You love Zach Bryan.”

“I love sheet masks and stolen wine, too.”

Your lips curve up before you get the chance to huff at his non-answer, and you feel your throat go a little dry at the way his curve, too - the way his green eyes darken when they meet yours, and you feel like he’s looking straight through you.

It’s around half way through the movie that you realise how much you’re enjoying yourself - when you look over at Luke, and the light from the screen is still bouncing off the sticky white sheet plastered to his face, only just able to make out his round eyes through the little slit in the fabric. 

You sip at your wine to hide your smile, and turn your attention back to the TV until Luke nudges at your feet with his, and your eyes meet over the tops of your bent knees. 

“You tell anyone I did this, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Your laugh ripples through every inch of your upper body, rumbling up from your belly and manifesting itself in shaking shoulders, your smile wide and your sheet mask slipping out of place. “You can’t threaten me with a good time, Hughes.”

You spend the rest of the night trying not to think about how there might just be a tiny door in your heart, eking it’s way open for him to squeeze his gangly limbs into.

>PART TWO<

another a/n: I don't want to put a timeframe on when the next part will be posted bc as soon as I do that, my brain will revolt and it won't happen, but I'd love to know your thoughts in the meantime!!! I have a lot of the rest actually written, and what I don't have written, I have drafted, so it shouldn't be too long but!!! like I said no timeframe!! I've had a lot of fun with this dynamic, and hearing any opinions would mean a lot to me!!

this was my first time writing reader insert if you saw any instances of she/her where they shouldn't be, no you didn’t. I tried as best as I could to avoid using Y/N because it takes me out of it I don’t even remember if I put it anywhere but sometimes it's hard to get around I did my best ok!!!

[missfrustration]

to teach a captain - part 1 (luffy x reader 18+ fanfic)

summary: Luffy walks in on you touching yourself, and things quickly get out of hand.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

rating: 18+ explicit, minors do not interact!!

tags: pwp, nsfw, smut, sexual content, masturbation, cluelessness, luffy is a curious guy, reader is a member of the straw hat crew, post-time skip, second-hand embarrassment, no spoilers, no use of y/n

A/n: My first multi-part fic. I'm so glad people enjoyed it on ao3, so I'm posting it here! Enjoy!

words: 2.1k

----------------------------

Something gnawed at you all day today. It wasn’t until you were munching on the assorted fruit that Sanji prepared for the girls after breakfast that you realized the feeling. You watched your captain sit comfortably on the head of the Sunny, staring out into the open blue, when the very thought snapped into your mind. 

You haven’t touched yourself in a while, and it was well due for a session. 

Typically, you don’t pleasure yourself outside of your bath time due to the lack of privacy on the ship, but showers have been rushed since Sunny's recent island escapade that you havent had the time. Since then, the crew regained their idle hours, and man, the level of horniness told you things needed to happen now. 

You set your bowl of fruits beside the deck railing and quickly dart to the girls’ room. Typically, you would never imagine doing the deed here, but Nami and Robin were busy on the ship and typically would stay above deck all day. None of the boys dare go in the girls’ room for fear of Nami’s wrath, so you don’t need to worry about someone barging in.

You reach your dresser tucked in the corner of the girls’ room and search under all the mess of clothes. At the very bottom, you pull out a small purple dildo and some lube and plop down on your bed. You didn’t bother shutting the door all the way; from the way you were feeling, you knew it wouldn’t take long.

You spared yourself from any niceties to get yourself in the mood. You peel off your pants and underwear and leave your top on, instantly wrinkling the smooth sheets of the mattress. 

When the silicone head tapped your clit, you already felt sparks. You knew you needed relief. Now.

The silicone base was lubricated in seconds, and you revel in the way your pussy quickly molded to the length of your little helper. It didn’t take long to start pumping it in and out of you. 

You know your arousal wouldn’t let you last long, but showing your pleasure would make you cum faster. You threw one arm over your eyes and arched your head back. Your legs splayed on your sheets that shaped a lazy outline around your body. Your toes clutch at the rivets the sheets have made, you clench your fingers around your toy in the same way your palm clenches your breast, kneading and pumping and thrusting in all the right ways.

“Fuck yes.” You moan out, your hands grab at anything around you, from the loose strands of your hair to the loose shirt to the tangled sheets, before covering your face again. You arch into the mattress, opening up your legs more as you pound into you. 

You breathlessly pant, feeling your climax already brush up. 

Yes.

In and out, you pushed your toy, swallowing it down so well over and over until, finally, that tight coil started to stutter. God, you need it so badly now, those sloppy pumps to reach you there until you can no longer think about anything except your hand clawing right over your eyes, ready to muffle your screams over and over again. You’re so close now, so desperate to reach the line that your hips buck into your hand, biting your lip hard to impress into the skin forever, your light moans and whimpers are barely controllable as you start to climb.

Yes…

You wonder how much you’ll need to muffle your orgasm when that toy dick plunges into you just right, practically making you whimper.

You gasp when you feel it coming closer and closer and…

“Yes!”

“You left your fruit thingys.”

A voice from the doorway, so joyful that you know who said it before you looked up in horror. Luffy smiles, which quickly dissolves into confusion when he sees your face.

You immediately jump up and yelp, grabbing the blanket from your bed to cover your bare bottom, but it was too late; you know Luffy see everything in your legs and the things in between. 

“Hey, what’s that you’re doing?” Luffy asks, turning his head at you.

“Luffy?! What the fuck, dude, go away!” You scream at him.

“Huh? What did I do?”

“Luffy, holy shit, I’m not doing this with you—fucking leave!” You panic, grab the nearest thing, and throw it in Luffy’s vicinity.

It was your bottle of lube, which cracked open on impact and landed against the wall with a grimy splat!

He stepped back as a frown pillaged his face.

“Whatever, I’ll eat them myself!” He yells, darting down the hall. The sounds of fruit scarfing quickly start before fading away.

Your hand, once stuttered in the air from throwing your projectile, now slumps onto the sheets. Your entire body follows, until your head locks into the nearest pillow and you scream out all the embarassment trapped in the air. Your muffled screams last longer than you would’ve liked.

If Blackbeard himself walked up to you right now with a rhinestone encrusted pistol loaded to the brim and aimed at your forehead, you would’ve let him pull the trigger.

——

It wasn’t until a few hours later that the ship reached the next charted island.

“We’re here!” Nami’s voice rings through the ship, causing everyone to gather on the front deck.

“Alright, welcome to Tashini, home of entertainment! We are going to stock up here before heading out tomorrow night.”

“Suuper! I need to stock up Sunny on some more cola.” Frankly sings, grabbing a backpack about the size of his fist. It looks microscopic compared to his large back. 

“You said there were things worth looking at, right, Nami?” Zoro asks. 

“Yes! Tashini is known for its numerous entertainment districts and has killer drinks that pair best with the local food.” Nami winks, knowing how Zoro is.

“Hey, sounds good to me,” Zoro says, gathering his swords on his sheath.

Nami calls out your name. 

“You ready to go shopping?” She asks.

You freeze a little, looking around the ship for something to say. From what happened earlier, you feel like going out today would stress you out more. On top of that, the girls would notice something wrong and want to know all the details. On a whim, you clutch your stomach.

“Oh, ah, I’m not feeling good today. Mind if I stay back and look over the ship?” You stay, patting your skin down slightly. Nami tilts her head at you with slight surprise.

“Aw, really? That’s too bad,” Nami says, “Sure thing, we can shop another time.”

“I hope you don’t mind if Nami and I go alone.” Robin giggles.

“Not at all. You have fun without me, and I can join you girls next time. Keep your eyes peeled for anything I would like.” You smile, and the girls both agree.

That went better than planned, you think. Maybe this can help me relax from what happened a few hours ago.

You hear footsteps behind you until they suddenly stop a foot next to you.

“I feel sick, too!” Luffy said. “I need to stay on the ship.”

You froze, realizing the voice of your captain was right behind you, making you jump in surprise. It seems you’re not the only one to do that.

In fact, there have been a few times when the crew reacts in such surprise to Luffy, either widening their eyes or dropping their jaws in awe. In every case up to now, nothing could stop him from head-first cartwheeling to the newest island.

Sanji wacks him on the head.

“Huh?! There’s no way you are, Luffy; you were perfectly fine a minute ago! Jeez, you’ve been hanging out with Usopp too much.” Sanji groans. 

“Yeah!” Usopp says, “He’s been hanging out with me too—hey, wait a minute! What do you mean by that?!” Ussop practically steams out of his ears, being so bewildered about the most obvious thing. You all know Usopp loves to act sick anytime he detects a whiff of danger.

This causes the boys to argue about Usopp’s previous severe “diseases” that he’s managed to catch every time he senses danger. Still, you can’t forget the lingering gaze Luffy gives you in between, which makes you turn away in embarrassment. The last time he saw you was… then.

Sanji pipes up.

“Besides, I thought you wanted to try that world-famous fried squid that the town’s known for. You were yapping about it all day yesterday!” He says.

Luffy perks up, seeming to regain his previous exigency. “Oh, yeah. Never mind, let’s go!” Luffy says, now confidently strutting off the deck with no symptoms, ultimately confusing the whole crew. 

Sanji shrugs in defeat and sighs. “I’m not even going to ask,” he mutters. He joins the rest, getting off the Sunny.

“Do you need me to stay here and look at you?” Chopper asks you. He looks up at you with concerned eyes that melt your heart. You feel a tinge of guilt for lying and making him worry.

“Oh, it’s no problem, Chopper. I know you wanted to get more supplies for the sick deck. Just work your magic when you come back, okay?” You know how much he was looking forward to this. You definitely didn’t want to keep him behind.

“Alright, if you insist.” Chopper gleams, shaking from excitement. “Let’s go, guys!”

“Let’s meet at dusk, everybody. That’ll give each of us a few hours before we need to leave,” Nami calls, earning a hearty agreement in unison. 

You watch them slowly trek into the horizon, heading out in individual directions to start their journies. Your eyes lingered on Luffy, the outline of his shadow with hands looped behind his head and his chest held high. It looked like he didn’t have a care in the world until you lost his figure to the island's horizon.

—

You take in the quiet atmosphere of the Sunny in the absence of the rest of the crew. It was like night and day, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Total peace and quiet is a yearning you have now and then, especially after living with a bustling crew daily. 

About an hour after everyone left, you take this time to do some chores you’ve put on the back burner. After tidying up your space, you start a steady line of folding the girls' laundry. Even with Nami’s small clothes, the amount of baby tees and bikinis she has en masse is enough to fill up all of the lockers if they’re not compressedly folded. You’ve had to learn that from experience more than a few times.

If your little interaction with Luffy hadn’t happened earlier, you would’ve taken this time to beat off now. Unfortunately, the guilt and embarrassment from the whole situation turned you off. You vow to never again touch yourself outside of your regular scheduled shower and bath times. 

You sigh. What could you even say about this morning? Luffy is your captain, the one who asked you to join as his nakama in the first place, someone you’ve trusted with your life along with the other crewmates, and it wasn’t exactly ideal to have him walk in on you booty butt-naked. God, you could dissolve into the earth’s core from all the embarrassment! 

It was not your proudest moment, but knowing Luffy, there’s not much left to do except hope he’ll forget it and you two can put it behind you in no time. Knowing him, it’s the most likely scenario.

After the last few articles, you stretch your legs and walk up to the deck to ensure everything’s okay. You doubt anybody would raid the fearsome Strawhat ship, but you’ve been surprised quite a few times since joining the crew. 

You walk to the door, but it suddenly bursts open before you can reach the handle. The lightning-fast momentum of it almost wacks you in the face, causing you to scream and jump out of your skin. 

“Hey, I found you!” It was the voice of the man who swung that poor door open. 

The one you wanted to avoid this whole time.

“Luffy?!” You yell, “What are you doing here? I thought you were out with the others on Tashini?”

“I snuck back here when Sanji and Ussop weren’t looking,” Luffy smiled. “I wanted to talk to you.”

-------

Read Part 2 here!

ao3 | tiktok | kofi | masterlist

[glitchedember]

Hiya!

So we all know that AI generators like Midjourney, Stable Diffusion, DALL.E, Sora.AI, etc. have stolen the work from artists online to train their AI and since AI is starting to get quite scary, I've decided I'm going to start protecting my work via Nightshade, but I want to also talk about it with you and link to the official sites to Glaze and Nightshade, so you can get either of these programs to try.

First off, we'll start with Glaze AI.

What Glaze aims to do is to act on the defensive against AI. Glaze will scramble their generators by placing a “protective glaze” over your work, and what this will do, is when your work is fed into the AI, it'll trick the AI into thinking your work is something entirely different from what it is, simply by making small changes that only the AI will pick up on

To quote the official site “Glaze is a system designed to protect human artists by disrupting style mimicry. At a high level, Glaze works by understanding the AI models that are training on human art, and using machine learning algorithms, computing a set of minimal changes to artworks, such that it appears unchanged to human eyes, but appears to AI models like a dramatically different art style.”

I've tried using Glaze, but it's a very big program and my computer can't handle that, but I do highly recommend trying it out if you have the space for it.

If you wanna try it out, the link to the site can be found here.

Second is Nightshade.

Nightshade is aimed to “attack” the AI your work is being fed into. Like Glaze, Nightshade puts a protective “glaze” over your work, but it poisons your work and tricks the AI into messing up the user's prompt.

To quote the official site “Nightshade works similarly as Glaze, but instead of a defense against style mimicry, it is designed as an offense tool to distort feature representations inside generative AI image models. Like Glaze, Nightshade is computed as a multi-objective optimization that minimizes visible changes to the original image. While human eyes see a shaded image that is largely unchanged from the original, the AI model sees a dramatically different composition in the image.”

This program is also pretty big, but it's what my laptop is able to handle, so from here on out I'll be protecting my work with this. I'll also go back and protect my older works even if it's not as appealing as my newer works.

If you wanna try it out, the link to the site can be found here.

Keep in mind, these are only temporary solutions while we wait for more permanent ones.

But even if it's temporary, it's better than having no protection against the AI bros.

[kefiteria]

Denial: As If It Were a Choice

Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

tags: fluff, inspired by azul 2024 bday card voiceline

summary: Azul was in complete denial. Your genuine interest and honesty about pursuing him romantically left him utterly confused. A date at the local fair? This had to be some kind of love scam—or worse, an elaborate mlm scheme. Right?

“How wonderful love is. It creates so many problems for folks that they have to come to someone like ME for help.”

Hypocrisy at its finest. Even Daedalus, the master craftsman, would laugh himself into the sun at the tangled mess Azul had just stepped into. Even Orpheus, after failing to retrieve Eurydice, would pat Azul on the back and say, “That’s rough, buddy.”

Because he, Azul Ashengrotto, was supposed to be the schemer. The one who spotted every loophole, exploited every weakness, and ensured that no deal was ever made against his favor.

And yet—

“You’re working hard as always, Azul!”

Azul flinched. He had been so engrossed in reviewing contracts that he hadn’t even noticed you enter.

“How did you—? Who let you—? How did you get in here?!” he snapped, immediately sitting up straight.

“Oh! Jade said I could just enter.” you replied, smiling like you hadn't just shattered every security protocol Azul had in place.

Feeling the betrayal seep into his bones, he knew those damn eels had sold him out. But before he could even begin plotting revenge, you spoke again—

Completely derailed his entire existence.

“I'm pursuing you!”

Azul instantly short-circuited. His brain did the mental equivalent of a blue screen.

“You’re WHAT?!”

“Romantically!” You clasped your hands together, beaming like this was normal human behavior. “That’s why I’m inviting you to the fair this weekend. Oh! They have fried chicken, by the way! I know you like it.”

Azul’s eye twitched violently. What— what was this?

A love scam? An elaborate multi-level marketing scheme? Some previously undiscovered pyramid scheme where he was the target instead of the orchestrator?!

No—NO. That wasn’t possible. He would have noticed the signs. The recruitment tactics. The suspiciously friendly invitations.

… Wait.

Was this one of those forbidden love spells he had always been so careful to avoid?!

Or worse.

Had someone abused a loophole in a contract he hadn’t accounted for?

His hands flew to his coat, patting his pockets as if a cursed contract would fall out. Did someone sell his own heart to this absolute menace in front of him?!

Is this how it feels to be scammed! IS THIS HOW HIS CLIENTS FELT?! Azul folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at you like you had just offered him a fraudulent stock investment.

“What’s your angle?” he demanded.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“This—” He waved a hand wildly between the two of you. “—This business transaction—!”

“Confession.”

“—This confession transaction—”

“Just confession.”

“—This blatant attempt at fraud—!”

You tilted your head. “It’s not fraud? I just like you. That’s it!”

He now felt something deep within his soul fracture.

“You’re too honest.” he muttered, rubbing his temple as if trying to ward off the migraine of the century.

“Yep!” You nodded enthusiastically. “Gotta make a good foundation, y’know?”

Azul’s soul nearly exited his body. A good foundation.

A GOOD FOUNDATION.

WHAT WAS THIS, A BUSINESS MERGER?!

WHAT SORT OF ADVANCED EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION TECHNIQUE WAS THIS?!?!

“This isn't how romance works.” Azul hissed, as if saying it aloud would somehow reverse time. “Where’s the fine print? The hidden agenda? The careful deception?!”

You blinked. “Oh! I mean, consent is cool! And so are choices! You can totally reject the date if you don’t want to. No pressure! Just lemme know once you’re done thinking, okay?”

“Done thinking—” He exhaled sharply, gripping his desk as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. “You—you expect me to think about this?!”

“Well, yeah! Big decisions need proper thinking time!”

BIG DECISIONS.

Azul can feel a second overblot forming, all from this nonsense.

You gave him a cheerful little wave. “Alright, see you tomorrow, Azul! Take your time!”

He sat there, paralyzed, as you exited like you hadn’t just tossed his entire worldview into some deepest trench. This had to be some kind of conspiracy. It had to be.

There was no way someone would just walk into his office, declare their romantic pursuit, and leave. So he just stared at the contract on his desk. The ink had smudged from how hard he had been gripping his pen.

His hand was shaking because the horrifying, gut-wrenching truth was—

You were being completely serious.

Azul had absolutely not come to this fair for a date.

Absolutely. Not.

This was market research. Yes, that’s all it was. He was simply here to observe seasonal trends, analyze consumer behavior, and assess potential menu additions for the Mostro Lounge.

The fact that you had invited him was purely incidental. The fact that he had dressed well was merely a reflection of his natural sophistication. The fact that he had spent far too long thinking about what to say to you was… irrelevant.

This was a professional outing. Nothing more.

At least, that was what he kept repeating to himself, right until the moment he saw you waving at him, beaming with an enthusiasm so bright it made him squint.

“Azul! You really came!”

Your excitement was unreasonably infectious, and before he could even formulate a proper response, you were already standing in front of him, looking genuinely happy to see him. He cleared his throat, adjusting his gloves as if the motion alone could help him regain his composure.

“I had business to attend to.” he said smoothly.

You raised your eyebrow, questioning his reply. “At a fair?”

“Yes.” he replied without hesitation. “As an entrepreneur, it's only natural to study popular market trends and analyze consumer interests.”

“Right, right, of course.” you nodded, completely unfazed. “Well, thank you for accepting my invitation!”

Azul froze like those fishes in the mostro lounge freezer in the kitchen. No. No, no, no—

He had, in fact, accepted your invitation. Which, by definition, meant— THIS WAS A DATE.

A headache bloomed in his temples as realization hit him like a tidal wave. He had been so focused on maintaining a logical excuse for being here that he had overlooked the most crucial detail: he had willingly agreed to spend time with you outside any contractual obligation.

This wasn’t a negotiation. This wasn’t a business meeting. There was no deal to be made.

So why was he here?

His thoughts were spiraling so quickly that he barely noticed you taking his hand and tugging him forward. “Come on! No pressure, let's just walk around and enjoy the fair, okay?”

No pressure? No pressure?! Azul wanted to scream. What kind of business tactic was this? You were just walking in, completely unarmed, with no ulterior motives? What kind of hidden agenda was this?

He had spent years mastering the art of deception, yet here you were, casually obliterating his defenses with nothing but pure, unfiltered sincerity. It was unnatural. Suspicious, even.

The fair was lively, bustling with chatter and laughter, but Azul was beginning to wonder if he had made a critical mistake in coming along. Everything had been manageable so far—mildly inconvenient, sure, but manageable—until you suddenly stopped in your tracks, eyes lighting up like you had just found buried treasure.

“Oh! A mushroom stall!”

Azul’s stomach dropped.

You practically skipped over, marveling at the selection of freshly foraged mushrooms, mushroom skewers, mushroom pies, and— Azul's blood ran cold—wild mushroom soup.

Why? Why did it have to be mushrooms?

Of all things, why did it have to be Jade’s most beloved fungi, the very ingredient Azul and Floyd had fought so hard to exile from the Monstro Lounge?

Before he could even think of an escape route, you turned to him, eyes shining.

“Want to try?”

Azul had never regretted a decision faster in his entire life.

Mushrooms. He hated mushrooms.

Not just in a casual, mild dislike way—no. This was a deep-rooted, visceral loathing forged from years of being subjected to Jade’s endless, borderline cultish enthusiasm for fungi.

Jade had force-fed him so many varieties, ranted about textures, aroma, umami, and gods-knew-what-else that Azul had developed a knee-jerk reaction to the mere sight of mushrooms. It was to the point that he had banned them from the Monstro Lounge entirely.

So when you enthusiastically ordered a bowl of mushroom soup, took a careful sip, but— your damn smile. Blasphemy!

Not just any smile. That smile. The one that made Azul’s mind go blank for a second too long, the one that messed with his judgment in ways he refused to acknowledge.

He should’ve just said no. He should’ve walked away.

Instead—

“Right…" Azul found himself saying. WHY? WHY WAS HE LIKE THIS.

You beamed at him like he had just agreed to some sacred pact of mushroom enlightenment. “See! It’s amazing, right? Fresh mushrooms have a way better depth of flavor!"

No. He did not see. There was no flavor except suffering.

Though somehow, Azul was now holding a spoon.

He stared at the soup like it contained his entire downfall. The rich, earthy scent mocked him, reminding him of every terrible mushroom-related experience Jade had ever inflicted upon him.

With the grace of a man walking to his execution, Azul lifted the spoon to his lips and took a sip.

… It was tolerable. Barely.

But before he could think better of it, before he could stop himself from digging his own grave even deeper—

“It’s good.” he said. Lies. Deception. Betrayal—his own betrayal.

And then, Jade’s voice echoed in his head.

“Oh? It seems you’re finally appreciating mushrooms, Azul. How delightful.”

A chill ran down his spine. He nearly dropped the spoon. He had to get out of here and need a palate cleanser after this.

As the two of you continued strolling, who had been quietly observing—suddenly tilted your head. “Are you tired from all that walking? I think merfolk might feel slightly weird after walking too much on two legs.”

This was an ambush!

He immediately straightened his posture, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. “A businessman must always be prepared to handle different environments. This is hardly enough to affect me.”

Before you could press further, he quickly redirected the conversation by gesturing toward a woodcarver’s stall. “Look at that craftsmanship. A fine display of artisanal skill.”

Your attention shifted as you spotted a pair of octopus-shaped keychains carved from driftwood, complete with tiny pearls embedded in their tentacles. Your eyes sparkled with excitement as you grabbed them. “Azul! Matching keychains!”

Azul internally winced. How many times had he convinced love struck customers to buy exactly this kind of sentimental nonsense at Mostro Lounge? This was an absurdly cliché romantic gesture.

Nevertheless, his fingers moved on their own, smoothly retrieving his wallet and paying for them before he even processed what he was doing. “Wait. What?”

Why did he do that so naturally? Where was his resistance? This was a scam. A love scam. Brand new tactics!

Meanwhile, you simply smiled brightly at him. “Now we match! Thanks, Azul!”

Azul sighed, rubbing his temple. Too late to back out now.

To make matters worse, you suddenly turned toward a food stall and, without hesitation, bought a portion of fried chicken—with your own money. You returned with an eager grin, handing him a bag. “Here! Since I mentioned this when I invited you, it’d be unfair if I didn’t fulfil it!”

His pride was hurting. Both as a businessman and as a man in general. He was the one who should be paying. He was always the one in control of deals. Yet, here you were, giving him something so happily, without any ulterior motive.

“… Thank you.” he said, taking a bite. “Damn it, it was delicious.” he thought to himself.

The next stop was an exotic animal stall, where vibrant birds, fluffy rodents, and even small reptiles were displayed. Azul found himself absentmindedly discussing the market value of rare creatures.

“These birds—while striking—are often smuggled illegally, making them highly valuable in underground auctions.” he remarked, adjusting his glasses. “Of course, with the right contacts, their worth could—”

He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed your expression. You were simply chuckling, utterly amused.

“What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You sound like a merchant debating rare treasure, but you mean well.” you replied with a knowing smile. “It’s kind of charming.”

Azul felt his face heat up. This was dangerous. This definitely a scam. A perfectly crafted, terrifyingly effective love scam. And the worst part? He had willingly walked into it.

As time passes, the sky had begun its slow descent into dusk, painting the fairgrounds in warm hues of gold and violet. Lanterns flickered to life, their soft glow reflecting in Azul’s glasses as he found himself still by your side, a realization that should have alarmed him more than it did.

You turned to him, expression bright despite the long day. “Did you have fun today?”

Fun? That wasn’t something he usually factored into his outings. Business, market research, calculated investments—those were justifications. But fun? He was supposed to be scrutinizing every stall, noting trends, mentally categorizing what could benefit Mostro Lounge.

Hypocrisy shines through, here he was, hands full of a wooden keychain, the lingering taste of fried chicken on his tongue, and an entire afternoon that had somehow slipped away.

Before he could even conjure up a proper response, you smiled, cutting through his internal debate with infuriating ease. “Thank you for spending time with me! I appreciate it a lot. Can I invite you again?”

Azul’s breath hitched? No, perhaps hyperventilating at this point. His instinct screamed at him to analyze, to look for the loophole, the hidden terms of this ‘invitation.’

But his mind betrayed him, replaying the way you had laughed at his muttered grumbling over mushrooms, the way you had beamed when handing him the fried chicken, the way you had listened—actually listened—to his ramblings about exotic animals instead of brushing them off.

He should have walked away. He should have redirected, refused, twisted the situation in his favor.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses as he spoke.

“... No.”

The way your face faltered for a second almost made him smirk. Almost.

“Come to Mostro Lounge next Tuesday.” he continued, clearing his throat. “11 PM, after closing.” His fingers ghosted over the keychain you had chosen for him. A ridiculous, hand-carved octopus that he had somehow ended up paying for. “It’s… late for dinner, but I want it to be just us.”

It wasn’t an agreement. It wasn’t an answer for the confession. Just yet.

But the way your eyes lit up made him feel like he had already lost.

[cosmickid-inmotion]

Comfort Food

Tommy Miller X gn!reader

Series Masterlist : TLOU Masterlist :

Taglist (information on my tagging catagories, so if you just want tommy you can!)

Summary: You are in a depressive episode, and not eating. Tommy is determined to get you to eat.

Warnings: Extremely depressed and anxious reader. Not eating due to appetite loss, not necessarily and ED but you can do what you will with that. Mentions of reader being a danger to themselves enough that they cant be alone.

A/N: So anti mlm (multi-level-marketing) is a niche interest of mine and I make a joke here. for context, MLM can mean multi level marketing or man loving man depending on the context.

Divider by @cafekitsune

"C'mon baby, you gotta eat something. We can get whatever you want."

You shrug, watching Bobs Burgers. The bed was pilled up with stuffies and pillows and blankets, fidgets and coloring sheets and books all over the bed. It was a mess, but as you struggled during a deep depressive episode, Tommy got you whatever you needed. He was a good husband.

Things had been... Bad lately. Bad enough Tommy had been taking time off work, or working oppiset shifts as Joel so Joel could come over and keep an eye. Neither wanted you alone for very long. Tommy even hovered outside the bathroom when you showered. He had a key to the door somewhere too.

You didn't plan on doing anything; but honestly a lot of it was just that you work too tired. Hurting yourself took effort you didn't have.

Instead, you laid in bed all day rotting.

"We'll uber eats whatever you want. You want some texas Roadhouse?" You loved texas roadhouse. You shook your head.

"OOOOh maybe some charlys? get you a philly cheesesteak? That'd be good, get some veggies?" Another shake.

You watched Bob get a turkey for the 100th time. 'I'm... mostly straight?' made you chuckle. Tommy leaned over you, probably unsure if you were laughing or about to cry. Had to check.

"Olive Garden? I know you want some chicken alfredo..." He playfull poked your shoulder, but your previous joy from bisexual icon Bob Belcher was gone, and you used all your energy to jerk your shoulder away.

"Tommy, if you ask me one more goddamn question, I swear to god I will start screaming."

Your words hung in the air. It wasn't like you to lash out. You and Tommy weren't the kind of couple to fight and nitpick, you didn't make snide remarks. You didn't like who you became when you got like this. Tommy didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry." You mumble.

"It's okay. I get it."

But he doesn't, does he? he can't get it. Because Tommy didn't talk to you like that. Tommy wasn't mean, didn't have a mean bone in his body. You were broken.

"Baby." You hear shuffling and the bed moving as Tommy gets under the covers with you, comforter tucked under his chin. When you roll over, he reminds you of a catipillar. "You haven't even since yesterday moring."

"Yes I have-"

"Iced coffee isn't a meal."

That earned him a weak smile. He continued. "Is there anything at all you're craving."

You think on it. "Yeah, but I can't have it."

"What is it?"

"A sandwhich I used to get at my dining hall." You got a little more hungry just thinking about it. "It was like, like a patty melt but with a black bean burger, pepper jack cheese, mushrooms, onions, and a side of this special sauce... i dunno what it was, it was a secret recipe type thing. Tasted like the sauce from Raising Canes though..." Before Tommy could open his mouth, you nuzzled your face into his comforter covered chest. "I'm tired..." you said as if it was something new. "Not hungry. I'm gonna take a nap"

You been sleeping all day, but even though his arms were tucked into the blanket he leaned over to kiss your head.

*

"Rest. I'll be here."

Tommy didn't know what to do. The one thing you wanted to eat in days and he couldn't get it; you had gone to college far away. Tommy wasn't a good cook, either. Once he was sure you were alseep, he pulled out his phone.

"Brother, how are your cooking skills"

Then he set an order in instacart.

Joel arrived shortly after the instacart did, and Tommy snuck away from you. He like dholding you while you slept, knowing there was at least some reprieve for you. Some rest.

As he unpacked, Joel let himself in. "How are they?"

"Not good. Sleeping right now though. Gotta be quiet, I cracked the door open." He didn't like leaving you alone for long.

Tommy Miller could make a grilled cheese. It wouldn't be great but he could do it. He could also, theoretically, make the other parts but he wasn't going to risk it. Joel, having a daughter, knew how to cook. He had picked up Raising Canes and put the chicken in the fridge. Maybe you'd eat that later if he was lucky, but mostly what they wanted was the sauce.

"So first, we're gonna carmelize the onions" Joel had helped himself to a flowery apron in the drawer., and was peeling the onion.

"That takes what, 5 minutes? ten?"

Joel sighed loudly. "We got a lot to learn."

*

You woke to the smell of cooking. "Tommy?" He was making himself dinner, maybe you could force a bite or two.

Tommy was came in. "Hey baby, feeling rested?" You shrugged. No matter how long you sleep, it never felt like enough. "I heard the doorbell. Whose here?"

"Uh, just an Amway pyramid scheme salesman"

"Oh. Did you tell them to watch Isabella Lanter's video?"

"Yeah, gave him the spiel. No MLM's in our house"

"Except for men loving men." A hint of humor played on your tired face.

Tommy smiled at that. It was nice to see you be a little more yourself.

Back in the kitchen, Joel made Tommy grilled the actually patty melt. Said it'd be good for him to learn how to not burn bread. Joel showed him he's supposed to cover the pan to make the cheese melt faster without burning the bread. The more you know.

Finally, he had it all plated, with Cane's sauce on the side.

"Thanks Joel..." He looked at the food. Hopefully you ate it, it'd been so long since you had real food in you. The last thing you ate was reeses puffs. Not even with milk.

Joel gave him a sympathetic smile.

*

You're watching Archer now. It's always H. Jon Benjamin, isn't it?

"I dunno how that show can be comforting" Tommy's voice behind you as he enters the room. "Everyone yell'n at each other"

You shrug. "One of my favorites."

"Can you sit up? I got someth'n for yuh."

You tense a bit. You weren't sure how much you could eat but you wanted to try for Tommy. You struggle to sit up. When Tommy sets the plate on your lap, your jaw drops.

"Tommy! What is this?"

Tommy carefully gets into bed with you. He also made you a smoothie, no doubt with spinach blended in and protein powder. If nothing else, get some vitamins in you that way.

"Th-the sauce?"

"Raising Canes. Joel came over, helped me cook. Never caramelized onions in my life, but, uh... here we are."

Tear pricked at your eyes, your lips quivering a bit, but you didn't cry. It looked so fucking good.

"I dunno know I did to deserve you, Tommy..."

He kissed your cheek. "It ain't nothing. Do you think you can eat it? A few bites?"

You ate the whole thing

THANKS FOR READING

I have other Tommy works on my tlou masterlist, namely My series Everything Lose Will Be Recovered! check it out if you love my baby tommy

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @huskyfox5 @pedge-page @tommysversion @sunshineispunk

[fandomnerd9602]

Hypothesis

Nerdy!Natasha Romanoff x Geek!Reader

Avengers High

Attraction has long been defined as when two opposite forces were brought together. In the case of Natasha Romanoff, a shy, introverted nerd at Avengers High, she was still looking for her opposite half.

No one really noticed her as she moved down the hallways of the high school campus. To most she was a face that blended in. She didn’t stand out to anyone. Well she did stand out to you.

She was your best friend. Calm, kind, and loving, you always saw the diamond that she always was. Her heart spoke volumes to yours. You were a geek, always obsessed with Star Wars or James Bond. There is a difference between geeks and nerds. But yet Natasha was always by your side for hangouts after school.

Natasha, despite all the logic, all the incalculable data that she had about chemistry with another person, found her heart fluttering each time you watched a Bond movie with her. Each time you smiled. Every time you cheered her up when the popular gals looked down on her or called her ugly duckling.

“It’s not calculable! The data doesn’t work!” Natasha bemoaned to her lab partner, Maria.

“What?” Maria groans, “is this about your love equation?”

“My equation of total compatibility.” Natasha answered back. “I ran simulations of Steve and I and then of Y/N and I.”

“And?” Maria looks with a bemused grin.

“It says Steve and I should be compatible but I don’t feel anything when I’m near him.”

“And (Y/N)?” Maria smirks.

“It says we have zero compatibility but yet…” Natasha huffs. “I-I think I’m in love with my best friend.”

“Oh Nattie,” Maria chuckles, “love isn’t something you quantify or try to put some equation to. Maybe what need is to test your hypothesis”

“Test? How?”

“Find out if you get sparks or butterflies when you kiss (Y/N)”

“But what if I screw up the only good friendship I have?!” Natasha nearly shouts in the middle of physics class.

“What if it becomes something amazing?” Maria asks, leaving the topic at that.

It was a dangerous game: testing such a hypothesis. On one hand, if her equation was accurate, she might lose your friendship. And if it was proven false, then she’d lose a bit of credibility, at least in her own eyes.

Such a hypothesis test came that night as you and her were watching an old James Bond movie on your couch.

“Geez how does James end up with all these girls?” Natasha asked jokingly.

“Maybe he’s secretly an alien with a powerful pheromone level?” You shrugged.

Natasha paused the movie and turned to you. “I need your help.”

“Sure! What’s up?” You flashed her a quick smile.

“I-I need to test something.” She bit her lip nervously. “Just close your eyes”

You happily obeyed. Natasha leaned in and kissed your lips. The mere touch sent sparks and shivers up and down her whole body.

Your eyes shot open. It was perfect.

Natasha pulled back a blushing, stuttering mess of a teenager. “I-I…umm…wow”

“Yeah. Wow.” You smiled, giggling a little too. “So how was your hypothesis?”

“I’m so happy to prove my equation of compatibility wrong.” She giggles.

“Maybe us being friends interferes with it somehow.” You smirked. “Maybe requires further testing.”

Hypothesis are usually proven or disproven thru various tests, Natasha thought.

“Further testing is required,” she giggles before jumping into your lap, kissing you repeatedly.

Natasha Romanoff. She was your best friend, your favorite nerd. And the love of your life. You and her still kept resting whether or not her equation was correct or not. The equation was put thru tests of dating, proposal, marriage, and eventually children.

Natasha was never more happy than to disprove her own hypothesis of compatibility. You and her, despite the data, were just perfect for each other.

Tags: @aloneodi @abimess @lifespectator @russianredassassin @revanshand @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @multi-fandom-enjoyer @jacenradio7 @scarletquake-n7 @supercorpdanbeau @iiconicsfan25 @iamnicodemus

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Four - Hamster ball

See? The last update wasn't a fluke! :) Bit of a more easygoing chapter compared to the hecticness I've been subjecting our poor omega to. Bit more background on our girl. Give her a bit of breathing room before hopping back into more chaos.

Also: I've added a change to the reader's physicality. There's a reference to being underweight for medical reasons so I'm sorry if that takes any of you out of the experience. I try to not mess with that aspect, but I just felt it necessary given everything I put this girl through.

Trigger warnings: angst, depression, customer service, malnourishment

The dog survived.

Life had apparently decided against throwing you any more curveballs on your way back to the apartment – slushy roads and bad drivers notwithstanding (honestly, how could this many people forget what front wheel drive did on black ice and wet pavement?).

Densely populated areas gave way to suburban life as you drove the twenty minutes it took to escape the city center and arrive back into a world a little less crowded.

The area you resided in could generously be considered lower middle class. The crime rate was on the lower end of the spectrum though still a tinge too high for most members of polite society. Nothing too terribly outlandish; juvenile gang violence typical of a sizable city and the occasional asshat who decided the stuff in your car now belonged to him. But there was a police station a few blocks down the road from you that ran frequent patrols and the low level violence kept the rent at a decent affordability. 

There were less and less brownstones the further east you traveled, row house opulence giving way to multi level apartment buildings interspersed amongst a smattering of mid century moderns. Grass became a thing again, but only in long strips running parallel with the sidewalk – unless you were fortunate enough to own a modest front lawn on a small corner lot. Not that it was visible beneath the eight inches of snow that’d accumulated since it started falling late yesterday morning. 

It was only late afternoon by the time you were back in familiar territory, but this close to the impending holiday the local residents left their Christmas lights on 24/7 it seemed. Most abodes were adorned with at least humble decorations. 

Community members wrapped battery powered twinkle lights around the sparse barren elms, evergreen garland candy caning down metal street lamps, interlaced tinsel glimmering from passing headlights. Cheap vinyl stickers of cartoon snowmen and Santa's little helpers splattered across glass windows and sliding balcony doors in haphazard childish fashion. Mesh reindeer lawn ornaments and creepy animatronic statues recreating Saint Nick’s undertaking in kaleidoscopic – if not positively garish – displays. 

Muddied coir welcome mats proclaiming ‘Blessed Yule!’. A giant inflatable dinosaur taking up way too much space and spinning an oversized dreidel. You even gave props to the guy with a grinch head popping out the top of his chimney, smirking deviously at the passersby down below as if they were in on the secret. 

All walks of life celebrating the winter season in their own special ways. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you bothered to hang a simple wreath.

You were fortunate enough to find decently close street parking as you pulled up to the curve, grateful the black Kia behind had left space enough for more than just a clown car. A group of rowdy boys bundled snug in thick mittens and hand-knit toques called for a ceasefire, taking your nearby arrival as an excuse to catch their breaths and stockpile more ammunition for the fierce battle they waged. Childish insults flew from behind snowy barricades as you stepped out of your car and onto the icy sidewalk.

It was a more than usual hassle making the trudge inside your apartment building. Normally you kept your grocery list light; manageable for the haul up three flights of stairs despite the fully functioning elevator. But with the previous week’s illness eating into more of your food supply than normal you’d been forced to compensate for the barren cupboards. 

Could you make multiple trips? Sure. Did you want to be outside in the blustery cold for longer than necessary? Nope. Hence the sight of you iron-manning your way through the building’s exterior entrance, clusters of bags biting into your arms even through your heavy winter coat, overstretched plastic really field testing its weight requirements and lumbering your already lethargic pace.

You were grateful that you’d remembered to double bag some of the heftier items, having almost made that same mistake the month prior if not for the shredding sound alerting you to the seam's fatal flaw. That’s all you needed was to be spending your evening on hands and knees mopping up shattered glass and pickle juice from grime-laden steps.

There's a sense of accomplishment as you haul the purchased goods over the threshold to your apartment, carefully depositing the burdensome load on the tile in front of your refrigerator, far too many to overwhelm your bite-sized kitchen table with. Doubling back to re-check the numerous door locks and deadbolts, you finally let loose a sigh as you kick off your snow boots and shuck the weighted material from your weary shoulders, hanging the ratty scarf on the hook next to it and giving your neck a chance to breathe again.

Rubbing the irritated skin hurt more than it helped. The damn thing was sensitive to abrasive material – only concealing it when absolutely necessary. Winter was easy; warmer months made the task trickier. Thankfully most people didn’t stare much at an omega with a patch of gauze taped over her neck. Newly bonded designations wore it as a badge of honor, proudly proclaiming to the world at large that they’d finally found their place amongst the upper echelons of packdom.

You, meanwhile, would have to be more careful in the future to wear turtlenecks if bombshell interactions were to become a normal occurrence. The last thing you needed were prying questions from nosy alphas.

A half gone tube of medicated ointment called your name from the bathroom counter, but the inflamed mating mark would have to wait until after you got the bulk of groceries put away. Canned items and other non perishables could be dealt with tomorrow. There was only so much strength left in your bones after a day like today.

The knock on your front door would have startled you worse if not for the preceding text message hailing the arrival. 

‘Paranoid’ would be the appropriate term. Practically overnight you found yourself turning into one of those god awful annoying conspiracy theorists that hide in the dark cobwebs of the internet, spouting schizophrenic ravings of lunacy and government surveillance, too wrapped up in their straight jackets for oxygen to reach their corrupted brains. 

It was hard not to be distrustful to any and all intruders of your dwelling, knowing full well the consequences that come from letting your guard down in a stunning display of naivety. The pinched tether on your bond reassured you of his distance, but he was far from being the only ill-intentioned alpha in a thousand mile radius.

Pulse fluttering like a baby bird and fingers flexing into trembling fists, you creep up to the peephole with all the finesse of a one-legged cat – despite knowing the face that would greet you on the other end. Per usual, the kind beta didn’t take it personally when you opened the door with barely enough space to let her inside, squeezing through the gap provided and scooting out of the way while you relatched your pacifying security measures.

All she offered was her usual glowing smile and a box of double stuf oreos.

“Hard day at therapy?”

Chloe had been an unexpected addition to the chaos of your life. For lack of in-unit appliances, the apartment complex housed a small laundry facility on the ground floor – free of charge, but awfully stifling come the summer months. Enough square footage that multiple people could use it at any given time, but not enough to hold even a quarter of the residents. On the weekdays, that damn thing could be packed tighter than a dented can of sardines (and smell just as fishy). It wasn’t unusual to find your neighbors making the trek of shame back to their rooms, hefting a still-soiled bag of clothing, waiting another hour or so in hopes of trying their hand at the laundry lottery all over again.

You were embarrassed to say you avoided the place like the plague for the first month after moving in. After all, what did it really matter? 

You didn’t leave your apartment at the time. There was no need for decorum – no call to impress. And as an unpacked omega with disabling agoraphobia it sounded like the worst sort of torture porn experience. It had taken running out of febreze and being on the phone with your dads to finally venture down there at three o’clock in the morning on a random Tuesday in hopes the facility would be barren enough that your musky basket could stop reeking up your closet. 

The scream you screamt upon turning the corner and finding another human being skulking around in the unlit void had you so sure your father’s were a hairs breadth away from calling down the fucking feds.

Turns out Chloe was a skittish thing a few years younger than you. A recent college graduate, this was her first real apartment outside of campus dorm life. But where you were up at the ass crack of dawn due to an anxiety-inducing aversion to civilization, she was down there to keep from running into the cute nerdy alpha across the hall and risking mortification at him peeping her dainty underthings.

Honestly you hadn’t been sure the smell of urine was coming from either laundry basket.

Once you’d calmed down enough to pull your fathers off the edge of booking the next flight down there to rough up some nonexistent predator, you’d managed to finish your chores on opposite sides of the room, neither engaging in any conversation beyond muffled apologies of humiliation. 

What followed was an uneasy truce born out of necessity, a silent acknowledgement that this would be a weekly safe space free from judgment and criticism. Silence turned to whispered greetings, whispers became timid banter, until eventually you were confessing in therapy to eating homemade peanut butter cookies on the floor in front of the laundry machines.

Now she was the only other person in this whole entire city besides Dr. Miranda that you could go to for advice and needed companionship. 

Originally you had no intention of exhausting any more of your social battery than had already been consumed. But therapy wasn’t for another week and you had too much bubbling inside to be contained by the cramped confines of your studio apartment. And Chloe was considerate enough that she knew not to overstay her welcome, her own introverted alarm clock ringing about the same time as yours.

“If only that had been the hard part,” you replied with a sigh, taking the parcel of outstretched goods and moseying on over to your butt shaped indent on the far end of the couch.

The sound of creaky hinges and clattering plastic informed you of Chloe’s detour to the kitchen. “Has that rust-bucket jalopy of yours finally gone to the great big scrap metal in the sky?”

Everyone’s a critic.

“How about we don’t put that out into the universe thank you very much.” Shoving a whole cookie in your mouth, you gratefully accept the cold glass of milk she passes over before taking up a spot on the cushion next to you, grabbing at her own treat from the open pack.

The mess of red curls atop her head and the loud pattern of her knit rainbow sweater deceptively implied a boisterous personality. Bright green eyes. A healthy dusting of freckles. Blue corduroy pants still smudged with gold leaf. One look at her 5 foot 11 stature and you’d think she was some sort of artistic fairy, flitting about from flower to flower like a social hummingbird. In truth she’d gone to school for fine arts, but in preparation for a career in conservation – something quiet and away from the harsh critics where she could help express someone else's ideas instead of her own.

Her soft hazelnut scent matches her sympathetic smile, always patient and warm with you. “Does it have something to do with why you smell like a latte? Oh dear–please tell me no one spilled hot coffee on you today!”

You duck your head from her doe eyed worry and concerned frown of dread, focusing on the cold bite of milk on your fingers as you plunge another sugary morsel into your clear plastic cup. 

As toxic as it might have been, you couldn’t bring yourself to wash the scent of alpha from the pores of your skin.

“Chloe, I…” Here goes nothing. “I met someone yesterday…”

For the second time in less than four hours you found yourself spilling your heart to a friendly ear. 

She heard all of it. The supermarket run-in. Tantalizing lemon. Silky coconut. Devastating chocolate. Therapy. The coffee shop mishap. Being gentled by a complete stranger.

The promise kept safe in your electronic device. 

Where Dr. Miranda had broached the topic with a level-headed sense of therapeutic resolution, Chloe had all but clutched her pearls the longer your tantalizing tale was spun. She wore her expressions the way she wore her heart on her sleeve, squeezing the life out of a proffered couch pillow in a way that made you hope she didn’t have any pets at home.

“How could he possibly expect any of this to not come crashing down in a fiery hellscape of cataclysmic fury that would put Dante’s inferno to shame?”

Can you tell she went to catholic school?

“I mean… it's not like I caught him off guard technically,” you try to bargain. “Like yeah, today’s meeting wasn’t exactly on purpose, but they would’ve had a whole night to discuss things amongst themselves. Maybe they just reached some sort of weird agreement with her?”

She bites her lip to hide the sympathetic frown. “Do you really believe that though?”

No. No you didn’t.

It wasn’t hard to put yourself in her shoes considering the thick iron cable anchoring you to another. If that bond came with passion... if you knew the cloying taste of devotion – the idolatry that comes from having your molecules grafted onto a lover’s DNA – you’d shred every muscle strand in your body, tear skin from bone with bloodied teeth to keep what was coveted.

And here you were. The other woman.

Suddenly the chocolate dessert didn’t taste so appetizing.

At your lack of a meaningful answer, she unknowingly goes for the throat.

“Perhaps you should tell them–”

“No.” 

The ice in your tone brokers no room for argument, instantly regretting the bite behind it as you watch her flinch back into the cushions with a meek whine. 

Your expression softens in guilt. Chloe is just trying her best to help you navigate an otherwise impossible scenario. Her suggestion doesn’t come from a place of cruelty, only one of care. Even if it does speak of ignorance.

Not that she didn't still try.

“Wouldn’t you want to know if the roles were reversed?”

“And what good would that do?” you press far more gently this time, the acid of pain climbing up the back of your throat. “No matter what they say there’s no tangible future for us. That ship has well and truly sailed – I know that now. My destiny was signed with an iron pen and the deed says I belong to him.”

Your voice quivers on the last word, the sting of acceptance cutting into flesh with a rusty barbed wire. You never thought there could be a feeling worse than hopelessness.

“Telling them will only ensure that both parties suffer for another’s twisted scheme,” you continue past the lump in your throat, “and I won’t subject them to the burden that should be only mine to bear. I refuse to let them live with that guilt.”

Maybe it’s her beta upbringing that keeps her from fully understanding the colossal weight of putting your bonded through such inner turmoil. Chloe will never know what it means to share someone's emotions across an unwavering connection. Pack life isn’t barred from her, but the same primal urges that draw us towards our mates are nothing but strings of thread easily pruned. 

Truthfully most betas never want it. To them, we all drew the short end of the straw; being forced into subjugation by ancient instincts that never shed their skin after the last ice age. 

After the eternally looping rollercoaster that's been holding you prisoner the past four years, you can't say you disagree with them anymore.

“...maybe they chew with their mouths open.”

The huff she pulls from your chest is genuine, catching you off guard with the attempt at levity, the small roast doing its job of diffusing the atmosphere. Her extemporaneous remark reflects the giggles in her eyes begging you to play along.

“Bet they don’t wash their buttcracks either,” you add with a half-grin after a few moments of quiet, relishing in the way she covers her mouth to stifle a snort. Her energy is endearing, granting you leave to feed off the sunrays of her carefree aura, unblemished by the malice of a hateful underbelly, continuing for the next couple minutes that her presence lingers.

If only laughter was all it took to make everything better.

Consciousness greets you like a lifelong friend – one waiting to welcome you into outstretched arms, promising comfort and geniality with its disarming smile, swaddling you in a blanket so thick and plush it cradles you like a pregnant mother’s womb. It beckons with a silvery tongue, promising a joyful reunion as you give yourself over freely under the guise of a fresh start.

All the easier for it to slip a knife between your ribs. 

You should’ve known better.

Sleep hasn’t been your ally since the night before the incident. Rest is not restful; it is a time where the walls between protection and abuse are at their thinnest. Where the toxic sludge of your connection oozes through the cracks like bubbling tar and coats your insides with its virulent adhesive. It chokes you with its noxious miasma, seeping into dreams and disturbing the regenerative process vital to your health.

Each day starts the same – dealing with the consequences of life on a strained leash.

Awareness comes into focus next like a camera in the exclusion zone, grainy and crackling under the effects of radioactivity while spreading like the beginnings of cancer through the pores of your skin. It clings around the edges, lethargic in its letting go, giving way only to the melodic chiming of your phone’s alarm that might as well be set to a booming fog horn. 

Eyelashes crusty with dried salt crystals peel apart like fly paper, pupils fully dilated as the blackout curtains remove the need for constriction. The rumpled towel beneath you leaves tender spots on your back from where it bunched up in the night – a result of the fitful writhing when the nightmares your mind guards you from remembering leave your body feverful and drenched, soaking through the lightweight sheets and condensing in a thin layer of slimy moisture.

And the nausea.

God, the nausea.

The condition was a constant in your life, but its disruption was the worst during the early hours of the day.

Movement requires a delicate balance first thing in the morning. Jostle your body too much and the empty bin wedged between your bed and your nightstand gets reacquainted with the bile of your stomach (they’re apparently in an intimate relationship that you’re just sandwiched between like an awkward third wheel).

Problem is, barring the use of hefty restraints, it's impossible to know which side of the bed you’ll be waking up on. Literally. 

Some days you find yourself facing the drab interior of your studio apartment rather than covered window panes, knowing the energy required to roll over towards the small nightstand will likely result in the emptying of your insides. Sleeping on your back had potential, but your form preferred to curl in on itself for lack of anything else to bring it comfort.

Lady Luck had apparently seen enough of your mental breakdowns the past forty eight hours to grant you a reprieve, taking pity on your string of misfortunes as the first thing your eyes take in upon blinking free from sand is the heavy satin of your window coverings keeping in the dark – some lavender pattern to help match the rest of your nesting materials. They’re still fresh out the box after all these years, though the accumulation of filth would tell you otherwise, dust bunnies taking up residence on the weighted linen.

Your furnishings haven’t been bathed in sunlight since the moving van.

The well-loved bottle of Zofran sits in its spot on the corner of your nightstand, next to your still ringing phone and a robin's egg stanley, a glass picture frame shoved in the far corner on the other side of your table lamp.

Still wrapped in a thick fog of drowsiness, leaden muscles flex and groan as your arm stretches the short distance, ears taking priority and fingers tapping at the illuminated screen until they locate the damn snooze button. Popping the small oval pill comes next, chasing it with lukewarm water before burrowing back down into the soft minky goodness of your comforter. 

You're awake an hour before you need to be, but not to get anything done. No rejuvenating shower. No balanced breakfast and a half hour of yoga. Just adjusting to the abject misery your bond greets you with every day as a not so gentle reminder of the alpha you left behind. 

It’s a constant struggle to remind yourself that the suffering is worth it for the lifetime of abuse from which you escaped. Better to be tormented by a path you chose than one unwillingly taken.

About forty minutes go by before the medication kicks in enough to allow you freedom of movement, pulling yourself from the tangles of your bedding with aching joints and low fuel reserves. Walking into the bathroom, you squint against the blinding overhead fluorescents, rubbing the spots from your eyes as you take in your frumpy reflection.

There’s a photograph next to your bed that you haven’t glanced at in a few months. Six familiar faces beaming into a camera lens somewhere high in the mountains. A family vacation from eight years ago; the best summer of your life. 

That girl in the picture is nowhere to be found.

Spiritless eyes meet your gaze in the glass, early crows feet forming from periods of prolonged stress. A bone deep exhaustion reflected in your undereye bags, the dull pallor of your complexion. The frizziness of unmoisturized locks begging for a drink. Wind chapped lips and an eternal frown. 

The oversized shirt hangs baggy on your form, once belonging to your brother but now in your possession. If you lifted up the garment you could practically count the ribs, a once healthy layer of fat and muscle cannibalized by famished cells and underutilization. It's hard to keep on weight when your stomach rejects the nourishment you try to provide.

If this is the empty shell you’ve become a full continent away from him then it’s hard to imagine what lifeless husk of a creature you might’ve deteriorated into under his brand of care. 

There’s no more energy left by the time you do your business and finish brushing your teeth, knowing what few bolts remain will have to go towards the impending headache of customer service. Taming your unruly hair will just have to wait until later – if at all.

You flick the lights on as you pass, trudging on shaky legs to the cabinets above the microwave. There’s still too much unease in your tummy for your usual coffee order, opting for a mug of herbal tea to help settle the irritated organ, a spoonful of honey cutting through the mild bitterness. Settling on a sleeve of poptarts for a lazy breakfast, you lumber your way over towards the couch and the awaiting annoyances.

Opening shifts were always the worst. 

Originally you’d approached the company with open availability in hopes of bettering your chances at landing a remote job. In those days, commuting to a location had been out of the question. It took months of submitting applications – relying solely on your family for all your expenses – before someone finally gave you an opportunity to rejoin the workforce.

(You wept the day you received the offer from HR. Having even a sliver of autonomy returned to you after a tumultuous period without it was as the first melting snow of a long envisioned spring).

Unfortunately it meant you were handed the hours no one else wanted to take. Most days that was the early shifts. 

It’s not like you work a whole hell of a lot. The job itself is only part time after all and fairly easy; fourteen hours max per week. But you’d quickly learned that the later you were scheduled, the clearer your brain was to focus, the better you performed overall. 

Now if only the big wigs at corporate would allow you to update your availability. When last you’d scrounged up enough courage to broach the topic to your immediate supervisor you were promptly informed that there was no current flexibility to your role and, when pressed, sent a look via Zoom that clearly said don't push it.

So much for ‘warm family environment’.

A small rolling side table acts as your makeshift desk, the apartment too cramped for something proper no matter how many attempts to tetris the layout. One of your fathers had come up with the brilliant solution while shopping at ikea for new end tables, spotting the piece of furniture and shipping it out to your location. You’d had to brave the awkward visit of the buff delivery man for a signature – hiding behind the door jamb like a sketchy criminal – but the purchase had been well worth it for how cluttered your poor kitchen table had previously looked, a jumbled mess of pens and wires, certifiably hazardous with its lengthy extension cord.

Armed with soothing chamomile and a warm knit blanket thrown over your lap, you boot up your laptop and log onto the program that would keep you chained to it for the next six hours.

Ask anyone that deals with customers directly: Christmas is the least wonderful time of the year.

Garbled phone calls over shitty receptions. The droning monotony of preplanned scripts. Old bitties recounting eight decades of family drama. Mass hysteria around shipping delays. ‘Happy Birthday Steve’ and the audible slick of his palm. Entitled socialites for whom the word ‘please’ never came preinstalled in their gold filigree hoity-toity dictionaries. 

The fifteen minute break is almost insulting. As if anyone can decompress in such a meager timespan. It’s no wonder why people used to chainsmoke their way through the stress of their jobs.

You try to remind yourself of the before times – the trials and tribulations that came from previous employments. Long grueling hours spent pent up in bustling kitchens, the dinner rush on crab leg nights testing your arm strength and patience for slow steamers. Pushy roofing salesmen harping over impoverished neighborhoods. Car guys calling you toots and insisting on being assisted by a ‘real professional’.

This job was by far the most laid back. No fussing over business casual, no extroverted coworkers crowding your space, no bosses micromanaging for the sake of being assholes. You were living a cushy life by comparison.

But then your mind wanders to Jose on the third floor kitchen, busy doing prep work for the various departments; a kind man once he warmed up to you and found you competent enough to last. Always sneaking you tender bites of grilled meats and a bowl of creamy lobster bisque.

Nyle bringing you ladies in the office a round of Starbucks when he came in for mandatory meetings. Sharing music with Stacy and gabbing about just aired episodes of your favorite tv show. Heather bringing in fresh blueberry bear claws from the local bakery near her home.

Going to the irish pub across the street with the guys in finance that knew the owners, getting drunk off free whiskey and cider on Friday nights. All smiles and laughter as you twirl across the dance floor to a live band performing hits from musicians like Flogging Molly and Great Big Sea…

…and you realize just how much you took for granted. That there’s a palpable difference between surviving and living.

You don’t even notice you’re six minutes over break until your laptop pings from someone trying to get in touch with you, startling you out of melancholic reminiscence and bringing you back to a somber present that longs for the taste of livelihood.

That time has ended; those figures mere ghosts of a past better left forgotten in the vaults of your memory.

Now, you make a small but tidy living solving other people's problems a few hours a week. Enough to pay for personal bills, groceries, and the occasional indulgence while your fathers provide the bulk of your utilities and the sum of your rent. Your lost independence used to bother you more, but the thought of a homeless shelter quickly silenced your tongue.

Your cellphone reads one o’clock by the time you're freed from servitude, happy to be logging off as you push the rolling setup back out of the way. The air bubbles between the contours of your spine pop and crackle as you rise to your feet, ignoring the rush of lightheadedness from six hours remaining stationary. Resisting the urge to itch at the healing scab on the side of your neck, you pad into the kitchen to whip up a turkey sandwich – cautiously optimistic on the inclusion of juicy pickles – before plopping back down in your usual spot.

The acidity doesn’t seem to upset your stomach any further, allowing you to munch in peace on the simple scrapings of lunch, scrolling through the kindle app on your phone for something to occupy your time with.

There’s never much to do around here when the people in your life are busy living their own. Your family checks in on you every so often, catching you up on the goings-on in the quiet neighborhood, your father taking the opportunity to gush about his lego collection to someone other than his partner for a change. You miss the camaraderie that came with building the Death Star.

Despite living hundreds of miles away, their calls always made you feel as if you were gathered around the sectional in the warm lit interior of the sprawling living room, Christmas tree glowing by the light of the fire, a hot cup of cocoa and the merriment of family.

The same couldn’t be said for your younger brother Alex.

Ever since moving out at eighteen he'd become quite a prick, a beta complex a mile wide that only got worse when he surrounded himself with the wrong kinda crowd. The loss of his once fervent companionship had devastated you. After the accident that brought your parents to an early grave, you’d kept each other afloat through turbulent waves of depression, tidal waves of grief. Six became four, but – even though that wound would never fully heal – you still had the strength of their love to turn to when forgone memories played like black and white film.

But after that last argument…

Four became three.

It's been years since you last had any type of contact outside the occasional cheap greeting card – just another notch added to your mile long grinchmas belt come the holidays.

Fuck him. 

Shaking yourself out of that spiraling rabbit hole, you turned back to the task of entertainment at hand. Since you didn’t feel like spending any more time on the phone listening to idle chatter than you already had today, you settled for choosing a book at random from your extensive TBR, diving into a medieval fantasy where brave warriors slayed evil dragons and an honorable knight could still save a princess. 

The minute hand goes round and round.

Dinner is as simple an affair as lunch; a cheap frozen pizza popped in the oven adding an extra layer of warmth to the already balmy interior. There’s no need for a plate as you pull it off the wire rack onto the cardboard box it came in, gooey cheese bubbling hot and steamy, sizzling toppings shiny with bright orange grease, savory aromas wafting as they ride the circulation of the antiquated heating system. 

Years of battling chronic fatigue have made you crafty, cutting corners on labor with gathered tips and tricks accumulated over hours of lengthy research. There’s no need to add to your pile of dishes; no plates or utensils to scrub free of dried food particles. Just you and your fingers tearing through the saucy meal chunk by chunk.

Dr. Miranda tells you it's all about the little victories. The moments of accomplishment no matter how insignificant. Doesn’t matter how you get the job done so long as it happens. Roll out of bed? That’s a win. A sleeve of ritz crackers for a meal? Glad you got sustenance. Just because you weren’t claiming a nobel prize didn’t mean your triumphs were any less important. 

Didn’t leave much in the way of riveting stimulation though. Just acclimatizing you to existing in a hamster ball where the difference between day and night is as little as the am or pm on the clock. 

After all, it wasn’t like your body signaled a change in energy levels. There’s no ‘getting tired’ when you never wake up.

The only time you ever felt a sense of normalcy was when you started the process of getting ready for bed, pinpoint focus narrowing in on the task of fixing your nest. Logic shuts down and gut feeling takes the reins. You lose yourself in the fussing over placement of plush fleece and textured sherpa, jersey knit sheets and squishmallow plushies. Weighted quilt blankets and cloud-fluffy pillows of various shapes and sizes, the assortment of pastel pinks and lush earthy greens giving off the enchanted forest vibes held dear to your heart. 

It wasn’t large or luxurious by any means, but the few modest pieces you did have were plenty enough for the cozy space, strewn across the full sized bed in an organized haphazard chaos understood only by the omega instincts that dictate your actions. 

Only, there’s something wrong…

You lament the smell of mildew as your nose breathes in the cloth of your pillowcase, whining in dejection at the offense to your delicate olfactory senses and pawing at the material in shame. 

An omega’s nest is a vital part of the care and keeping of their fragile emotional state. Oftentimes they’re seen as a reflection of their owner's inner consciousness and a handy tool to monitor their anxiety levels on a day to day basis. An unkempt nest can not only signal deeper depression, but if neglected for too long may result in bodily dysregulation that can affect them even right down to a molecular level, throwing hormones out of whack and causing real physical illness. 

Your nest hasn’t been properly cleaned in far too many months – no doubt adding to the high levels of stress that already permeate your everyday life. The sacred space that’s supposed to be your safe haven acts as just another graphic reminder that he’s taken everything from you. There's no true relaxation in your life because of it. 

For what was the point of washing the sweat-stained fabric if there’s no stopping it getting soiled again the following night?

Pulling the musky sheets up to just below your chin, you stare blankly at the evidence of what happens when you get your hopes up, sitting plugged into the charger on the corner of your nightstand.

The phone hasn’t rang once. 

You’ve been religiously checking the screen all day. Turned the volume from vibrate to blaring. Unclicked ‘do not disturb’ mode (turns out even telemarketers think you’re a waste of time). The device went everywhere with you, whether it was ten feet to the bathroom or six inches across the couch. Your desperation might have been otherwise embarrassing, but there was no worry of judgment besides your own in the guarded solitude of your apartment.

He'd given you a thimble of hope, and you were clinging to it like the last drop of water.

Whether it be a call or text; you didn’t know. But he promised you... promised you… that you’d be hearing from him soon. Threatened you against inaction on your part. And you’d just believed him. Believed that even for a moment – some tiny fraction of oblivion – there could exist a world where you didn’t have to feel quite so fucking alone.

What exactly has he been up to? Some prior commitment that pulled him from his phone? Maybe he’s just stuck at work all day? But then surely he doesn’t pull twelve hour shifts. Not like you found out their given occupations yet. Which means he’s gotta be sick, right? The weather’s been atrocious and you hadn’t physically seen him get in a car when he left. 

Shit! He went home smelling like you. How did the pack react? 

How did she react? 

They didn’t get into a fight did they? She probably forced him to delete your contact info. God, you were so selfish putting them through this mess. But hadn't John been selfish too in wanting to keep you around? Was that really a pack decision?

The tears culminating in your eyes were pathetic. Acid rain bleaching your pillowcase in big caustic globules, seeping into the fabric and burning through the thin membrane of your cheeks. Bitter rage tainted the half formed excuses, corrupting like malware into personal betrayal.

How could you be so foolish? What part of ‘you’re not allowed to be happy’ did you not comprehend? Hadn’t you already learned not to shoot for the stars, much less the occupants of unit 2B?! 

Poor, stupid omega.

You grasped your chest as if that could stop whatever clawed beast was burrowing its way past your ribcage to dig out a hole and lay its clutch. Flicking the bedside lamp off brought you as much darkness outside as there was feasting on your entrails and gorging itself for a long unforgiving winter.

Curling up in your repugnant nest, you couldn’t keep your heart from shattering as each teardrop extinguished the sputtering flame of hope.

You never got around to fixing your hair.

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[muzansfangs]

Bloodstain.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to Gin Ichimaru, Kaname Tosen, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Nnoitra Gilga, Shuhei Hisagi, Orihime Inoue, Ichigo Kurosaki, Masaki Kurosaki, Uryu Ishida, Isshin Kurosaki, Ulquiorra Cifer and Haschwalth Jugram;

Format: multi-chapters story;

Warnings for this chapter: nsfw, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, dirty talk, body worship, dom!Aizen, sub!reader, oral sex (reader!receiving), hair pulling, domestic life, fake dating, dirty fantasies, violence, gore, blood, bruises, death threats, mutual pining;

Plot: Taking care of Mrs. Watanabe’s daughter is not hard. Trying to appear like a couple in front of her bright eyes is a completely different story, though. The pent up frustration building up throughout the day eventually explodes. The desire to have you, to touch you again, to be one with you is driving Sosuke insane. You are too tempting for him and the way you take care of children, surely, is not helping.

N.B: I had to split the chapter in two parts. Some of the warnings belong to the second part!

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | TO THE NEXT CHAPTER

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𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

A sunny morning and a six-year-old girl standing at your front door, curiously staring up at you with her leaf green eyes, indicated the beginning of a new day. The storm had passed on through the night and the warm rays of the sun kissing your face had gently waken you up from your slumber. Albeit you had agreed on sleeping next to Sosuke, by the time you had come back to your senses, he was not there. His side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool. Probably, he had waken up a couple of hours earlier, leaving you to a well-deserved rest. A noble gesture, considering who he was.

Eyes landing on your lap, you had noticed your nightgown was immaculate and still on. The bed was not messed up and the blanket was securely wrapped around your waist. He had been a man of honor, keeping his promise of not touching you more than it was strictly necessary. Sleeping in his arms was surely not something you should have done, but he was the only one who could help you to find rest whilst a storm raged outside. Thinking about it, in the past, beside your late mother, no one else had ever slept by your side, silently comforting you. No one had ever done it but him. It was ridiculous.

After taking a quick shower and changing into a flowery sundress, you had entered the kitchen only to find him sitting on the stool with a novel and a cup of tea in front of him. Sosuke had glanced up at you, not a word leaving his mouth, as you made yourself some coffee and begrudgingly muttered a ‘Good morning’.

He hummed as a response and you took it as a sign it was better to end off whatever small conversation you could muster with him. Not even ten minutes later, you had heard the doorbell ring and there you were now: locking eyes with a small version of the hellish Mrs. Watanabe. A prettier one, actually. The woman had not even bothered to show up at your door, she had simply left her daughter there and had made her getaway. For once, you were glad she had opted for being rude. Beholding the sight of her face early in the morning would have probably made you throw up your breakfast.

“Good morning, Aoi. — you greeted the girl with a mild voice, leaning slightly down to her eye level — You’ve grown up since the last time I’ve seen you”.

The girl blinked, holding her plushie to her chest “The paediatrician said I’m two inches taller than I was seven months ago”.

You smiled softly, stepping aside to let her enter your flat “Ah, I see! Let’s go inside, come on” you chimed, watching as the small girl trotted inside your house, familiar with the environment by now. She was better than her obnoxious mother and you really hoped she was going to be the opposite of that snake with a raven bob and high-necked dresses. It was impossible to predict how she would have turned out to be, but you had promised yourself to mold her into a sweet and loving girl in the time you spent with her.

Closing the door behind you two, you watched as Aoi stood in the middle of the living room, tilting her head to the side almost puzzled. It was almost like the little girl sensed something was off. Following her gaze, you realized she was looking directly at Sosuke, now occupying the entry to the kitchen with his lean frame. He seemed disinterested, hands into his pockets as he shifted his gaze from the child to you. For some reason, your mouth went dry. You had no idea of what was going on inside his head, but you hoped he wanted to keep on acting as a normal man and ‘your boyfriend’ in front of the witch’s offspring. Aoi was young, but old enough to innocently tell her mother the truth about your relationship with Sosuke.

Therefore, here you were, heart pumping hard in your chest and pleading eyes boring into Sosuke’s ones. It was almost like you were begging him not to let you down now. And, surprisingly, he did not.

“Who are you?” Aoi asked him, causing you to hold your breath in anticipation.

“I’m Sosuke. — he introduced himself, soothing tone caressing your skin — I’m Y/N’s boyfriend”.

You detested the lie he had come up with to justify his presence in your house, yet you were glad he was sticking up to the original plan right now. He was more collaborative than you had expected him to be. Sosuke was still himself, arrogant and sneaky. Despite that, he was apparently blending into the human society better than you had imagined.

You released a breath you had not realized you were holding at the sound of his words and he had not failed to notice how your shoulders had relaxed, hand now patting the small girl’s back as you motioned for her to go sit in the couch.

“Really? But I never saw you with her. Where were you?” Aoi piped out, panic washing over you again as the kid ignored you, fascinated by the new man in your living room.

Sosuke’s eyes flitted from the child to you, proud to be the one who had to somehow pull you out of that mess “I was out of town for work. I have decided to move in as soon as I have come back” he shortly said, Aoi’s eyes growing round as she listened to your former enemy in sheer interest.

“Oh! What do you do for a living?”.

Gosh, she was nothing like her mother, but that hag had taught her well how to be a noisy pest at times. More details and lies you two had to invent the harder it would have been not screwing up.

“He’s a cr—”you blurted out, but the rest of the words died on your tongue upon realizing you were going to label him as a criminal. Colors drained from your face, Sosuke’s eyebrow quirking up to come up with a remedy to your idiotic inclination to speak without thinking.

“Cricket player. I’m a cricket player”.

This was not what you expected him to say. Out of the vast list of works existing, he had really chosen a peculiar one. You palmed your forehead, turning around not to look at him. Aoi, on the other hand, gasped and enthusiastically asked more questions.

“O my God, so you have a horse?”.

Sosuke did not even hesitate to provide the curious human more informations “Oh, I do. I have recently bought this new specimen. It’s a female and incredibly stubborn. It’s hard taming her, but I’m confident I’ll eventually succeed” he cooed, the hair behind your neck standing whilst your brain registered his smooth talk and rationalized the true meaning behind them.

He was definitely walking on thin ice. Knowing you had to keep up a syrupy lovestory not to plant doubt in the kid’s mind, he had resolved to send you messages for you to read between the lines. How badly you wished you could just hit him with a frying pan and kick him out of your house. Instead, you had to turn around and display a sympathetic smile at him.

“Alright, enough about his job! Why don’t you sit there and tell me what you’d like to do today?” you chimed in, blocking Aoi’s view on the special threat without even sparing him a glance. You could feel his gaze on you, boring holes on your back as if he was firing a gun. He was right about a thing, summarizing his impression on you: you were hard to tame. Going down without a fight was not in your style. He could ask Haschwalth Jugram about that, but considering he was dead he could always ask Uryuu Ishida to make a detailed report about your battle.

Aoi blinked and hummed, the index of her small hand playing with her lower lip thoughtfully “The beach”.

“The beach?” you repeated, bending down to her eye level.

“Yep! There is going to be a competition of some kind! I wanna go, please, please! My mommy never lets me go to play in the sand” the small girl piped out, her pigtails swaying around her visage with every little stomp of her feet.

You were not hellbent to pander to the kid’s whims. You had been dealing with children on your own after Masaki’s tragic death. Ichigo was not really a capricious boy, the even younger girls neither. However, you had learned how to moderate your inclination to give them the world after their mother’s loss. Clearly unhappy and lost, they needed someone to guide them and humour them. This is what you did, in the end. Aoi was not spoiled. She had nothing, besides a very strict and a non-affective mother looking after her. A little treat could not do any harm.

The situation was risky, though. Could you trust Sosuke enough to let him tag along to a most likely overcrowded beach? With every passing second, your temptation to go back to the Soul Society and evirate Shunsui increased notably. He had ruined your life.

You clicked your tongue, shooting a side-eye to an impassive Sosuke towering over you from behind. He did not mumble a single word, arms folding against his chest as you stood back up and hurried him out of the living room. Aoi watched you two with her big doe eyes, hoping you were going to make her small wish come true. Your heart clenched in your chest, gifting her a small and genuine compassionate smile, before you cornered Sosuke in the dark corridor.

“What are your intentions? What the Hell do you think you are doing?” you asked him, jabbing a finger at his sternum to emphasize your question.

“I am not doing any harm, detective”.

“You know very well what I am talking about. A cricket player, a stubborn horse, the hard taming deal. — you reminded him, gaze hardening just by watching him wearing a placid smile you had grown so familiar with — Quit it”.

Sosuke grinned “Oh, really? Whose fault is it? Were you not about to address me as a criminal? You never lose the habit of acting on your impulses. You truly are a feisty animal, after all” he taunted you, hand reaching for his eye-patch in the pocket of his trousers to latch it behind his nape and cover his eye.

You gawked, balling your hands into fists down your sides, nails digging onto your palms to resist the urge to slash his handsome face in the presence of an innocent child waiting for you to make her day.

“That’s what you are. — you hissed through gritted teeth, deciding to ignore the fact he was right to some extent — Now, before going back to Aoi, I will give you a small advice: don’t you dare to ruin her day out”.

Sosuke paused, glancing at the child playing with her plushie back in the living room. She was good-mannered, innocent. Not a complete nuisance “You are overprotective of that kid”.

“Her mother is a bitch. I have never seen her hug her daughter, or show affection to her. If I can somehow give Aoi a break, I am more than willing to do so” you explained, following his gaze with a softer tone accompanying your actions.

“You have a thing for misfits”.

You turned to look at him, furrowing your brows perplexedly “Excuse me?”.

“First, Grimmjow and Ulquiorra. Then Shuhei. This kid here and now me. You can’t blame me for thinking you have a tendency of taking care of broken hearts and outcasts” he said, not even bothering to look back at you, before sauntering back to Aoi to announce you were indeed going spend the day on the beach.

When Gin harshly tugged at the shackles binding your hands together, you stumbled forwards. It was a measure you had never been subjected to. Aizen had told you it was temporary, just to send a message to the ravenous army of Espada craving your head, or wanting to put their hands on you to reduce you to the brand new plaything of Las Noches.

He had sent Gin Ichimaru to pick you up from your quarters. You had never trusted that man, that sly, creepy grin of his sent frissons over your skin every time you bumped into him. He had almost killed you back in the Soul Society. If you had not died back then, it was for shameless luck and Aizen’s healing spells. You often wondered what would have happened to you, if the Captain crossing roads with you was not him. He had this different way of dealing with you, this certain respect you refused to believe was genuine, given his betrayal. Looking back at it, you were glad he had never actually tried to kill you. It was irrational, but you had a feeling he felt some connection with you. Perhaps, you were just being delusional.

“You are hurting me” you hissed, glaring up at the willowy man guiding you down the monotonous, sterile corridors of Las Noches. He was conducting you to Aizen and the former Captain of the Ninth Division to join the incoming meeting as a guest.

For some reason, Aizen had requested your presence. He had refused to abide to your plea to let you stay in your bedroom. He wanted you there and you surely did not wish for his wrath to rain down on you upon defying him further.

“Oh, I apologize! Aizen-sama will not be pleased to know I have bruised those wrists of yours, I guess. — he sang, his mawkish tone earning a snort from you — Shall I feel a sting of remorse for what I have done? I mean, hurting a sweet girl you don’t even know could be convicted as pretty mean by the mankind. Am I right?”.

You halted, realizing he had stopped walking as well. The ominous clink of the chains dragging along the polished floor underneath your feet contributed to set off a chilling atmosphere around you two. You could not see Gin’s face, but you could tell he was probably reminiscing something. There was a double-meaning he was masterly concealing behind his typical brisk monologues. You had a feeling there was a deeper intent and message behind those words spoken in a desolate area of the castle.

“Some men out there hurt people and don’t even bother apologizing. — he stated, whipping his head towards you — They kill, mutilate, do pretty gory actions to lonely, lovely girls. But you know, Kurosaki, today I’m in a good mood and, to be honest, I’m not quite as bad as you may think I am” he stated, before walking over to you and grasping your wrists to inspect the damage.

You straightened your back, allowing him to chant what you had learned was a healing kidō to mend the bruised skin. Now that he had stopped rambling, you wanted to hear more from him.

“What are you hinting to?” you boldly asked him.

Gin smirked “I was just philosophizing”.

“Did someone hurt—”.

“Thin ice, Y/N-chan. — he suddenly hushed you, his fox eyes opening even so slightly to pin you on the spot — You are lucky to have someone watching your back. To be honest, I would like to hurt you, but I can’t do it. Now, don’t take me for someone who would be devoured by regrets for having hurt a woman. The only regret I have is not having finished you back in the Soul Society”.

Your blood ran cold and you expected his blade to pierce your heart, but the moment he turned around and tugged at the chains again you felt glad this torture was over. The sooner you were in the company of your worst enemy, the better. Once again, you found yourself wishing he was there with you, because you were absolutely certain he would have never hurt you. This man here, however, was on another level. He wanted you dead and, despite some Arrancars and Espada had told you the same, you could feel all of his hatred blanketing you like snow covering the ground. There was a thirst for vendetta in his actions that made you freeze on the spot.

You were so vulnerable without your blade. You wondered when you would have been able to snatch it away. It had been two weeks without training. You could sense your sword calling for you, but you could not just enter Aizen’s quarters so easily. You, the older Kurosaki, the independent girl who had never relied on anyone, were hoping day and night for your brother to save you. But he never came. He was not there and, regrettably, you wished you had not so selflessly swapped places with Orihime Inoue. Lost into self-deprecation, you had not realized Gin had stopped walking until you ended up bumping onto his back.

Sighing, you distanced yourself from him, only to meet a pair of chestnut brown eyes already transfixed on you. Aizen Sosuke stood right before you, next to him Kaname Tosen. Chills ran down your spine, when Gin roughly pushed you towards him, but this time you did not trip, much to his dismay. Delicately, Lord Aizen grasped your chin, inspecting your face. He always did that, checking on you as if he really cared about your health. Usually, you knew better than protesting, but you already knew what was going to happen this time.

Two days without seeing him and you had a small purple bruise on your cheekbone. Your stomach churned, his eyes turning as cold as ice.

“Who?”.

“It’s not even visible. It doesn’t hurt” you replied, turning your head to the side to slip away from his fingers. Such a pity he roughly grasped your jaw harder, tipping your head up to force an unbearable eye-contact. There was no hiding from him, especially when the matter concerned your safety.

“Someone has dared to hurt my guest in my castle. I’m legitimized to demand you to give me a name” he stated calmly but firmly, the air around you shifting to gloomy and asphyxiating. Tosen and Gin tensed, awaiting for you to quench Aizen’s thirst for blood. Yet, you failed their expectations.

You were sick and tired of gory battles and violence. Nnoitra deserved pain and sufferings. However, this was not Aizen’s battle. This was yours. You had promised yourself to make that bastard pay for his arrogance and perverse sense of superiority with your own blade. But while Aizen would have taken his life, you aspired to simply put him back into place.

You shook your head “It doesn’t concern you”.

The man before you arched a dark eyebrow, his grip on your jaw loosening as he rested his hand on the top of your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze “Don’t play mind games with me. I perfectly know why you’re hesitating to reveal the culprit’s name. You just fear to witness to what I may do to him”.

His words resonated in your head as you pressed your lips together and scoffed, forcing yourself not to add more details, to confirm his inklings. The moment he was about to press you again with more questions, an Arrancar materialiazed a few feet away from you two. Eyes downcast, knees planted onto the ground, the Hollow belonged to the newly promoted lower ranks. His aura was far from threatening and you could actually sense distinct waves of terror radiating from him.

Aizen shot him a cold glance “Speak” his baritone voice commanded, just as he took a hold of the chains binding your hands together to nudge towards the exit.

“The Espada are assembled and waiting for you, Lord Aizen” the Arrancar meekly announced, but the sound propagating in the corridor as soon as he pronounced his last word made you zone out. What was that?

Bones breaking, organs exploding, maybe. All you knew, as Aizen walked you to the spacious living room, was that something viscous and crimson red colored was splattered over the wall and on your white, pristine dress. Blood, it was blood you could not wipe away from your clothes and face as he urged you away from the crime scene. You could feel it drip down the column of your throat, cling onto the luxurious fabric of the uniform as your eyes landed on the Espada inspecting you in sheer curiosity.

You kept your head high, spacing out, completely ignoring Aizen rambling about his plot schemes. What had just happened was nothing but him showing you what kind of treatment would have fallen upon the Espada who had harmed you.

To catch your attention was Aizen’s spiritual pressure bending Grimmjow’s knees, squashing him onto the ground. People snickered, amused by the scene as the man flexed his power on him. No, no, you could not allow any more violence, you could not withstand it.

Dashing before Grimmjow, shielding him from Aizen’s sight, you winced as the chain yanked you back towards your captor. Your skin burned where the metal unforgivingly bit your flesh, but you did the only thing that could have somehow granted Grimmjow enough strength to stand back up and breathe again: you unleashed your own spiritual pressure, letting it clash against Aizen’s one. There was no competition, but you really gave it your best shot. Blood dribbled from your nose, as you glanced at Grimmjow from above your shoulder to check on him.

“W-What the fuck are you doing? You idiot, move!” the Sexta Espada rasped out, panting, as he tried to push himself up. It was working, at least.

Murmurs echoed around you, comments on how foolish you were and about how they would have loved to watch you die for your impertinence. Instead, Aizen diminished the intensity of his spiritual pressure and you did the same. Your knees failed you, your eyes meeting his, before you slumped onto the cold floor and your vision darkened.

The horde of screaming, rowdy kids trotting around you on the beach made you almost regret having asked Aoi what she would have loved to do to spend the day. There were parents chatting in small groups, teenagers playing beach-volley and a few stalls selling toys and handmade floral decorations. The temperature was nice, the gentle breeze caressing your skin making the summer heat bearable. Holding her hand, you let the child guide you to explore the area, her cheerful laughter warming you up from the inside.

When she stopped by a giant yellow sign, pointing her finger at it, you blinked: ‘Wreaths competition! Do your best to win a limited edition Stitch’.

“I want to win the plushie! Please, please! Can you help me out?” Aoi begged you, turning towards you with such a puppy face you struggled to keep your composure. You had to killed the time somehow.

You were screwed. But you reminded yourself why you were doing it.

“Okay, okay. — you agreed, settling your hand over her head — Listen, while I attempt to create good garlands and crowns, why don’t you go play with Sosuke and collect some seashells? Maybe we can make some pretty necklaces too, later” you suggested, before shooting a subtle glance at Sosuke that implied he had to accompany her and protect the kid with his own life. It was a test, to be fair. You wanted him to show you that you could trust him a little bit.

He arched his eyebrow up, upper lip twitching imperceptibly but not escaping your hawk-eyes “Have fun with the flowers” he falsely muttered, before gesturing for Aoi to follow him down to the shore.

The sight of him walking side by side with the small kid made you faintly smile. It was the furthest thing from your imagination. Aizen Sosuke dealing with kids, babysitting them, controlling his hunger for power and cold indifference for the sake of a little child almost sounded like the beginning of a chilling horror story. However, you were willing to test the waters. Maybe, he was not the best choice to make, when it came down to pick a man to watch over kids, but he was surprisingly trying his best.

Down the shore, while Sosuke kept his eyes transfixed on the Ocean, Aoi began to choose the best seashells she came across in her exploration. Apparently, she had taken the task seriously. The special threat was not much bothered by her presence, as long as she just did her job silently. As he had already assessed back home, this human was well-behaved. Suddenly, however, she tugged at his trousers to draw his attention. Peace did not last long.

Sosuke averted his eyes from the crystal water and, arms folded over his chest, he looked down at the little girl “What’s the matter?” he asked, not bothering to adjust his tone of voice to a softer one.

“Why didn’t you kiss her when you walked away? You’re not very affectionate with her” Aoi piped out, making him stiffen up.

Oh, now the situation was getting interesting. The human child was questioning his relationship with Y/N. He knew that he had to be careful about what he said, especially since it would have been only fair to confront her before adding more details about their ‘love-story’. But Sosuke could perfectly handle the situation. He was not a fool and manipulating people had somehow been the key for his success. Playing a child was even easier, given their simple mind.

He cleared his throat, a small smile curving his lips “You see, she’s a little upset with me right now. I’m more than sure she wouldn’t appreciate my kisses at the moment” he lied, only for Aoi to shake her head and toss away in the water a chipped scallop.

“All girls like kisses! If you apologize and give her one she is going to forgive you” she mumbled, only for Sosuke to widen his eyes at her acute observation. Ah, she was not a fool.

“This is what happens in fairytales, though”.

“But she’s a princess! Look at her, she’s so beautiful!” Aoi insisted, tapping on his knee again and this time he could only follow her gaze.

When his eyes landed on you, he was pleasantly welcomed with a boculic and tender vision he had never even dreamed of in his whole life. Sitting with a group of women and their children, you were smiling softly as you held a baby in your arms. Your eyes shimmered in a light he had never seen before, as you playfully showed a pretty wreath to the newborn in your arms, soon settling it on the top of your head. You were the incarnation of kindness and to him you had always been some sort of a mindblowing enigma he could not solve. You looked so happy, so beautiful like that.

His mind wandered for a few moments, venturing in thoughts he had never keened to contemplate in his life. A child. You. A peaceful life. Your hips had always been his addiction. Even when he had finally had you pinned underneath him, Sosuke could not help himself but squeeze on them, caressing your hipbones with hunger.

A man who controlled himself like he did was a slave to such a primal and basic need. Why did he want to breed you? He would have loved watching his seed leak out of you again, just like in the Soul Society. Gosh, he could have done it again and again, fucking you until could not feel your legs anymore and your tummy hurt. He could give you the world, he would have kissed you from your lips to the valley between your legs, if only you let him in. How could you not understand it?

His cock twitched his pants and he gritted his teeth, his eyes straying away from you as he caught a glimpse of the baby tugging at the neckline of your dress.

He had to have you. Again. That night.

Still, the real problem was the Hōgyoku. It was true he had studied the abilities of that source of power and energy, however it was mostly uncovered what else it could do. Sosuke was almost certain the Hōgyoku had made him infertile, but what if, among the wills of its owner, that small device could also bend its powers to grant his seed to fertilize an egg cell?

When he heard you calling out their names, Sosuke ran his fingers through his hair and patted on Aoi’s head absent-mindedly “Let’s go, she’s looking for us”.

The small kid beamed and ran up to you, leaving Sosuke behind with his thoughts and the unfamiliar feeling of coveting the same things those mortal men had: a family. He was not husband material, he was a villainous man with too much ego to settle down and put his aspirations aside. Maybe, though, now he could have it. It was just a matter of when and with who. He never understood love, that feeling leaving people besotted with another being was foreign to him. Despite that, when he saw you hand the plushie to Aoi and pick her up to spin her around mid-air he was absolutely certain that, if he were to choose a woman to share his heart and life with, he would have always chosen you.

When you put Aoi down, she giggled and squeezed the giant Stitch to her chest, relinquishing the feeling of finally having what she had craved so badly. You felt a sense of fulfillment in seeing her happy. You had watched her pass by your door with a pouty face too many times not to make her day with such a small gesture. Glancing at Sosuke, you noted he was holding some seashells in his hands and a breathless chuckle left your lips. A melody he had yearned to hear for too long to forget how it sounded and how his heart had always picked up its rate whenever you laughed in his proximity.

“What’s so funny?” he inquired, before grasping your hand and putting the colorful shells onto your palm.

You shrugged and scrunched up your nose “Nothing. It’s just that… I didn’t expect you to carry the seashells for her. That’s nice”.

He rolled his eyes “She sprinted towards you as soon as you called for us. Also, I knew you would have not been pleased if I lost them”.

You hummed and nodded your head, before picking up Aoi and sighing. The flower wreath over your head shifted, almost slipping off and he was quick to catch it, positioning it back in its original place. You stilled, eyes widening even so slightly before he lowered his face enough to let your noses brush together and this small action stole your breath from your lungs.

“You look beautiful like that” he commented, but before you could even thank him for the unexpected compliment, your phone rang and the jig was up. You did not catch the gleam of disappointment darkening his eyes as you stepped away to answer your call. Still, you were genuinely surprised to find yourself missing a kiss that never lingered on your lips.

You spent most of the day at the beach. You had to admit something had changed between you and Sosuke. You began to impoperly see him as reliable, a mistake you could not forgive yourself for. You knew how foolish of you it was to esteem him as a good man. He was a murderer, a manipulator, a traitor, the devil himself. To keep him out of your head, you had resorted to busy yourself in teaching Aoi how to thread the flowers together, or how to do cartwheels. But when it came down to eat lunch together, you were forced sit on a bench right next to Sosuke. The couples passing-by with their kids attempted more than once to strike up cordial conversations with you two, while their children played around with Aoi. It was challenging keeping up that farse. Sosuke, on the other hand, was perfectly fine with shooting you adoring glances. Arm looped around your shoulders to pull you closer to him, small adventures invented about your encounters to feed the interlocutors an epic love story, you were hating him for depicting a good, healthy relationship you knew he could never establish with you.

With you! You felt so pathetic for even considering the possibility of dating him for real. In other life, in other universe though, if he was not a monster, you could have allowed yourself to fall irrevocably in love with him.

The last blow that made your stomach somersault was what Aoi told you, by the front door of her house when you accompanied her back home “I wish you two were my parents”.

That innocent way of declaring how loved she had felt with you two affected you more than you liked to admit. You had a quick dinner with Sosuke, barely talking to him, before you decided once again to isolate yourself in the privacy of your bedroom. Clutching the sheets in your hands, you laid face first onto your pillow and commiserated yourself for your stupid sensitivity. Weren’t those signs you just wanted someone to love you so desperately it hurt? You wanted to be loved and to love freely. But your life was too complicated for indulging into the delights of a couple-life.

A knock on your door brought you back to reality and you huffed in contempt, before rolling off of the bed and opening the door. Sosuke stood there, still fully dressed, beside the fact he had taken off his eye-patch and had undone some buttons of his white shirt. Mother nature had made him too handsome not to admire.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, but this belongs to you. — he stated, handing you the bag of the gift he had bought you yesterday — Given the fact I know no one else who could wear it besides you, I’m afraid you have no other option but to accept it” he observed, only for you to sigh and grasp the bag.

“Come in” you said, turning your back at him and allowing your villainous roommate to enter your bedroom. Years ago, it would have sounded reckless to let him inside such a private part of your house. But did it make some sense, considering you had practically slept in his arms yesterday night?

You sat on the edge of the bed, silence swallowing you two for some seconds, before you looked up at him and finally decided to show appreciation for the day “Oh, and… Thank you, I guess”.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I just thought this would have complimented your skin”.

You shook your head “I’m not talking about the gift. Thank you for having been a decent person at beach. — you corrected him, nails peeling away the sticker keeping the bag closed — And for the flattery remark you reserved to me out of the blue” you added coyly.

He smirked, taking a seat next to you without asking for your permisioon “It may sound so out of character coming from me, but I genuinely meant it. You are beautiful” he insisted, stretching his legs before him.

Good thing you had occupied yourself with pulling the fine piece of cloth out of the bag. Your heart was skipping beats repeatedly, almost leaving you out of breath. You scrutinized the red silky nightgown in awe, letting the smooth fabric slip through your fingers to fully appreciate its consistency. To add class to the item was the generous neckline bordered with lace. He definitely had good taste, but you were damn sure he had probably purchased such a scandalous nightgown to mess with your head.

You cleared your throat, folding it with care before putting it back into the bag and settling it down at your feet “It’s really beautiful. — you stated then, uncapable of turning your attention to him — But don’t you think it’s somewhat daring?”.

“Are you offended?”.

“What? No! — you fretted, cheeks warming up — It’s just that … I don’t know if I’m confident enough to wear it” you admitted, shrugging as you rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. Well, this was definitely not a conversation you expected to have with him, or with a man in general. It was not like you had zero self-esteem. Honestly, it was more due to the fact that with your chaotic life, you did not have a lot of occasions to dress up. Let alone wearing something so revealing in bed for someone.

Sosuke let your words sink in for a few moments, before shifting on his seat to face you properly “Show me”.

“What?” you quipped, goggling at him as if he had just shouted a blasphemy in the middle of the road.

“I said ‘show me’. — he encouraged you again, gesturing at the bag at your feet nonchalantly — If you don’t feel comfortable in it, I’ll buy you a new one”.

You chuckled, your reaction earning a baffled glance from him. He was trying to be kind, probably. Still, it sounded hilarious. Also, why did he want to buy you stuff? You could provide for yourself on your own. He stared at you, silently demanding an explanation to your behavior while you stood up, grasping the fine piece of cloth “Sorry, I … I just don’t see why it seems to be so important to you”.

“Because that’s a gift. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable because of it”.

“Since when you care about my feelings?”.

He was not liking where the conversation was going “Just go to change. Isshin did an horrific job with you”.

You rolled your eyes at him, complying to his request and going to the bathroom to try the damn nightgown…Only to realize you actually adored it. The color really complimented your skin. The fabric embraced your curves perfectly, smoothly cascading down your valleys, barely reaching your upper thighs. You felt your body on fire, the idea of presenting yourself to him like that made you press your legs together in a combination of embarrassment and arousal. Why, though? Did you have something to be ashamed of? Absolutely not. He had seen you fully naked before and you were dressed now. Poorly, but you were still not indecent.

Stalling would have only prolonged the agony. Swallowing your pride, you made your way back to him. His eyes, strangely warm tonight, immediately pinned you on the spot. Basking in your beauty, Sosuke did not move from where he was sitting. He watched you intently, impassible face to let you stew on your own juice. To break the ice was your voice.

“To be honest, I have never forseen myself giving you a défilé. — you stated, eyes downcast — Somehow, it’s even worse than… Uhm, nevermind, forget it”.

“It’s even worse than sex. Is that what you wanted to say?”.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat, the sensation familiar to you after all the times he had read you like an open book. It was frustrating dealing with the only person in the entire universe you could not block out of your head. Nodding your head, you shrugged in defeat and turned on your heels to leave the room. Sosuke, on the other hand, was not done talking. Not yet.

“You look even better than I had imagined, you know?”.

“Oh, please, I don’t need a pep talk” you argued.

“Indeed. — Sosuke agreed, raising from his seat to amble towards you — I believe you just need to be reminded you are a woman. You need someone who boosts your ego for the power you possess over men” he reasoned, hitting a nerve you had been trying to ignore for too long. How long had it been since someone had really made you feel special, appreciate you in all your glory? Searching for the name of an individual who had empowered you to that length, well, you found no one.

And, sadly, before that little adventure with Sosuke, your last intercourse was with Shuhei. Something happened in the heat of the moment, not really unexpected, but there were not the strong feelings of the attentions you craved. He liked you, it was plain and simply. But what had he done to show you how much he cared, if after an argument he had disappeared without saying goodbye? Adding salt to the wound was not helping. Especially since all of that thinking was leading you to reminisce about Sosuke.

God, he really knew how to fuck you and blow your mind.

“I see you still have fun in playing the role of the psychologist” you sarcastically remarked, indulging him into whatever he was keening to achieve. Frissons skimmed over your naked shoudlers for the inklings you were getting. Once again, you were diving into dangerous situations.

“Tell me, when is the last time a man made you feel like you were on top of the world? Has someone ever worshipped your body?” he inquired, ignoring your sass and letting his eyes travel shamelessly down your body.

Gluttonous like a vulture, attentive like a golden eagle, Sosuke had cornered you without giving you enough time to realize it. You were always screwed, when it came down to him.

“You must be out of your mind, if you merely think I’m going to discuss my sex life with you. — you dissuaded him from illuding himself he could ask you more about your relationship, your feelings and private matters — Now, unless you’re a masochist who wishes to be kicked out of my bedroom, I’d like to get some sleep. Alone” you punctuated, indicating the door at your back with a tight smile on your lips.

You wished you had been more convincing, you wished he was not that close to you and that you had not given much importance to what you had felt with him that night and morning. You wished you had take another step back, that the moment he had trapped you between his body and the wall you had protested.

When you thought you could resist him, showing him you were not affected by his presence and avanaces, he knelt in front of you. His hands glided over your legs, cupping your calves, whilst he captured your gaze with his deep, almond eyes “Your words and gestures tells you don’t even know what I’m talking about and it’s a shame. — he said, fingers now tickling the back of your thighs while he let his nose graze against your lower belly tentatively — I won’t beat about the bush, I want to show you what it feels like to be lavished. Push me away now, Y/N, or I’ll begin” he lowly warned you, but your fingers threading through his soft strands did not yank his head back to yell at his face.

You gaped, uncapable to refuse him, to bring yourself to think straight. That passion you had felt with him, that level of pleasure had been obnubilating your mind for too long. You wanted it, you wanted him again. Wrong at the eyes of so many people, you instead began to see it as a mere stress relief. Even if you knew it was so much more. Why not giving in, then? Why not perseverating? Nobody had to know.

“Sosuke, if this shit leaves your mouth and becomes a dinner conversation, I’ll make you choke on your dick” you threatened him, legs finally spreading to give him more access to your clothed pussy.

He grinned, fingers hooking underneath the elastic band of your panties, tugging the item down until you kicked it off in a hurry “And giving up on the chance to fuck you to oblivion after arguments, or in stormy, depressing nights? You know me better than that” he crooned, hand lifting your right thigh to settle it on top of his shoulder, the access to your tight hole clenching around nothing much easier now.

You never had a man kneeling before you to give you oral. To think the closest thing to a God was currently lapping at your core in such a degrading position was electrifying. Yet, you were far from deeming yourself in a superior position. He still had the upper hand.

He hummed, head slipping underneath the skirt of your nightgown, as his tongue ran flatly over your velvet folds, fingertips digging onto the plush of your thighs. His warm tongue seeked your clitoris and twirled around it, testing your reaction. You felt ashamed of how loudly you moaned, of how you were grateful he was keeping you balanced above him, otherwise you would have surely tumbled down onto the floor. Mostly, though, you felt embarrassed by the spasmodic buckling of your hips, by the way your hands were pushing his head closer to your need in search for more friction. He had turned you into a madwoman.

He groaned and you straightened your back, flattenening it against the wall “I’m sorry!” you quipped, chest raising and falling erratic, stupidly thinking you had somehow hurt him.

You could not see his face, hidden by the gown, but you heard him rasp out an answer against your pubes “If you apologize again, I’ll stop”.

And no, you did not want him to stop, not when his fingers spread your puffy lips and he tickled the sensitive area around your opening with the tip of his tongue. You were going insane, body on fire under his ministrations, under the smoldering orgasm building up in your lower belly. You tried and failed to remember one time another man had pleasured you this much.

“Sosuke!” you cried out, mouth falling ajar as you lolled your head back against the wall.

He did not stop his onslaught on you. His voracious mouth licked, sucked, penetrated into you like that of a starving man. Your thighs were quivering, shaking violently, while you held him close to you and, dear God, if he was leading you to crave more than just that.

Only when you were on the edge of reaching your climax, he stopped. His breath was ragged, his face glistening in your arousal, while he stood back up and encircled you waist with his arms. You were panting, sweaty, whimpering in need as you kissed him passionately, not even thinking twice. Tongues danced together, while he held you close and you tasted yourself in his mouth.

He grinned against your lips “Do you feel that? That’s your taste. Men should bathe into it and feel like they’re reborn” he whispered, while you both stumbled towards your bed, falling onto it tangled in one.

And it was in that moment that something into you cracked. Aizen Sosuke could give you the world and that very night you were in for it.

AUTHOR NOTE.

My dear readers, I had said I didn’t want to split the chapter but I had to. Editing is as stressful as writing, trust me, and I could not do more than that. I will include the rest of the smut part in the next chapter! Please, let me know what you think about this!

Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Luce

TAGS: @pseudowho @seireiteihellbutterfly @onyxino @areyouflying @bakugosgirl01 @noirfan12 @velaenaa @skexxll

[f1fnatic]

THE ROOKIES ⤿ o. piastri 81

→ ( in which. . . ) you are a rookie and play for the us women's national soccer team. during the world cup after your team gets knocked out, you run into a certain australian f1 driver who is supporting the host team.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written/irl, smau

→ ( face claim. . . ) naomi girma + pictures from pinterest/instagram

→ ( pairing. . . ) oscar piastri x uswnt!reader

→ ( content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) cursing, might be a multi-part series, not sure yet :) also fully aware that the 2023 f1 season was actively happening at the same time as the women's world cup, but for the sake of this fic, let's believe that oscar had to allow mclaren's reserve drive (for unspecified reasons).

→ ( author's note. . . ) i enjoyed making this fic SM. it was interesting to mess with a written and smau, i hope it flows well and isn't super confusing. hope you enjoy! see end for more

→ ( masterlist )

─ INSTAGRAM ↴

y/n_l/n

liked by alexmorgan13, trinity_rodman, uswnt, carson.pickett and 21,834 others

tagged: uswnt

y/n_l/n number 4 checking in ✅

view 749 comments

uswnt ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 liked by y/n_l/n

trinity_rodman LFGGGG

y/n_l/n 🙌🏿‼️

user18 greatest defender EVER

user56 SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK ‼️‼️

sophsssmith incoming women's world cup champ

y/n_l/n loading...🔃

user6 no cause why is she sooo pretty

user17 #GOAT 🐐

alexmorgan13 YEAHHHH Y/NNNN liked by y/n_l/n

user33 oh she ate..

user22 4 + 4

yourmom So proud of you, honey ❤️

y/n_l/n thank you mama 🥹💞

mrapinoe Get it rookie! liked by y/n_l/n

lavellerose ⚽🌟 liked by y/n_l/n

yourbsf the best to ever do it 💖

y/n_l/n stop it ily

user20 fresh kits 😮‍💨 liked by y/n_l/n

user81 she knows she's good

uswnt

📍auckland, new zealand

liked by usmt, y/n_l/n, savdemelo, alyssanaeher, and 597,309 others

tagged: y/n_l/n

uswnt Defender Y/N L/N, and the rest of the USWNT, arriving to New Zealand in style 🔥🔥

view 15,823 comments

usmt Good luck ladies! liked by uswnt

user66 god dayum

user19 barking

y/n_l/n team stylist >> liked by uswnt

savdemelo Yeah we rocked it 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️

user67 god y/n 😍

malpugh what a cutie pie y/n_l/n

y/n_l/n oh stop it mal 🤭

sophsssmith ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

user9 she is so breathtaking

mrapinoe 🔥 liked by uswnt and y/n_l/n

cmpulisic Sheeshhh liked by uswnt

user22 they suck bro

user5 k just say u are an incel

user91 what a loser

lavellerose Pulling up in style liked by uswnt

user39 crying she is so prettyyy

user21 it is so unfair

user51 she can rock literally ANYTHING

uswnt

📍melbourne, victoria, autralia

liked by y/n_l/n, alexmorgan13, mrapinoe, usmt, and 710,893 others

uswnt Thank you for your support. Till next time.

view 14,841 comments

y/n_l/n so proud of this team 💟 liked by uswnt

mrapinoe Couldn't have asked for a better final season. liked by uswnt

alexmorgan13 ⚽💌 liked by uswnt

sophsssmith thank you 💖 liked by uswnt

lavellerose Wouldn't do it with anyone else liked by uswnt

malpugh ❤️❤️ liked by uswnt

alyssanaeher What a run liked by uswnt

trinity_rodman love you all, can't wait till next year liked by uswnt

savdemelo ❣️ liked by uswnt

usmt Amazing job, ladies. liked by uswnt

emilysonnet 💓 liked by uswnt

*comments on this post have been limited*

─ TWITTER ↴

─ 19 august, 2023 ↴

your team had just lost to sweden in penalty kicks. the amount of overwhelming pride you had felt was unmeasurable. nothing could describe how you felt for your team making it into the quarter finals. yes, you were sad that you couldn't advance further, but none the less, you were grateful for the chance to play at the highest level.

so, there you were, sitting in the stands of the bronze medal game. the match was intense. the matildas were putting up a great fight against sweden for third place. so far, sweden was up 1-0. you wanted the matildas to beat the yellow and blue-clad team since they were the ones that knocked you and your team out.

a few minutes passed before halftime arrived. you decided that it would be a good idea to go get a snack, and maybe some coffee. standing up, you swing your bag across your body and walk to the nearest concession stand. after getting your things, a coffee and some pretzel bites, you turn to head back to your seat. only, instead of being met with open space, your body collides with another, effectively spilling your coffee and dropping your pretzels on the stadium floor. the coffee slightly burns your skin as it seeps into your (new) white blouse. an annoyed sigh escapes from your lips before a voice speaks up.

"shit, oh my god- i am so sorry. are you okay?" it asks. you pick your head up, tearing your eyes away from the giant brown stain painted on your shirt. chocolate colored eyes lock onto yours. a breath hitches in your throat. the man in front of you was gorgeous. he was smiling nervously, hands reaching to gesture to your shirt. "can i get you some napkins?"

there is an awkward pause before you answer. "oh, um, yeah sure, that would be great." you smile. he leaves you for a second before returning and handing you a bundle of napkins. you gently blotch the damp stain.

"i really am sorry. i didn't see you. i should've been paying attention to where i was going." the man says, awkwardly giggling at the end of his sentence.

"it's okay, truly. i can always get another drink, can't say the same for my shirt though." you end. you finish with drying your shirt - albeit, the best you could, before you see that the man in front of you is wearing a matildas jersey. "what a game, huh?"

"oh, yeah. the girls are doing a wonderful job but sweden is just doing better," he answers. "who are you rooting for?"

"the matildas. it would be against my better judgement to root for sweden." you say. you watch his face for a second until recognition washes over his features.

"oh my god, you play for the us! you are amazing! i can't believe this is only your rookie season, i thought you had been playing for years when i saw your first game." you can't help but blush at his compliment. a smile molds onto your lips.

"thank you, that means a lot. i appreciate it," you giggle, "i never caught your name, you mind telling me?"

"oscar." he responds. he sticks out a hand in front of you. you grab it and shake. another smile displays on his features. it reminded you of a quokka, in fact, he reminded you of a quokka.

"well, oscah," you say, teasing him for his annunciation, "you don't happen to be busy do you?"

─ INSTAGRAM ↴

y/n_l/n

📍women's world cup

liked by trinity_rodman, sophsssmith, yourmom, oscarpiastri, and 40,329 others

tagged: uswnt, oscarpiastri, and savdemelo

y/n_l/n thank you all.

thank you to the national team for entrusting me with the opportunity to play in the women's world cup. if you were to tell 4 year old me that when she was 20, she'd be playing in the world cup, she would be absolutely ECSTATIC.

i would also like to thank my mom and dad for pushing me to play my best no matter what and to be a goldfish. aka, forget the bad things and remember the good.

also, thank you to the fans. seeing little girls holding signs with my name and number gives me reason to keep going. ladies, you can do anything you set your mind to. don't let anyone say you can't.

lastly, i would like to thank oscar for making me spill my coffee on myself. and for being a pretty alright tour guide. (jk, you were really great)

view 1,730 comments

user17 you showed up and showed out!

yourbsf YEAHHHHH Y/NNNN

y/n_l/n love you ❤️‍🔥

user46 can't believe she is only a rookie

user70 IKR. like... she is literally on par with a lot of the senior players

oscarpiastri i still feel really bad about the coffee...

y/n_l/n osc, please, it's okay

user91 A NICKNAME BASIS ALReADY??

user66 osc? OSC?!

yourmom So insanely proud of you sweetheart. Can't wait for the future ❤️

y/n_l/n i love you so much ma 🥹

user54 RAHHHHH USA USA 🦅🦅🦅🦅 liked by y/n_l/n

uswnt ROTY liked by y/n_l/n

user55 kay who is oscar piastri and why is he such a cutie pie

savdemelo perry misses his aunt

y/n_l/n and duck misses hers!

sophsssmith blessed to be your teammate 💓 liked by y/n_l/n

user19 WHO IS HEEEeeEEe

user28 oscar piastri is an australian-rookie f1 driver! he races for the team mclaren :)

oscarpiastri i can buy you a new shirt!!!

y/n_l/n OSCAR. JACK. PIASTRI.

mrapinoe The next gen 😌 liked by y/n_l/n

user32 HOLD ON MAYBE THAT ONE TWITTER USER WAS ON TO SOMETHING

user10 but they were talking about someone on the matildas not uswnt 🤐🤐

trinity_rodman 🌟🌟 liked by y/n_l/n

lavellerose Honored to be your teammate y/n! liked by y/n_l/n

alexmorgan13 Couldn't have gotten how far we did without you ❣️

y/n_l/n stop it alex i'm gonna cry ❤️‍🩹

user66 MY TWO WORLDS ARE COLLIDING I AM NOT OKAY

user29 oh he's cute

oscarpiastri

📍womens world cup

liked by landonorris, f1, mclaren, logansargeant and 831,563 others

tagged: y/n_l/n

oscarpiastri the best way to meet someone is to bump into them and make them spill their fresh (very hot) coffee on their shirt

view 47,267 comments

user67 honestly such a romantic way to meet someone

user21 oscar cannot catch a break from americans

user49 its like he's drawn to them..

user18 hope u had a nice break! liked by oscarpiastri

logansargeant woohoo another american!

y/n_l/n 🦅🦅🦅

oscarpiastri remind me to never introduce you two.

logansargeant 😞

user22 she's so oretty omggggg liked by oscarpiastri

user22 NO WAY OSCAR LIKED.

y/n_l/n that person must have been feeling nice!

oscarpiastri yeah they were

landonorris oscar has a cruUussShHhh

oscarpiastri shut up lando

user7 who is she?

user31 y/n l/n is an american soccer player!

user7 might have to start watchinf soccer now yeesshhh

y/n_l/n you were a pretty okay tour guide

oscarpiastri take that back.

y/n_l/n mmm no

oscarpiastri duck says hi

y/n_l/n YOU DID NOT.

mclaren Why are there two koalas in the fourth picture?

user39 HAHA I LOVE YOU ADMIN

logansargeant who's that cutie pie in slide 5? liked by oscarpiastri

user81 the rookies

user4 i can already tell they are going to date

user21 brutha they just met 🙏🏻

user93 people when boy-girl friendships

landonorris is that why your tongue was purple?

oscarpiastri dude 😀

user51 WHAT?

user64 he is SUCH a gossip girl

user15 i am SO totally normal ab this

─ TWITTER ↴

first oscar fic in the books. i loved writing this one. while doing so, i called myself single in so many different ways. i plan on making a part 2, maybe a part 3 (not sure) so stay tuned! also, if you would like to be on the taglist, comment!!! requests and feedback are welcome! make sure to leave a comment and kudos as well (only if you want :P)

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

Hazbin Hotel characters react to your stims

(I'm doing my personal favorite characters, so if there are others you wanna see, ask me. They may also be slightly OOC.)

Vox

You can't convince me this man doesn't also have ADHD. He's just spent decades masking it, as well as most of himself, to present a perfect image. Probably heard the term as it got more well known but didn't really connect the dots until meeting you.

He fidgets a lot, tapping his claws, bouncing his legs, can't sit in a fucking chair properly.

Doesn't realize he's overstimulated and burnt out from multi tasking dozens of screens until you point it out.

Once he's aware of it you help him manage his work better so he can be less stimulated and tense. You buy him proper fidget toys to mess with and he makes himself some top of the line bass boosted sound canceling headphones. He gives you a pair, too. When you're both alone, you look up songs with loaded bass in 8d just to watch each other twitch and involuntarily move your head with the sound.

That's about the extent of the conscious level of unmasking he'll do though. He gets self conscious.

But, he adores the fact you're comfortable enough to stim around him. Or in public. He can and will violently end people for even giving you dirty looks for stimming in public.

If you show excitement and joy over being around someone through happy noms he will literally get heart eyes. Just be careful where you bite him because it may lead to something else.

He's happy to let you stim, which means tricking him into doing it more.

He remembers and sub consciously absorbs your echolalias or any word replacements you use. If you do a lot of call and response vocals he learns them. (Call and response is basically when you memorize a sound with two people. One calls the other responds. You can just say both parts yourself ((I do)) but it's more satisfying with someone else).

If you do happy flappies this man will short circuit. (He will laugh if you accidentally smack yourself though).

If you squeal and kick you may give him a heart attack. He thought you were hurt or something. He gets used to it eventually but it still startles him.

Vox is also a chatter box so you two can info dump about special interests to each other for hours. Neither one of you expects the other to remember details, but the fact you don't tell each other to shut up and are content to do your own thing while listening to your partner/friend gush is enough.

He has long since forced himself into strict routines so if you struggle to get tasks started or get distracted in the middle of them he's understanding but stern. Tends to cause more harm than good because he talks down to you unintentionally.

If you're a visual/hands on learner he also gets frustrated with you for wasting hours trying to figure it out yourself and getting yourself upset instead of just letting him do it for you. You get into a lot of fights about it at first. He gets better when he sees it genuinely prevents you from enjoying things or trying new things and that you just kinda default to defeated and helpless. He didn't mean to make you feel dumb, he just doesn't understand why you wouldn't want help. Until the tables turn and as he's getting worked up over something he can't figure out and you just stare at him.

He finally snaps at you what the hell you're doing and you smirk "need help? Why don't I just do it for you and you watch? Come on, you've been struggling for an hour, stop being so stubborn and just let me do it. I'll show you later, it's not hard." You feed his own lines back at him and his stomach drops.

"Oh....that feels...mmmm. Nope! Don't like that. Ok. Won't happen again, doll."

Realistically if you work with him and you make mouth noises a lot (bird whistles, tongue clicks, humming, random shrieks) he will get annoyed. It's distracting him and sometimes you don't realize you're doing it and mess up anything he tries to record. The first few times he snaps at you and it causes problems (hello rejection sensitive dysphoria) but eventually he learns how to better talk to you/communicate without accidentally convincing you he hates you.

Alastor

Probably on the spectrum himself, but it also could just be his anti-social habits. Either way he finds you entertaining and your bouts of sporadic energy and gremlin like behavior don't phase him. He's been dealing with Niffty for years.

If you sing or hum a lot to get work done, or listen to music he's all for it. But if you're the type of ADHD where work fast music=horny and bass he'll insist you wear headphones. If you're content to listen to swing (he'll compromise with electroswing) or jazz, he'll play the radio for you.

He doesn’t even care if you're a good singer or not, he just likes seeing you get into it. Will show off by singing it better than you though.

If you're someone who picks your fingers or skin, he'll slap your hands. You bleeding is making him hungry and distracting him. He'll find you something else to do with your hands. Same with nail biting.

He tends to pull his hair when stressed so if you stim with your hair he gets it and unless it's harmful (eating/pulling) he'll leave it, but if you're like him he's either cutting your hair short or braiding it.

Will die before admitting it but thinks you flapping, hopping, clapping, squealing is the most adorable thing ever. Also, laughs at you if you smack yourself, though.

Doesn't understand your memes so half your echolalia go over his head and he just kinda stares at you.

Scolds you for not sitting in the chair properly.

Smiles, nods, and occasionally says "that's nice dear" when you info dump. It's not that he doesn't care, he just can't listen to something he's not interested in for that long.

Mouth noises make his eye twitch but so long as they don't interrupt him, he won't scold you.

He understands you're not dumb but he also doesn't have the patience to help your or wait for you to get things done so he does them for you and tells you stop pouting when you get upset with him.

He likes you enough to not reject your touch and enjoys being in your space, but please refrain from happy biting the cannibal. He will bite back and it's less cute when he does.

Lucifer

The original AUDHD. You two chatter for hours about special interests.

He makes you stim toys.

You two do the adhd laugh so hard over dumb shit you gotta hold onto and smack each other thing. You both wind up on the floor.

Literally would never talk down to you or trigger your RSD. He's spent centuries feeling like he's constantly annoying, dumb, and struggling to time manage and do tasks.

Is equally fed up with people offering to do things for him because he can do it he just needs help getting started. The more you ask if he wants you to do it or when he's gonna do it the harder it is. So you two just sorta hobble together a system for getting shit done.

It's not perfect but if it gets outta hand he can just snap his fingers and fix it.

He happy flaps with his hands and wings and constantly knocks you or other shit over. It embarrasses him but you're in love. You two sometimes hold hands to do the happy bounce squeal, shaking each other.

He initiates happy bites more than you do. Honestly you both start looking like chew toys.

You two echolali all the time and share new ones you find. If you ever can't find each other, just shout one of your current vocal stims and he'll respond.

Literally, the definition of choas couple.