#i just found this scene set up super cool

[nylqnder]

ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR QUINN HUGHES

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader, (little bit of) jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: trevor invites you to a lakehouse for the summer, attempting to set him up with his friend. however, the summer doesn't go to plan when you meet his older brother who captures your eye and flips everything upside down.

warnings: very obviously angst, sort of a love triangle, jack and quinn kind of hating each other, slow burn, reader and trevor having a sibling type relationship, one singular kiss, brief appearances from trevor & luke

word count: 11.6k

notes: wooooo mama this is the absolute longest thing i've ever written. i really hope you guys enjoy it, i'm pretty happy with this.

The scene of the lake house standing tall in front of you was something straight out of your imagination. It was picturesque, the way the large house was nestled amongst the pine trees and the glimmering water sparkling behind it. It was just the way that Trevor had described it when he invited (or rather insisted) you to come to his buddy’s lake house this summer.

“You’ll love it! It’s so nice up there,” Trevor had urged, his enthusiasm infectious. You could still hear his voice, brimming with excitement. “It’s my friend Jack’s place. You guys would get along great! And his brothers are super chill too.”

At the time, you’d felt a mix of curiosity and skepticism. It’d been about three years you’d been friends with Trevor, long enough to know that when his tone got this excited and he was this insistent, he was up to something.

“Are you trying to set me up with him?” you’d asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously at Trevor as the two of you sat in a coffee shop a few months ago. He had been uncharacteristically fidgety, bouncing his knee up and down while stirring his iced coffee with an unnecessary amount of focus.

Trevor had grinned at you in that annoyingly charming way he did when he was caught. “Nooo, I’m just saying you guys would vibe. He’s a cool guy. Super chill.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. “Uh-huh. And his brothers?”

“Also cool!” Trevor leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But listen, Jack’s the one I think you’d really like. Just come for like, a week or two, see what happens. No pressure. I promise you’ll have fun.”

You’d hesitated, not entirely convinced. But Trevor knew exactly how to play on your curiosity, and a month later, you found yourself packing a bag for a summer getaway at some lake house owned by Trevor’s friend, Jack. Despite your reservations, a part of you was intrigued. What if Trevor was right?

The drive to the lake house had been a blur, punctuated by Trevor’s nonstop chatter and your own uncertain silence. You weren’t opposed to meeting Jack. Trevor had sung his praises for months, claiming you two had more in common than either of you realized. As far as setups went, this wasn’t terrible — you could trust Trevor to have good judgment. But still, you were unsure and slightly uneasy about the whole situation.

When you arrive, Jack is already waiting outside, leaning against the porch rail, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. He’s smiling — an easy, laid-back smile that makes you smile back automatically. The sun filters through the trees, casting warm, gold light on the porch, and for a moment, everything feels serene.

Trevor wasn’t lying when he commented about Jack’s appearance. “Some people call him a pretty boy but… I mean he is pretty, but he’s a good-looking dude, y’know?” He was definitely attractive, something anyone could admit you thought, but he wasn’t totally your type.

Trevor bounds up the steps of the porch, dapping up Jack and pulling him in for a hug. You followed, stopping at the bottom of the steps, watching as Trevor whispered something into Jack's ear, Jack’s eyes catching yours as a small smile appeared on his lips.

Jack steps forward, extending a hand. “Hey, you must be y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, his voice warm with that relaxed confidence you’d expect from someone who’s used to being the center of attention.

You shake his hand, feeling the easy smile on your face widen a little. “All good things, I hope.”

Trevor laughs, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulder. “Mostly good things.” He winks at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

Jack offers to give you a quick tour of the place, and you agree, letting him guide you inside while Trevor stays back, grumbling to himself about having to bring in your bags. The inside of the house is as beautiful as the outside, with high ceilings, wooden beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the lake. Despite being a new build, it has a cozy, rustic feel to it. Jack pointed out each room as you went, keeping up a steady flow of conversation that put you at ease. He was friendly and thoughtful, making sure you felt welcomed, and it struck you as genuine. You could see why Trevor thought you’d get along with him.

“And this is the back deck,” Jack said as he pushed open a sliding door, revealing a sprawling view of the lake, with a dock stretching out in front of the property. The lake is glittering and relatively calm, aside from a figure disturbing the water. You squint, watching as the swimmer glides smoothly through the lake.

“Who’s that?” you ask Jack, eyes not leaving the figure as you watch him pull himself up onto the wooden dock, pushing dark wet hair from his face.

“That’s Quinn,” Jack says, following your gaze and glancing out toward the dock. “My older brother.”

The sun seems to linger on Quinn’s form, highlighting the toned muscles in his arms as he stretches briefly, rolling his shoulders to ease out any lingering tension from his swim. Droplets of water cling to his skin, catching the sunlight and tracing down his chest in slow, winding trails emphasizing the smooth contours of his muscles as they glisten.

“Q!” Jack shouts, whistling to get his brother’s attention. Quinn’s gaze snaps to the two of you, your pulse quickening as his eyes land on you. “Come up here!”

Quinn grabs his towel from the dock, throwing it over his shoulder as he makes his way up the lawn towards you. As he climbs the steps to the deck, you feel his eyes travel over you, not in a way that feels intimidating, but with a curiosity that mirrors your own. There’s something magnetic about him, something calm and steady that draws you in as he steps up onto the deck, his mouth curving into a small, barely-there smile.

“This is Trevor’s friend, y/n. She’s joining us for the summer” Jack introduces.

As Quinn’s gaze flickers back to you, you notice there’s something about the way he looks at you — subtle, assessing. His gaze has a certain depth, a look you can’t quite decipher. It lingers just a second longer than what feels typical, enough to make your heartbeat skip, to leave you questioning the flicker of interest in his expression.

“Nice to meet you,” Quinn says, his voice low and smooth, a perfect complement to the quiet confidence he exudes. He reaches out to shake your hand, and as your fingers meet, you notice how warm his touch feels, even with the cool water droplets still lingering on his skin.

Up close, he’s even more striking. There’s a sort of ruggedness to him, outlined by the sharpness of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, a greenish shade of blue, hold yours with a calm intensity that makes it hard to look away.

“Nice to meet you too,” you manage, your voice coming out softer than you intended, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You mentally kick yourself, hoping he doesn’t notice, but the glimmer in his eyes suggests otherwise.

Jack, oblivious to the undercurrent, clapped his hands, breaking the moment. “Alright, well, there’s more to see, and if we don’t get back, Trevor’s going to start whining about being abandoned,” he joked.

You chuckle, your eyes pulling away from Quinns’ for the first time since he joined you on the porch. But as you turned to follow Jack back inside, you couldn’t help but glance back at Quinn. He was still watching you, his expression softened just slightly, and you felt a quiet thrill at the way he watched you.

The first week at the lakehouse passes in a flurry of days that blur together in laughter and lakeside relaxation. You fall into an easy routine of swimming, grilling, and long talks on the deck. Jack and Trevor keep things lively, always organizing something, whether it’s an impromptu game of cornhole, a daring cliff dive, or a spontaneous trip into town.

With Jack, the connection forms fast. He’s lighthearted, quick with a joke, and endlessly charming. He keeps you laughing and keeps the vibe lighthearted. His energy is infectious, and he keeps you roped into every activity, whether it’s cliff-jumping or getting you to help him with dinner when it’s his turn. You can tell that Trevor’s plan to get the two of you set up is working for Jack, as he lingers closer, laughs harder at your jokes, and you begin to feel his gaze linger on you just a little too long.

But it’s Quinn who holds your attention in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Quinn is different from Jack in nearly every way. Where Jack is open and quick to draw you into his orbit, Quinn lingers on the edges, observing and listening. When he speaks, it’s with a low, steady voice that commands attention without trying. And unlike Jack’s energy, which feels like the buzz of the sun overhead, Quinn’s is deep and mysterious like the lake.

You find yourself gravitating toward him at every opportunity, captivated by the way he moves through the days with an unruffled calm. The nights at the lake house slip into an easy rhythm, with Quinn and you inevitably being the last ones awake as the both of you are night owls. Most nights, you find yourselves lingering on the porch, wrapped in the gentle hum of crickets and the low whisper of the lake. With the others upstairs, fast asleep, you and Quinn fall into intimate conversations, shared only between the two of you.

One night, you find yourselves tucked away on the porch, the air a little cooler than the other nights. You are curled up on a rocking chair, bundled up in a hoodie you’d borrowed from Jack. Quinn sat across from you, the beer he’d started during dinner going warm in his hand.

Quinn studies you, his eyes catching the faint glow of the porch light as he swirls his bottle absentmindedly. “So,” he begins, breaking the comfortable silence, “What’s California like?” He leans forward, genuinely interested, his voice carrying a warmth that makes you want to spill everything about life on the West Coast.

A soft smile creeps onto your face. “It’s… different from here,” you admit, glancing out at the lake where the moon dances on the still water. “It’s a bit fast-paced. And warm. Lots of sun, lots of people. But sometimes, it feels like everyone’s moving so quickly that you get lost in the crowd.”

Quinn nods, his eyes steady on you. “I get it. I feel the same way about Vancouver sometimes. Coming back here… it just reminds me that there's more than the noise and rush. There’s… balance out here.” He gestures out toward the lake, his voice contemplative. “Like all of this has a way of pulling you back to what matters.”

His words resonate deeply, and you find yourself nodding. “Exactly,” you murmur. “It’s like there’s space to breathe. And you notice things that usually get lost in all the… chaos.”

Quinn’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you came. It’s been… good to have you here,” he says quietly, his eyes soft. “We don’t have other people up here often.”

Your heart pounds a little faster at the sincerity in his voice, and for a second, the rest of the world disappears. There’s only Quinn and the quiet lake, and the feeling that he understands you in a way you hadn't expected anyone to. You hold his gaze, feeling the electricity between you grow, filling the silence with something you can’t quite name.

But then, as if drawn back to reality, Quinn’s eyes shift, his expression subtly changing. “And Jack,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “He… really likes you, you know? He doesn’t say it, but I can tell.”

It feels like a splash of cold water. You break eye contact, pulling your hoodie closer around you, the warmth you felt moments ago dissipating. The weight of Jack’s interest hangs heavily between you and Quinn now, an undeniable reminder of the complicated line you’re toeing.

“Right, yeah…” you reply softly, looking down, your voice tinged with a mix of guilt and frustration. You hadn’t meant for this to get complicated, yet here you are, caught between two brothers who couldn’t be more different.

An uncomfortable silence settles over you both, thick and heavy. Quinn’s eyes linger on you, as if he’s about to say something more, but he holds back. His lips press into a thin line, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same conflict, the same confusion that’s twisting knots inside you.

You force yourself to look away, swallowing hard. “I think… I should probably head to bed,” you murmur, avoiding his gaze. You stand up, offering him a small, tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Goodnight, Quinn.”

Quinn nods, his expression unreadable as he watches you ebb towards the door. “Goodnight, y/n,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, though there’s a flicker of something in his gaze — disappointment, perhaps, or longing. You slip inside, leaving him on the porch, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back as you close the door.

In bed, you toss and turn, Quinn’s words and the feel of his gaze lingering with you. Your mind is a whirlwind, caught between the easy, carefree friendship that’s growing with Jack and the simmering tension you feel with Quinn. Jack is perfectly nice and, like Trevor told you, the two of you were getting along swimmingly.

But no matter how much you try, your thoughts always drift back to Quinn. There’s something undeniably different about him, something that makes it impossible to feel the same way about Jack, no matter how hard you try. Jack’s presence is light and friendly but with Quinn… it’s like there’s a hidden gravity pulling you toward him, a quiet understanding that lingers beneath the surface of every conversation. Every night on that porch, he’s become your anchor, drawing you into a world that feels more honest, more intimate.

You lie there, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying the way he looked at you tonight — that almost undetectable spark that you’re sure you didn’t imagine. The way he listens to you, like every word matters, as he sees past the small talk and into the parts of you you rarely share. There’s no pretending with Quinn. And even though he’d mentioned Jack, it only made you realize how much more you’re drawn to Quinn. Jack might be developing feelings for you, but it’s Quinn who fills your thoughts, who leaves you breathless in a way you can’t ignore.

You pull the covers tighter around you, willing sleep to take you, but every thought seems to lead back to Quinn, to the way he made you feel seen, understood — even in silence.

The next morning, you do your best to shake off the lingering tension from the night before, determined to keep things light and normal. Under Jack’s enthusiastic suggestion, the group decides to spend the day out on the lake, hoping the sun and water will wash away any unease. It’s a sunny day, warm with a light breeze, and the water sparkles invitingly under the sunlight, making you think that everything might just go smoothly.

The boat is anchored in a calm spot on the lake and, despite the wonderful weather, there doesn’t seem to be another boat around. Trevor and Luke sit up in the bow, arguing about which mascot would win in a fight between Mr. Clean and Tony the Tiger.

Jack is quick to pull you into the action, handing you a beer from the cooler as he grins. “Alright,” he says, his smile as wide as the lake. “Are you ready for the full lake house experience? Because to really do that, you’ve got to jump off the boat at least once today.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you crack open the can. “I’m pretty sure you’re just making up rules to mess with me.”

He shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. “Maybe, but you have to do it anyway,” he shrugs.

Trevor chimes in, chuckling from his spot. “Jack’s right, y/n. First-time lake visitors have to jump. It’s tradition!”

You chuckle, your gaze drifting up to Jack as he stands in front of you. The sun shines directly behind him, casting him in a golden halo, the bright rays spilling around his frame in a way that makes him look almost ethereal. For a moment, you can see why anyone would fall for that charm. But even with this picture-perfect moment, you feel a pang of regret that you can’t feel more for him, because, somehow, your thoughts are pulled elsewhere and on someone else.

Jack’s laughter brings you back to the moment, and he leans a little closer. “Come on, we can make it a team effort. I mean, if you’re too nervous, I can just hold your hand.” His voice is playful, but there’s a hint of sincerity in his words, a hope that you’ll let him bridge the gap he’s trying so hard to close.

Your smile is genuine, but before you can respond, you hear Quinn's low chuckle from behind you. It’s soft, barely audible over the hum of the boat’s motor, but enough to pull your focus completely away from Jack. You glance back at Quinn who’s sat on the back bench, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, a flicker of something in his gaze as it bears down on the two of you.

Your attention is pulled back to Jack as he reaches for your hand in a gesture that feels both playful and pointed. “Come on, y/n, it’ll be an official initiation. We’ll jump together, yeah?”

Your gaze flickers between Jack’s outstretched hand and Quinn, who’s watching with an inscrutable expression, his eyes narrowed slightly as he leans back, crossing his arms. You can’t deny there’s an awkward tension here, a silent push-and-pull between the two brothers that seems to amplify whenever Quinn is nearby.

Swallowing the strange, charged feeling building between you all, you look back at Jack and nod, forcing a lighthearted smile as you stand up, pulling off the oversized t-shirt you wore as a coverup. You see Jack’s eyes scan your figure, hearing him gasp quietly. You blush, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, taking his hand. He grins in triumph, his fingers warm against yours as he helps you stand at the edge of the boat. He holds on a little tighter than necessary, and the flicker of anticipation in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ready?” Jack asks, his voice softer now, his gaze lingering a bit too long as he watches your expression. There’s a hopeful vulnerability in his face, a look that makes you hesitate for a moment. You don’t want to hurt him, but there’s a part of you that wishes he’d pull back, that he’d realize you’re not as invested in this connection as he is.

You manage a nod, hoping he doesn’t notice the small sigh you let slip. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He beams, counting down with a quiet “three… two… one!” before the two of you leap into the lake together, the cool water rushing up to meet you. When you surface, you’re greeted by Jack’s laughter as he splashes you, pulling you into a playful water fight. You laugh along, though your eyes instinctively drift toward the boat, where Quinn looks over the edge, watching you both with an unreadable expression.

Jack’s laughter fades slightly as he notices your attention elsewhere, his face falling for a fraction of a second. But he quickly masks it, pulling you back with a light splash. “Hey, stay with me here,” he says, his tone half-joking, half-pleading. And you want to, you really do, but Quinn’s gaze is magnetic, and you can’t help but feel pulled toward him, as if there’s an invisible thread between the two of you.

Eventually, Jack climbs back onto the boat, reaching out to help you up. But the moment you step back on board, the charged silence returns, thick and stifling, as Quinn hands you a towel, his fingers brushing against yours just long enough to send a spark up your arm. You catch his gaze for a brief second, and you’re struck by the quiet intensity in his eyes, a longing that mirrors your own.

Jack clears his throat, his shoulders tensing slightly as he glances between you and Quinn. He lets out a forced laugh, trying to dispel the tension. “Alright, what’s next? We could always do another round of jumps, or maybe a swim to the dock?” He says it with an almost desperate cheerfulness, trying to regain your attention, trying to keep the moment light.

Trevor and Luke, sensing the tension, start bantering about who would be the fastest swimmer, their playful arguments distracting you all for a moment, lightening the mood just enough.

────୨ৎ────

The night air was crisp as laughter and the crackling of the fire filled the space around the lake house. The lake is quiet behind you, a dark, glassy surface reflecting only starlight. You were settled in a lawn chair, leaning back, watching as Trevor dramatically recounted a story about when you nearly crashed his car.

You could feel his eyes on you, searching for a shared smile, hoping to catch your gaze even as he chuckled at Trevor’s theatrics. Every so often, he'd lean in, commenting with a low murmur meant only for you. He’d even offered you his hoodie earlier, though the night wasn’t nearly cold enough to need it. It was endearing, if not a bit overeager. Yet, despite the obvious attention from him, your focus kept drifting across the fire.

Quinn sat across the flames from you, leaning back in an Adirondack chair. His attention was barely on the story, barely laughing with the others as you had been. Every now and then you’d catch his eyes flicker your way, lingering on you just long enough to send a thrill through your chest. Your stomach tightened with a quiet anticipation each time, though as quickly as the moment arrived, it vanished. Quinn’s gaze would shift, his attention lost somewhere in the darkness beyond the flames, leaving you wondering if you’d only imagined it.

As Trevor finally wrapped up his tale with an exaggerated flourish, the group’s laughter rang out again, filling the quiet night. You shifted in your chair, stealing a glance across the fire to see Quinn looking your way again, his expression unreadable in the dancing light. The firelight cast soft shadows over his face, illuminating his quiet intensity—a contrast to Jack’s open interest. And just as quickly as his eyes met yours, he looked away, his focus deliberately elsewhere, leaving you feeling a subtle ache of frustration.

Jack nudged your arm gently, his voice breaking the spell. “Hey, want to grab a drink or something? I think I saw some ciders in the cooler on the porch.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you replied, a small smile curving your lips as you pushed yourself up to join him.

You could feel the weight of Quinn’s gaze on you, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. As you walked toward the porch with Jack, a pang of prickling guilt settled over you, leaving a heavy shadow with every step. Jack was wonderful — funny, kind-hearted, and clearly eager to spend time with you. And yet, there was an emptiness in each smile you returned to him, a hollowness you couldn’t ignore. You tried to shake it off, reminding yourself to appreciate his warmth and interest. But you couldn’t deny it. There was no spark, no unspoken gravity that pulled you toward him.

The two of you reached the porch, Jack handing you a cold can from the cooler, his fingers brushing yours briefly. He shot you a quick grin, the kind that seemed to hold a hundred different things he wanted to say. But the look in his eyes—the hopefulness, the eagerness—only tightened the knot in your chest.

Jack took a sip of his drink, leaning casually against the porch railing, his gaze still on you. “It’s nice here at night, isn’t it?” His tone was light, but there was an unmistakable softness to his voice, as though he wanted nothing more than to keep this moment between just the two of you.

“Yeah, it really is,” you agreed, looking out at the lake rather than meeting his eyes. “It’s peaceful.”

Jack’s voice was quieter when he spoke this time like he was mulling something over. “You know, it’s been great having you up here. I mean…I’m glad Z brought you here.” he said softly, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a vulnerability there, one that made you want to reassure him, to ease the sting of your own uncertainty.

You wanted to tell him you felt the same, that you were excited, that his attention filled you with butterflies. But it didn’t. Not the way Quinn’s lingering gaze did, not in the way his silence could reach across the fire and wrap around you more tightly than any words Jack could offer.

And Jack could sense it. You could see it in the way his gaze fell just a bit, in the way he seemed to retreat into himself, trying to figure out where he’d lost you. A soft, sinking guilt bubbled up, but before you could say anything, he cleared his throat and looked at you, trying to keep the mood light.

“Should we head back?” he asked, giving you a small smile that tried to mask the disappointment behind his eyes.

You nodded, and as you followed him back toward the fire, your eyes drifted back to Quinn. Why did he have to make it so complicated? Jack was there, warm and steady, giving you his full attention, yet your heart kept tugging you toward Quinn — Quinn, who never gave you more than half-glances and unspoken hints. It was as though he knew the effect he had on you but chose to keep you guessing, leaving you in this restless, uncertain state. And every time he looked away, your chest would ache with a longing that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.

You felt like you were making it up in your head. You felt like all of this was just concocted by your brain, a made-up situation. But then you’d think back to the nights when it was just the two of you, sitting across from one another on the porch, finding bits of commonality, causing you to talk for hours.

It was during those quiet nights, with only the soft hum of the lake and the occasional call of night birds, that the two of you would sit just a little closer, voices lowered as if sharing secrets with the stars. He’d be calm, reserved, but there’d always be a hint of a smile when you teased him about his stoic nature, a glint in his eyes when he’d challenge you back. It was in these moments that your doubts faded, that all the confusion seemed worth it.

But then the sun would rise again, and Quinn’s indifference would come back like the morning mist, blanketing any closeness you thought you’d found. The spark that seemed so real under the cover of night would dim, replaced by his guarded demeanor and quiet aloofness. It was maddening, this cycle of near-closeness followed by a cool retreat. He’d show you just enough to make you wonder, to keep you holding onto the memory of his quiet smile and that soft look in his eyes.

As you and Jack rejoined the group, you settled back into your chair, glancing across the fire toward Quinn once more. He was looking down, a hand idly fiddling with the edge of his sweater. There was something vulnerable about him in that moment, something that made you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he felt the same hesitation and uncertainty. You wanted to bridge that gap, to ask him if he ever felt the same tug, the same strange pull that made every shared glance linger in your mind.

But before you could even entertain the idea, Jack’s hand brushed your shoulder, pulling your attention back to him. He was smiling, his gaze as steady and warm as ever, making you wish you could return it with the same openness.

“Hey, you okay?” Jack asked, concern lacing his voice. You hadn’t realized the way you were chewing on your lip, or the way your brow was furrowed ever so slightly.

You nodded, giving him a soft smile that you hoped looked genuine. “Yeah, just…lost in thought, I guess.”

But as you said it, your gaze slipped across the fire once more, finding Quinn’s eyes fixed on you with that familiar, unreadable intensity. And for a fleeting second, you thought you saw a softness there, a hint of something deeper. It vanished just as quickly, but that one look was enough. It was enough to make you cast away the doubt that lingered in your mind, to dismiss the thought that this was all in your head.

The night dragged on, punctuated by laughter and more ridiculous storytelling from Trevor. Gradually, one by one, everyone began to call it a night. Luke was the first to slip away, yawning as he muttered something about wanting to have an early workout, clapping Trevor on the shoulder before heading inside. Trevor followed soon after, stretching with exaggerated laziness before flashing a grin and winking at you. “Don’t get into too much trouble out here,” he teased, earning a playful eye-roll from you.

Finally, it was just you, Jack, and Quinn. Jack was lingering, his eyes occasionally drifting to you with a look that hinted at something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring himself to voice. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat as he looked at you, then glanced over at Quinn.

"Alright, I guess I’ll head in, too," Jack finally said, his tone reluctant. His gaze lingered on you for just a beat too long, as though he wanted you to ask him to stay or tell him that you would head up with him. But you didn’t, and after a quiet sigh, he nodded, gave Quinn a brief glance, then turned and headed inside, the screen door shutting softly behind him.

And then it was just the two of you.

The quiet stretched between you and Quinn, thick and tense, as the night air settled into a stillness that seemed to wrap around you both. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of the trees, and it was painfully quiet, each unspoken word between you two heavy with meaning. You could feel his presence, magnetic and steady, even across the fire. Finally, after a moment that felt like an eternity, you drew a deep breath and decided to speak.

“Quinn, can we talk?” Your voice was steady, but just barely. Quinn’s eyes finally locked with yours for the first time since before everyone began to filter to bed. Quinn nodded after a couple of seconds, giving you the silence to continue.

“I don’t know what’s going on between us,” you said softly. “But… fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy. I need to know if it’s all just in my head or if you feel it too. Because if there’s a reason I feel this way… I need to know.”

You trailed off, heart hammering against your ribcage as the words hung in the air between you. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression unreadable, his face softened by the glow of the firelight. Then, with a sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared into the flames. His silence was torture, each passing second pulling you deeper into a pit of anxiety and frustration.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, as if he’d rehearsed this response in his mind countless times. “It’s not in your head,” he admitted, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. “There’s something here, between us. I feel it too.”

The words sent a rush of relief and hope through you, a spark that reignited all those moments spent wondering and waiting for some kind of sign. A soft smile spread across your face, the edges of your doubt finally beginning to soften. But then, his expression shifted, the corners of his mouth tightening as he looked away, eyes fixed on the shadows just beyond the firelight.

“But…” His voice was barely a whisper, rough around the edges. “It can’t go anywhere. Not with Jack. He’s…he’s into you.” He looked back at you, the regret in his eyes evident, a pain mirrored in your own chest. “I can’t do that to him.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, and the warmth of the fire suddenly felt distant, fading into a cold, empty ache spreading through your chest. You hadn’t expected it to hurt this much, hadn’t realized how much you’d been hoping he’d say the opposite, that he’d fight for whatever was happening between you.

You dropped your gaze, feeling foolish, vulnerable, exposed. “So that’s it? We just… pretend this doesn’t exist?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like nothing’s been happening all this time?”

Quinn’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his expression pained. “I don’t want to pretend. But I can’t… I won’t hurt him, not like that. He’s my brother.” He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly. “And he really cares about you.”

You swallowed hard. It felt ridiculous—being here, feeling so foolishly hopeful, only to be left with a hollow ache and a fractured connection that couldn’t ever be more. Part of you wanted to yell at him for leading you on, for those late-night conversations and stolen glances, for every unspoken word that now felt like a cruel joke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish it could be different.”

The words left you hollow. Part of you wanted to fight, to tell him that what you felt couldn’t just be ignored, but another part — the part that knew him and understood his loyalty — couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to choose you over his brother. Not when you saw the conflict in his eyes, the pain that mirrored your own.

“Fine,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. You stood up, the cool night air prickling your skin as you walked away from the fire, leaving him there in silence. You didn’t look back. It felt like your chest was filled with broken glass, each breath painful, as you made your way back to the house.

Inside, the stillness was almost suffocating. The others had already gone to bed, and the darkened living room felt cold and empty, mirroring the ache in your heart. You climbed the stairs to your room, shutting the door softly behind you as you sank onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. A mix of anger and sadness filled you. You were mad at Quinn, for drawing you in only to push you away; mad at Jack, for being in the way even if he hadn’t meant to be; mad at Trevor, for ever convincing you to come here; and, perhaps most of all, mad at yourself, for letting your heart hope for something that could never be.

The next morning, a heavy quiet blanketed the lake house. You moved through the motions of breakfast with the others, but your thoughts felt distant, lost somewhere between the memories of last night and the weight of Quinn’s words. The morning was made slightly easier by the absence of Quinn who you were told went into the town early that morning to run errands and hit the gym. The guys bantered and talked about heading out on the boat, planning an afternoon on the lake, but you could only muster half-hearted nods and polite smiles. It was hard to focus, every small sound—the clinking of mugs, the soft scrape of a chair—only intensifying the ache you couldn’t shake.

Excusing yourself, you slipped away before anyone could ask questions, making your way down to the dock. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rippling across the lake's surface, and you sat at the edge, feet dangling above the water. You were still in your sleep outfit, not exactly pyjamas, but rather a comfy oversized hoodie and a pair of mens boxers. The familiar scent of pine and fresh earth surrounded you, but even the peaceful view couldn’t ease the storm of emotions inside.

The quiet was soon broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, and you didn’t need to look to know it was Jack. You felt him sit beside you, his presence warm and grounding. For a moment, he didn’t say anything — just let the silence settle between you both, as though he was waiting for you to be ready.

Finally, he cleared his throat, glancing sideways at you. “You okay this morning? You’ve been… quiet,” he said softly, his voice tentative, as if he were stepping carefully around broken glass. “Distant.”

You swallowed, bracing yourself as you met his gaze. His eyes were filled with genuine concern, a softness that only made this harder. “Yeah,” you murmured, looking back out at the lake. “Guess I just needed some space.”

Jack nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced. His fingers drummed nervously on the edge of the dock, and after a beat, he spoke again, his tone thoughtful, almost nostalgic.

“You know,” he began, eyes cast down at the water, “when Trevor told me he was bringing a friend this summer, he was so sure we’d hit it off. He kept going on about how you and I would be perfect for each other, that we’d get along great.” A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I remember feeling this weird, excited energy like… maybe he was right, you know? Maybe I was going to meet someone special.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat as he continued, his voice carrying a warmth that was both comforting and deeply bittersweet.

“And when you got here…” He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours, as if to gauge your reaction. “I don’t know, it just… felt easy, from the start. Like we’d known each other forever. I started to feel like maybe Trevor had been onto something.” He gave a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of unspoken feelings.

“Things felt really good between us, and I thought you felt it too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “So I started to get my hopes up—thinking maybe this was the start of something real.”

You winced, guilt gnawing at you. “Jack… I’m so sorry,” you said, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to lead you on, truly. I think you’re amazing. From the bottom of my heart, I just… I mean there’s gotta be some sort of spell this fucking house puts me under because I would be insane otherwise to not like you! You… you’re so perfect that any other girl would be scremaing at me, trying to claw my eyes out for not appreciating you. But… I just can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Jack’s eyes softened, a mix of sadness and resignation settling in them. He looked down, his fingers still drumming but more slowly now, as if grounding himself. After a moment, he took a deep breath and let it out, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I get it,” he murmured, though his voice had an unmistakable crack in it. “I mean… I think I get it. You can’t force something that isn’t there, right?” He gave a sad smile, one that tried to mask the hurt but didn’t quite succeed.

He stared out at the water, his expression distant, like he was trying to piece together what had gone wrong, or maybe just what he’d missed. A tense silence settled between you, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on the air around you. Jack cleared his throat, seeming to steel himself, his gaze searching your face as if looking for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

“Can I… can I just ask you one thing?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. His vulnerability in that moment was palpable, and you could feel your heart pounding, bracing yourself for what was coming.

You nodded, feeling your throat tighten.

“Do you… have feelings for Quinn?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and painful, and a part of you wished he hadn’t asked. But the look in his eyes told you he needed to know, that the uncertainty was gnawing at him just as much as the truth might.

Slowly, you nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whispered, “Yes.”

A heavy silence fell between you, and Jack seemed to shrink a little, his shoulders slumping as he took it in. Jack’s gaze fixed on the lake, and for a long moment, he said nothing. You could see the effort it took for him to keep his expression neutral, to keep his emotions tightly bound. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“So, you… you and Quinn. Is there… anything actually happening between you two?” He glanced at you, a flicker of something raw in his eyes — hope, maybe, or just the need to understand.

You shook your head, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “No, Jack. We’re… we’re not together. We won’t be.”

He looked at you, brow furrowed. “Why not?” he asked softly, his confusion obvious. “If you feel that way about him, why wouldn’t you try?”

You took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “Because Quinn… Quinn’s too good of a brother. He’d never go for me because of you… and because of what he knows you feel.”

Jack blinked, his brow furrowing as he took in your words. “Wait—what does that mean? Because of me?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion. His gaze softened, and you could see he was fighting to keep his tone steady, like he was trying not to hope.

You sighed, feeling a bittersweet ache settle in your chest. “Quinn told me he could never be with me because he knows how you feel. He doesn’t want to hurt you, Jack.”

Jack’s jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration flashing across his face. “So… let me get this straight,” he muttered, almost incredulously. “He’s not doing anything about how he feels—because of me?”

You nodded, and Jack fell silent, staring down at his hands, which had stopped drumming and were now clenched tightly in his lap. He seemed deep in thought, his brows furrowed as he processed what you’d just told him. The lake was quiet around you, the stillness broken only by the occasional ripple of water.

For a long time, Jack didn't say anything, just stared down at the water, his brows drawn together. You could almost feel the weight of his thoughts, the way he was wrestling with everything that had just been laid out. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, raw.

“So he… he cares enough to stay away,” Jack said slowly, the words laced with a sadness that felt almost like admiration. “That's… just like him.” He took a deep breath, forcing a small, sad smile. “I wish things were different. I wish we could just rewind, go back to the start of summer and… and pretend this never happened.”

You swallowed hard, his words striking a chord deep within you. “Me too,” you whispered, eyes burning with unshed tears. “I never wanted any of this to happen, Jack. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.”

Jack looked over at you, his expression softening, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of the easy, unburdened friendship you’d had in the beginning. “I know,” he murmured. “You’re not the kind of person who’d do this on purpose. It’s just… life, I guess. It’s complicated, ‘n messy as hell. And… maybe Trevor was right. We do get along. Just… maybe not in the way he thought we would.”

He smiled, a genuine one this time, though tinged with a sadness he couldn’t hide. “Maybe someday… I won’t feel this way,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the soft lapping of the lake against the dock. “But for now… I think I just need a little space. Time, maybe.”

You nodded, understanding that this was what he needed, even if it hurt to hear. “I get it, Jack. I do.”

Jack gave a nod, his gaze returning to the water, the weight of unspoken words settling over the two of you. In the next moment, he reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze—a quiet truce, an understanding. Then he stood, brushing off his shorts and glancing back at the house.

“I’ll be up at the house for a bit,” he murmured, the distance in his tone unmistakable. With that, he turned and walked back up the dock, his footsteps slow and heavy.

In the following days, there was a noticeable shift in the air; everyone felt it, though no one dared to name it. Conversations were stilted, laughter felt forced, and even the once-lively dinners had become quiet affairs, each of you treading carefully as if one wrong word might shatter the fragile peace that held you all together. Jack avoided you and Quinn as much as he could, lingering at the edge of group activities, his usual easygoing energy replaced by something more closed off, guarded.

Quinn, for his part, kept his distance too, his usual calm presence clouded by an unspoken tension. It was as if he knew that the delicate line he was walking might snap at any moment, sending everything spiraling out of control.

You couldn't ignore the heaviness that had settled over the house, a tangible sense of tension that made everything feel off-kilter. As much as you'd wanted this summer to be an escape, it had become the very opposite — a painful reminder of all the ways things could go wrong.

That evening, after everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself wide awake, thoughts racing. The decision took shape slowly, a reluctant resolve that you couldn’t shake. You needed to leave. Staying here, caught between the fractured pieces of what had been and what could never be, was too much to bear. The thought of facing both brothers day after day, watching Jack’s guarded smiles and Quinn’s restrained distance—it was too much. They deserved space, and, you realized, so did you.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your phone and booked a flight out for two days later, the earliest you could manage. You barely slept, running through potential conversations in your mind, eventually deciding you were only going to tell Trevor and slip out quietly, not wanting to cause anymore issues.

You forced yourself to push through the pain and awkwardness during the two remaining days until you would be returning back to California. As the days inched closer to your departure, the weight of unspoken words grew heavier, settling into every corner of the lake house. You caught glimpses of Jack, his face turning away when he thought no one was watching as if even looking at you and Quinn felt like reopening an unhealed wound. Quinn’s glances were no less fraught, though his were filled with a wistful restraint, as if he was already mourning the loss of something that had barely even begun.

The dinners, once filled with laughter, now passed in subdued tones, each person more focused on their plate than the conversation. You found yourself counting down the days and hours, conflicted between the need to escape the tension and the ache of leaving it all behind. In those last two days, you kept reminding yourself that soon, you’d be on a plane back to California, back to your own life — away from Jack’s pained looks and Quinn’s longing stares.

Your final day there, you packed your belongs up quickly, hoping Trevor would buy your excuse of not wanting to miss your flight as a good reason for him to take you to the airport early, and not because you couldn’t bear to spend one more hour in this suffocating oasis. Everyone else was lounging by the water, with the exception of Jack who lingered in the kitchen, opting to do the dishes rather than be around the others. He was lost in thought when he heard the patio door slide open and shut, the sound of bare feet padding against the hardwood. He turned to the entrance of the kitchen, seeing Quinn wearing his boardshorts and a slightly guarded look.

Quinn stopped at the threshold, eyes flicking briefly to Jack’s hands as he scrubbed the dishes. They were tense, knuckles white around the plate he held, and the silence between them was palpable and heavy. Jack set down the dish with a clatter, bracing himself on the edge of the sink, not looking at Quinn. Jack didn’t give Quinn time to speak. The words erupted from him, fueled by everything he’d been holding back.

“Do you even understand what you’re doing?” Jack’s voice was low and seething, barely contained. He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t dare let Quinn get a word in. “You’re hurting her, Quinn. A perfectly nice girl, who came here not looking for this mess but got dragged into it anyway. And the worst part is, you know it. You know it, and you’re still just… sitting back like a damn martyr, thinking that by staying distant, you’re somehow making it easier for everyone. That by holding back, you’re sparing her, sparing me.”

Jack’s words cut through the quiet, sharper than the silence that had settled in the house over the past days. The vulnerability in his tone was raw, scraping against Quinn’s stoic expression. Quinn shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt; he only looked at Jack, his gaze unwavering.

“And you know what? I kind of hate you for it,” Jack continued, voice unsteady. He turned his head just enough for Quinn to catch the anger, the hurt in his eyes. “I hate that you waltzed in and just took her from me without even trying. And, yeah, maybe that’s selfish. Maybe I never really had a chance, but she was still there, and I was trying. I was there, damn it!”

Quinn finally took a step forward, but Jack cut him off again, his hands clenching at the counter. “And I hate you for pretending like you’re doing the right thing by telling her nothing will happen. You act like you’re some noble saint by ‘staying away,’ but it’s a lie, Quinn. It’s a lie, and we both know it. You’re holding back because you’re scared — scared to go after what you really want, and in the end, you’re just making it worse for everyone. For her. For me.”

Jack’s voice wavered, then cracked, as he finally fell silent, chest heaving from the force of his confession. The words had cost him, as if each syllable had drawn blood. The only sound in the room was the dripping of the faucet, each drop amplifying the tension between them.

Quinn stayed quiet for a long moment, his gaze steady as he absorbed every word. He studied Jack, weighing something unspoken. “Would you hate me if I went for her, then?” His tone was gentle, almost hesitant, a softness that Jack hadn’t been prepared for.

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I probably would.” He ran a hand through his hair, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I mean I hate you right now for making her feel the way she does. But it shouldn’t matter, Quinn. Not if you two… if you actually care about each other.” Jack’s voice faltered, breaking under the weight of his own honesty. “Look, I’ll get over it. In time. But don’t waste what could be something good just because you’re trying to spare everyone. It’s pointless, and it’s selfish. You need to get to her before it’s too late.”

Quinn could feel Jack’s anger and pain, an emotion so raw and tangled it clawed at the air between them. For a second, Quinn thought of how different things could have been if he had stayed on the sidelines, if he hadn’t let himself get close to you. But as Jack’s gaze softened, an odd understanding settled between them. Jack wasn’t letting go easily, but he was letting go.

Jack’s shoulders slumped, exhausted, as he ran a hand over his face. “She’s leaving today, you know?” he said to Quinn, a look of surprise appearing on his face. “Trev told me last night she booked her flight out for this afternoon.”

Quinn’s face fell, and the guarded look faded, replaced with something dangerously close to panic. He hadn’t known—hadn’t expected that this was it. That today was the end.

“She’s leaving?” Quinn asked, Jack nodding. “Why didn’t she say anything? W-why is she leaving?”

“Because why would she stay?” Jack said. “She’s going to protect herself. She’s not gonna stay here, hoping for something that won’t happen. She’s too smart for that.”

The realization struck Quinn like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless. Jack's words echoed in his mind, each one sharper than the last. She’s leaving. Of course, she would. She wasn’t the type to hang around hoping for some half-hearted promise or for Quinn to finally decide what he wanted. She deserved so much more than waiting for him to get his act together.

Jack's voice softened, pulling him back to the present. "Quinn, it’s not too late. She hasn’t left yet. If you really care about her, don’t let her go like this."

Quinn’s gaze faltered, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his expression. Could he really undo the damage he’d done by staying away? Could he find the words to convince her that, despite his silence, he’d felt everything just as deeply as she had?

A heavy silence followed before Quinn found his voice. “What… what should I say to her?”

Jack shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You really think I’m giving you advice on how to get the girl I wanted?”

Quinn’s face softened in a rare, grateful smile. “Fair enough.” He hesitated, then turned, steeling himself as he left the kitchen, leaving Jack to his own fractured thoughts.

Quinn climbed the stairs two at a time, his pulse racing with every step, anticipation and fear warring within him. As he reached the top, he saw Trevor just exiting your room. Trevor paused, giving Quinn a look that held no small amount of concern.

“I don’t know what went down between you three,” Trevor said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I care about her, and I don’t like seeing her like this. You going to fix whatever mess this is?”

Quinn’s chest tightened. He knew Trevor had been close to you, learning this summer just how much of a big brother figure he was to you. He couldn’t fault him for looking out for you.

“I’m going to fix it,” Quinn said, his voice quiet but firm. He met Trevor’s gaze, hoping to communicate the sincerity in his words. “I have to.”

Trevor didn’t say anything else, but he gave Quinn a long, steady look, as though weighing whether to believe him. Then he gave a nod and shifted your duffle bag, stepping aside to let Quinn pass. With a final glance at Trevor, Quinn walked to your door, his heart racing. Quinn stood outside your door for a moment, his hand hovering above the doorknob. He knew what he needed to say, but a part of him feared that the damage was already done. Bracing himself, he knocked gently before pushing the door open.

You were standing by the window, your zipped duffle bag sitting on your bed. Your back was to the door when Quinn entered, and for a moment, he almost turned around, the words caught in his throat. But then you turned, your eyes meeting his.

“Are you really going?” Quinn asked, his voice quiet and strained.

You nodded, stepping away from the window and closer to Quinn. “I think it’s best. This whole summer has just… it’s too much, Quinn. I didn’t come here expecting any of this, and now I just feel… caught. And I can’t keep feeling this way.”

Quinn swallowed, his gaze never leaving yours. He looked as though he was battling something heavy, words lingering on his lips, waiting to escape. He stepped forward, close enough that you could see the faint circles under his eyes, the fatigue that seemed to pull at his features.

“I didn’t expect any of this either,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And I get it — you’re right. I hurt you. I know that. I thought… I thought if I kept my distance, it would somehow make it easier for everyone. That maybe you'd move on from this — move on from me, and be with Jack. I thought it would hurt less.”

You held his gaze, your voice low but unwavering. “Do you have any idea what that did to me, Quinn? All summer, feeling this… this connection between us, and thinking that I had to be imagining it because you couldn’t even look at me. And you’re saying you did that on purpose? To protect me?” Your voice trembled. “That’s not protecting me. That’s running away.”

Quinn took a shaky breath, stepping closer, his expression taut with regret. “I know I messed up. I was spineless and I should have told you the truth sooner.” Quinn said, bowing his head briefly before forcing himself to look up at your hurt eyes. “I told myself that it was better this way, but all I was doing was lying to myself. Because every time I saw you… every time I heard your laugh, or watched you talk to Jack, or caught you looking at me — I couldn’t breathe.”

Quinn took one last step forward, less than a foot away from you. He raised his hand to reach you, fingertips grazing your arm gently, as if he feared you might pull away. “But I care about you, more than I thought possible. And I was afraid of that. Afraid of hurting Jack, afraid of hurting you… and afraid of wanting you this much.” He swallowed, his voice growing rough. “But I can’t let you leave without knowing how I feel. I want to be with you I — I need to be with you.”

Your breath hitched, the confession settling over you like a warm, crushing weight. This was what you’d wanted, but it also brought a whirlwind of conflicting emotions crashing down. You took a small step back, just enough to put some distance between you, needing space to gather your thoughts.

Quinn was saying everything you wanted to hear from the beginning. Laying his feelings bare, and exposing his heart in a way you hadn't expected from someone as reserved as him. It was like seeing a hidden part of him, one he’d kept carefully guarded. The vulnerability in his eyes made it clear that this was as terrifying for him as it was thrilling for you.

But in the back of your mind, Jack lingered, his hurt and disappointment woven into every stolen glance and quiet moment of the summer. The image of his face as he realized how you felt about Quinn was something you couldn’t shake. The memory clawed at you, guilt mixing with the longing Quinn’s words evoked.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear that,” you said, voice catching. “But Quinn… Jack — he tried so hard with me this summer, and I couldn’t give him what he wanted because of… well, because of you.” You hesitated, torn between the longing in Quinn’s eyes and the memory of Jack’s earnest, hopeful glances. “The last thing I wanted was to hurt him. And I feel like I’ve done enough damage by just… being here.”

Quinn’s gaze softened, his hand lingering just above your arm, hovering close as if he wasn’t ready to let you go. “I know,” he murmured. “I know it’s complicated. But I talked to Jack this morning. He told me… he told me to come up here and talk to you. To tell you how I felt. He wants you to be happy, and he knows that’s not with him. He’ll get over it.”

“Jack said that?” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

Quinn nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips, though there was sadness in his eyes. “He might hate me for a while, and I can live with that. But he said I’d regret it if I let you go. And… he was right.”

His hand, warm and steady, traced down your arm, his fingers slipping around yours with a gentle firmness. The touch, gentle but insistent, sent a jolt through you. “I know I’ve messed up,” he murmured, voice barely a whisper. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll make it right. I want this, us… if you do too.”

You nodded, words escaping you as Quinn stepped even closer, his free hand lifting to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, and you could feel the slight tremor in his touch. He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, but you didn’t.

His lips barely brushed yours, soft and tentative. Your breath mingled together briefly before your lips locked together. He lingered for a heartbeat, savoring the closeness as if he, too, couldn’t believe this was real. Then, with a surge of emotion, the kiss deepened, all the restraint and hesitation of the summer dissolving as his hand rose to cradle your cheek, holding you to him as though afraid you might disappear.

His stubble that had grown out over the last couple weeks of summer scraped along your jaw and chin, leaving a faint burn that only added to the rush of sensation.

When you pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that since the day you got here,” he murmured, a hint of relief in his voice.

You giggled, staying close and feeling his heartbeat echoing against yours. The silence that followed was thick, but it was different now — no longer tense or uncertain like it had been for most of the summer. It felt as though the weight had been lifted from both of your shoulders.

But even in that moment, you knew the reality of what this would mean—for Jack, for Quinn, and for yourself. There was a part of you that still ached, remembering Jack’s quiet disappointment and knowing it would take time to heal the wounds this summer had left behind.

You swallowed hard, raising a hand to Quinns face and brushing aside his dark locks that fell over his eyes. “I still think I need to go,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not because I don’t want this. I do. But I think both of you need time, and maybe I do too. To let everything settle.”

Quinn nodded, understanding settling over his expression. “I get it,” he replied, taking your hand in his and giving your palm a soft kiss. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Take all the time you need.”

Quinn let you slip from his arms, his heart squeezing as he watched you grab your bag and exit the room. As you descended the stairs with your duffle bag slung over your shoulder, you saw Jack waiting near the door. His expression softened as you approached, a bittersweet smile crossing his face.

“So, this is it?” he asked, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of acceptance.

You nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s best. Thank you, Jack. For understanding. And… for everything.”

Jack gave a short nod, his gaze momentarily flickering towards the stairs where Quinn had stopped to watch from a distance. He returned his gaze to you and managed a small, sincere smile. “Go live your life. I wish you and Quinn all the best.”

You hugged him, both of you holding on just a second longer than necessary. When you pulled back, you could see the mix of emotions in his eyes, but there was a sense of peace there too. He’d let go, not because it didn’t hurt, but because he genuinely wanted you to be happy. You felt your heart swell, gratitude mixing with the faint sting of regret for the friendship that would never quite be the same. But Jack’s words lifted the weight off your shoulders, letting you and Quinn move forward.

With a final look, you stepped outside, Trevor waiting to drive you to the airport, his brow furrowed in confusion at the way you suddenly had pep in your step, a small smile present on your lips that had been missing for weeks. As the car pulled away, you stole one last glance at the lake house, catching a glimpse of Quinn watching you from the porch. He raised a hand in a small wave, and you returned it, a soft smile on your lips.

This summer hadn’t turned out anything like you’d expected.

[magical-reid]

could i pretty please request prompt #18 with spencer reid and a forensic scientist reader? would be super duper cool if she was part of the bones (tv show) crew, as i’ve always thought them and cm should have done a crossover. thanks!! ❤️

The Science of Luck

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 1K

Prompt: 18: "I thought I had the worst luck, until I met you"

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid, a staunch skeptic of luck, finds himself questioning his beliefs after an encounter with a clumsy forensic scientist, who joins the BAU team on a challenging case. Despite their initial bickering and contrasting expertise, the two begin to form an unlikely partnership while investigating a serial killer, leading to a surprising and potentially life-changing connection.

Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t believe in luck. Probability? Sure. Coincidence? Of course. But luck? That was just a cognitive bias humans relied on to explain randomness.

Yet, as he stood ankle-deep in Virginia mud, his pristine pants ruined, watching as yet another forensic scientist nearly slipped and took out an entire evidence table, he found himself reconsidering.

“I thought I had the worst luck,” he muttered, barely dodging a flying clipboard, “until I met you.”

The forensic scientist in question—you—wobbled but managed to right yourself before disaster struck. You shot him a glare as you readjusted your Jeffersonian ID badge. “Not my fault this crime scene is a swamp. And it’s not luck, it’s physics. Slippery surfaces, unstable ground, and a lack of proper traction—”

“That sounds an awful lot like an excuse for bad luck,” Spencer countered.

You huffed but couldn’t argue. You were a forensic scientist, not a field agent, and being thrown into an active crime scene with the BAU was not in your usual job description. You were used to working in the pristine, controlled environment of the Jeffersonian Institute—not chasing serial killers through the backwoods of Virginia.

And yet, here you were.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It all started with a body—or rather, bodies. Multiple skeletal remains had been discovered in various locations across the D.C.-Virginia border, the work of a particularly meticulous serial killer. The BAU had been called in due to the pattern of abductions matching an existing profile, but given the advanced state of decomposition, the FBI had reached out to the Jeffersonian for forensic assistance.

That’s how you ended up here—cold, wet, and questioning all of your life choices.

Agent Hotchner, ever the professional, barely batted an eye at the tension between you and Reid. “Dr. (L/N), thank you for assisting us. Dr. Brennan recommended you personally.”

You straightened your back. Temperance Brennan doesn’t recommend people lightly. “I specialize in isotopic analysis and forensic taphonomy. If your unsub is moving bodies across state lines, I can determine where they were before they ended up here.”

Hotch nodded approvingly. “That would be extremely useful.”

Reid, however, still looked skeptical. “That’s assuming there’s a pattern in the body disposal locations. If the killer is deliberately choosing random drop sites—”

You crossed your arms. “Then I can still tell you about the soil composition, insect activity, and post-mortem damage, which could help narrow down a timeline. It’s basic forensic science, Doctor Reid.”

A small smirk twitched at the corner of Hotch’s lips as he turned away. “Work with Dr. Reid and see what you can find.”

You and Reid stared at each other for a beat too long before sighing simultaneously.

“Fine,” you said.

“Fine,” he echoed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Jeffersonian, you had the advantage. This was your turf, your lab, your meticulously organized work environment. And Spencer Reid—despite his genius—was a little out of place.

“Don’t touch that,” you warned as he hovered near a set of isotopic samples.

“I wasn’t going to,” he shot back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You raised a brow. “I literally just watched you reaching for it.”

“It was a reflex!”

“Uh-huh.”

Despite the bickering, you had to admit—Reid was sharp. He picked up on patterns even before you finished running tests, and while his knowledge of forensic anthropology was limited, he had an uncanny ability to connect seemingly random details.

Together, you started to piece together the unsub’s movements. The isotopic analysis revealed that the victims had spent time in an area with a unique mineral composition—suggesting an underground water source near limestone deposits.

Reid’s encyclopedic brain immediately pulled up a connection. “There’s an abandoned mining town about twenty miles west of the last body dump site. It was shut down in the 1980s, but the underground aquifers match your analysis.”

Your eyes widened. “If the bodies were stored there first, that could explain some of the inconsistencies in decomposition rates.”

He nodded excitedly. “Exactly. We need to check it out.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The abandoned town was eerie. Old buildings, rusting equipment, and an unsettling silence. You were with Reid, Morgan, and Booth—because of course Booth had insisted on coming along.

“What are the chances the unsub is actually still here?” you asked, glancing around nervously.

“Statistically?” Reid started, but before he could finish, a gunshot rang out.

“DOWN!” Morgan shouted, pushing you behind cover as bullets ricocheted off the crumbling brick walls.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled for safety. “I am so not cut out for this!”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Booth muttered, drawing his weapon.

Reid, crouched beside you, looked equally shaken but determined. “Stay close to me.”

“Not like I have many options!”

A tense firefight ensued, but the BAU and Booth’s tactical skills won out. The suspect was apprehended, and the nightmare was over.

Mostly.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Jeffersonian, you were still rattled. Lab work was one thing. Nearly getting shot was another.

“You okay?” Reid’s voice was softer than usual.

You exhaled. “I will be. Just… not used to being a target.”

“Statistically speaking—”

“Reid,” you warned.

He smirked. “Right. Not helping.”

There was a beat of silence before he hesitated. “For what it’s worth… I think your bad luck might just be situational.”

You gave him a look. “Says the guy who gets kidnapped at least once a year?”

His lips quirked. “Fair point.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “Guess we’re both unlucky then.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But… maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I mean, we did solve the case together.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying we make a good team?”

Reid shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile. “I’m saying… maybe luck isn’t the worst thing. As long as you have the right person to balance it out.”

You studied him for a moment before smirking. “Are you flirting with me, Dr. Reid?”

His ears turned red. “W-what? No! I mean—maybe? I just meant that—”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you were unlucky. But if it meant crossing paths with Spencer Reid?

Maybe, just maybe… luck wasn’t so bad after all.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Hello!! Hope you're having a lovely day.

I've been following you for a while and found your advice super insightful. I was wondering if you have any advice for intimate/shy/emotionally intense hand-holding? How to make it sound natural/immersive?

Thank you for your time.

How To Write Hand-Holding Scenes

Hey there,

Thank you for reaching out. I love chatting about how to breathe life into those delicate hand-holding moments. I’ve been noodling over this concept for a while, and here’s what I’ve learned through my own experiments with writing YA fantasy.

Capture the Sensation Instead of just saying they held hands, let the touch speak for itself. Try describing the slight tremor in a finger, the mingling of warmth and a cool breeze, or how a hesitant touch sends ripples through the character’s inner world. Small details, like the texture of their skin or the subtle pressure of a grasp, can make all the difference.

Infuse It with Symbolism To me, every touch is loaded with meaning. It might represent a secret promise, a silent rebellion, or even an ancient rite woven into the fabric of your world. Consider framing hand-holding as more than a physical act. think of it as a quiet bond that mirrors the deeper connection between your characters.

Embrace the Vulnerability Sometimes the beauty lies in the uncertainty. A tentative grip can reveal as much about a character’s hopes and insecurities as any grand declaration of passion. When you write about this quiet hesitance, remember that vulnerability can be its own kind of strength. A powerful window into what your characters are truly feeling.

Set the Scene The backdrop can amplify that moment of intimacy. Even if it’s a moonlit forest or the soft glow of an enchanted hall, use your setting to reflect the mood. Let the surroundings echo the internal shifts of your characters, turning the environment into an almost sentient part of the moment.

Play with Rhythm and Pacing Don’t be afraid to mix short, sharp sentences with languid, thoughtful ones. This varied rhythm can mimic the heartbeat of the moment. sometimes quick and electrifying, other times slow and contemplative. Experiment until you find a flow that makes your readers feel each touch as if they’re experiencing it first-hand.

I hope these ideas fire up your creativity. Keep experimenting with your unique voice.

All the best, Rin T.

[wehavekookies]

Dear Kooks, do you have some tips to play D&D alone or some solo RPG? I want to play it so bad, I have a lot of characters sheets ready because I’m so excited, but none of my friends are interested. If you know and could tell me is there some online platform to discover groups to play?

Thanks always!

Hello!

(First of all I need to start posting a bit more about solo rpgs and solo gaming in general cos I gathered some really cool materials and games over last months, so thank You for reminding me of that. Just need some more free time but it's coming, oh it's coming)

I don't have experience playing specifically DnD solo, but I know there are tools for it people recommend. The GeekGamers YouTube channel has TONS (and i say it both as an encouragement and as a warning, because it can be a bit overwhelming) of advice materials, also regarding soloing DnD and solo roleplaying in general. She also wrote a book on solo gaming called Solo Game Master's Guide which if I recall correctly has a chapter on DnD specifically as well. I know people are recommending Mythic Game Master Emulator as a good tool, but I haven't personally tried it yet.

What I can recommend tho is... Ironsworn (check the link, the pdf for the first main game is free). I have been playing it solo recently and I find it very fun and satisfying. It's a system based on Powered by the Apocalypse rules framework, so not that close to DnD rules, but if you are looking for a solo rp with some more rules structure I recommend taking a look at this game because it is designed specifically for solo playing (but it can be co-oped and GMed too). You can alter the world of the game freely (and the author encourages you to do that) or use the rules in existing setting, so you can adjust it to your liking (tho i do encourage you to try the setting offered by the book first, together with its world creation process: 1) it's very cool, 2) you will get a grip of the rules in their natural environment)

I found I need a couple of additional oracle tables aside of the ones the book has, but these you can pick up as you go according to your needs, there is plenty online, and a lot of free ones too. Other than that everything you need you have in the free book.

I also recommend taking a look at some actual play of an Ironsworn game (or other games, you can find some examples of actual solo plays on GeekGamers channel too) to get a bit of an idea how people think about running a solo session and how they build a story on their own, and perhaps taking something away from it for yourself. For Ironsworn specifically I super enjoy and highly recommend The Bad Spot podcast. It has several seasons of Ironsworn: Starforge game (Ironsworn's younger brother set in space, but the rules and the idea of how the game runs are basically the same) but also some loose talks about solo gaming in general.

OTHER THAN THAT: I encourage you to look around and see what the solo gaming scene has to offer. There is so many interesting games (some with more rules structure, but also journaling games, choose your own adventure-like games, solo hacks for existing systems, and more etc etc, a whole new world to discover really), it's worth checking regardless of having a group to play with or not. I will try to get back to posting more actively on these topics, cos there is a lot of stuff I would love to share, so fingers crossed I won't get distracted lol.

Cheers!

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

It’s Not A Camera

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: You make Daryl regret bringing you back a gift from a run. This technically takes place in the same universe as my other fics “Your Fault” and “Meet Cute,” but it can be read as stand alone.

Tropes: Fluff, Established Relationship

Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any? Daryl being super hot, working on his motorcycle, and being in love with you? Flirting? Honestly, if I’ve missed anything please let me know. ❤️

Note: This is written in a dialect style with Daryl's accent in mind so the misspellings are intentional. There is minimal use of (y/n). If any? Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics and is in first person.

A/N: Just felt like doing a little bit of Daryl fluff on this fine Thursday morning.

Main Masterlist

Walking Dead Masterlist

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"Alright, could you give me a more engaging pose?" You ask tracing the outlining shapes of the scene in front of you in a worn sketchbook that Daryl found for you out on a run last week.

"Wha are ya doin?" Daryl turns from the motorcycle rubbing his hands against the red oil stained rag that hangs from his back pocket.

"Capturing Daryl Dixon in his natural habitat." You stand up and move to sit next to him, crossing your legs underneath you as you go. "And now I'm getting a close up."

"s'not a camera." He shakes his head at you, but you can see a smile twitch on the end of his mouth before it fades. A reminder that he might act annoyed, but deep down you know he’d be lost without you.

"You can only blame yourself- you're the one that brought this back for me." You tease.

"Because ya begged me to bring something back for ya like a damn toddler."

"No no no. I think secretly you wanted me to capture just how sexy you are for prosperity." Your pencil scratches against the paper, tracing the smooth line of Daryl's strong jaw against the page.

Daryl huffs, but continues to tinker with the motorcycle with red tipped ears.

The sun was just beginning to set in the west, barely seen through the thin slats in the large metal fences that protected Alexandria from the outside world. A cool wind blew from the east, but it wasn't enough to wick the sweat that gathered on the back of your neck and soaked into your collar.

You sit in silence for a few moments together, your shoulder leaning into his arm, while you draw a cartoonized version of him holding a wrench leaning forward to fix a motorcycle that will never be finished, but it's nothing like the real thing.

Daryl lets out a sigh every few minutes adjusting and cleaning, adjusting and cleaning, adjusting and cleaning-

But he makes it look so good.

You think to yourself with a smile.

"Daryl?"

"Mhmm?"

"I love you."

He stops working to glance at you, quirking the end of his lips. "Wha’ did you do?"

"Nothing. I just realized I didn't get to say it to you this morning when we woke up. We were both in a hurry and I wanted you to know." You reach up with the eraser end of the pencil and push some of his dark hair out of his deep blue eyes that always seem to see beyond what everyone else does.

Daryl's hand comes to gently curve round your waist and land on the small of your back, bringing you closer to him. "I love you too.”

"Well I'm glad because if we’ve been together this long and you didn't-"

His lips brush against yours stopping you mid-sentence with a soft sigh as you feel yourself melt into him.

"But at least after all this time, you know how to shut me up." You mutter against his lips.

"Had tah learn pretty quick."

“You think you’re so clever Dixon.”

“Naw.” Daryl nudges his nose against yours with the same soft smile that always makes you weak in the knees. “I’m just happy.”

“Happy that no matter how hard you work on this motorcycle it never seems to get fixed?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No.” He chuckles, raising an oil stained hand to your cheek. “Just happy.”

You lean into the gentle touch of the man you love with all your heart tracing the familiar lines of his worn face and feeling the roughness of his fingertips against the smooth skin of your cheek. The hands that had done so much, both good and bad, and yet were only gentle to you and touched you only with love and care.

“Me too.”

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Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this fic please feel free to read the other two in the same universe:

Meet Cute: How the reader and Daryl met

Your Fault: Daryl and the reader navigate a delicate situation.

[cowboygenesis]

11: super silver haze | kylo ren x reader

part 11 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: TONS of explicit language, loud arguments, smoking (weed) (like, a lot). word count: 6.6k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: holy shit you guys. this was a doozy, but we're finally climbing the precipice and inching toward the long-awaited CLIMAX. literally kicked my feet and giggled writing this, so ya'll. i pray i did this scene the justice it deserves. please let me know what you think, and as always, thank you so much for reading and supporting me ♥

Now Playing: Sunday Sermon - Booker T. & the M.G.'s

The room rolls with warmth, heavy with the scent of grape juice and resin. As you exhale, a thin stream of smoke flows through the dimness, rippling with technicolor.

“And what?” Poe utters lazily as you hand him the joint, his dark waves kept neat with a headband. “ He said no?”

“Dude, are you even listening?” Finn reprimands from the kitchen, shaking a pot against the stove. The smell of artificial butter fills the room, making your mouth water. “He said—”

“Not like this.” you cut your friend off, sinking into your velvet beanbag with an exasperated sigh as you recall those forbidden words. You’re uncertain if it’s sentiment or just the high, but the pit in your stomach makes you nauseated the second you’re reminded of the party.

You flip your head to the side, lazily meeting Poe’s gaze. His lips curl into that usual, half-hearted smile while he ponders your predicament.

“Such a romantic,” he finally shrugs, and you can’t quite tell if he’s being serious or not. His smile drops, and he looks at you in question. “Can I say that?”

You roll your eyes and tug at the strings of your sweatshirt. The broad hood contracts, trapping your scowling face within. “Whatever.”

“Whatever?” Finn echoes as he reenters the living room, holding a fresh bowl of popcorn. He sets it down on the low coffee table before joining you and Poe on the ground. When you peek your nose out to eye the men’s curious faces, you realize you’re not hungry anymore.

“I think I’m over it,” you finally sigh, leaning back against the beanbag as your friends begin shoveling into the kernels.

Poe snorts, chewing thoughtfully as you withdraw from your hood. “You’re absolutely not over it.”

“Uh-huh,” you scoff at his denial, mindlessly taking the joint from Finn’s hand when he passes it your way. Only a charred nub is left, but you bring it to your lips, anyway. As you inhale, you cringe at the heightened burn settling in your throat. “I want to be.”

The man quirks a brow, picking unpopped kernels from his palm and flicking them into the plastic trashcan. “Do you?”

The question settles into your swirling gut like a weight, making you groan in displeasure—because, after all, you don’t know the answer.

After finding out the story behind Sienna, you thought you had it all figured out. Kylo’s arrival, his inexplicable moods, and why he refused to be anything but a massive pain in your ass.

Except you knew that wasn’t all. This innocent crush you developed on your best friend’s older brother eventually blossomed into something completely untameable, and now? You felt stuck between a rock and a hard place.

You craved the lingering gazes, the teasing, his bold touches. You wanted to be around him, become the object of his attention. But you didn’t love him. It was a strong, terrifying word that neither of you were ready for.

But you did hate him.

You hated how he’d treat you like a confidant, only to pull away just as you found joy in the position. How he smiled so wide, then scowled with twice the force.

You hated how he made you feel wanted, just to choose the other woman.

“When is he moving out, by the way?” Finn pipes up, knocking you out of your rumination. When you turn toward him, he gives you a raised brow. You must have been scowling.

“I don’t know,” you utter quietly, relaxing your expression to calm any suspicion. “He’s not made any progress.”

“Wait,” Poe shakes his head in confusion, leaning over the coffee table to reach for the rolling papers. “Remind me why he’s crashing at yours in the first place?”

You sigh, toying with the beanbag’s loose threads as your friend fills his plastic grinder. “He’s moving. Or, he wants to move.”

“Can’t blame him one bit,” Finn groans, leaning back against the front of the couch. “Can you imagine living with your ex after finding out they cheated? Seeing them every day?”

“It’s so much worse than that,” you explain, earning looks from your two friends. You bite your bottom lip, gaze dropping to your lap. “He walked in on them.”

Finn stops mid-chew, while Poe’s jaw drops in shock. He quirks a brow at you as if disbelieving in the disrespect. “Dude.”

“Yeah, dude,” you laugh joylessly, crossing your arms. The image of Kylo’s sunken features plagues your mind, replaying that same conversation like a hellish mantra. You’re unsure if the pit in your stomach comes from anger or sympathy.

“But, I mean…” Finn trails, scooping another handful of popcorn. “In their own bedroom, too?”

Your lips flatten, glimpsing into the distance mournfully as you nod. The two men shake their heads in joined disbelief.

“Christ,” Poe mutters, continuing with his new joint. “No wonder the guy’s such a jackass.”

“Poe,” Finn reprimands, making his friend raise his hands defensively.

“Sorry, but it’s true!” he utters dramatically, gesturing toward you with bud-stained digits. “No matter how bad you’ve had it, you don’t just… You don’t just get to shove your grief onto other people. That’s not how it works.”

A silence follows, filled only by the muffled sound of 90’s hip-hop emitting from a small JBL speaker.

You want to be mad, but inexplicably, you’re not. The pit in your stomach expands, blooming into something soft around the edges and gooey in the center. You know it’s not hatred.

“Oh, god,” Poe gasps dramatically, making you meet his gaze with confusion. “You don’t blame him.”

Your eyes widen, matching the frustrated scowl lining your features. You shake your head in denial, but it comes a second too late for authenticity. “Poe—”

“I think you might even be empathizing with that motherfucker,” he trails loudly, watching your lips tighten once more. You’ve got nothing to say in defense, and your friend catches onto that immediately with the emerging curl of his mouth. “Holy shit, don’t tell me—”

“Stop,” you groan, rubbing your face into the meat of your palms. “I’m serious, Poe, I can’t handle this shit ri—”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to make any progress,” Finn cuts you off, making the two of you stop your bickering and face him with quirked brows.

You sigh, curbing your frustration before speaking again. “Go on.”

“I think he means that—”

“What I mean,” Finn gruffs out, shooting a sharp scowl toward Poe, “is he wants to stay.”

The latter nods severely, eyes wide as he speaks through a mouthful of kernels. “With you.”

You scoff, head shaking as you scan their expressions. Somehow, the conversation has sobered you up enough to realize they’re not fucking with you.

“Nonsense, I mean—that makes no sense.” you chuckle sardonically, hands twitching at your sides. “Right?”

The two men look at each other knowingly, then you.

“I don’t know,” Finn shrugs, tapping to the rhythm of the song that plays. “He’s hot and stacked. I don’t see how he’d have an issue finding something suitable.”

Poe scoffs, licking the joint shut at last. “I couldn’t couch surf for this long.”

Just as you’re about to speak, Finn cuts him off with a burst of disbelieving chuckles.

“Dude, except you have,” he reprimands. “Remember your Eurotrip? Berlin?”

Poe sucks his cheeks in with a hum, thinking for a moment before facing his friend with a pointed finger. “Don’t talk to me about Berlin.”

You sigh, leaning into your beanbag once more. Your friends’ conversation melts into the background, letting you clear your mind.

“He rejected me,” you finally shrug, voice low. “Plain and simple.”

“In his defence,” Finn purses his lips, placing the plastic bowl to the side. You watch him shift onto the couch, hands locked. “You could interpret those words in a dozen different ways.”

“I haven’t seen him since the party,” you sigh in exasperation, flailing a hand in the air. “He’s completely MIA.”

Poe nods in acknowledgment, placing the filter between his lips and palming the floor for his lighter. The other man focuses on you, eyeing the nervous way you drum your thigh.

“Does Rey know?” he finally questions, making you knit your brows. As if.

“He doesn’t tell Rey anything. When he leaves, it’s a compl—”

“No, I mean,” Finn cuts you off softly, swallowing thickly as he ponders over an appropriate way to address the concern. Poe watches him curiously, burning the tip of the rolling paper off.

“Does Rey know about your…” The man on the couch begins anew, fiddling with his digits. “Problem?”

Poe scoffs between inhales, motioning toward you lazily.

“It’s not a problem, she’s just horny.”

“Ugh,” you scowl, feigning nonchalance as your cheeks burn red at the bold statement. If only it weren’t true. “Stop saying that.”

“What?” he taunts, bloodshot eyes narrowed as he curls his lips into a devilish smirk. “Horny?”

“Alright,” you raise your palms defensively, quickly rocking your way out of the beanbag. As you stand, the two men glance up at you with worry. “I’m out.”

“Hey, I was kidding!” Poe cries out, shuffling to stand up. He does so haphazardly, swearing under his breath as he loses balance and stumbles into Finn’s knee.

“It’s not that,” you explain quietly, the weight of your anxiety knocking all humor out of the situation. “I promised Rey I’d take her suit to dry cleaning. She’s got some company event next week.”

While spending quality time with friends was generally a great way to get over a dumb crush, you suddenly dreaded needing to answer more pressing questions. You needed air, stat.

“Is she out of town?” Finn questions, his sudden interest making you smile joylessly.

“For a few days,” you nod with a shrug. “Seeing family again.”

Poe mutters something under his breath as he finally stumbles upwards, meeting you with a wild grin. “So it’s just you and Kylo at ho—”

“Zip it,” you warn smoothly, pointing a digit his way. “I’m so serious.”

“Alright, alright!” the man raises his hands in a dramatic display of defeat, sighing to steady his posture. His face shifts into something more sympathetic, dark eyebrows high on his forehead. “Want me to drive you?”

“You’d be a health hazard in your current state.” Finn scoffs from the couch, earning a lazy eye roll from his friend.

“At least I have a license.”

“I’ll take the subway,” you reassure with a polite smile, approaching the foyer to grab your jacket from the hangers before another argument erupts. “It’s chill.”

Poe trails after you, one hand in his pocket while the other wields the joint. “Suit yourself, baby.”

You whip your head toward him with furrowed brows and a smile, head tilted as you slide your shoes on. Even in the most off-beat moments, you’re reminded of Kylo Ren. “Is that a Jersey thing?”

Poe quirks a brow, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to interpret a foreign language. “I’m not Jersey.”

You shake your head with a tart chuckle, reaching to pat your friend’s stubble-riddled cheek. You lean back, issuing Finn a quick wave. “See you.”

You hitch your bag on your shoulder and walk out the door, hearing Finn snickering from inside. “Stay safe, you two!”

“Don’t make me come back in there!” you yell back half-heartedly, earning another fit of giggles from the two men before the door finally slams shut.

As you descend the staircase, your smile shifts into a deep frown.

୨ৎ

You watch the pristinely ironed pantsuit with narrowed eyes, peeking at you behind a thin layer of protective plastic. It hangs from the curtain rod, swaying in the soft breeze like a business-casual ghost as you lean your back against the balcony railing.

You inhale the bittersweet resin, letting it warm your lungs before hurling it into a swirl of smoke. The Meters play softly from inside the apartment, elevating your approaching high.

If it were any other circumstances, you’d reprimand yourself for choosing another joint over sobriety. But today was special.

You were mourning the death of your fixation.

On your treacherous way home on the subway, you thought about facing Kylo again. It was there, squeezed between two other passengers at rush hour, that you had reached an epiphany.

Even now, it makes your throat burn with acid as you strain your eyes against the doorway of your home.

While you haven’t seen Kylo in over twenty-four hours, something primal made you feel like the meeting was approaching steadily. Then, once it was time, you’d finally tell him your feelings.

You’d tell Kylo Ren you hated his guts.

You twist around, resting your elbows against the cold balustrade. Your quaint neighborhood lies just below, humming with occasional passersby. In the distance lies the heart of the city, looming brightly over the watercolor-stained horizon.

As you puff smoke through your teeth, the front door clicks open.

Your jaw tightens, eyes wide when you realize you’re left no time to prepare. The sun has just begun to set, meaning he shouldn’t be home for another few hours. You bite worry your lip between your teeth. This wasn’t at all according to—

You hear the rustle of keys being tossed onto the console in the foyer, followed by the deep sigh of a man shedding the weight of the day. He starts with his shoes, shoving them off by the wall. Then comes the hefty leather jacket, tossed haphazardly against the couch’s headrest.

Your eyebrows furrow, fingers curling tightly around the joint as you lift it back to your chapped lips.

Soft, measured footsteps come from the living room.

You exhale, watching the smoke billow into the air against a backdrop of blue and orange. The next breath, you hold.

The footsteps stop at the balcony doorway, replaced by a single, quiet hum. It’s all too familiar, and while you’re severely tempted to face him, you know it’d be a bluff. So you persevere.

“Good evening,” he calls smoothly. You’ve barely gone a day in its absence, yet the sudden reappearance of his hoarse baritone is enough to send a crisp jolt down your spine.

You extend your stiff arms against the balustrade, trying to remain natural in your silence. You think he’ll keep going and make a nasty comment about your half-hearted outfit or your drug habit, but he doesn’t.

Kylo stands there in silence, looming. You imagine he’s leaning against the doorframe with a hellish smirk, awaiting your next move.

But you’re so, so tired of the games. And this time, you want him to know.

“When’d you get so stuck up?” you bark out, head shaking to amp up the hostility.

Naturally, Kylo chuckles at your antics. The low, reverberating sound heats your skin and boils your blood, until you realize what you had planned to do.

Just as you’re about to twist toward him, the footsteps pick up again. You still in place, breath quickened as you feel his presence loom over your flank in a few, short strides.

You force your head forward, deliberately dodging his gaze when he arrives in your peripheral. Despite the blurry image, your heart thrums at the umber silhouette framing his porcelain mein.

Your nostrils flare as he leans against the balustrade, matching your position while maintaining an appropriate distance. Somehow, that very fact makes you all the more frustrated with him.

Pine fills your nose, and you clench your jaw. Instantly, your fog-addled brain is flooded by visions of the sidewalk, a half-finished bottle of whiskey, and Kylo’s lips so achingly close to yours.

And then comes the aftermath, with Sienna’s vixen smile and Kylo’s dreadful rejection. For a moment, you think you might hurl. That ought to prove a point, at least.

Then, you feel something brush against your knuckles. The movement is brief, and before you can turn to look, Kylo’s picking the joint from your fingers.

You whip your head toward him, breath catching in your throat at the sight.

The joint hangs loosely from his plush lips, trapped behind a bittersweet smile. The ember glows as he inhales, cheeks hollowing to drag the smoke out. His eyes remain locked on yours like two dark pools of oblivion, flickering over your face before he exhales. The scent of burnt resin and pine tar lingers in your nose, its warmth hitting you like a sly taunt.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “I don’t remember offering.”

Kylo hums, tipping his head back.

“Are you avoiding me?” Kylo questions instead, his tone low and devoid of substance. Your eyes roll at the implication, already exhausted at having the blame pinned on you. If you knew better, you’d tear the joint from his hand, tell him to fuck off, and storm off—but instead, you dig your nails into your palms with a labored huff.

“Avoiding you?” you scoff as a trickling burn settles in your chest. “Some nerve you’ve got.”

He takes another long drag before passing the joint back to you. You take it from his hand slowly, prudent enough to keep a distance.

As you place the filter between your lips, you realize it’s still moist. You know you shouldn’t lose your mind over such a meaningless, juvenile thing, but the sensation makes you tense your abs with something indescribable.

“So you aren’t?” the man continues, and you sigh. Even if he’s just asking to torment you, you know that the quickest way out is through.

“No,” you mumble lowly, settling your gaze into the distance without a particle focus. “I’m not.”

Your answer is stern and simple, but seems to satisfy Kylo just enough for him to hum in acknowledgment. You feel him shuffle at your side, shifting his weight deeper against the balustrade.

“Are you upset with me?”

“You sound like a needy child,” you scoff again, but his question gets you thinking. While you wouldn’t use that particular word to describe your severely complex feelings toward Kylo, it’s a good place to start. “I’m always upset with you.”

He hums again, craning his neck to look at you. “Why?”

His voice is flat but not as empty as before. The lack of his usual dry humor lacing the edges makes you feel like there’s a semblance of authenticity to the question, yet you can’t bring yourself to give him that same courtesy.

Your eyes flicker toward him, taking in his lazy smile and lax eyebrows. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

He scoffs this time, nostrils flaring. “I think you like it.”

The accusation, albeit frivolous, carries stones into your stomach. You inhale sharply and turn away again, fists clenched tight as you brace to lie your way out.

“Then you’re wrong.”

Yet again, Kylo doesn’t trail on. The silence stretches taut, pressing against your ribs like a tightening vice. You feel his gaze on you, but he offers little else—no quip, lazy smirks, or lazy provocation. Something in your chest caves at that.

Your jaw clenches, and before you can stop yourself from turning the conversation petty, the words tumble out like sand. “How was it?”

Kylo’s fingers flex against the railing, lips parting slightly before pressing into a thin line.

“The party,” you elaborate, pressing harsh emphasis on the words. You can’t hide the bitterness in your voice, no matter how hard you try to fight it. And he notices.

“Why are you asking?” he shifts toward you.

Your stomach shifts at his bellicose nonchalance, voice snappy when it comes. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, head steady as he fervently chases your gaze. You don’t give in, so he continues. “Maybe because you enjoy torturing yourself.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, finally shifting your attention toward him. As usual, there’s little for you to go off besides the occasional twitch of his lips. “Just drop the games.”

He huffs, inching his gaze away momentarily. You watch his lips tighten, and he finally faces you with a frown. “Is this about—”

“Why’d you say that?” you cut off, but the regret settles in almost immediately. Your nails dig into your palms, eyes narrowed as you curse yourself for following your curiosity. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

“What?” he questions quietly, slowly, like he’s giving you a way out. And despite everything you’ve sworn yourself to abandon, the next words fall from your lips unprompted.

“On the curb,” you croak, feeling your throat run dry. You’re unsure if it’s the weed or the bubbling whine threatening to rise to your mouth. “Why’d you say that?”

His breath is shallow like he’s just taken a hit to the ribs. His knuckles are white where they grip the railing, and for a second, you think you see something split behind his eyes. But it’s gone in a blink, swallowed up by that same infuriating restraint he’s been showcasing since the dawn of his arrival.

Your chest rises and falls, your own breath just as unsteady. The night air feels suffocating now, dense with the buzz of tension that’s been meandering between you for far too long.

"Say something," you demand, voice sharp and crackling.

Kylo shakes his head, bringing a palm up to rub his face. His eyebrows furrow microscopically, leaving small divots in his pale forehead.

“You were drunk.”

Your throat tightens, a bitter smile emerging at the curve of your lips. “And you weren’t?”

He doesn’t need to answer. Kylo had been drinking, sure, but not like you—not in a way that made his actions foggy or excusable. He had been coherent, steady, and calculating as always; whatever happened that night hadn’t been a mistake of impulse. There was no convenient excuse, no haze of intoxication for him to hide behind like you have.

And the worst part? He didn’t owe you anything. He never had.

“Not like you,” he mutters. His chin drops, gaze flickering downward like he can’t fully bring himself to look at you, as if facing your expression might be worse than whatever this is simmering between you.

A shaky breath flutters past your lips as you stare at him, blinking against the strain plowing through your chest.

In some perfect, utopian world, this would be comfortable. You’d get a clean rejection—a firm: ‘No, it meant nothing’, and that would be that. You’d nod, finish your joint on the balcony, then disappear into your room to cry for a reasonable amount of time for someone grieving their heartbreak. Kylo wouldn’t follow.

Things would settle—return to normal.

Or at least, as normal as they were before any of this ever saw the light of day.

But as you watch him now, your stomach knots with something sharp and agonizing curling beneath your ribs. Your eyes track over the little scar beneath his eyebrow, the dim smudge of stubble along his jaw, and the way his hair falls in reckless waves you want to touch, if only to see if they’re as soft as you’ve always imagined.

This is your moment. Your chance to let it die here and pretend none of it ever mattered.

And yet your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to move like it did. The words slip out before you can stop them.

“And if I wasn’t drunk?”

Kylo turns toward you, his expression breaking open with the first raw reaction you’ve seen from him all evening. His brows twitch upward, eyes widening just slightly at the bluntness of your words.

“What?”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, inhaling deeply. The joint in your fingers has nearly burned itself out, forgotten in the poundage of your conversation. A trim loss in the grand scheme of things, you think.

“If I wasn’t drunk that night,” you repeat, voice enduring despite the wildfire bursting in your stomach. Every syllable is carefully weighed before you release it into the air between you, smoke curling from your lips as you watch Kylo’s countenance flicker between flippant, indistinguishable emotions. “Would you have done it?”

Finally, you’d learn whether Kylo Ren’s glances, touches, and his infuriating, insufferable behavior toward you had ever held any merit. If you’re particularly unlucky, he’ll return your advances. You’re unsure of what happens, then.

You stare into each other silently, breaths mingling. Anxiety prickles your stomach, coursing through your veins like a silent harbinger of doom.

Kylo’s eyes darken, filling with something you can’t fully interpret, before they inexplicably narrow with scorn. You taste bile.

“Don’t be stupid.”

Your stomach drops.

You think it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Kylo’s always been a bastard with cruel words, knowing exactly where to stick the knife to make it bleed the longest; yet something about this particular dismissal feels like a death toll.

The pang in your chest weaves through your lungs, squeezing and tugging like a serpent. A scoff tumbles past your lips before you can stop it. You lower your head, shielding your eyes before they can betray your falsified mein. “Right.”

You hear the sharp exhale he lets out at your tone, stepping from one foot to the other. When you finally glance up, his face is turned toward the horizon, the ascending evening sky casting its glow over his features. Warm, golden hues spill across the sharp planes of his face, bathing him in the coming of spring. Your heart swells.

And somehow, it’s that quiet pang of adoration that sets you off most.

Without another word, you pluck the spent joint from your fingers, flicking it into the plastic cup on the table.

“Is it because of her?” you ask steadily, watching the ember fizzle out in the shallow pool of water.

Kylo stiffens at the sharp edge in your voice, his jaw tightening as he angles his head toward the sky. You watch the muscles in his throat shift as he swallows thickly, face cast in light and shadow.

“No,” he finally croaks out, voice low and treacherous as your heart threatens to give out. “No—No, I was—”

“Then why?” You cut him off impatiently, voice breaking under the heavy weight of his ignorance. Pulled in too many directions at once, your chest aches with the pressure pulse of a frenzied drum against your ribs. “Why do you keep doing this?”

Kylo inhales sharply through his nose, fingers clenching into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze locked somewhere in the distance, and judging by the way his nostrils flare, you know he’s just as furious as you are.

“It’s complicated.”

A bitter, disbelieving laugh bubbles up from your throat at the banal excuse. “Why? It doesn’t have—”

“But it is.” his voice is unyielding now, laced with a cold that prickles your skin.

You watch him with parted lips, his eyes flickering over your features with something you pray isn’t contempt.

He huffs, leaning his stiff shoulders against the railing.

“You don’t fucking know me.”

The words punch the air from your lungs, making you inhale sharply. You swallow, trying to fight the emerging sting behind your eyes as the self-pity within you shifts into a trembling fire of disdain.

"I just want the truth,” you mumble, voice flattening with impatience.

He looks at you with curiosity, but the tone of his reply simmers with an undeniable edge of contempt. "I gave you the truth."

"No,” you reply through a joyless chuckle, head shaking at his apparent stupor, “you gave me scraps. You gave me riddles and half-answers and the bare fucking minimum."

You watch his lips press together, eyes unmoving as a looming shadow. His secrecy has always driven you mad, but now? It feels like you’re at your wit’s end.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his dark curls. They cascade down his neck, a stray lock falling into his face to frame the acerbity of his mein. "I told you it's complicated."

Your stomach twists, urging you to push harder. He wouldn’t get to play with you like that without a proper explanation, even if it meant the end of your non-friendship.

"Bullshit!” you hiss, voice laced with venom and an essence of doubt. You pause for a beat, surveying him through half-lidded eyes and taking in the lackluster expression painting his face. Your forehead pulsates. “You’re a coward, Ren."

His eyes snap to yours, dark and perilous at your daring proclamation. He scavenges your body from head to toe, sizing you up like a predator does his prey.

"Careful."

"Or what?" you spit through a scoff, pushing off the balustrade and raising your arms in a losing battle. "You’ll push me away?”

His jaw clenches. You catch his nostrils flare, fingers twitching.

“Because news flash, Kylo.” you trail bitterly, voice edging toward a strained yell. He watches you with surprising patience, dark pupils mirroring the brilliant sky. “You already fucking did."

His throat bobs as he swallows, body going wooden like he’s pushing himself to keep still. His fingers twitch again—like he wants to grab you, shake you, do something to break this damned tension once and for all.

Instead, he lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “You act like I had a choice.”

Your jaw tightens, watching him with utter incredulity. While your belly rumbles with anger, you know that to a certain extent, you can’t deny his words. You don’t know much beyond the fact that he was cheated on and forced to live with his estranged sister. You’ve never known the details of his situation, or what keeps him coming back to the woman who irrevocably betrayed his trust.

He’s right.

You don’t know him.

Yet, that can’t keep you from probing for answers.

“Didn’t you?” you utter breathlessly, making his lip curl just enough to infuriate you further. He shakes his head, shooting you a cold scowl.

“Right, of course,” he scoffs, folding his arms as he faces you, “You know everything.”

You exhale in disbelief, planting your fists against your hips. “I know enough to know you’re being a fucking idiot about this.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, looking off to the side like he’s trying to physically restrain himself from saying something much worse. “Sure you do.”

“Oh, fuck off, Kylo,” your laugh is sharp and humorless when it leaves your lips. “You love talking in circles, don’t you? Like if you’re vague enough, you can get away with whatever the fuck you want.”

He finally turns back to you, empty expression betraying his otherwise razor-sharp tone. “God, why do you have to make everything about yourself?!”

Your arms drop to your sides as a sore chuckle escapes your throat. “Right. Because this has nothing to do with me.”

He shakes his head wildly, regurgitating a strained, joyless chuckle amidst the spread of his arms. “No! It really doesn’t!”

Your mouth cracks open at his careless expression, tone dropping an octave in a challenge. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he continues asceribly, shifting side to side. “You’re always so fucking dramatic. Not everything is about you and yours! And—and if you’d just—”

“Oh, I’m dramatic?” Your voice pitches higher as you gesture wildly between the two of you. “You’re the one who starts shit and then gets pissed when I have the nerve to bite back!”

Kylo’s tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his patience wearing thin with every word you utter. You hear him mumble something before facing you with a strained gust. His sudden calmness scares you more than the initial storm.

“I start shit?”

Kylo takes a step forward, and instinctively, you take one back. You can feel the cool metal of the balcony railing pressing into your lower back, but you refuse to let that stop you. You wouldn’t back down from this, even if it meant getting your ass handed to you.

You cross your arms over your chest, chin lifting defiantly. “Yes, Kylo. You do.”

His eyes flicker over your stance, his lips twitching slightly like he’s resisting the urge to smirk—like this is all just some fucking game to him, while you’re over the precipice of losing your mind.

“You always do.”

He cocks his head, expression flat but demanding. The sardonic smirk emerging at the corners of his lips is hilariously ironic, like he’s proving your point without trying.

“Anything else?” he huffs with fabricated lethargy, striking you with a sharp glare.

Oh, fuck no.

Your breath shudders as the turmoil bubbles over, burning your throat as the words spill out.

“Yeah.” You exhale sharply, hands clenching into tight fists, though you’ve got nothing. Your body trembles with adrenaline, urging you to spit acid in any way you can. “Would it kill you to treat me with human decency?”

Kylo scoffs loudly, tilting his head back like the idea alone is too much for him to entertain.

“Right.” He takes another step closer, eyes hooded. “Because you’re such a sweet, innocent angel.”

Despite the venom lacing his tone, his choice of words makes your thighs squeeze. It’s an instinctive reaction that makes you shake your head, lips parting in utter disbelief.

“At least I try.” Your voice is sharp, eyes burning into his. You push forward, ignoring the heat rising in your body. “But—but every time I want to be a friend, you—”

“God—Will you fucking stop that for once?” Kylo snaps, cutting you off with harsh, unfriendly laughter.

Your brows knit together, lips hanging ajar at his hasty defiance. Your eyes scan across his features, taking in the odd glint in his eyes. Everything around you simmers with heat.

“What?”

He shakes his head incredulously, raking a hand through his hair again. When he speaks, his voice is tighter than ever, loud and final like a stray bullet.

“Trying—trying to act like we’re fucking friends.” He gestures vaguely between you, devoid of tenderness. He meets your gaze, eyebrows low on his forehead as he hisses your name. “We’re not friends. Never will be. At best, we tolerate each other, and even that comes with its shitty fucking surprises.”

Your heart slams in your chest, pulsating in your ears. Your mouth moves before your brain has the chance to catch up, filling the buzz of your sermon with unforgiving bite.

“God forbid someone gives a shit about you.”

Kylo’s expression blackens. His whole body stiffens a margin, towering above you like a rage-filled statue splayed in hues of orange and red. His scowl says it all. You know you’ve hit a nerve before he even utters.

But then he leans in, barking through gritted teeth and a labored breath:

“I don’t fucking need you to.”

Your breath catches harshly, scraping your vocal cords. You force yourself to hold his gaze. Heat and electricity simmer between you, raising the thin hairs at the back of your neck.

You moisten your lips, meeting the man’s gaze with half-lidded eyes. Pressure builds within your chest, fluttering through your arms and legs like a powerful, undeniable current.

“Good,” you start quietly, toying an ill-tempered smile against your lips, “Because I don’t.”

You take a step forward, straightening your back and sizing him up. He watches keenly, nostrils flaring as you poke a digit into the firm plane of his ribs. Kylo’s breath stutters, his chest rising and falling in quick, erratic beats.

You lean in, your voice faint, razor-thin, and laced with a fatal malignancy.

“I fucking hate you, Ben.”

Birds cry into the setting sun, cars honking in the distance while Shuggie Otis croons through the speakers inside. A soft spring breeze blows through the balcony, tousling Kylo’s dark locks as he peeks at you through dark lashes.

A bitter smile curves at the edge of his mouth, taunting you as always.

“Say it again.” He murmurs, unhurried and nearly cruel.

Your pulse slams against your ribs, matching the beat of percussion. His eyes are locked onto yours, dark and penetrating with this simple, impossible dare.

You swallow thickly, shifting your digit into a full palm. It lingers against his chest, sinking into the rhythmic thrum as you furrow your brows, bearing a fearless step closer.

You flare your nostrils, pushing up slightly onto your toes.

“Kylo,” you trail quietly, his breath hot and moist on your cheeks. You part your lips, trembling, preparing to nail the coffin shut forever under the slow, percolating flicker of his eyes as they survey your eyes, cheeks, the parting of your lips.

He hums. Your heart roars beneath your ribs, pleading in agony.

“I hate y—”

Kylo’s lips crash hungrily onto yours.

His hands gently clamp around your jaw, fingers threading into your scalp as his mouth slants over yours for easier access. The air between you vanishes, swallowed by the sharp, heady collision of lips and teeth scraping in a desperate dance.

The taste of him floods your senses with resin, smoke, and something hauntingly sweet and tender that you lap up with discomfiting greed. He nips at your bottom lip, pulling and kissing.

Your fingers curl into the soft fabric of his shirt instinctively, nails scraping against his chest as you push up against him—desperate and thoroughly enraged at the audacity of his measures.

A groan tumbles deep within his throat, low and sultry as it vibrates against your tongue. His grip tightens, pulling and all-consuming, like he wants nothing more than to brand you with his touch.

And for a moment, you think you’ll let him.

“Kylo,” you mewl, feeling his large hands roam over your cheek and neck. It snakes to your waist, inching under your tank top and splaying over the small of your back.

“Shh,” he hushes, his mouth sloppily ghosting along your jaw, then down the column of your throat. His teeth graze against your skin, lips chasing the mark with something almost worshipful. His palm slides higher beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing your ribcage, coaxing a shudder from your body as he holds you tightly against the railing.

You whimper softly, throwing an arm around his neck and leaning your head back to grant him access.

You should stop this, you think—push him away. But instead, your fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, greedily wanting to feel more of him.

Until something shifts.

You’re caught up with his hold on you; like a porcelain doll, delicate and too precious to allow a break. His breath stutters when his lips brush over your pulse like he’s breathing new life, unraveling something irrevocably powerful.

It feels like giving in.

And suddenly, your resolve crumbles into nothing. Your body washes over with palpitating regret, urging your breath to catch at his tender nipping as he bucks his hips into yours.

Your hands flatten against his chest. “Kylo—”

He slows, lips lingering near your collarbone. His breath is heavy and warm against your skin as you give him a push, eliciting a soft moan from his plush lips.

A second passes. Then another.

He pulls back, dark eyes searching yours, obscured by something mildly animalistic. His grip loosens, sliding away from your body like he’s afraid of what he might do if he lingers.

The space between you stretches with a crackling silence. The city beyond hums with life, but all you can hear are your heavy breaths intermingling, lingering with the taste of each other.

You take a step back. Your throat tightens with the thousand things you want to say.

“I can’t,” is all you can utter, the whisper barely audible over the pounding in your ears.

Kylo exhales sharply, running a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. His lips are swollen with the semblance of your kiss, eyes burning with a plunging, living fire that penetrates your heart like hot daggers.

He calls your name. The word is sweet and languid on his tongue, lined with the kind of softness you’ve never been the fortunate prey of. His hand tenses mid-air, fingers flexing at the devastating sight of your gaze sinking away from his.

And then, without another word, you turn and slip inside, leaving him alone in the woeful finale of your favorite song.

[thistlerock]

Okay Fantasy High webtoon. I fuck w/ you. (I've read the three free eps so far so this is only about those.)

It made me laugh a few times and I generally found it pleasant, and even if there's some design choices I don't super agree with the art IS very charming. I also enjoyed the composition a lot it's just nice to look at. I can't super tell if I'd be as into this if I was a new fan coming in or of I'm just excited because I love Fantasy High (gonna have my girlfriend tell me /hj) but I personally really liked it :)

Minor lore differences I noticed is that Penny went missing quite recently? When originally she'd been missing for the longest iirc? Also Torek was already AT Agueford with the skater dwarves rather than being a middle schooler at this point. Ultimately neither of these should affect the plot much just noticed that.

Speaking of plot, I like that we follow Riz!! He's really fun and being focused on the character focused on the mystery is probably the most useful for a comic (though I'm assuming we'll eventually also follow the other Bad Kids more like with the Fabian and Adaine cutaways and I'm also looking forward to that). I was initially a little put off by the fact we skip everyone but Riz's introductions, but it would have been awkward in comic form to give everyone a turn like in actual play, and I think they handled it nicely and the characterisation in their respective first scenes is still clear and good. So far we haven't seen much of Adaine but I assume we're gonna get more about her (and Fig, and Kristen — though Kristen's whole deal is already pretty clear with just one scene, lmao) in later chapters.

My one gripe that I think is worth mentioning here so far is that I kind of hoped Penny and Sam would look closer to their The Seven designs! But I also understand that those are more complex than their original ones, and they shouldn't look like main characters or whatever. Just personally kinda awe-ed at it.

Other super minor changes include Kristen and Gorgug instant bestism?? Hello? Give me more. Also Gorgug and Fabian's fight was slightly more elaborate I think? Which was cool! (Reminds me that I'm curios to see how combat is portrayed, seems fun.) Though I will mourn the loss of "hey you seem pretty non-violent-" "I got into a rage."

A less minor change is that Gorgug made the tin flower himself? I think his mum just gave it to him originally. I'm gonna assume he doesn't start out multiclassing that'd be kinda insane (though I also find it interesting that in this format you don't technically have to tell us what level they are. And I'm curious to see how faithful to dnd mechanics this is gonna be. Personally I think it'd be fun to be very meta or not meta at all, but weird in-betweens tend to be awkward.), but it's cool he already tinkers. Maybe he becomes an artificer sooner in this? Or this is just setting up his eventual genius in building that cell tower or something similar? Idk. It's just nice to see him do the thing his parents also do. I also enjoy how Riz got detention in this version because it's delightfully cringe and gave me second hand embarrassment however I do find it interesting that this doesn't set up Ostentatia? Are we gonna meet her later or are we not gonna know her when she gets plot relevant? I could also see her and Fig having an interaction instead but idk, we'll see.

In general I'm curious as to how the plot is going to progress, because I think comic form makes it both easier to set up and follow and harder to make entertaining. Also there's a lot of dice motifs in the promotional art, do rolls ever get portrayed or is that for the aesthetic? If you read ahead already don't tell me I wanna find out myself lol.

So yeah my overall opinion is that I like it so far. Pleasantly surprised! It was really awesome to see all my favourite little guys repeatedly drawn, especially Ragh. If you know me you know I got so excited over Ragh aha. He's going through it right now but soon,,,soon he'll be perfect.

Anyway. Here's my favourite panels that I just HAD to screenshot and send to my friends on discord (or well some. Tumblr mobile has a ten image limit. I sent them about half the damn webtoon.)

Special shoutout to this one. How dare you do this to me. So sick and twisted.

ALSO WAS ZAYN ALWAYS SO. LIKE THIS??? WHO IS THIS TWINK. WHY IS HE STRUTTING. WHAT IS THAT BACK BEND INSTEAD OF TURNING AROUND LIKE A NORMAL PERSON. WHY IS HE WEARING LOW JEANS AND A BODYSUIT IN SCHOOL. CAN YOU HAVE SLUTTY HIP CUT OUTS IN SCHOOL I CANT?? (Obsessed w/ him)

I wrote this between four and five am after starting the webtoon at like. Three thirty. Any spelling mistakes are because I'm tired and not because I can't read Ragh style, I prommy. (Ragh is just dyslexic. Randomly placed headcanon, or whatever.)

[midnightmischief10]

welp. i'm posting this unedited and EXTREMELY self indulgent pedro pascal x reader fic. i have more written, but i will only post the full thing if ppl are also as sick and twisted as me.

hope who ever reads this, feels a little more seen bc i am SICK (well not really HHAHAH) of all the pedro character ddlg fics!! i just wanted to write something more realistic? idk welp, here it is! (not in its entirety:P )

Si no te hubieras ido

pairings: Pedro Pascal x Reader

warnings: age gap, drinking, reader is in their 20s

getting to work on a set like The Mandalorian was a dream if you were being honest. no, you weren't some high end actor, or a famous director, just someone part of the production crew, doing things like planning, writing, hell even editing. you'd do anything to just be a part of a project like this.

interactions with the actors were also common in a job like this, but apart from just guiding them through certain scenes and how they should look, you really didn't cross the boundaries that weren't professional. It was really nice to admire them though. Getting the occasional chat with big shot superstars was so cool and always something to brag about to your family even though they weren't supportive of your career choice. You didn’t end up a doctor or lawyer like they wanted, but hey! You did something you loved.

It was honestly a very normal day in the workplace. You were working in the art department as usual, helping make sure the vision that the director wanted was really coming through. Being behind the scenes for such big projects like these was really something. Your admiration for the process really grew getting to do all the behind the scenes work, it was such a nice feeling seeing the thing you along with many others, worked so hard on being televised was something special.

You weren't the overly ambitious type, but the thought of directing something sounded really cool.

You continued on, designing what the director wanted on a few scenes we’d be working on in the following weeks.

Lost in your work you didn’t expect anyone to come up to you for anything, you weren't the art director so it wasn't usual for people to come to you. Unbeknownst to you, you felt a sudden hand on your arm, not roughly just to get your attention.

you look up and woah…why the hell was Pedro Pascal standing right behind you.

"uhm, I'm sorry to bother you, you seem busy, but I've been meaning to ask, would you like to go out for a drink sometime?" Pedro asked.

huh? what…the…fuck…?

it caught you off guard.

Firstly, why was Pedro Pascal even looking for you? Because I mean you? of all people he could ask something like that, it was you? A man notorious for not having any sort of relationship, at least not public, was standing here with you asking you to go out for a drink.

you didn’t even think about your response before the words fell from your mouth.

"oh..uhm…Is this some kind of prank?"

you dumb BITCH WHY WOULD U SAY THAT???

was what you thought immediately after.

In your defense, you were in disbelief because what the hell was Pedro Pascal, a very prominent and influential actor, asking you out for drinks? I mean the interactions you both have had were merely professional and work related so why?

he looked confused at your answer, maybe even a little insulted, which was not your intention.

"shit I'm sorry I didn't mean to sound rude I'm just in a bit of disbelief" you let out an awkward laugh to soften the previous response and got out of your seat to face him properly. how do you even respond to a question like that, you had no idea that's for certain.

He stared softly at you and started, "no I'm sorry, that was very sudden haha. no need to say yes I just wanted to see if you would." His response was genuine and he wore a soft smile as he did.

God, was he really handsome up close.

To be quite honest, you always found him super attractive. But he was the internet’s daddy so it wasn't just you who felt attraction towards him. And sure, you might've dabbled in the idea of maybe even going out with him, but you were realistic with yourself.

But here you are now. Getting asked out on a date with this hunk of a man.

You were still lost in thought, trying to reflect on what was occurring and what came out of Pedro’s mouth.

He spoke again, "Sorry, just forget it ev-"

"no no, I mean I'd love to, who wouldn't want to go out for drinks with you, I'm just not all that special ya know?" you were being honest. You weren't some super sexy model or a renowned actor, you were just some girl working on the same set as Pedro.

Also, you were much younger than Pedro.

"I'd beg to differ." he said quite frankly. He smiled that sweet and tender smile of his and you couldn't help but think, for an older man he was sure fine.

you were daydreaming again at this point when Pedro spoke again,"so...is that a yes then?" it snapped you back to reality. It was so odd to see him so nervous over something like this, but being in the know of most things Hollywood, everyone who knew Pedro also knew that he had social anxiety so it must've taken a lot out of him to even ask you out

your heart raced, “yea- yes, I'll go for a drink with you.” you smiled, but if you were being honest you were really nervous too. What exactly did he see in you? Sure you were kind and respectful, but that's how you were with everyone. Pedro felt way out of your league to even grasp the idea of flirting with him, I mean come on. Who would even think about flirting with an A-list celebrity, especially someone way way WAY younger than he was and someone who wasn’t on any level to him.

he had a huge smile on his face, he seemed so content. “Great, should I get your number while I’m at it?” He pulled out his phone and handed it to you. You slightly grazed his hand when he did and it caught you by surprise.

His hands were so big, and you didn’t realize till just then how much of a height difference you two had.

You put your name and number, your hands were trembling a bit as you did so.

“here you go. so…when should I expect that drink?” you tried being coy to play off the fact that you were actually freaking out.

he smiled and laughed, “what about tonight then?”

that was quick

“oh. uhm yeah sure, i get off at 5, would like 8 be okay.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll pick you up, wear something nice.”

“Do I not look nice now?” you said sarcastically.

“No no, you always look great, I’d just like to see you in a dress.” He looked at you with so much love, his sweet smile still plastered hard on his face.

You couldn’t help but blush hard.

Has he always looked at me?

“I’ll send you my address then, see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” and he stepped out.

what the fuck were you getting into

~~~~~~~

[andy-15-07]

Hiiii.! Can you do a Pedro x reader, she's his bartender. Super flirty, they go clubbing public hook up.?

A Night of Temptation

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2262| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

It was a slow Thursday night at The Ember—a downtown bar known for its edgy cocktails, pulsating music, and a clientele that craved something more than the ordinary. You, Y/N, stood behind the bar with practiced ease, mixing drinks and exchanging flirty smiles with regulars. As a plus-size bartender with a magnetic charm and an effortless swagger, you had the uncanny ability to make every customer feel special. But tonight, something was different. There was a buzz in the air, an anticipation that made your pulse quicken.

Around 10 PM, as the club lights began to pulse in time with the deep bass of a DJ’s set, the door swung open, and in walked Pedro. His warm smile and charismatic presence immediately drew the attention of everyone in the room. Dressed in a fitted leather jacket and dark jeans, he moved with a confident grace that made hearts flutter—even yours. You had always admired his rugged charm and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. Tonight, however, there was an extra spark in his gaze as he made his way over to the bar.

“Hey there,” Pedro said, his voice low and inviting as he leaned casually on the counter. “Could I trouble you for your best drink?”

You grinned, already enjoying the playful energy between you two. “Of course, handsome,” you replied with a wink. “What’s your poison tonight? Something to match that daring look of yours?”

He chuckled, glancing around the buzzing bar before settling his eyes on you. “Surprise me,” he said, his tone laced with mischief. “I trust your taste.”

As you began crafting a specialty cocktail—a creation of tangy citrus and a hint of spice that you called the “Liquid Fire”—the conversation flowed easily. The music pulsed around you, the neon lights flickered, and every now and then, you caught his eyes lingering on you a bit longer than necessary.

“So, Y/N,” he began as you slid the drink across the bar, “what do you love most about working here?”

You paused, letting your eyes wander over the crowded room. “I’d say it’s the energy—the unpredictability of the night. You never know who’s going to walk through that door, or what kind of magic is about to happen,” you said, your tone soft and flirtatious.

Pedro’s smile deepened. “I can see that. And tonight, I feel like magic,” he murmured, his gaze intense. “I must admit, I’m usually not one to make a scene, but there’s something about this place… and you.”

The compliment made you blush, and you leaned in conspiratorially. “Oh? And what exactly do you find so mesmerizing?” you asked, your voice dropping to a playful whisper.

“Your confidence, your laughter… the way you mix passion into every drink you serve,” Pedro replied, his tone earnest. “I mean, look at you—commanding the room, yet so warm and inviting. It’s irresistible.”

Before you could respond, the DJ announced a new set, and the energy in the bar shifted. The Ember wasn’t just a bar tonight—it was a full-blown club. With the promise of dancing and uninhibited fun in the air, Pedro leaned closer. “I have an idea,” he said, his eyes dancing with anticipation. “How about we take this conversation somewhere a bit… more lively?”

A thrill shot through you. “I thought you’d never ask,” you replied with a playful laugh. “Let’s hit the club then.”

Moments later, you and Pedro stepped out into the cool night, leaving the familiar comfort of the bar behind. The city’s neon glow beckoned, and soon you found yourselves at Club Inferno—a pulsating hotspot known for its eclectic mix of music, sensual ambiance, and a crowd that lived for the moment.

Inside, the club was a riot of color and sound. The beat of the music vibrated through your body as you moved together to the rhythm. Pedro’s hand found yours, and the chemistry between you was palpable. Amid the flashing lights and swirling dancers, you navigated the crowded dance floor, sharing flirtatious glances and soft laughter that drowned out the music.

“Isn’t this just electrifying?” Pedro shouted over the pulsing bass, his voice intimate despite the chaos around you.

You nodded, leaning into him. “Absolutely. There’s nothing like losing yourself in the moment,” you replied, your voice carrying a mix of excitement and desire.

Between songs, you both found moments to steal away to quieter corners of the club. In one such secluded booth, lit only by the dim red glow of overhead lights, Pedro’s eyes locked onto yours.

“You know,” he said softly, “I’ve been thinking about you all night. The way you command the bar, your confidence, your smile… I can’t get enough.”

You felt your heart flutter as his words sent shivers down your spine. “And I’ve been drawn to you since the moment you walked in,” you admitted, your tone husky with desire. “There’s something about you, Pedro, that makes me want to let go—completely.”

He grinned, his hand sliding to brush a stray hair away from your face. “Maybe we should find somewhere a little more private,” he suggested, his eyes darkening with intensity. “I want to show you just how irresistible you are.”

Before you could reply, the crowd’s energy seemed to shift around you, as if the universe itself were urging you on. The next song began, a slow, seductive rhythm that beckoned you closer. Unable to resist, you and Pedro drifted together to a quieter area near the edge of the dance floor—an alcove shielded by a thick curtain of ambient lights and swirling silhouettes.

“Here,” Pedro whispered, pulling you gently against him. “Let’s make this moment ours.”

The world around you melted away as his lips found yours. It was a kiss charged with longing, playful yet undeniably intense. The taste of his kiss was intoxicating—a blend of mischief, promise, and raw desire that left you breathless. In the haze of the club, with the pulsing beat as your soundtrack, you surrendered to the pull between you.

“God, Y/N,” Pedro murmured against your lips, his voice rough with need. “You drive me crazy. I’ve wanted this all night.”

You laughed softly, your fingers threading through his hair. “Show me what you’ve been holding back,” you teased, your tone both daring and inviting.

The heat between you built with every heartbeat as the club’s energy seemed to amplify your desires. Surrounded by a sea of dancing bodies and neon light, you both knew that tonight was a night of freedom—of letting go and embracing the thrill of the moment.

“Let’s be bold,” Pedro said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Let’s forget about everything else and just… be.”

You nodded, feeling the surge of adrenaline and passion. “I’m with you,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly with anticipation.

The music swelled as you both moved into an even more secluded area—a narrow corridor that led to an outdoor terrace overlooking the city skyline. Here, the air was cooler, the noise of the club softened into a distant hum, and the stars shone above like silent witnesses to your unfolding passion.

Standing together under the night sky, Pedro’s hand still clasped tightly in yours, you could feel the intensity of the moment. “You’re incredible, Y/N,” he murmured, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re fierce, confident, and… utterly captivating.”

The sincerity in his voice sent warmth spreading through you. “And you, Pedro, have this way of making every moment feel like an adventure,” you replied, your eyes meeting his in a deep, unspoken understanding. “I love how you embrace life—the spontaneity, the passion, the willingness to dive headfirst into the unknown.”

Pedro’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer. “I can’t help but be drawn to you. Every glance, every smile—it’s like you set my heart on fire. I want to experience every moment of this night with you.”

Before you could respond, the space between you disappeared as he pulled you into a fierce kiss. The kiss deepened, full of promise and exploration, as you both surrendered to the magnetic pull that had brought you together. In that kiss, amid the cool night air and the distant hum of the club, you discovered a freedom you hadn’t known before—a liberation of body and soul.

“Pedro,” you whispered against his lips, your voice barely audible, “I want you… right here, right now.”

His response was a soft, approving murmur as he broke the kiss just enough to whisper in your ear. “Then let’s not wait any longer, beautiful,” he said, his tone both commanding and tender. “Let’s make this moment unforgettable.”

The world around you blurred into a background of dim lights and soft music as Pedro’s hands roamed your body, igniting sparks with every touch. In that outdoor haven, shielded from prying eyes yet still tantalizingly public, you both embraced the thrill of the forbidden—a passionate hook-up that was as daring as it was intoxicating.

Between passionate kisses and whispered declarations, the dialogue between you grew louder in your minds—even if the words were lost amidst the music and night air. Every shared breath, every teasing laugh, built an intimacy that transcended the physical. You and Pedro weren’t just sharing a moment; you were weaving together a tapestry of desire, trust, and unspoken promises.

“You’re so amazing, Y/N,” Pedro murmured as he traced the curve of your neck with reverence. “I love the way you challenge me, the way you let me see every part of you—fearless, raw, and so beautifully alive.”

Your heart pounded in response, each word stoking the flames of your desire. “And I love you for it,” you replied, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “You make me feel seen, like every part of me matters.”

The conversation, though muted by the heat of passion, flowed freely as you both explored the boundaries of the night. Pedro’s playful yet tender dirty talk mingled with gentle caresses, each word and touch drawing you deeper into the realm of shared ecstasy. The thrill of a public rendezvous added an edge of exhilaration, making every stolen moment feel like a secret shared between just the two of you.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Pedro whispered, his eyes dark with desire as he pressed close, “do you feel that too? The way tonight makes us forget everything but the intensity of our connection?”

You nodded, your voice husky with need. “I feel it, Pedro. Tonight, nothing else exists but you and me. The world fades away, and all I can see is the passion in your eyes.”

His reply was a soft, fervent laugh as he captured your lips in another searing kiss. “Then let’s make sure this night leaves a mark—one that we’ll both remember every time we see the stars.”

For what felt like an eternity, you both lost yourselves in that kiss, the cool night air mingling with the heat of your passion. Every whispered word and every tender touch reaffirmed the bond between you, a connection that was as spontaneous as it was profound.

As the night wore on and the distant sounds of the club faded into the background, you and Pedro finally pulled back, both breathless and glowing in the moonlight. The public hook-up had been daring, a wild dance on the edge of propriety, yet in every stolen glance and every whispered promise, you found something deeper—a mutual respect and affection that transcended the fleeting thrill of the moment.

Sitting side by side on a wrought-iron bench, the city lights twinkling in the distance, Pedro rested his head gently on your shoulder. “Thank you for tonight, Y/N,” he said softly. “For taking a chance, for being bold, for sharing this adventure with me.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “Thank you, Pedro, for showing me what it means to truly live in the moment,” you replied. “Tonight was about passion, about connection—and about knowing that sometimes, the best parts of life are those spontaneous moments that take your breath away.”

As the first hints of dawn began to break over the horizon, you both sat in comfortable silence, the memories of the night etched into your hearts. In that quiet moment, it was clear that the connection you shared wasn’t just about the thrill of a public escapade—it was about something real, something that promised more nights of laughter, passion, and shared dreams.

Later, as you walked Pedro back to his apartment under the soft glow of streetlights, the dialogue between you remained playful and tender. “So,” Pedro said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “when are we doing this again? I have a feeling that tonight was only the beginning.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of promise. “I’m already looking forward to our next adventure,” you replied, your hand slipping into his. “After all, every great story needs another chapter.”

In that moment, as you embraced the uncertainty and beauty of the night, you knew that your connection with Pedro was something rare and wonderful. It wasn’t just about the flirtatious glances, the steamy kisses, or the daring public hook-up—it was about two souls daring to live authentically, to embrace every passionate moment, and to write their own story with every beat of their hearts.

And so, as the night gave way to the soft light of a new day, you and Pedro stepped forward together—into a future filled with endless possibilities, wild adventures, and the unyielding promise of love that burned brighter than any neon light in the city.

[eqt-95]

💙 for supercorp , pretty please!

oh brilliant! yes of course!! i was hoping for this one so i'd finally be motivated to write the scene that was inspired by this post. i have literally had it saved in my tumblr drafts since february. and yes i just scrolled through half of my 784 drafts to find it.

- - - - - -

“Actually no, we're not ‘dating’. We're bound together for infinity. Like the stars. So, fuck you, actually-”

Alex clicked the remote, freezing the screen to perfectly capture a very outspoken, very drunk Lena Luthor doing an uncanny impression of Taylor Armstrong in front of a throng of paparazzi.

“Can we watch it again?”

“No,” Alex answered tersely, setting the remote next to three overflowing folders, a coffee mug that needed to be filled with something a little stronger, and a cellphone she had to silence after the hundredth social media notification sent it rattling off the table.

Nia slouched in her chair with a ‘hmph’ and muttered something that sounded like garbled nothing to normal ears but very much like ‘never any fun,’ to Kryptonian ears.

“Right,” Alex continued, her attention directed across the table. She’d spent the majority of the recording with her face downturn and fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in what could only be described as ‘resignation’ mixed with the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ strategy she had been trying with Esme.. “Care to explain what compelled you to proclaim you... infinite, cosmic link with Supergirl?”

“Not really, no,” a much more subdued, much less drunk Lena answered.

“Seems pretty self-explanatory,” Nia chimed in, spinning in the chair next to Alex. “Luthor can’t hold her liquor.” She bounced a clicky pen on the table-surface to accentuate the point. Alex gritted her teeth.

“I most certainly can-”

“Channel 7 says otherwise,” Nia grinned. The clicky pen was pointed accusingly.

“That,” J’onn began, and then pen clicked in offense, “is the least of our concerns-”

“Exactly,” Alex interrupted while blindly swiping the pen from Nia's hand and slamming it onto the table. “Do you have any idea how many conspiracy theories have started because of this? This has gone national-”

“International, actually,” Brainy added. “Canada and Australia have both picked it up.”

“Which means it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the world is needling around about- about…” Alex’s face plunged closer to a shade of raspberry.

“About what, Alex?” Lena asked. She leaned forward, arms crossed with her super sexy calm, cool, and ceo-collected face. It was almost working too, except for the mischievous glint and flicker of her eyebrow that revealed she was not taking this remotely serious enough for the eldest Danvers sister. “About my throuple with Kara Danvers and Supergirl?”

Alex’s face found her hands. Nia sputtered laughter from behind her own. J’onn stared longingly toward the closed door. Brainy scowled in confusion.

“It cannot be a throuple if two members are the same person,” Brainy said, glancing quickly toward Nia who nodded in confirmation.

“CNN doesn't know that. But fine, call it infidelity, stepping out on-” Lena offered lazily.

“Still not the point. You’ve jeopardized Kara’s secret identity,” Alex interrupted crossly. “And now you've put her in danger of-”

“I thought it was sort of sweet.”

Five pairs of eyes turned toward Kara who, until now, had remained silently observed. She sat at the head of the table wearing her suit and a recent bout of puppy love. Two pairs of eyes were gobsmacked, the third was failing to hide the glee over the entire exchange, and the fourth included a quick wink that made Kara’s cheeks flush even redder and bat her figurative tail even harder.

“Sweet. Right, well,” Alex began again, “‘Sweet’ doesn’t exactly handle the problem, does it?”

“It’ll blow over; these things always do,” Lena added. “We can have Andrea run a boring fluff piece about my night on the town being a slew of misguided comments. Say I said the earth was flat and that I challenged the Second Law of Motion or something. Make it dry. Everyone will chalk it up to part of that.”

“Fine.”

“And we can put this whole thing to-”

“Don't you dare-” Alex warned.

“-bed.”

Alex sighed, J’onn climbed to his feet like a tired high school teacher, Nia bounced giddily in her chair, and Lena was already glancing over at Kara and giving her a look that suggested they were not going to make it through the day without a trip to the broom closet. 

Kara's cheeks flushed even redder if that were remotely possible.

•••••••

And so a fluff piece was written, the tabloids took a few lazy swipes at another Luthor edging toward instability, and then the story deflated entirely into obsolescence. The news cycle moved on, Alex's blood pressure returned to normal, and Kara was permanently living on cloud nine.

Everything was fine.

Everything was great.

Everything was going swimmingly.

Until the second video was discovered.

From the same night.

Nia brought popcorn. J’onn brought a heavy sigh. Alex brought a decade of instantaneous aging. 

“Care to explain?” Nia asked with her best angry-Alex impression. 

Meanwhile Alex was struggling to unclench her jaw.

“Deep fake?” Lena offered lamely.

“Deep fake,” Alex parroted. “You think someone somewhere invested the time to deep fake Lena Luthor and Supergirl making out? For what? Fun? Kicks? Laughs?”

“They already spend hours writing steamy fanfiction,” Lena shrugged. 

“They what-?” Alex choked.

“Hot, steamy, inspired sex, really-”

“No-”

“Kara, darling, do you remember the one with my desk and the full-length windows?”

Kara flushed but nodded. Nia squealed with delight. Alex had had it.

“Enough-”

“Or the one where we lived in an alternate universe and you were a cowboy and was your-”

“Stop. Stop it.” 

Lena leaned back into her chair, a smile of victory spreading across her face.

“I’m just saying, stands to reason someone might show us in the throws of deep, passionate-”

“I don't want to know. I don't. Want. To know,” Alex interrupted, hands cupped around her ears.

“Cosplay?”

Again five pairs of eyes turned to Kara. 

“Could've been cosplay.”

“I can't believe… J’onn can you… handle… this,” Alex waved between the two.

“Should we watch it again?” Nia suggested. “Just to check Kara's theory.”

And without preamble, she clicked play again. It was far fuzzier, far more amateur, and far less deniable than the first.

“Charlie, Charlie, baby look here,” the phone holder shouted over a group of laughing, tipsy NCU students. “Do the impression again, please? I want it for-”

“Yo, yo, check it out.” 

“Is that-?”

The camera pivoted from the ginger-haired Charlie to a dark alley between 

“Oh damn, is that Supergirl?”

“And… Lena Luthor?”

“I knew it. I told you!”

The stage whispers were doing far more for Alex’s discomfort than the shaky camera zooming 2x onto what was very clearly Supergirl pressing Lena Luthor into a wall and doing a very good job of ripping Lena’s $1,200 blouse open. 

“Ooph, Mrs. Fischer is not going to be happy about that,” Nia commented.

A glitter of buttons bounced off the sidewalk, and Supergirl’s mouth was moving hungrily and decidedly across the exposed skin.

“We’ve seen enough,” Alex chimed in and reached, some might say ‘desperately’, for the remote in Nia’s hands. “Once already scarred me for life-”

“But we won’t know until we see drunk, cosplay-Lena’s face. It’s for science, Alex,” Nia answered, clutching the remote like the lifeline to a sinking ship and climbing onto and over the conference table just as ‘cosplay’-Lena pulled ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s mouth back to her.

“Bullshit,” Alex hissed, making quick work of scattering across the same table. 

Meanwhile ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s hands were no longer visible and the gang of NCU students were actively chanting them on. “Nia Nal, if you do not turn that off right now-”

The chase continued under the table, over three chairs, and around a trash bin Nia knocked over in a valiant attempt to slow her assailant. And while Nia and Alex made a mess of the conference room, ‘cosplay’-Supergirl was making an absolute mess of ‘cosplay’-Lena’s bun-

“Never!” Nia huffed and side-spun before making a poor calculation and tripping over an empty chair. Alex saw her window and lunged, tackling Nia, gripping the remote free and slamming pause just as ‘cosplay’-Lena found the zipper to ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s suit.

“Do you have any idea the-” Alex’s vitriol stopped in its tracks. Why? Because they were totally and completely alone. No Brainy or J’onn and worse, no Lena or Kara. “What… where’d they go?”

“Probably the broom closet,” Nia mused.

- - - -

ask game

[stargirlygirl]

birthday gift

bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ⋆｡°✩ — no quirk college!au, bit of angst, mostly fluff, 2.9k words, this is for you sanrio girlies!

Bakugou, like every other guy outside of the Sanrio-sphere, thought you were a little bit crazy when he saw your My Melody keychains dangling from your denim shoulder bag. When you two were on your first date and you got super excited over the café you went to doing Hello Kitty and Friends latte art, he grumbled and made a mental note that you were definitely crazy. And after you two started dating, and he saw your Sanrio plushie collection and themed slippers, he knew for sure you were insane. But even then, he couldn’t stop hanging around you.

There was something so attractive about you, magnetic. Maybe it was how you giggled so cutely and femininely whenever you teased him, or how beautiful and big your eyes looked when they stared up, into his own sharper and fierce ones. He was drunk on the way your hips swayed ever-so-slightly when you walked, and the way you sucked your lower lip between your teeth when concentrating hard. Even in the exam hall, he found himself stealing glances at you. You who was fiercely scribbling away on your own exam paper, alternating between biting and licking your lip. And of course, who, other than Bakugou, would kiss you better after such a taxing exam?

The point being, he couldn’t get enough of his crazy lil’ girl. You had been on his mind impossibly more since your birthday was coming up this Friday. He was contemplating whether to take you back to the Hello Kitty latte art café or to get you something Kuromi themed. He was overthinking like crazy, blond brows furrowed, mouth twisted into a scowl as he death-stared his notebook during his 11am lecture. What gift would be good enough for his perfect princess?

Bakugou’s frustration radiated off him, rippling in waves that had Denki, who was sitting next to him, leaning away and over to Kirishima. He whispered, “Did I do something or?” The red-haired boy shook his head, stealing a long glance at his clearly annoyed best friend. Denki sat on the edge of his seat, leg bobbing up and down as he and Kirishima exchanged glances. “Stop that.” Bakugou turned to look at the both of them, the command ripping out of his throat like a snarl. Denki squeaked a little in response, his leg stilling. He leaned even closer to Kirishima, whispering in his ear, “It was me! What did I do that was so wrong? Why does Bak—”

“Shut up!” Bakugou almost yelled. Students around the trio were beginning to look over at them, curious as to what had set the ash-blond off this time. Denki seemed to be the culprit in their eyes. Kirishima pushed Denki by the shoulder away, now leaning over him to tell Bakugou to keep his cool because he was making a scene. Bakugou scoffed in response, turning away from the pair and folding his arms across his chest.

For the remainder of the lecture, Bakugou couldn’t focus — not that he was focusing in the first place. Once it hit 1pm, he got up and stalked out of the hall, not waiting for his companions. He fell into into his usual walk, shoulders hunched, books under his arm, hands in his pocket. From behind him, he could hear his friends calling after him, but he ignored them as he usually does and made his way to the soccer field.

Allow me to clarify, Bakugou doesn’t play soccer, and while his friends do, their practice is usually later in the afternoons. Furthermore, you don’t play soccer. But your friend, — and unfortunately, Bakugou’s ol’ high school gossiper — Mina, is the captain of the cheerleading team who are practising on the soccer field for next week’s game. With B1 and B2 running after him, Bakugou comes to the field, spotting the pink-haired girl with her back to him, standing in front of her team. She doesn’t notice him until he draws closer, oblivious to his presence as she gives feedback on the performance run they just finished. “Ochaco, I need a little more enthusiasm from you—”

“OI! PINKY!” Mina turns around, seeing Bakugou stomping his way over to her and Kirishima and Denki puffing hard a few metres behind him. She turns back around, telling her team to take five. The team dissipates quickly, like a school of fish scurrying away from a shark. She sighs, turning around and placing her hands on her hips. “What do you want, grumpy?” She narrows her eyes at the boy as he stops a few feet away. He rolls his eyes, already regretting his decision to ask for her help in picking out a birthday gift for you.

Bakugou scoffs before starting quietly, “I need your help—” “You WHAT?” Mina has her hand behind her ear, half cupping it as if such a gesture would channel the sound of what she thinks the most stubborn grump said into her ear. Bakugou grits his teeth in response, Kirishima and Denki coming right up behind him. “I need your help, alright?! I don’t know what to get [y/n] for her birthday.” It was as if just saying those words released some of the tension in the ash-blond’s shoulders (because it did). A look of relief washed over Denki, “Oh, so that’s what you’re so cranky about. I thought it was because of m—”

“Shut up, nerd.” Bakugou spared the babbling boy a glare that cut through the air like a knife. He turned back to ‘pinky’ in front of him, hands becoming clammy in his pockets. “So?” Mina looked at him, holding back her laughter until she couldn’t any longer. Bakugou scowled as she laughed at him, clearly amused by the entire situation. “How-how do you-how do you not know what to get your girlfriend for her birthday?” By the time she was finished cackling, she was wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, saying “That was the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

“You done now?” Bakugou’s hands had left his pockets so that his arms could cross over his chest once more. His foot tapped against the fresh-cut grass. “Yes, okay okay,” Mina giggled as she regained most of her composure. “Why don’t you just get her something that she told you she wants? Like, didn’t she mention anything that she’s had her eye on?” Bakugou sighed. His voice dripped with sarcasm, “Wow, you’re genius. I hadn’t tried that one.” At this, Mina’s brows furrowed and she pouted, “Well, I’m not the one who can’t think of a gift idea for their girlfriend.”

Bakugou felt that this conversation was taking years off of his life. “Are you gonna help me or not?!” He was leaning forward now, eyes staring holes into the girl in front of him. Kirishima’s hand flew instinctively to his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright bro. Just relax. This isn’t very manly of you.” Bakugou shrugged the red-head’s hand off of him. Mina gave Kirishima a grateful look. Even though the two weren’t dating yet, she was glad to know that he would always have her back. At least, when it came to Bakugou’s temperament.

Mina raised her hands in defence, “Okay okay, I’ll help you. What about getting her something Sanrio-themed? Like a purse or something.” Bakugou sighed again. He was becoming a man of sighs and frustration-wrinkles over this situation. Why was it so hard to just get his girlfriend a gift? He’s gotten you a few before and you had loved them all. Why would this time be any different?

At his quietness, Mina gave Kirishima a look of “Omg is he okay?” To which he shrugged. “Hey, Baku-bro, you right?” Bakugou blinked rapidly, coming back from the depths of his thoughts. He nodded, his voice raspy as he said, “I was gonna but I don’t know, I already got her a Hello Kitty jersey for Christmas.” Mina smiled, remembering how you had texted the group chat that night ecstatic about it. It was only after a month that you had calmed down and started wearing other tops.

“Trust me, she’s gonna love whatever you think of.”

…⊹₊⟡⋆…

Today was your birthday and you were so so excited! You can’t remember ever having been this excited about a birthday before. It was going to be your first ever birthday spent with Bakugou as you two met shortly after your one last year.

You had just woken up. Checking your notifications quickly after turning off your alarm, you notice a text message from your beloved wishing you a happy birthday. You instantly smiled, clicking on the notification to open up your message app and respond with your thanks. You put your phone down, getting out of bed to make it and drink some water. You settle into your morning routine, going about your morning as you always do. The only thing different was that you kept humming and doing little dances, goofing around. You lived in a college dorm alone while your boyfriend lived with his friends in an apartment close to campus. You were excited for the date that he had planned for tonight.

After making yourself some blueberry pancakes with cookies and cream ice cream (fire combo pls try omg you won’t regret it) and devouring them, you hear your phone buzz. Placing the plate and cutlery by the sink, you grab your phone from the bench, the screen lighting up with text messages from ‘Baby Suki’. You giggle to yourself, reading and replying to them. He’s being so kind and caring to you this morning… Just kidding, he’s being his usual self, brash and direct with a dash of sweetness sprinkles.

You notice some other birthday text messages from your friends and peers. You take your time responding to them, your body leaning against the dining table.

Later in the morning, Mina and Ochaco stop by, giving you the most beautiful bouquet of your favourite flowers. It has you in tears, and you all hug as you cry from joy and they tell you not to cry. They stay over at your dorm for a while. You talk about so many things, from the latest episodes of the show you were watching to your assignments.

Around noon, you hear a knock on your door. You told the girls to stay where they were, Mina protesting about how the birthday girl shouldn’t be working on her birthday, but you paid it no mind. You opened the door, Midoriya standing there holding a homemade charcuterie board.

You squealed in excitement, inviting him inside and leading him to the couches. Once he placed the board on the coffee table, you gave him a big hug. Midoriya returned it with warmth and you told him to stay while you all snacked on his delicious girl dinner.

The three of them stayed with you until it 4pm. You had been so lost in conversation that you hadn’t noticed it had gotten so late. You had stood up frantically, telling them about your date with Bakugou tonight. They looked at you with knowing eyes and left peacefully. Well, everyone but Mina who wiggled her eyebrows at you. But, you would interpret that later.

Now, you had to focus on getting ready for your date. You showered, lathered yourself up in oils and moisturiser, and wrapped yourself in a thick bath robe. You then curled your hair, clipping rollers in so they would set. Next, you worked on your makeup.

Tonight, you were going for a glowy, blush-centric look. The result? It was giving!! You then carefully slipped your dress on. It was a cute maxi dress in your favourite colour that highlighted your waist and décolletage. You had bought this one specifically for your date and you were very excited to wear it out. You finished off by taking out your rollers out and fluffing your hair, spritzing on your favourite perfume, and adding your favourite pieces of jewellery. The clock struck 7pm and your phone buzzed. You ran over to it, reading Bakugou’s message that he was at your door. Weirdo, he usually knocks and then barges in.

You smiled wide, maybe he was just nervous. You strapped on your heels, grabbed your favourite purse with your My Mel keychains attached, and then you were walking to the door. You opened it, Bakugou in a pair of jeans, button-up shirt, and matching denim jacket greeting you. You giggled, immediately crashing into his arms to give him a big bear hug. He chuckled at your affection, one hand around your upper back and the other patting your head. You were in heaven just by being in his arms, inhaling his smoky-sweet scent, and this was just the beginning of the night.

“I missed you.” “I can tell,” he looked down at you, grinning wide. “Wanna get going?” You nodded in response. He had his arm wrapped around you as he whisked you away. Where he was taking you though was a surprise.

…⊹₊⟡⋆…

He parked the car on one of the busy main roads, coming over to the passenger side to offer you a hand out of the car. You smiled, enjoying his act of gentlemanliness. He took your hand and let you down the strip, keeping you closest to the shops and him to the road. You walked for a couple of minutes before Bakugou stopped. You stopped too, arm pulled back by his. You looked up at him and watched as he nodded to something behind you. You turned around, hand still holding his. You saw where he had brought you and squealed in delight. You were so happy and excited that you started jumping up and down and gave him a big cuddle. He laughed, teasingly asking you, “Oh, you like?” You nodded and grabbed his hand tight, practically dragging Bakugou into the newly opened Sanrio Miniso.

You two worked your way around the store, Bakugou holding a basket which you filled with careful deliberation. Cinnamoroll perfume, Kuromi flask and matching bento set, blind box, new My Melody slippers. You were ecstatic as Bakugou paid for your birthday haul and carried the bag. Even so, as you two left the store and walked further down the crowded street. You were in a frenzied dopamine daze. You couldn’t stop smiling and giggling and thanking your boyfriend for being so thoughtful and paying for your new Sanrio goodies.

The night was still young. He took you for dinner and ice cream afterwards. All the while, holding your hand or the small of your back and teasing you sweetly. The night ended with him dropping you back to your dorm, walking you to your front door of course. You drew him into a passionate kiss, hands grasping his button-up shirt as his jacket was around your shoulders. He smiled into your lips, hands on the back of your neck and waist. You could taste the caramel ice cream he had eaten only half an hour earlier. It’s sweetness made you melt into his arms, knees weakening as he drew your bottom lip between his teeth to nip at it.

At last, you two pulled away from each other, foreheads pressed together as you both caught your breath. You breathed out, “Thank you for the best birthday ever.” He chuckled, moving back so he could cup your face in his large hands. He shook his head at you, still laughing a little. “What?” “Nothing,” he smiled. He let go of you, handing you your miniso bag. “I’ll see you later. Don’t stay up too late.” He stepped back. “If I do it’s your fault,” you joked. You turned around, fishing your dorm key out of your bag. Luckily, you found it quickly and unlocked your door. You pushed it open and half-stepped inside before turning to look back at him. He was standing there with his hands in his jean pockets.

“Let me put this down and I’ll give you back your jac—” “Keep it.” And with that, Bakugou walked away. You watched as he stopped at the elevator down the hall and pushed the button.

You dropped your bags inside your door and started running after him. “Bakugou! Wait!” He turned around, eyebrows raised at your enthusiasm and sudden outburst of exercise. You were huffing by the time you reached him. The elevator dinged. You threw your arms around him, your heart beating erratically against his slightly elevated one. The elevator doors opened and closed as you held him and he held you. “What is it?” You looked up at him. “Thanks,” you smiled.

He scoffed and ruffled your hair. “Weirdo,” he said as he pulled away from you. He pressed the elevator down button again and the doors opened. “Go back to your dorm already.” He eyed you as he stepped into the elevator. You giggled and you saluted him. “Yes sir.” The elevator doors shut, taking your boyfriend away from you for the night. You couldn’t stop smiling and excitedly whispering to yourself as you made your way back to your dorm and took your makeup and dress off. Even once you had put your silk pjs on and brushed your teeth, you were still so excited and happy. That night, it took a while for you to get to sleep, but you had the sweetest dreams.

[lycorogue]

Bot Invasion of Fanfiction.net

Well, gang, it's finally happened. The bots found my ffn account earlier this year. We're coming up on the close of the 13th week of 2025, and I have received as many bot requests to create illustrations for my stories. Woooooo 🎉[party popper emoji] I started compiling them on FB, but I think I'll have fun also sharing them here. Who's ready for some fun?

(I didn't note the dates for the first handful, but I'll date the rest)

Here is my first-ever bot DM. Such an honor, "Roselyn". It was also on my fictionpress account...

Subject: Creating Visuals for Your Fanfiction Hello! This is Roselyn you know what I think your story Blame Fate for This, is quite interesting I'm just wondering how about If I can make something for your story in my art style 🙂[smiling emoji]

Fun note: Blame Fate for This is one of my original stories. Not fanfiction. Cool... cool...

Another one over on Fictionpress:

Subject: Making Art for Your story Hey! I'm Maya I really admire your story Blame Fate for This and I'd be excited to create artworks for it!

Good gravy, why can't I get messages like this from real people? (┬┬﹏┬┬)

Subject: Appreciating Your Work Hello lycoRogue, I am absolutely enthralled by your writing; the worlds you create are simply enchanting. Your way with words is a gift that teleports readers into new dimensions, and your passion for the subject shines forth in every single word you write. I'd love to bring your words to life, be it through book covers, character illustrations, or simply visuals that go along with your work. Of course, that would need to be a paid service, but I would love to collaborate in a way that extends your storytelling further. Would you be interested? Do you also have any social media accounts where I can connect with you?

The start of them flooding my ffn account instead of Fictionpress:

Subject: open commission Greeting, Hope you are doing well I read your story and you get my attention

Last one that I mass-posted on FB. Boy, is it ever fun to FINALLY get messages related to my stories, only for every last one of them to be bots. Weeeeeeee. 🫠[melted smilie emoji]

Subject: Artist and Reader Hi, Your creations inspire me a lot; the way you defined the scene is amazingly done, and I would be thrilled to feature your stories through my art skills in affordable prices . If you're up for it, let's join together.

February 12, 2025:

Subject: Concept Artist / Reader Hello, Your creations are incredibly inspiring! The way you bring scenes to life is truly amazing. I'd be thrilled to showcase your stories through my art at an affordable rate. If you're interested, let's collaborate!

Happy Valentine's Day! (Only needed to wait 2 days for this one)

Subject: Story/review Dear LycoRogue, I'm Madeline Ava a concept artist and illustrator passionate about storytelling. Your work on Fanfiction inspired me and I'd love to collaborate. I create stunning affordable book covers and character illustrations starting at a minimum price.

At least that one was sent to my ffn account, so it accurately identified my stories as fanfiction that time....

February 24, 2025, this one I have contact info for! Fancy! I'd feel guilty sharing said info, but I'm like 99.9999% sure this is another bot, so... screw it. 🤷‍♀️[female shrug emoji]

Subject: Truly admire to your story. I'm genuinely impressed by your story and the depth of your characters. It would be an honor to bring your vision to life as a comic. Please feel free to reach out at your convenience using the contact details below. Contact Details Email: emmanoah1969 at gmail dot com Emmanoah333 on Discord

February 26th, 2025. Oh, this one was super convincing. A+ human mimicry here... (no typos on my part here. This is a straight copy/paste)

Subject: Creative Feedback Hi there, Your storytelling truly inspire me, it's amazing how you make each setting come to life in fair prices. I have a few ideas I'd love to share for that.

March 3, 2025. Thank god the most-convincing ones are also the ones that openly ask for a payment:

Subject: Artist/Reader Hi, Your storytelling is truly captivating it's so vivid and inspiring, like the scenes are alive. I'd love to bring your stories to life through my minimalist art style in minimum price. Would you be interested in collaborating on a project together?

March 14th, 2025. Not even the bots are reading my stories now…. yay….

Subject: Kathy! Hello, I'm Kathy Clay and a concept artist. I recently found your book and, while I haven't read it yet, I'd love to create a cover design for you. Once I've had a chance to read it, I can come up with a great idea. I know a lot of people might say they've read it, but I prefer to keep things simple and direct and I also have several ideas to relate your stories

We've caught up with earlier this week: March 25, 2025.

Subject: commission artist Hello fellow authors, After reading your book, I couldn't stop thinking about how amazing it was! I have some thoughts and suggestions about it that I'd love to share with you if you're interested.

And finally, the bot du jour (today; March 29th, 2025):

Subject: Commission artist Hey Jacquelina parson. is my name, and I'm a computer artist. Upon reading your book, I found it to be rather captivating. Is it feasible for me to contribute character illustrations for your book in the future?

Yet another real convincing one.

Who else is having this problem? Is it at the same frequency? My pity to those who are flooded even more than I am.

[oodlyenough]

continuing my arcane s2 ted talks i guess, i've been trying to decipher how i feel about the medardas' plotline in s2 and i never really land anywhere but a sort of disgruntled marge simpson groan.

i think anyone who paid any attention at the end of s1 or spent even ten seconds theorizing probably knew mel was a mage and her shield magic would protect some or all of the council. i was surprised this reveal didn't happen right away, and i liked that initially we see an overhead shot showing her totally-undamaged bubble around her seat. i could roll with jayce wondering why he survived and mel sort of shrugging it off. the black rose stuff in act 1 i also found intriuging and the action scene with amara was cool. i was excited that kino would be more relevant

but then act 2 ... it felt like we put mel in the torture labyrinth only to draw two conclusions, the first being that she's a mage (no duh; we could've revealed it in the first episode) and the second being that she's a bastard child from a secret love affair her mom had. and then we uh. didn't really explore that second part at all. we learn, sort of, that her mom has some beef with the black rose; if you don't play League you have no idea who or what they are; they claim Ambessa let Kino die and only wants Mel as a weapon; when confronted Ambessa only half-answers and seems to disdain mages; Ambessa ends up fighting Mel, gets killed by Mel's double bluff, and then Mel takes over the Medarda clan for... some reason (does she want to? does she HAVE to?)

mostly it ends up feeling like a backdoor pilot for a future noxus spinoff. and a future noxus spinoff starring mel isn't a bad idea; it's just that it feels like a lot of screentime in an already-frantic final season for arcane was then spent on a plotline that doesn't really resolve.

also in season one i thought mel and ambessa's relationship was very interesting and i looked forward to more of it. i thought the idea of ambessa sending mel away because mel's big puppy eyes made her feel guilty for doing what she felt she had to do, and mel feeling that as a rejection/banishment/lack of love fit nicely into the general themes of s1. i... just don't really know how the secret mel magic that ambessa hates and/or covets (unclear) adds to that rather than weakening it. their two conflicting worldviews alone set them up nicely to butt heads in season 2, especially with caitlyn potentially stuck in the middle, torn between both of their guidances and philosophies. instead it's like mel mostly inhabited a different show for most of her screentime.

i'm also not super convinced ambessa was written with the same level of sympathy characters like silco got in season 1. it certainly seems to me she gets less of that from fandom, anyway, who treat her like a uniquely evil character even for a major antagonist. it's hard for us to understand her motives when we don't really know what they ARE, the origin of her black rose feud, who tf the rose are to begin with, the true circumstances around kino's death and mel's banishment, etc... if this is all the unofficial pilot for a Noxus spinoff it might as well have just waited until then and let us use this screentime to expand on the other things in s2 that needed to be expanded/wrapped up in their final season.

[torchlitinthedesert]

I first met Linda McCartney at the Scene on West 46th Street. A hip little grotto in a cellar, it was run by the cool Steve Paul. In the fall of 1965 everybody from Slim Harpo to Jimi Hendrix played there. Brit Invasion bands came to jam after their gigs. In a small windowless room in the back, Tiny Tim held court. Actually, there weren’t any windows in the whole damn place.

…After I’d finished shooting the picture, a tall girl with long blonde hair began asking me a lot of questions. Did I do this for a living? How does one get into this? Is it hard to learn? What kind of camera do you use? Is that a strobe light? All asked with anthropological zeal—as if she had discovered some strange subterranean stroboscopic ritual. The odd thing about her was that while she looked stunningly straight, on her this had the appearance of some sort of disguise. She seemed to be looking for that chink in the wall—a way out.

…She was dressed in a striped long sleeved T‑shirt and an A‑line skirt down to the knees. This in the very heart of the sixties, when Pop fashion was exploding on the street like a super nova. Mini skirts! Silver foil sheaths! Op‑art dresses!

She looked every inch a WASP (even though she wasn’t), and she dressed with the studied bad taste elite WASPs aspire to. They had whole stores devoted to this strange phenomenon: Peck & Peck, B. Altman, Best & Co. It was a bizarre cult of exclusive dowdiness. Vassar girls dressed like this.

She was educated, smart, and hungry. And had the wonderful name of Linda See. See was the name of her ex‑husband, an anthropologist from whom she’d been recently divorced. She also had the most amazing child named Heather who would say things like “My mind is speaking, but my mouth can’t find the shapes,” leaving us all with our jaws hanging open.

Recently Linda had gone through a bad patch. She slept a lot, snacked on Ritz crackers and hors d’oeuvres from the deli, and existed in a fog of low‑level depression and listlessness so acute it was sultry. She bemoaned the pointlessness of her life. But she did it with such tremendous energy that it belied her apathetic state.

“What is to become of me?” she would ask as plaintively as the Lady of Shalott. It’s true that for the life she had been brought up to lead, the prospects didn’t look too thrilling. Marriage to the stockbroker who’d been captain of the Harvard sculling team. Or the ad executive who still planned to write that novel. Maybe a Scarsdale house that would resemble a Middle‑Kingdom tomb. All the dreadful certainties and banalities of mid‑century middle‑class life. She reminded me of a suburban Sleeping Beauty. Ah, but just around the corner the blazing path of Pop life awaited!

She had a job. She worked at Town & Country magazine, the very stronghold of the bizarre twin‑set and pearls cult. Her parents were wealthy and she probably didn’t need to work, but that’s what you did. Another of those peculiar customs of the upper middle‑class!

…At the time, there were only four acceptable occupations: rock star, dope dealer, photographer or working in a boutique. I chose photographer. I hovered nightly in dingy rock bôites awaiting the decisive moment. Although this was alien to the way Linda had been brought up, she caught on fast…

I had set up a shoot the next day with the Animals, and I thought it might be a good idea to ask Linda along. She would see me in my David Bailey/Blow Up mode. This was seriously stupid. Like taking your girlfriend along to photograph the Italian soccer team.

The Animals’ current single was “We Gotta Get Out of This Place” and I’d decided to shoot them down at the piers. I found a very thick length of rope used for tying up ocean liners, and made a knot at one end. I had the Animals straining to burst through this circle of rope. Not a profound metaphor, but graphic.

The image was just okay, but as I looked through the lens it looked fantastic! I mean the way those zen Cockney masters like David Bailey and Michael Cooper did it. Then I figured it out. It was Linda. She had literally magnetized the group and it had done wonders for the composition. Streams of energy poured back and forth between the feral Animals and Princess Linda.

After I’d shot the picture, Linda asked if she could use the camera to take some informal pictures of Eric Burdon and the boys. While she was snapping some very tightly framed shots of Eric, he confided a passionate interest in photography. Funny that he’d never mentioned it to me.

“You know, love, I always thought if the rock ‘n’ roll thing don’t work oot I’d go into the photography dodge. Do you think you could give me lessons?”

God, that little Tyneside creep!

“Oh, is that right, Eric?” I said bitchily. “And I always thought your ambition was to open a fish and chip shop.”

“Yes, well, photography and fish are my favorite pastimes.” Wink, wink.

Linda was a quick and eager student of photography. There wasn’t that much to learn! By the mid‑sixties, photography had divested itself of its gothic complexities. With the single‑ lens reflex camera all you had to do was frame the image through the lens, keep the light‑meter needle steady in the middle, and click. Well, there was the mildly arcane business of the F‑stops but even this could be explained in under 40 seconds.

The technical aspects weren’t that demanding. The problem was photographing obnoxious, excruciatingly self‑conscious teenage yobs. It was a bloody pain in the neck. There was always someone with his eyes closed or fly unzipped or giving you the finger. Or you’d get a really great shot of the group only to discover someone hadn’t shown up.

“Pity Chas couldn’t make the shoot, innit? Uvverwise it woulda made a bloody great album cover.”

But with the lovely Linda all this changed. Photographing a yobby group like Tommy James and the Shondells was usually problematic. Now their eyes were pinned on Linda.

And then the Stones came to town. I thought I’d learned my lesson when I introduced Linda to the Animals, but once again I couldn’t resist. After all, the Stones were going to cruise around Manhattan on a yacht—the “Sea Panther”—with various members of the press.

Gloria Stavers, editor of Sixteen, was the doyenne of teen fan mags and she was somehow in charge of invitations. I worked for rival Hullabaloo so there was no hope of my being invited. But Linda was a different matter. I told her to call up Gloria and “tell her you’re from Town & Country—she’ll cream in her jeans.” Linda got on the “Sea Panther” and she shot some great pictures, which is how the Rolling Stones ended up on the cover of Town & Country.

Her pictures perfectly captured the frisson of the afternoon. The inimitable elite bohemians insolently lounging in outfits of razorblade hipness.

That night, Jerry Schatzberg was giving a party for the Stones. In those days, hip photographers were seen as epic figures. Schatzberg had taken the cover photo of the Stones in drag for their single, “Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing in the Shadows?” The party was in his studio. Andy Warhol, Baby Jane Holzer, Tom Wolfe—le tout New York was there.

I took Linda to the party and watched as she stepped through the looking glass. She was reborn. The rock life had claimed another victim. Rock itself was a drug—once involved in this life, one wanted nothing else.

No camera that night, of course. This would have been like the girl with the graphex camera at the Copacabana. Around midnight Linda came over to me and said, “Mick just asked me for my phone number—what should I do?”

A rhetorical question, clearly.

With the Stones, Linda had finally met rock royalty. The Animals and the Dave Clark Five would now be cast in the supporting role of peasants clamoring at the gate. She would never take their picture again.

The following spring she went to England and came back raving about all the new groups she had met. Traffic, the Who, the Soft Machine. Oh, and Paul.

“What’s he like?” we asked. She wouldn’t say.

That fall I was married on acid at the Scene by Art Kreps, Boo Hoo of the Neo American Church and publisher of Divine Toad Sweat magazine. The Doors were playing that night and Linda was there to photograph them. Afterwards in the dressing room, Lord Jim sat as impassive as the Maya while Linda snapped pictures of him. Her leonine gawkiness, that incredible smile. She didn’t look like anybody else in the room—all leathers and tatterdemalion finery. She didn’t look like anyone on the scene for that matter. One thing about Linda, she stayed in her own movie.

“The cosmos is communing with itself,” said Lord Jim. He’d obviously done a bit of the sacrament himself. We all thought about that for a while.

Outside, I was having a hard time catching a cab. My arm stretched right across 8th Avenue but none of the cabs seemed to notice. Finally I said to Linda, “I’m having a hard time catching the little yellow fish.”

“Just wait for the light,” said Linda. “Then the cab’ll catch you.” She was utterly unfazed—always!

The following year I was in London. Linda and Paul were a couple. They would show up early at the Let It Be sessions and bemoan Yoko’s “interfering.” One got the impression that John thought of the Beatles as some sort of cosmic battering ram with which to wipe out the last pockets of intolerance and unhipness. But for Paul and Linda, the Beatles were like the Firm. Sort of a family business, which must be protected at all costs. Yoko’s antics were endangering the Empire!

I saw Linda again at the end of 1969, shortly after she married Paul. She was walking in Kew Gardens in London with Mary Hopkin. We talked for a few minutes underneath the Chinese pagoda. Have you seen this one lately? How is that one doing? Did he ever go to Bali? Did they get married? Light gossip and the social weather. Even though she herself was the subject of so much gossip—having stolen Paul from the thousands of women who thought he was meant for them!—Linda did not have a bad word to say about anyone. She never did.

It was the end of an era. A terrible vortex was forming that would lead on the one hand to self‑destruction (Jimi, Janis, Morrison) and on the other to fanaticism (Mark David Chapman). Not all the heroes of the sixties survived. But music had given Linda’s life meaning, and she in turn provided the secret door through which Paul escaped the fire storm that was about to envelop rock ‘n’ roll.

[callalillywrites]

I Smell Snow

Written for @stuckybingo. A2 - Snow.

Stucky Masterlist | Stucky Bingo | Main Masterlist

Relationship: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 1208

Summary: You've always had a special ability to sniff out snow. It's what drags you out of bed between your best friends at an early hour. You really do love the first snow of the season as it's the most magical of times.

Warnings: pre-relationship; established best friends; fluff; Bucky and Steve always need more sleep

A/N: This was purely inspired by Lorelei Gilmore in the first season of Gilmore Girls, episode 8. Just one of my favorite scenes from the series.

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

*****

"Mm, I smell snow," you whispered in the quiet of your shared bedroom. The scent in the air had been the very thing to coax you from sleep, too. It'd been the reason you quickly but carefully crawled out from between your two best friends and tiptoed over to the large windows. A glance beyond the tinted glass had your smile growing. In the same soft voice, you added, "Tonight. It's going to snow tonight."

Another deep inhale further confirmed your suspicions.

You really couldn't help the soft squeal that slipped past your lips.

Afraid you might've disturbed your sleeping friends, you dared a glance over your shoulder. To your surprise and relief, they remained sleeping. With their enhanced hearing, you'd always been careful with how loud you got around them. At least, you tried to anyway. It wasn't something you could always control, but you definitely tried.

Especially times like this.

They'd both been through it with their last mission.

Sleep hadn't been easy for Steve or Bucky. This was probably the first night in a week where they'd both finally found some rest.

You wouldn't jeopardize that.

Too jazzed to return to bed, you quietly slipped toward your closet and plucked your robe. Without the heat of the two super soldiers, the coolness of the room settled over you in quick fashion. Before you slid the door shut, you also picked out some fuzzy socks for your feet. All you needed was something to do while letting them continue to rest.

Checking the clock, you saw the hour wasn't so early that an early morning breakfast would be crazy.

The idea of a big buffet-style breakfast actually sounded good to you. One, it would give you the chance to use up some of your older foodstuffs. Two, it was sure to help fill up both super soldier after finally getting their much-needed rest. Three, you needed the excuse to stay up and inhale that delectable scent that promised your favorite precipitation. And last but never least, it was an excuse to pamper your best friends in a way they'd accept without protest.

Well, maybe not without protest.

You could well imagine Steve and/or Bucky saying, "You didn't need to do this for us, doll."

The smile on your lips widened even as you shook your head. It'd be so easy to brush that aside, too, and you would if they did. Because you wanted to do this for them. You wanted to take care of them as they took care of so many others. Took care of you. It was the least you could.

The answer to why was simple, too.

You loved them.

Taking care to miss the creaky board near your your bedroom door, you moved into your small but efficient kitchenette. You quickly flicked on the overhead lights but dimmed them so they wouldn't disturb Steve and Bucky. It was moments like this that you appreciated some of the upgrades you'd made to your condo with their help.

With practiced steps and movements, you grabbed everything from your cabinets and fridge that you'd need for the breakfast you planned. The soft-close cabinet doors worked again in your favor as you mentally checked everything off your list.

Softly humming, you set to work with your ingredients taking over one of your precious few counters. Chopping, beating, stirring, and heating, each of them soothing in their own ways. Warmth soon had you shedding your robe, hanging it on the peg where you also hung your apron.

You were setting out the giant plate of sausages next to the others when you realized you weren't alone.

Glancing towards your bedroom doorway, you spied Steve and Bucky, sleep-tousled but wide-eyed. Your earlier smile came back full force. You motioned them toward the two stools you had tucked under your counter overhang.

"What got you up so early, doll?" Bucky asked, accepting the cup of coffee you handed him.

Steve also accepted one. "We didn't kick you out of your bed, did we?"

You shook your head even as your smile grew. Watching them sip at their coffees, you worked not to preen when they both groaned appreciatively. It hadn't been too hard to learn how they took their coffees, insisting on giving them perfect cups each time. Only when they set their cups down and focus on you did you answer Bucky's question.

"I smelled snow."

Amusement filled their eyes and tipped their lips upward at the corners.

"Of course, you did," Steve murmured, his amusement growing. "When will we be seeing it, you think?"

Just as before, you took another inhale. It wouldn't hurt to confirm your suspicions after all, having cracked a window while cooking. You hummed your own appreciation as you noted the subtle scent lingering beneath the heavenly aromas of the food you'd prepared.

"Definitely tonight," you said after another deep inhale. Oh, you'd never get over how great the smell of the first snow of the season was. Everything's magical. Everything's so pretty.

"It's not the only thing magical or pretty," Bucky said, bringing you out of your thoughts. Heat suffused your cheeks while his eyes remained on you, his smile widening as he continued to sip at his coffee. "Isn't that right, punk?"

Steve nodded, not even trying to hide his grin behind his coffee cup. No, he kept it at his side as he studied you with a look you'd seen plenty of times but could never quite define.

"You two shouldn't tease me," you chided, your earlier smile shifting into a soft pout. "It's not nice."

"Oh, we'd never tease you, doll," Steve said, pushing to his feet and coming around the counter. His arms wrapped around your middle and tugged you back into his warm, solid chest. "We're just thankful we have you in our lives. Your love of snow and all."

He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then disengaged to return to his seat.

Before you could think to protest his absence, Bucky had taken Steve's previous position. "He's right. We'll have to make the most of this first snow tonight. Anything special you wanna do?"

You shook your head.

"Well then, you won't mind if we come up a few surprises for you."

It wasn't a question as Bucky, too, pressed a kiss to your opposite cheek. He lingered another moment before he finally let you go and returned to his seat next to Steve.

You soon handed them plates after you finished up the final bit of cooking to complete your breakfast feast. They loaded them down with a little bit of everything, then went back for seconds. Few words really passed in those early hours, but then, they didn't need to as you three ate together.

While they cleaned up your kitchenette, you settled on your sofa where you could watch the early morning rays starting to color the skyline. The window remained cracked open so you could take another inhale now and then.

Sipping on your second cup of coffee, you knew the day would be a good one.

The first snow of the season has never let you down before.

Who knows? Maybe it'll be the start of something new.

[videnrambles]

Assistant Manager Yuuji but also other shit is going on AU

Another VERY self indulgent AU that I've spent far to long thinking about by meeee (─‿─) ♡

Sometimes I like to imagine an AU where Yuuji was picked up by Ijichi for his weird ass strength. Because he can't see curses he can't be a sorcerer, but the higher ups are like "Somethings clearly wrong with this kid and we want to keep an eye on him."

So Yuuji becomes a test run for a body guard program that pairs widows/assistants up people who have heavenly restrictions(or are just weird little freaks in Yuji's case). Ijichi volunteered to help with his training because it meant being put on missions without Gojo.

I don't really have anywhere else to say this stuff but I wanna make note of a few things :P

The Itadori family are moved to Tokyo. Ijichi moves in with them to help with Yuuji's training. Wasuke likes Ijichi but thinks he doesn't eat enough and demands Yuuji fatten him up.

Gojo has yet to meet Yuuji but complains to anyone who will listen that the kid is a home wrecker for taking Ijichi away. Very few of the other managers are willing to put up him.

Gojo also gets jealous when he hears that Ijichi's student brings homemade sweets on every missions they go do together. None of his students love him enough to do that.

The managers and windows are all in a discord server. They use it to ask for help/advice on dealing with different sorcerers. There is a whole channel dedicated to complaining about Gojo.

Things start off pretty good, the first few weeks are easy, almost fun for the two. They go on low level missions where Yuuji is able to observe how sorcerers fight and work. He even gets to meet Kusakabe, who offered to help teach Yuuji how to fight.

But then things start to get weird.

Okay i have zero ideas for how to like scale weirdness so I'm just gonna list some stuff I've imagined and y'all can use your imagination.

Ijichi and Yuuji go against a curse that connects peoples dreams and feeds off their energy while they sleep.

Ijichi is given a super cool sci-fi gun

Registered and unregistered cursed weapons, objects and tools of varying grades keep showing up. Sometimes they appear in the car before missions, in their houses, hell Yuuji even got a 4th grade one in his happy meal. (it would be so funny if you sent in asks about this so i can talk about the definitely fake multi page document of ideas for cursed stuff, jk jk.. unless?)

I'm really bad about coming up with actual specifics and not just fun little scenes for me to think about. Basically just think gravity fall vibes. Getting into some very wild situations but usually home in time for dinner with Wasuke.

Idk maybe Sukuna gets trapped in an apple watch or something and Yuuji carries him around in hopes of domesticating him.

Essentially I want it to be like:

Random assistant: Where is Ijichi and his freak of a kid?! We need more help setting up for the event or the higher ups are gonna be pissed!! Yuuji who is trapped in an entirely different dimension and must go on a quest to find the Fairy Queens treasure and defeat the Evil Dragon Overlord to return home or their home will be destroyed: Do you think Grandpa will care if we're a little late for dinner? Ijichi who fell in the portal with him and is doing this for the 3rd time this week: Yuuji-kun we aren't leaving the classroom for a month after this, okay?

Anyway stuff happens, they get into weird scenarios but react with the same energy of someone who found hair in their soup at a restaurant. They're usually able to sort it out before the end of the day.

The higher ups don't really give a shit because the two usually report back at the end of the day no matter how weird the report is, and it's more than Gojo does.

Also Nanami and Gojo both have a thing for Ijichi and are competing for his attention. They are both failing because Ijichi is focusing on training his son right now. :)

There is 100% more details that I'm forgetting, but this is self indulgent and I don't care. Im definitely forgetting a few tags too but oh well.