#*badly. I designed bad- well. not badly

[dicketysplit]

this room is finally starting to resemble a living space and not a shipping container!!!!! i have a semi-functional staircase that i designed* and built myself out of scaffolding!!!!! there is no more bulky furniture building to be done!!!!!!!!!

[sideblogdotjpeg]

:3 ! some silly plane doodles ... human aus and etcetera ...

[jackawful]

Y'all have got to realize there are ways to protect older teens from sexual predators without insisting that teenagers don't think about sex or sexuality until the magical moment exactly 18 years from their birth. Trying to reduce harm to teenagers (especially teenagers online!) is a good and valid goal but pretending none of them have ever viewed porn or fucked isn't it. You've gotta acknowledge that if they don't have safe ways to explore their sexuality with peers they are going to explore in unsafe ways & that secrecy, shame, and censorship are what open the door to predators & allow them to normalize unhealthy power dynamics.

Shit like (professed) minors allegedly being on ezra's site is most likely the result of that community being the only thing they could find that treated them as like, humans with autonomy and desire, and that's a pattern that plays out with adult exploitation of teens in-person too (the "you're so mature for your age" routine). Of course teenagers exploring sexuality for the first time fell into a community that told them they weren't bad for being attracted to adults or having sexual desire in the first place! Thing is, an "Adult Attracted Minor" is like, the default state of teenagerdom.

The shit that's actually been demonstrated to help with this isn't carceral whackamoling of bad actors - it's giving teenagers education about healthy relationships and power dynamics and safe sex and yeah, kink, and also giving them the autonomy to make their own decisions about sex. Specifically, you let them know that it's normal to be attracted to adults but that adults trying to date or fuck them are in a position of power that means those relationships can't be healthy. In absence of that, teens are vulnerable to the first adult that appeals to their need to be taken seriously. And for fucks sake, using "minor" to equate teens with young children in these cases makes this tactic easier for abusers to pull off, not harder, because it is self-evident to teens that they have more capacity for autonomy than the average 8 year old. Sure, it makes the people you're targeting in your callout Sound Worse, but it also immediately loses you credibility in the eyes of teenagers themselves.

And for fucks sake, don't let a handful of bad actors using a leftist framing for that old song and dance lead you to believe that's what youth lib is about OR take away focus from all the times the right wing has systemically & institutionally done this.

[cybertron-smash-or-pass]

TF One D-16

[miningroseakira]

FINALLY WATCHED JIMMY'S E4 IM HAVING THE TIME OF MY LIFE

[sweetestflow3rs]

me when i have an idea of how dod!mean lesbian!vanida looks like ( thanks sua from alst ) but i still have no idea what is her catalyst moment

[arolesbianism]

Finally got around to finishing the second nugget batch, this time featuring several favorite children and the absolute least favorite child <3

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[cephalofrog]

noah caldwell-gervais is the only motherfucker to have ever been correct about dark souls and elden rings' difficulty. no one else understands

[clumsypuppy]

for like 3 weeks i was wondering why i was sleeping so much and felt listless. and just now I managed to email 3 people and responded to a month old message in the span of an hour because I got back to TAKING MY FUCKIN MEDS..........

[randomminty]

Thoughts on Grimsley from BW?

Love the lore they give him that never gets expanded on Yeah his rich family fell into ruin Yeah its resulted in a gambling addiction Whatever. Hes in alola now and he can surf

[moe-broey]

I dare not speak it into existence but the ultimate monkey's paw moment for me is if Sharena wins next year but. She's done. By Yoshiku. Which actually feels like A VERY STRONG POSSIBILITY given her connections to Peony. 🧍

[rosemaryhoney27]

Phantom Fashion

It all started with a stupid bet. Tucker had dared Danny to do the “Ultimate Strut Challenge” for his livestream—walking down the halls of Casper High like he was on a Parisian runway. Danny, never one to back down from a challenge (and honestly a little bored), played along. He channeled his inner supermodel, flipping his imaginary hair and sauntering down the hall like he owned it. Tucker, feeling competitive, did his own exaggerated version, adjusting his glasses with a smolder and flashing a dazzling smile at the camera.

The video was supposed to be a joke. A quick laugh for Tucker’s followers. But within hours, it exploded online.

By the next morning, “#FentonFoleyFierce” was trending on every social media platform. People weren’t laughing at them—they were thirsting over them. The internet was losing its mind over how unexpectedly hot Danny and Tucker looked when they actually tried. Fan edits, slow-motion compilations, even dramatic art pieces started flooding the web. One particularly detailed oil painting of Tucker was titled “The Seduction of Glasses.”

And then, the email came.

Subject: Modeling Opportunity – S.T.Y.L.E. Agency

Danny read the message about five times before he turned to Tucker. “Dude. This is a joke, right?”

Tucker snatched Danny’s phone and skimmed through the email. “Nah, man. This is legit! S.T.Y.L.E. is huge. They rep actual models. Like, real models. Not just two dudes who were goofing off in the hallway.”

Danny groaned, flopping onto his bed. “I’m not a model! I fight ghosts! I do homework—badly! I don’t walk down runways!”

“Correction: You do walk down runways. And apparently, you do it well enough for a major agency to want you.” Tucker grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Dude, this is fate. We’re gonna be famous! Plus, imagine the free snacks at photoshoots.”

And somehow, against all logic, they were.

A week later, they found themselves in a sleek, modern studio in downtown Amity Park, being prepped for a test photoshoot. Danny, in a fitted black suit with his messy hair styled just right, was told to give a “mysterious bad boy” look. He tried but mostly ended up looking constipated. Tucker, rocking a high-fashion streetwear ensemble with his signature hat slightly tilted, was encouraged to play up his confident charm—which he interpreted as “finger guns at the camera.”

The camera flashed. They posed. Danny tripped over a light stand. And the moment their pictures hit the agency’s social media, the world really lost it.

Fashion brands wanted them. Magazines asked for interviews. Someone even made a fan calendar. The modeling world had spoken: Tucker Foley and Danny Fenton were the next big thing.

The only problem? Danny’s ghost-hunting schedule didn’t exactly mesh with high-end fashion shoots.

Cue the chaos. And an accidental ghost fight in the middle of a fashion gala.

Then came the second email.

Subject: Exclusive Inquiry – Phantom Partnership

Danny’s stomach dropped as he read the email. S.T.Y.L.E. wasn’t just interested in Danny Fenton. They wanted Danny Phantom too. The ghostly glow, the white hair, the piercing green eyes—apparently, his spectral form had an untapped aesthetic that designers were desperate to capitalize on.

Tucker nearly choked on his soda. “Dude. They want you to model as a ghost. This is next-level ridiculous.”

Danny buried his face in his hands. “I can’t just go ghost in front of cameras! What if someone figures it out?”

“They’re offering bank, bro. Like, stupid money. Enough that you could buy actual good snacks for once.”

Before Danny could protest further, another email pinged. This time from a luxury cologne brand. They wanted to market a new fragrance—Phantom Essence—with Danny Phantom as the face of the campaign. The tagline? Mystery. Power. Otherworldly Allure.

Tucker was in hysterics. “You’re literally becoming the undead equivalent of a fashion icon. What’s next, a ghost-themed runway show?”

Danny groaned. “At this rate? Probably.”

And sure enough, two days later, an invitation arrived for a high-end haunted fashion event—where Danny Phantom was expected to make a dramatic entrance. What could possibly go wrong?

Danny refused to be the only ghost haunting the runway, so he convinced Ember McLain to join him. It took some negotiating—mostly promising she could debut her newest song at the afterparty—but Ember, ever the dramatic performer, finally agreed.

“This better be worth my time, dipstick,” she said, adjusting her flaming blue hair as she examined the wardrobe options. “I don’t do low budget.”

Tucker’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, trust me. This is gonna be legendary.”

And just like that, the fashion world wasn’t ready for the supernatural duo of Phantom and Ember.

The moment their first joint photoshoot dropped, fans went wild. Phantom and Ember weren’t just modeling—they were smoldering. The chemistry between them was undeniable, even to those who had no idea about their history. Hashtags like #GhostlyGlamour, #PhantomAndEmber, and #HauntinglyHot dominated social media.

Tucker, scrolling through the comments, cackled. “Dude, people are shipping you two so hard right now.”

Danny, face burning red, tried to act nonchalant. “It’s just… photos. We were posing.”

Ember, leaning against him in a striking black and blue ensemble, smirked. “Oh please, Phantom. You were totally into it.”

Danny opened his mouth to argue but promptly shut it when she flicked a ghostly spark at his nose. He was not going to give Tucker more material for his teasing.

Meanwhile, Ember was enjoying the attention. “I gotta admit, this is kinda fun. The cameras love me, the fans love me… and you, Phantom? You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Danny groaned, hiding his face in his hands. This whole modeling thing was getting out of control. But if the growing feelings he was desperately trying to ignore were any indication… maybe it wasn’t all bad.

[mariasont]

can you please write Spencer and shy!reader for valentine's day? 💕💝💖💖💞💝💖 I love them so much and I love you more

Lover Girl - S.R

summary: spencer has a hypothesis about love on vday & it’s not something you agree on pairing: post!prison!reid x shy!medialiaison!reader warnings: r going crazy over something spencer said hours ago (get a grip girl), r kinda goes out of character, spencer being the sassiest human alive wc: 1.9k a/n: thank u sm for requesting i love this and i love you even more ✨💖

The draft on your laptop was starting to look less like a press release and more and more like a psychological cry for help. Words sprawled like abandoned thoughts, entire sentences had been brutally sacrificed to the backspace key, and you'd rewritten the same transition phrase so many times it no longer felt like a real word. The whole thing read like the work of someone who had just sustained a minor head injury.

Objectively? It was bad.

Subjectively? It was an unmitigated disaster.

You blamed Spencer. Or maybe you blamed yourself for still thinking about it, for letting his words linger in your head like an incorrectly formatted footnote that you couldn't stop rereading.

You had never been a hopeless romantic, exactly, but you liked the idea of it, the structure of it. Believed it was more than a sum of its parts. More than just wires crossing in the brain and pattern recognition.

And yet, he had discarded the notion so easily, reducing love to a series of neurochemical reactions misinterpreted as emotional depth, something logical and completely stripped of any sort of real feeling.

He hadn't meant it cruelly, but his voice carried a kind of detachment that made you want to launch your coffee at his ridiculously well-structured face. It shouldn't bother you.

It really, genuinely, in no universe, should not bother you. It wasn't like you had a chance with him, so why did it matter what Spencer Reid, certified romance cynic, destroyer of sentimental ideals, and casual heartbreaker, thought about love?

If anything, his lack of belief should make it easier to kill this absurd crush before it spiraled into something unmanageable.

You squared your shoulders and looked back to the screen, back to the carefully worded Bureau-approved phrases meant to sound polished and agreeable.

Strengthening community trust. Bridging the gap between law enforcement and the public.

Meaningless, hollow, designed to be palatable without saying anything real. Blah. Blah.

I mean, did he really think that love was like an outdated scientific theory? It was Valentine's Day, for crying out loud — if nothing else, wasn't that proof of its existence?

You had considered the possibility that he had stopped believing because he had to. That prison had stripped the softness of him, turned love into just another abstract concept that didn't hold up under scrutiny, like time, like trust, like freedom.

Or maybe (and this was the more infuriating possibility) he had always been like this, too pragmatic to believe in something he couldn't technically hold in his hands.

You groaned under your breath, rubbing at your temple like you could physically press the words out of your skull, like they were just another headache waiting to pass. Why were you still thinking about this? It was stupid. He was stupid. You were stupid of caring.

Except he wasn't stupid. He was obnoxiously brilliant, the kind of smart that made other geniuses insecure, and that was the problem. Because if someone that intelligent didn't believe in love the way you did.... did that mean you were in the wrong? Had you been naive this whole time, blindly buying into a romanticized fantasy while Spencer had long dissected it and found it lacking?

The knock on your office doorframe startled you so badly that your entire skeletal structure attempted to evacuate your body, knee jerking up, colliding with the underside of the desk with an unforgiving whack.

You barely had time to wonder if you'd just concussed your kneecap before you looked up and — Spencer. Standing in the doorway like some cosmic punishment for thinking about him too hard.

Heat flooded your face like an admission of guilt, because why, why, did it suddenly feel like you'd been caught red-handed?

"Hey," he said, tilting his head. "You okay?"

No, you wanted to say. Not at all. Because what were you supposed to do when they very subject of your over analysis materialized in your doorway, looking at you like he could see every freaking unspoken thought folded between your ribs?

You swallowed, forced yourself to look anywhere but directly at him, because everything about this, about him, felt like some kind of cruel irony.

"Uh, yeah," you croaked, voice pitching embarrassingly high. Great. Perfect. Totally normal human behavior.

Spencer's brow furrowed, his head doing that thing he did when something wasn't quite right. But miraculously, he didn't say anything about it.

"I was just...," You gestured to your laptop.

Spencer nodded slowly, either accepting your excuse at face value or deciding it wasn't worth the effort to call you out.

"Right. I was just going to ask if you had finalized the press release for me to proof."

Your stomach lurched, a sharp drop like missing a step in the dark. Finalized. Bold of him to assume you'd done anything besides stare blankly at your screen for the past fifteen minutes.

"Oh! Yeah, of course," you said, throwing out the words with a half-hearted smile as if that would seal the lie. "Almost done. Just... you know, making sure it's perfect."

Spencer stepped inside, moving just past the threshold. His expression changed. Less neutral. More aware.

"You're acting strange."

Which was unacceptable, because if anyone in this scenario should be acting strange, it was him, standing there like a walking contradiction.

"I — what?" The laugh escaped before you could trap it behind your teeth, jagged and surely unnatural.

"You're tense. And you don't usually second-guess yourself this much. If it was almost done, you'd just say so." His eyes flicked to the laptop. "Did something happen?"

Your face went nuclear, looking away, hyper focused on the edge of the desk like it was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen. "I don't know what you mean. I'm acting normal."

Spencer made a thoughtful noise. "Denial first. Then contradiction."

"I —"

"Oh, and there's the hesitation. That usually happens when you're trying to figure out how to backpedal without making it obvious."

"Do you always do this?"

"Only when people are lying about something." He squinted at you. "And you're a very bad liar."

He tapped a finger a finger against his arm in a way that made your nerves itch, before stepping forward and sinking into the chair across from your desk.

"Huh."

You frowned. "What?"

"You're doing the same thing you did earlier," he said matter-of-factly. "Avoiding direct responses, looking everywhere but me, shifting in your seat."

His gaze lingered, and then — Gods, help you — his lips curved, just slightly.

"Almost like the conversation was bothering you then, too."

Oh. Oh, this was bad. He was trying to talk about the one topic you'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to erase from your brain.

"I just, well, it's not that I had thoughts or feelings on it or anything, I just didn't, well, I mean, I just didn't want to be in that conversation, you know? Not that it was bad. Just — not my thing."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted. "So you disagreed with me?"

"I — I did not say that."

"No, but you just said everything but that." He leaned forward. "So tell me. What was it?"

You finally look at him, actually looked at him, and immediately regretted it.

You tried to gauge if there was any chance you could turn this conversation in your favor.

Nope.

"I mean, I wouldn't say disagreed, per se, I just... thought maybe your take was a little—," you sighed, "dismissive."

"Oh? And what exactly am I dismissing?"

You hesitated. Not because you didn't have an answer, but because you had too many. Love wasn't just science, romance wasn't just a byproduct of biology, that it meant something. It's real. It matters. It's— "You're dismissing everything beyond your own reasoning."

You waited. For the rebuttal, the deconstruction, the inevitable moment Spencer laid your words bare and left you scrambling to rebuild them. But this time there was nothing. He just sat there. Looking at you. Like he was waiting for something else.

You fidgeted. Crossed your arms. Uncrossed them. "What?"

"Nothing. Just... thinking." A pause. "You clearly have an opinion on this, just trying to figure out what it is."

Your lips pressed together, your brain begging you to let it go, to shut up before you started. But the words were already forming, bubbling up too fast to stop.

"Okay, look. I get it. I get the science. I get that love can be explained in chemical terms."

Spencer nodded, like you were finally seeing his point.

"But that doesn't mean that's all it is," you said, sitting up straighter. "Love isn't just an instinct. If it was then why do people stay in love when it doesn't make sense? Why do people wait years for someone who might never come back? Why do people hold on to feelings they know won't be returned?"

You inhaled sharply, only to realize what you had said felt a little too personal. Heat flared to your toes. "I just, uh, you're looking at it like it's an equation when it's more like, like art. You can break down why a painting is visually appealing, but that doesn't explain why it moves people."

"So love is art then?" A small smirk tugged at his lips. "That would mean it's subjective. That one person's version of it isn't the same as another's."

"Well, yeah, that's my point." You nodded. "Everyone experiences it differently. That's why it can't be reduced to formulas. You can recreate the exact conditions of a moment, use the same words, set the same scene but it won't feel the same to someone else. Because love isn't about external factors, it's about who you're with, how they make you feel."

"That sounds dangerously close to saying it's entirely irrational."

You exhaled. "If it is, then I guess that means you'll never understand it."

Spencer pushed himself to his feet, adjusting his cuff like this was just another conversation and not something that had you actively fighting for oxygen.

Then, with an infuriating self-satisfied smile, he murmured, "Well, maybe I just need the right person to teach me."

You nearly choked on air.

And with one last glance, he grinned and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, lover girl."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[ditzybeee]

❥・Jason Todd — high school bf

❥・tags: jason todd blurb, jason todd is a loverboy, jason todd is a loser, high school sweethearts, gn!reader, no use of y/n, implied dialogue, loosely based on me and my bf :3

❥・word count: 636

❥・─────────────────────

Jason Todd is crushing hard.

The two of you met freshman year and he couldn't get you out of his head since.

He, of course, went through the painful process of friends-to-lovers. Because he'd rather make sure you liked him—a lot—before considering flirting.

Not that you'd know it.

He was bad at it. He was so, so bad at it.

Stupid lines from his stupid novels. Did you even read Jane Austen?

Never mind that you thought it was cute—you thought he was cute—lucky him.

When Jason asked you out, it couldn't be less cheesy. Full bouquet of flowers—which he didn't burden you with holding for the school day—and a bunch of your favorite snacks, which you promptly shoved into your bag before your teachers questioned them.

Newly dating and he was so excited. Nervous and sweaty palmed holding your hand in his, smiling ear to ear.

He'd walk you to class, even if it's across campus.

Sure, a few tardies would damage his perfect record, but he can't afford you missing your classes.

Dates with Jason were something else. Bruce had Dick chaperone the first few—either that or the dates were at the manor. Not that he didn't trust you, but he didn't trust Jason.

And he wanted to see his second son awkwardly maneuver speaking to his own partner.

Jason shared his first kiss with you on his first non-chaperoned date. A picnic some spring day in which he kept sneezing because of the pollen, mumbling about how badly he looked.

You stared at him in awe, giggling, and helping him wipe his face.

He was so, so in love with you that he whispered if he could kiss you, and quickly did when you accepted.

As high school continued, your relationship blossomed.

Both families trusted the other to keep their child safe when they slept over, to send the two of you to different cities and states for events, and to allow trips.

Jason first said "I love you" when he saw you in your dance attire. Sure, he's seen you in formal wear before. But this? This takes the cake.

He kissed you quickly, whispering the three words into your ear before Alfred made you two pose for pictures.

This same scenario repeated every time the two of you had a dance.

Every dance, every school event, every club meeting, you and Jason were there together.

It was about junior year when he told you about Robin and how he was thinking of changing it to Red Hood once you two graduated. He took your pointers for his new costume design—after a week-long argument about him being a vigilante and how dangerous it was.

He asked you to prom in a long-winded text message—multiple questions of whether you wanted a public promposal—it was obvious he used speech-to-text, and the message mirrored his speech patterns.

The dance was great. Dinner was delicious and the night was equal parts your boyfriend and equal parts your friends.

The days leading up to graduation were full of anxiety and joy.

You and Jason would stay out well past your curfews—which were basically obsolete, as both families didn't enforce it, as long as you were with each other—and just hang out.

You'd talk about your plans after high school—college, trade school, straight to work?

He'd mumble soft praises against your skin as you ramble about your ambitions, mirroring your energy when you asked about his vigilante plans.

Graduation—Jason's eyes hadn't been dry for a single second that day. He sobbed when you walked across the stage, when you cheered just as loudly for him, and when he saw you in your graduation gown all dressed up.

Jason loves the title "high school sweethearts".

❥・─────────────────────

❥・a/n: im feelin soft for my boy rn :( obvi no trauma au if he never DIED <3 more smut soon tho! i wont have internet the week after this coming week so ill try and get as much stuff out as possible!

❥・masterlist

[sammywritesfics]

LH43-Curb Side Confessions

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Neutral!Reader (I think?). Word Count: 1.6k Warning: None. Summary: When Luke invited you to his lake house. He didn't think it would end in him fighting for your affection from his friends. What happens when he suddenly explodes outside of the bar? Requests are open. Masterlist: here.

--

Luke wasn’t a jealous person. But the second he brought you to the lakehouse to meet his friends. Ethan had taken it upon himself to show you around. He had no reason to care, you weren’t his. But he wanted to be so badly. 

Jack had spent all season making fun of him for his obvious feelings about you. Luke was gonna make his feelings known this summer. But every time Ethan was there with a drink or worse. 

Luke stood at the end of the boat watching as Ethan rubbed sunscreen on your back. Luke clutched his beer can in his hand, denting the sides. The worst part about it was you had to have known how he felt. You were always so good at reading him. 

You turned your head to Ethan, “Getting a little low there, Edwards” you teased with an undertone of warning. Ethan’s hand slipped off you instantly, “Sorry, just making sure Luke was glaring my way” he joked, settling beside you. 

“You're such an ass” You mumbled sipping your drink as your eyes wandered over to Luke. The sun met his curls in a heavenly way. Upon your arrival, Ethan told you his plan to get Luke to confess to you. At the same time, you didn’t think Luke had feelings for you. You wouldn’t miss the chance to ruffle his feathers. 

Luke had his back turned to you, but you could tell it was tense. He had pushed himself over to Quinn who was driving the boat the second Ethan walked over to you. You wondered if maybe Ethan was right or if Luke's beer was already warm from the sun. 

You got up to get a check on him, but Jack and his girlfriend were already dragging you to the cooler. It was then that you noticed your favorite drink in the cooler. It wasn’t an odd one, but no one else in the house drank it as often as you did. 

You couldn’t help how your eyes wandered to Luke, who was still ignoring you. But you did catch Quinn's smug smile. You started to feel that just maybe Luke had some small feelings for you. 

Luke had always been kind to you in college, but now that he was in the big leagues. You assumed he would’ve cut it out by now. Oh how wrong you were. 

--

You laid by the country club pool with Gabby, Dylan had taken it upon himself to join you as well. He was your designated driver, and also a deterrent for men. Every man who would come up to you or Gabby would get an excuse. Often more outlandish than the last. 

“You are dating both of them?” some guy had asked, gesturing to each girl on Dylan’s side. Dylan’s lip twitched as he was forced to keep his expression steady. “So? Just cause you can’t get one, doesn’t mean I have to limit myself..” Dylan snapped full of sass. The guy walked away butthurt, but you giggled as Dylan leaned back into his pool chair. 

Gabby turned to you, “So Luke seemed to be sulking pretty hard yesterday” she said coyly sipping her drink. Your cheeks flushed, “Why is everyone so convinced he likes me?”  You groaned, propping yourself up with an arm. 

“Because I have known you both since college, and my boy is down bad,” Dylan said, eating some chips you packed just for him. “You're just saying that because you like how I give you the princess treatment” you joked gesturing to the chips. Dylan winked at you, playfully. 

Gabby leaned forward, “Well, do you like him?” she asked, eyes flicking from Dylan back to you. You stirred your drink, glancing at her shyly. 

“Lu’s a sweetheart..” You mumbled quietly, watching as Gabby laughed softly. “Oh she definitely likes him back” Gabby teased, nudging Dylan. 

Your ears flushed, “I just, he could have anyone he wants. I’m just me ya know?” Your eyes turned back to your drink. “Your way is good for him, your kind. And you always kept him calm during our tournaments” Dylan said, nudging your chin up to meet his eyes. 

You sent him an unsure smile, luckily Gabby had changed the subject for you. You did let your mind wander, maybe you did like Luke. Just a bit. 

--

When you got back to your room, you noticed Luke's bedroom door down the hall was open. After you changed out of your swimsuit, you went to check on him. 

You knocked on his door, “Luke?” You called, watching as he tensed up before turning around. He was shirtless, with a shirt around his wrist. Your body froze, eyes frozen on his chest. 

You knew he was attractive, you always had known. But seeing him in the darkroom made your mind run wild. 

You had blinked out of your daze when he pulled his shirt on. “Did you have fun with Gabby?” Luke asked, sitting on his bed casually. You followed him and sat down. The energy in the room was comfortable and safe. 

“Yeah, we brought Dylan to scare off guys..” You watched as he tilted his head away. You reached hesitantly to cup his jaw, “Lu, look at me..” you spoke softly. 

Luke met your gaze, “You're not into Ethan right?” he asked. It was a dumb question, he knew you weren’t but he craved to hear you say it. 

“Ew, at least Dylan would mildly make sense..” You tried to joke, but Luke just looked like you had hit him. You reached for his hand but he moved it away. 

“Where is this coming from?’ You asked, in that sweet voice you would use when tending to an animal you found. Specifically stray cats or dogs. 

Luke met your gaze, “I just don’t want to lose you.” It was a half-life. Luke had loved you since he figured out what that really meant. You had brought him drinks between periods in his games. You were always there with a smile when he lost. He could not lose you, even if it meant hiding how he felt. 

“You won’t, and I'm not interested in your dumbass friends..” You reassured him. Before you could clarify what you meant. Trevor ran up the stairs as Jack chased him with a water gun. “Toddlers..” you scoffed, getting up and leaving his room. 

--

A small group of you headed to the bar that night, Quinn, Gabby, Jack, Luke, and Dylan. You frowned, there wasn’t a spot for you. Dylan opened his mouth to make a joke about how you should sit on his lap. Wanting to piss Luke off a bit before the night began. 

But before Dylan could even speak, Luke had reached across him to you. Tugging you onto his lap gently. You flushed and hid your face in Luke’s neck. You hadn’t been in this position since college. Luke didn’t comment as he saw his friends and brothers stare. 

Luke wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you close to his chest. He didn’t know why it embarrassed you. You had done it hundreds of times before. But he felt the need to protect you regardless. 

Once at the bar, you sat in the booth. Dylan had gone up to get you a shot, just to watch Luke glare at him from the booth. As the antics went on, Luke had to excuse himself a few times to the bathroom. Coming back more pissed than before. 

Dylan had paid for your drinks, flirted with you, and made jokes about setting you up with Ethan, But the final straw was Dylan putting his hand on your thigh. 

Luke reached over to you and pulled your head into his chest. His hands formed fists but eventually dropped them. He was riled up and needed to cool off. 

Luke made his way angrily out of the bar. “Luke!” You called running after him. His head twitched towards you but ultimately kept it in front of him as he kept walking. Only when you started to lose your breath did he slow down for you to catch up. 

“What's wrong? If it's Dylan-” he cut you off, turning around and holding your face in his hands. His eyes flicked across your face with a pained look. 

“I am so hopelessly in love with you. And watching him flirt with you makes me want to hit him” he spoke out quickly, far too quickly for your brain to catch up. 

“What?” You stared up at him, a bit startled. 

“I can’t stand wanting to hit my friend. So if you're…if he's who you want. That's fine, but I cannot sit here and pretend like it's not breaking my heart..” Luke mumbled, as his eyes flicked from your lips to your eyes. 

“I’m not into Dylan!” You yelled as a car drove past you both. Luke closed his eyes, as if unbelieving. 

“Luke, look at me..” You said trying to get his attention back on you. The night air was so cold as the alcohol started to wear off. 

Luke shook his head. “I just need some space..” he huffed as he walked away. You stood there, torn between freezing to death to comfort him. And not wanting to push him further. 

“Luke, I’m in love with you..” the words slipped out so fast, too fast as his head whipped back to look at you. Luke’s hand shook by his sides, “you don’t mean that..” he said, shaking his head. 

His denial broke something in you. You reached forward and kissed him. Luke moved immediately to cup your face with both hands. His lips met yours in a heated moment. All the jealousy, all the build-up from the weekend piling into a heated session on the curb. 

“I love you too..” Luke mumbled, pressing his nose into your cheek.