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hockey-for-hotties · 28 days ago

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opposites attract ⏐ l.hughes

pairings: luke hughes x afab!reader genre: fluff ⎜ strangers-to-lovers ⎜ he falls first ��college au ⎜slow burn? ⎜ warnings: mentions of a shitty old ex ⎜protective Luke ⎜ Sick Luke ⎜ not much tbh ⎜mentions of Luke naked but not in a sexual way synopsis: you're not quite sure what to make of the oversized golden retriever defence man, especially when he asks for your help to pass his upcoming exams. word count: 11.3k authors note: this took me a really long time to write and I was not expecting to enjoy writing it so much but I really did - so I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. (UNEDITED)

You remember the first time you saw him. You had been locked up in the library for hours, your notebooks scattered around you, your pens all over the table, two highlighters had already made it into the bin, and your laptop was begging for a charger.

The library is quiet, it usually is around this hour - especially on a Friday night - just late enough that most students have given up and gone home to either finish their study or not do anything at all - but it was still early enough that it wouldn’t have you questioning all your life choices the next morning. The overhead fluorescents had been switched out for the small individual table lamps on each table - your usual table, the third from the back, right under the large window letting the soft moonlight in.

Your laptop flashes the red warning again, begging you to plug it in. You oblige letting out a soft groan as you heft your tote bag onto the table and begin digging around for the white chord, only pausing when movement in the corner of your eye catches your attention - the library was almost completely empty, bar a few students littered around the stacks of books who were definitely not studying if the soft breaths were anything to go by - so what was this lanky, clearly overgrown, drank too much milk as a child, obvious athlete doing in here - at nine pm no less, no one comes in here after eight.

You relax a little at the soft ‘bing’ of your laptop being plugged in, the warning disappearing instantly as you take in the new intruder. He was clearly an athlete, that wasn’t a secret, he was completely decked out in the u-mich sweats and shoes, the backpack slung over his shoulders looked heavy but it was clear that no one had used it since it was bought at the start of the year - the fabric looking almost coated with dust from sitting in a cupboard or under a bed for too long.

You watch him as he looks around the library, his eyes darting between the shelves widening as they spot the couple that had been there all night, half mounting each other and his cheeks glow a bright pink as he turns back to the table, his eyes locking on yours and a smile spreading on his face.

“Hey, you must be the tutor?” He says quickly as he shuffles over to your table, dropping his bag on the table with a loud bang, startling the librarian at the front desk, who just shakes her head and goes back to reading the ’90s romance she had been nursing for the past few hours.

“I’m sorry?” You ask slowly, watching as he pulls his notebooks out of his bag, each book looking newer than the last one, also clearly unused despite being three-quarters of the way into the year. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The athlete pauses for a moment, staring down at you with confusion before letting out a soft laugh.

“Ha, ha, very funny - I’m Luke, the guy that called you the other day, because of the flyer in the student athlete building.” He shakes his head as he laughs again, thinking your ‘antics’ were the funniest thing he’d seen all day. You continue to just watch as he settles into the seat across from you, your brow furrowed and your head cocked to the side as it all seems to click in his head. “You’re not the tutor.” He says quietly, almost completely to himself, his cheeks flushing back to the burning pink colour they were before.

“I’m not.” You confirm, trying to stop the upturn of your lips as you watch him flounder for a second, his eyes looking over your work spread across the table, and the way he had thrown his books over the top.

“I am so sorry — I shouldn’t have just assumed…” He starts as he tries to gather his stuff, the flush spreading down his neck as he fumbles, a few of his pens falling to the floor as he scrambles after them, “come to think of it I’m pretty sure I spoke to a dude.” He mumbles to himself as he places his pens back on the table, looking awkward as he bends over to pick up the rest.

“Luke?” You say quietly, wanting to stop the chaos happening in front of you as quickly as possible. His head perks up at his name, his blue eyes wide, his curls bouncing as he turns to face you.

“You know my name?”

“You did say it like five minutes ago.” You correct, clearing your throat before leaning further over the table to grab hold of his textbook. “You’re in 102 ECON?” You question, flipping through the book that looks like it was pulled from its packet a total of twenty minutes ago - the book unmarred by any obvious study. He nods in response to your question, managing to gather his fallen pens before sliding back into the seat across from you, “I can probably help you with this — what do you need the most help with?”

“Everything?” He lets out a chuckle as he raises a hand to scrub at the back of his neck — you shoot him a smile in sympathy before flicking the textbook to chapter one.

“You know that the ‘student’ comes first in student athlete, right?” You tease, watching the blush rise on the tips of his ears, enjoying the way he seems to get so flustered so easily.

“Wait, so you’ll help me?” He asks for clarification, his brows pinched in confusion. “I can pay you, the other guy wanted two hundred per session.” He says reaching into his bag and pulling out his wallet, not noticing your agape mouth at the number he threw out.

“Well he was severely overcharging.” You say, straightening your posture, as you scoot your chair around the table, sliding the textbook between the two of you as you scoot by his side, “I will take a drink or snack every time you come here though.”

“I can do that.” He agrees quickly, focusing his attention quickly on the textbook as you try to do a crash course in each chapter to see where he’s up to. It takes three hours, and the librarian coming to shut down your session before you have a good idea of where to start on the rest, Luke is by no means dumb and picking up most things pretty quickly, but he only remembers the basics of chapter one and you only have three weeks till his exam to get him through the next five chapters.

“I really appreciate you doing this for me.” He says softly as the two of you exit the library, your books bundled in your arms, his back in his brand new backpack with notes on what to read through before the next time you meet up.

“It’s fine, I have a soft spot for people in need.” You say, glancing down at your phone as it rings the last name you want to see lighting up the screen.

“Are you going to answer that?” He asks quickly, as you shove your phone back into your pocket.

“No.” You respond, already getting annoyed by the constant buzzing of the phone in your pocket, you begin to walk down the stairs of the library, your dorm only five minutes from the large building. “Remember, I want a hot chocolate on Wednesday.” You remind him, watching as he types it in his phone, before you begin walking back to your dorm, not looking back to notice the way he walks slowly behind you, his attention completely on his phone hoping you wouldn’t turn around to ask him why he was following you - maybe you would think his dorm was this way too - he follows you until he’s sure you reach your dorm building before he starts his own way home in the opposite direction.

Despite not expecting to hear from Luke again - your phone had almost been set ablaze by how often it was lighting up with text messages from him over the weekend — though you weren’t able to contain your surprise that he was actually continuing on with the work you had asked him to do before your next meet up.

Luke (library guy): read through chapter two! I’ve written all my questions so we can go through them on Wednesday.

Luke (library guy): Is there anyway we can meet up on Monday as well? My questions are at least two pages long.😫

Luke (library guy): things are getting out of hand…send help. 🙃 I’ve never studied this much in my life.

Luke (library guy): I know you’re reading these — if you’re going to ignore me at least try a little harder, or turn off your read receipts ☹️

You leave another message on read, as you tuck your phone back into your pocket - your headphones over your ears and a stack of marked quizzes tucked closely to your chest as you wander through the campus, making your way to the 102 ECON class you assist with — hoping to god it’s not the session Luke is in. To be completely honest, you had assumed that the second you had entered your dorm room after the night in the librar,y you’d be receiving a text from Luke asking to rain check — he was an athlete after all, they weren’t really known to stick to a schedule outside of their sport.

You glance up at the looming building in front of you, letting out a long sigh at the thought of suffering thorough yet another lecture you had already heard, and then getting stuck with all the questions from the upperclassmen who clearly thought this class would be an easy pass when they signed up for it two years ago. The freshmen were usually fine, barely asking questions, still going about their college lives without the pressure of impending failure — it was the juniors and seniors who were still stuck in the same class for the third - or fourth-year - in a row that tended to give you the biggest headaches.

You walk through the open classroom door, shoving your headphones off the top of your head until they sit comfortably on your neck, adjusting the quizzes in your arm before plopping them on top of the small second desk towards the front of the room. The classroom is half full when you arrive, the room buzzing with conversation and the occasional squeaking of someone taking a seat, you keep your head down as you arrange the quizzes before moving them to the professors desk — preparing to mentally disappear before anyone can ask you questions about the lesson for the day, until you hear it - the soft calling of your name.

“Pst, over here.” The first whispers of your name, seem to quiet most of the crowd, your body tensing as you glance up from the professors desk, it’s hard to miss Luke in his - what you think is typical - u mich hoodie, his curls bouncing against his head, seeming longer then they were last week when you last saw him, his hand raised in an enthusiastic wave. All dreams and hopes of Luke not being in this session are quickly sucked out the still open door, maybe you have a chance to make an escape?

“I didn’t know you were in this class.” Luke calls out, and as he’s sitting in the fifth row back, he really does “call” out to you. You can’t help the way your mouth falls open a little, your eyes darting around the class and the sudden attention on you, your eyes moving back over to Luke as his friend sitting besides him elbows him in the ribs, Luke’s hand falling down to hold his side, his gaze turning a glare on the boy sitting next to him.

“Dude, she’s not in the class, she’s the TA.” His friend scolds him in a very loud whisper, the grimace spreading across your face as you try to ignore the two of them.

“Well, how was I meant to know that?” Luke hisses back, his friend rolling his eyes and leaning back against his chair.

“Maybe if you’d been in class more than once a week, you would have known that.” You let out a long sigh as you sink into your chair besides the professors desk, sending the older gentleman a smile as he enters the room, thanking you as he picks up the quizzes from last week, and beginning to pass them out to the class, the flash of a D+ on Luke’s quiz flashing through your memory.

Luke (library guy): My kind, thoughtful, handsome and very single friend Ethan, has very gently brought it to my attention that I may have made you uncomfortable - for that I apologise.

You glance up when your phone buzzes on your desk, reading the message before glancing up towards the fifth row, seeing the two boys gathered around Luke’s phone, the message clearly thought of by the objectively good-looking man beside Luke, who shoots you what looks to be a genuinely apologetic smile. “It makes you seem smart.” You only just catch Ethan whispering to Luke, neither of them having much volume control now that the room is quieting down.

“No, it just makes you look like an idiot,” Luke replies, tucking the phone back into his pocket with a shake of his head, his eyes catching yours once more, the smile dropping off his face, as you look away, focusing yourself on sliding into your chair and reorganising your already organised desk. You don’t look up again throughout the lecture - you try not to anyway - keeping your eyes trained on your laptop in front of you, just barely listening to the lecture, and maybe occasionally sneaking a glance up at the fifth row, pleasantly surprised to see Luke very intently taking notes in his notebook - the one he had sent you photos of, covered in an increasingly more chaotic chicken scratch throughout the weekend.

You're halfway through your own sports psychology assignment when you hear the professor start wrapping up his lecture, deciding now is a better time than any to pack up your stuff and hope to make a quick escape once the class is done. Your laptop is only just in your bag when the professor draws all the attention back to you, “Now remember everyone has my email and the email of my wonderful TA this semester in their inbox, please let us know if you have any more questions, have a good week, everyone.” You curse quietly under your breath as you give the professor a tight-lipped grin, the kind old man none the wiser to the frustration deep in your soul at the idea of being the centre of attention once again.

You shove the last of your stuff into your tote bag, taking a quick glance at the class, glad to see Luke busy packing up his own bag as you beeline for the door, your exit seamless as you thread between the flood of students, just making it to the building exit as you hear him call out for you again, “Hey— wait.” Luke seems breathless as he reaches you, just as you push open the heavy glass doors, joining you in the chilly winter air, your arms crossing over your chest as you frown at the cold. “Are you just pretending I don’t exist now or what?” He asks, his long legs making it easy for him to keep up with your fast walking, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack, his knuckles turning white as he tightens his hold.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you back there.” Luke starts, letting out another pant as his left hand releases its strap, grabbing hold of the shoulder of your coat, pulling you to a stop. “Give me a second, you walk really fast.” He says as he takes in a few big gulps of air. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you—” He starts again, another breath, “I was just excited to see you there, no wonder you knew so much about ECON.” He clarifies, his cheeks resuming their normal flush of pink, his gaze following yours to where his hand still holds onto your coat, his hand dropping like you burned him with a quick “oh, sorry.”

“You didn’t embarrass me, Luke.” You say softly, trying your hardest to shoot him a reassuring smile, as you straighten out the wrinkle in your coat. “I was just a little surprised that you were so eager to greet me.” You try to explain, Luke’s head nodding as he cringes, sucking in air between his teeth, before his face relaxes into its usual soft smile.

“I was a little loud wasn’t I?”

“I wouldn’t say discretion is a forte of yours.” You joke back, letting out a soft chuckle as he lifts his hand to rub the back of his neck, his teeth trapping his bottom lip as he seems to relax a little.

“So we’re still on for studying on Wednesday night?” He asks quickly, his hands returning to their place on the straps of his bag as you nod slowly.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Good, cause I didn’t understand anything the teacher said today.” You let out another soft laugh before promising him you’d go over it during your study session, Luke hovers for a moment not quite taking the hint that you’re conversation was over, you look up at him, an eyebrow raised as you wait for him to continue, seeing straight through him to the way his mind seemed to be running a hundred miles a minute.

“Ethan wrote that text.” He blurts, his face seeming almost shocked that the words came out, but your lips just tilt up in amusement.

“I figured. He was really selling himself there.”

“Well he’s not kind or thoughtful so don’t look too much into it.” Luke huffs, his body seeming to radiate frustration as he thinks back to the text message.

“Luke, don’t think so much, it’s not a good look on you.” You say quickly, reaching a hand out to gently squeeze his arm, watching as his frustration dissolves into shock, his eyes shooting down to where you had barely touched his hoodie. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.” He barely has a chance to react as you step away from him, tucking your tingling hand into your coat pocket before quickly rushing off to your next lecture, barely able to focus throughout your own lessons as your mind keeps floating back to the awkward athlete.

The library is quiet when you arrive — just how you like it — the cold from your walk here was seeping into your bones, the warmth of the library heater quickly fighting off your shivering as you shuck off your oversized jacket, and gloves slowly making your way back to your favourite table by the window - your feet pausing as you notice the mop of curly hair already taking residence at your table. He’s tucked behind a stack of textbooks, the pen in his hand messily scribbling against his paper as his tongue sticks out a little, his teeth biting into it.

Luke spots you quickly, his posture straightening straight away as he raises his hand to call out to you, but catches himself at the last minute, just giving you a soft wave and a quick smile, his long legs shoving out the chair opposite him in an offering. The sleeves of his - you guessed it - u-mich hoodie as shoved up to his elbows, you slide into the seat in front of him as you can’t help but blurt out, “Do you wear anything other than school merch?” You have to restrain yourself from slapping your hand across your mouth as you say it — the question coming out meaner than you intended, but Luke just laughs, a breathy chuckle as he shrugs.

“It’s comfortable.” He responds, watching closely as you pull out your laptop and worn down notebook from your tote bag — the same tote bag you used last time you were here, but not the same one you wore to class the other day — Luke notices, to be fair, Luke notices a lot about you.

He noticed the way you tried to make yourself unnoticeable — he notices the way you use a different tote bag for different things — he notices the way you always look angry around campus but whenever someone approaches you, your face breaks out into a soft smile — he notices the way you twirl your hair when you get nervous or stressed — Luke had always noticed you, not matter how hard you tried, but that was something he would ever want to admit out loud, that would mean he would have to admit to watching you, and that would be creepy.

“What have you been working on?” You ask as you slide his notebook towards you, glancing over his notes with an impressed smile, before frowning at his graph towards the bottom of the page.

“I reread chapters two and three and thought I was doing well until they suggested mapping out the whole supply and demand thing and… well, it didn’t turn out so well.” He explains, The graph makes a lot more sense to you as he explains, "To be honest, I think I blacked out halfway through so I’m not even sure what this is measuring.” He says sheepishly as he points to the far box on the graph.

“It’s messy—” You admit, sliding the book back towards him before flicking open your own notebook, “but you have the fundamentals down. This is from when I took 102 ECON in freshman year, use it as a guide, remember I’m marking your work so I’ll know if you cheated.” You say, pushing your own notebook towards him.

Luke’s eyes widen in surprise as he flicks through the note book, neat, colour coded, handwriting careful and in print - each point defined and highlighted with a precision he could only every dream of - not to mention it seems to hold to answer to every question he has ever had about ECON, “This is the shit those Pinterest aesthetic girls dream about.” Luke says in awe as he continues to flick through the pages.

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the small tingle down your spine at the praise, “Just be careful with it, it’s been through like four tutor students and has yet to succumb to one of them, and if you ruin it…” You trail off, hoping the threat would carry its own weight, but Luke seems entirely too distracted by what you said before.

“You’ve tutored other students?” He starts, a frown dropping on his face, his eyes glaring down at your notebook of perfection — good heavens, it even smells like you — “God, you think you're special and then she goes as says she’s done this with four other people.” Luke grumbles to himself, his hand harshly flicking the book back towards you as he crosses his arms over his chest — “and to think I got you extra marshmallows in your hot chocolate.” You glance down at the book and shrug, lifting your hands to reach for it, but Luke is faster, his hand slapping down on it and dragging it back to himself.

“On second thought, your apology can be letting me keep this for the rest of the semester.” He seems pleased by his decision as he pushes a take away cup closer to you, tucking your note book under his own before going back to what he was doing before your arrived, occasionally lifting his head to ask a question about his work, before deciding better of it and referring to your notebook — which does in fact have the answer, every time.

It’s three hours later, when the library closure announcement rings overhead - your head snapping up in surprise, Luke lets out a long yawn stretching his arms over his head, his hoodie riding up ever so slightly the peak of pale skin enough to make your cheeks flush a little, you had still yet to figure out what sport Luke plays, but the defined ridges of his abdomen was a clear sign you were right to assume he was an athlete.

“I suppose it’s time I walk you home then.” Luke lets out through another yawn, already shoving his books in his bag, carefully sliding your notebook into the laptop pocket in the back, safely tucking it behind the cool metal of his MacBook.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” You exclaim quickly, following his lead and tucking your own books away.

“Yes I do.” He affirms, “It’s cold and dark out there and you are tiny, it would be all too easy for someone to grab you on their way past.”

“I’m not tiny — I’m of average stature, thank you very much.” You hiss, shooting him a very half hearted glare as you zip up your tote bag, pulling on your coat, as you watch Luke peel his off the back of his chair, he pulls his backpack on, and hangs his letterman jacket over his arm — Football then — you assume, the stereotypical image of a jock racing through your head, but Luke didn’t quite fit that, he was too… awkward.

“Just let me walk you home.” He grunts, his hand lightly pushing yours out of the way as he pulls your tote bag off the chair, swinging it over his own shoulder before leading the way out. You both bid goodbye to the librarian who waits, annoyed by the front door, not being able to leave until you do. The cold winter air hits you like a slap in the face, your arms quickly curling around yourself as you tuck your face into the collar of your coat, your breath letting out hot puffs of air.

Luke shuffles next to you for a moment, barely in your peripherals before a heavy fabric is draped over your shoulders, the navy blue jacket practically swallowing you whole, as he makes sure its tucked tightly over your shoulders — the fabric smells like him and is so soft against your cheeks as you burrow into it a little before realising what you’re doing.

“Luke, it’s freezing out here; you should be wearing your jacket.” You quickly spit out, rushing to slip the jacket off your shoulders and hand it back to him, but he shakes his head, his hands readjusting the heavy coat until he’s pleased it won’t slip straight back off.

“I’m used to the cold,” He says quickly, though his pink cheeks and nose are telling a slightly different story, “Besides, it looks better on you anyway.” He steps away from you a little, clearing his throat as he leads the way to your building, the question already bubbling in your mind as the two of your reach your dorm entrance.

“You know where I live?” You ask quickly, your head tilted to the side, your eyes accusing as Luke sputters to think of an answer.

“Apparently.” Is the best he can think of, his face scrunching in a grimace at his own response, but you just let out a guff of laughter. “I may have wandered back this way on Friday night to make sure you got home safe.” He admits, and you can’t fight the way your stomach flutters a little, an unreasonable response to him admitting he essentially stalked you the night after you tutored him.

“Oh.” You say.

“Oh.” He mimics the two of you standing on the front steps in silence for a few moments, before Luke clears his throat again, “Um, the guys and I are throwing a little get-together this Friday, I was wondering if you wanted to come?” His eyebrows are pinched as he asks the question, almost like he’s waiting for you to flat out refuse as soon as it leaves his mouth, “You don’t have to, I just thought I’d offer—”

“I’ll come.” You say quickly, cutting off what you assume is going to be another ramble, another flutter in the pit of your stomach at the way his face immediately lights up.

“Oh, cool.” He says, slipping his hands into his pockets, trying to remain calm as he nods to himself a few times, “It’s just at the hockey house a few streets over, I’ll text you the address.” He says quickly, the start of his sentence sticking out to you — hockey? guess there’s no more need to wonder. You nod quickly, taking your offered tote back from Luke and reaching in to fish for your keys, glancing up as Luke takes a few backward steps away, his head nodding for you to go inside.

“Luke, wait, your jacket.” You call out as he takes a few more steps away, a pleased smile on his lips as he looks over his coat still draped over your shoulder, he just shrugs his shoulders, moving further down the pathway, not giving you the chance to bring it to him before he says,

“Guess you’re gonna have to give it back to me on Friday.”

That sneaky little shit, this is his guarantee you’ll show up to the “get together” he knows you’ll never be able to wait to give his jacket back.

Fuck, you’ve never been to a “get together” — especially at a hockey house.

You’ve changed your outfit three times in the last twenty minutes — first it was a sweater and jeans, cause it's cold out there and you want to try without looking like you’re trying, you know? But what if everyone else was trying, then you’d just look stupid — so next was the tight top and small skirt, cause as a Disney princess once said, the cold never bothered me anyway, but the cold does in fact bother you so it was a very quick veto — and here you are with your third outfit, the tight top from the second outfit and the flared jeans from the first all surrounded by the thick navy letterman jacket that to be completely honest you had barely taken off since Luke let you borrow it.

You spare yourself one more glance in the mirror as you tug you hair into a claw clip, the overstimulation from it brushing against the back of your neck already too much to bare, the top fits well and does wonders for your chest, the jeans make your legs look longer and Luke’s jacket swallows your whole in the best way possible — it’s comforting in a way and somehow gives you just enough courage to pull your purse over your shoulder and shuffle your way out of the dorm.

You phone buzzes softly in your hand, the message from Luke lighting up the screen.

Luke (library guy): The party is in full swing. 🙃

Luke (library guy): No rush though, let me know when you’re on your way, or close and I’ll come out and greet you like a good host. ☺️

Luke (library guy): or I can meet you on the corner?

Luke (library guy): or halfway?

Luke (library guy): just text me, please.

You can’t help the way your lips tilt upwards in a smile as you read the messages, at the way Luke seems to have no concern over double texts or his overuse of the same three emoji’s despite what the contents of the messages say, you’re about halfway to the hockey house when you decide to put him out of his misery and text him back.

Library Girl: I’m just about to reach the corner of your street.

Luke (library guy): okay, be there in a sec.

Luke (library guy) has changed your nickname to ‘bestie boo 👻’

bestie boo 👻 : oh we’re changing nicknames are we?

bestie boo 👻 has changed Luke (library guy) nickname to ‘tall and lanky’

tall and lanky has changed their nickname to ‘favourite student 📚’

favourite student 📚: don’t test me bestie boo, I can promise you I’ll win this one.

You let out a breath of laughter as you tuck your phone back into your pocket, the tall and lanky figure making a slow jog down the street, catching your attention, your mouth falling open a little in surprise at Luke actually making his way to meet you on the corner of his street.

“I thought you were joking.” You call out as you speed up your steps to reach him at the corner, his eyes dragging down your body as you stop in front of him, his eyebrows pulled up in surprise as his gaze catches on his jacket encompassing your torso.

“I never joke.” Luke says, his face as serious as he can manage, — though the small twitch at the corner of his lip is a good hint that he is in fact joking — as his hand reaches out to pinch the hem of his jacket, “you’re wearing it?”

“Am I not allowed to? It’s warm.” You respond, the street lamps the only thing illuminating either of you, the only thing showing the way. Luke’s expression melts at your words, his head nodding slowly, his lips moving, though no words come out.

“It really does look better on you.” He says softly, finally stepping away from the building suffocation between the two of you, moving his hands to gesture that the two of you continue the walk down the street to the lit-up hockey house in the centre, the loud bass of music already tickling your ears. You fall into step beside him, the two of you making your way down the pavement in almost silence, Luke seeming stuck in his own thoughts, his knuckles brushing against yours with every swing of his hand — a part of you wondering if maybe he’s doing it on purpose.

If a part of him wants to hold your hand as much as you want to hold his.

The two of you make it to the house without much said between the two of you, the music overwhelming as a cheer of Luke’s name choruses over the crowd on the front porch, his hand raising in a quick wave of greeting before dropping and finding the small of your back as he leans down towards you.

“It’s pretty loud, are you going to be okay?” His question and concern make you falter a little, your mouth gaping as you think of something to say, the question of how much he’s noticed about you rising to the surface; “I don’t want to assume, but you don’t seem like the type of person to enjoy chaos.” He whispers, his hand a firm pressure on the small of our back as he leads you up the front porch steps.

“I’ll be fine.” You manage to squeak out, the skin underneath the layers of clothes burning wherever his hand touches — more calls of his name chorus as he swings open the front door, sticking close beside you as he greets people in passing, leading you towards the makeshift bar in the kitchen. The warmth of the house makes you instantly sweat under the weight of Luke’s jacket, the house filled with boisterous and already drunk college students, furniture pushed out of the way to make a haphazard dance floor and people crowded around each other as the air is drenched in the smell of mingling cologne and perfume, but all you can smell is Luke.

“Do you drink?” Luke asks softly as you reach the kitchen, his hand pulling away from your back hesitantly as he pulls two red solo cups off the pile, waiting for your response before pouring in any liquids.

“Uh, not really.” You respond, watching as Luke nods, pulling a unopened bottle of coke from the ice box, filling both his and your cups with it before tucking it away again — you manage to shake off the jacket which is now making you overheat with the swell of warmth from the house, tucking it over your arm as you gratefully accept the drink Luke offers. “It’s really hot in here.” You explain, but Luke’s eyes are unfocused, darting over your body, landing on your collarbones before he shakes his head and moves them back up to meet yours.

“You look real—” Luke is interrupted by a cheering of his name over by the dining table, riddled with half-filled solo cups, his teammates begging him to come join them. You watch as he goes to deny them at first, pointing to you with an apologetic look, but they’re relentless as they keep waving for him to join.

“Go play.” You say quickly, cradling your red cup in both hands as you nod towards the table, “I’ll watch.” You say as you step towards the group of hockey players gathered around the table, Luke looks at them before back at you for reassurance, the soft nod of your head enough as he slowly joins his friends, who all let out hoots of excitement as he reaches the table.

Luke is different here - you watch him play beer pong for over an hour, he introduces you to people as he goes, but his demeanour has changed completely, he’s confident here, at home. He’s not the same Luke that you see slouched over his ECON textbook most afternoons, stressing over his graphs and blushing when you compliment his understanding of what he just read; this is him in his element. He knows everyone, and you mean everyone. He knows their names, their stories, and asks them about random things going on in their lives before moving on to the next person. Everyone here loves him, and you can’t help the pressure building in your chest at the joy of being able to see him like this.

Luke never strays far, only leaving your side for a moment to throw the ping pong ball before he’s back besides you, his arm rubbing against yours, he interacts with everyone, welcomes them with a hug or handshake but yet he never leaves you alone for long, occasionally bending down to your ear to make sure you don’t need anything before taking his next turn.

It’s almost too much, his attention, his focus on you constantly — you feel like you can’t breathe but it’s not a bad feeling.

You’re halfway through a conversation with Ethan, one of the defensemen who plays with Luke ,when a voice calls out across the room, a voice you hadn’t expected to hear, especially not today.

“Hey, never expected to see little Miss Perfect at a frat party.” The voice is so close now, enough that you can feel the shiver run down your spine - the breaking of goosebumps along your skin. Ethan seems to notice something is up, his gaze looking over your head before he moves to nudge Luke with his elbow, bringing his attention to the man now loitering against the wall beside you.

“Kyle?” You question slowly as you turn to face him, knowing the only way to get rid of his attention was to give him some of yours first. “What are you doing here?” You ask quickly, your grip tightening around your almost empty cup of Coke as you shift your weight on your feet.

“A friend invited me.” You ex says like you had asked the most ridiculous question he had every heard, the answer coming out with a soft scoff.

“No, I mean over here? Why’d you come over here?” You clarify, the music of the room fading away as your breathing becomes more shallow — you hadn’t seen Kyle since you walked in on him and roommate, together, in your bed, on valentines day last year — and his ‘it’s not me, its you’ had repeated on your mind for weeks after.

“I thought we should talk.” He says casually, taking a long gulp of his beer as he moves a little closer, his body almost sandwiching you against the wall besides you - his grin downright gross as he looks you up and down, “I’ve missed you, you know.”

“Well, I don’t really want to talk to you.” You say quickly, trying to force yourself a step away, not wanting to be stuck against the wall with no way out. Kyle had never been violent with you, but he had other ways of causing harm; his words tended to cut deeper than any knife.

“Why? You’re too good for me now?” He questions, his eyes catching on Luke’s jacket still hanging over your arm, his eyes lighting with a fire that usually meant bad things, “You think now that you’ve found yourself a stupid hockey boyfriend, you’re better than me? You can do better than me?” His body is closing in now, the air being sucked away from you as your chest tightens, your hands gripping onto the fabric of Luke’s jacket for dear life as you try again, to skirt around your ex boyfriend.

“She can do better than you.” Luke’s voice is gravely, his large hand gripping your hip as he pulls you back against him, his breaths coming out heavy as he keeps your body pressed against his, “She dropped her standards majorly to be with someone like you, you should be thanking her for giving you the time of day.” Luke huffs, his tone almost seeming bored, but you can almost feel the steam rolling off him as he stares down your ex-boyfriend, his thumbs rubbing softly against the harsh fabric of your jeans.

You can feel everything — too much of everything as Kyle rolls his eyes, giving Luke a long once over before draining his beer and throwing the empty cup towards you, Luke quickly batting it away as he motions to one of the boys at the other end of the table, who make quick work of “politely” escorting your ex boyfriend from the house.

“Hey, let’s go get some air.” His voice is soft as he whispers in your ear, both hands on your hips as he steers you towards the back door, both of ignoring the glances from his teammates — the backyard is almost completely empty as he slides open the back door, quickly grabbing the jacket from your arm as draping it over you before sliding the door closed behind the two of you, moving to lean against the balcony railing, waiting patiently for you to come join him.

“An ex, I assume?” He says as you join him against the railing, your head nodding as you lean forwards, letting his jacket swallow you up, the warm material helping your shoulders relax back down to their resting position. “Is he the one who was blowing up your phone the other day at the library?” Luke asks, and you just nod, not entirely sure what to say or how to say it.

Luke lets out a long groan, rubbing his hands down his face as he shakes the tension out of his body, a grin replacing the deep frown on his face, “He seems like a major dick, I’m sorry he made you uncomfortable.”

“You shouldn’t be the one apologising.” Luke just lets out a soft laugh, running his fingers through the curled ends of his hair, pushing them away from his face as he pushes away from the railing, moving to box you against it — the position so similar to the one you were stuck in before, but feels so, so different.

“I don’t like fighting…” Luke points out quietly, almost like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear what he just said, “But I’d fight someone for you, especially if they made you look the way you did back there.” Your breath catches a little as you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, the sparks between the two of you igniting against your skin.

“I don’t know if I made it clear enough earlier, but you look really pretty tonight.” He whispers, the instant panic running across his face as he realises what he said, “Not that you don’t always look pretty, but you look especi— you know what, forget I said anything.” There’s something about the way he says it, about the way that you can see your Luke coming back to the surface that makes you smile, taking a step into his body — a step that seems to confuse him, panic him almost.

“You’ve already said it, Luke, you can’t take it back now.” You mumble, your hands hanging by your sides as you wait for him to make the first move, but he’s stuck; he doesn’t move from his spot, just watching you. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Luke.”

“What am I thinking?” You nod at his question, tilting your head to the side as you wait patiently for his brain to catch up, “I’m think that I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw you tonight, I’m thinking that I wish you never came here and we were bundled up in the library so I can have you all to myself.” You barely register the rise in your heart rate as you let out a shaky breath.

“Now ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me what I’m thinking.” Luke seems to freeze, his whole body tensing up as he keeps his eyes locked with yours.

“What are you thinking?” He finally manages to get out, his breathing shallow as he waits for you to respond, his eyes darting between your own, the red rising up the back of his neck as he waits.

“I’m thinking that I’ve wanted you to kiss me since you gave me your jacket the other day.” You watch Luke’s eyes widen, his eyebrows rising in surprise. Luke doesn’t waste time responding — he just moves.

One moment your looking up at him, your expression of surprise mirroring his — you can’t believe you just said that, just admitted you want him to kiss you — and the next his lips are on yours, his hands bunching in his own jacket still wrapped around you, pulling you tighter against him as his mouth finds yours, warm and certain, something about it so slow and gentle, the kiss just barely registering in your brain before your hands are smoothing up his chest, bundling in the collar of his hoodie.

This kiss is nothing like any other party kiss — it’s not rushed or messy, not worried about someone rounding the corner to find you — it’s slow, almost rehearsed as if Luke had been imagining this for as long as you had, as if he was taking his time with you. Luke kisses you with the attention he puts into everything else — his whole focus, everything he has, is going into this one moment, this one sensation.

His hands leave your jacket to softly cradle your jaw, his head tilting as he deepens the kiss, pulling a soft gasp from you as you raise on your tiptoes to push yourself closer to him. You can feel his lips break out into a grin as he pulls away, his eyes sparking with excitement as he rubs his thumbs against your cheeks.

“I should take you home.” He says softly, his pupils blown out a little as the sound of the music and chatter from the house come back into focus, the reality of where you are sinks back in, “I mean, I should walk you home.” He corrects himself again, his ability to try to put his foot in his mouth still shining even now.

“You should.” You agree, hesitantly detangling your hands from his hoodie, cleaning your throat as you lower yourself off your toes and straighten out the jacket over your shoulders. Luke just smiles as he watches you, waiting till you feel ready before reaching out his large hand towards you, his smile growing as you slide your palm against his.

Luke was meant to be here two hours ago — and before you go on about how no one should wait around for two hours when getting stood up, this was different—different how, you’re not entirely sure, but something felt off. It had been three weeks of tutoring Luke, and not once was he late without notice, and he never, ever was a no show, even that one time he had stacked it in the courtyard on the way over here, he still showed up with blood running down his knee.

This was weird, something was wrong.

You glance down at your phone again, expecting it to light up with a message of apology but nothing — Luke was many things, a terrible liar, easily flustered, a cocky little shit when he was winning at any game the two of you played, but flakey was not one of them. The panic starts to set in — what if he was hurt? What if something happened at practice and he was too injured to let you know? The panic takes quick hold, your belongings shoved haphazardly into your u-mich tote, which Luke had gifted you a week ago, claiming ‘you needed something to show school spirit’ and tug your coat on before dashing from the library — well as fast as you can in an almost blizzard.

There a mix of every emotion running through you, anger that he stood you up for two hours with no notice, concern that he stood you up for two hours with no notice and back to anger, you’re all but ready to give him a verbal lashing when you reach the front porch of the hockey house, slamming your fist into the door a few times before stepping back to cross your arms over your chest, needing the physical boundary to keep the anger inside of you.

You mouth opens to say something as the front door is pulled open — Ethan, one of Luke’s friends stands there looking confused before there’s a lightbulb moment and he’s calling out into the dark house, “Lukey, your girlfriend is here, and she looks pissed.”

There’s a soft shuffling behind the door as you start to say “I’m not his girl—” but the words die in your throat as Luke comes into view.

He looks like shit.

His sweat-drenched hair is pushed back on his head with a white sweat band, and his body is cloaked in a severely oversized tracksuit, his eyes a bloodshot red, skin pale and clammy, and his chest rattling with a wet cough. “Shit.” You mumble as you do a second once over before stepping forward and into the doorway, ushering him back before you slam the front door closed behind you.

“Fuck, I forgot about the study session.” Luke curses, his voice barely coming out as anything more than a croak as he winces. “I’m so sorry, I was only supposed to nap for like five minutes — that was four hours ago.” He says quickly, his eyes still droopy, probably only just having woken up from his ‘nap’.

“You look really bad, Luke.” You whisper as you step forwards reaching up to press your cold hand against his forehead, the heat radiating off him enough to boil a pot of water - Luke lets out an appreciative sigh as he leans further against your hand, a delirious smile on his face.

“Does this feel good to you, too? Or is it just me?” He whines when you pull your hand away, “Don’t leave, you just got here.” He continues to complain when you take your coat and bag off by the door, tugging your large bottle of water out of the bag before turning back to him.

“Have you had any water today? Or showered?” You question, your only response a soft shake of his head and a grimace.

“The doctor said it was just a chest infection, he gave me some antibiotics.” Luke explains and you nod, looking over to his friends perched on the couch, who confirm his answer and throw you the box of pills, which thankfully look like Luke has been taking the recommended doses.

“Where’s your room? We should get you cleaned up.” You ask, watching as Luke’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“I don’t think it’s an appropriate time to be inviting yourself to my room.” He starts, a cheeky grin spreading on his face as he leans down, swaying a little at the movement, “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not feeling very well.” You roll your eyes and slap at Luke’s chest as he stands back up, letting out a chesty laugh which immediately turns into a crackling cough.

“Don’t be delusional — lead the way.” You hiss, keeping your hands ready to catch him if he decides to tumble to his death as he makes the slow trek up the stairs to the second floor. “Oh, thank god you have a bathroom in here.” You say as he swings open his door, the ensuite bringing some relief as you walk around him to take in the large shower.

His room is a mess, clothes and books strewn on every surface, his bed looking like he’s been rotting in it for weeks, and the number of tissue boxes he’s been hoarding by his window is a tell-tale sign of how long he’s been feeling unwell. “Okay, do you think you can stand long enough for a quick shower?” You ask, and he immediately shakes his head.

“I tried two nights ago, and almost passed out.” He admits, leaning down to sniff his own armpit before pulling back with a wince, “I’ve been using baby wipes instead.” He continues, wishing to god you are just a figment of his imagination and not actually here, seeing the state he’s in.

“Would you sit in the shower while I clean up?” You ask quickly, “The steam will be good for your chest, and I promise I won’t look below your shoulders.” If Luke’s eyes were wide before, they are full-grown saucers now — if he tried to widen them anymore, they would pop out of his head.

“You want to see me naked?”

“No, I want you to get naked so we can get you clean, there's a difference.” You snort as you start to pile his used tissues into the waste bin in the corner — Luke still perched on the end of his bed, looking more confused than ever.

“So you don’t want to see me naked?”

“Maybe another day, now take your clothes off while I start the water.” You respond, leaving Luke whispering to himself on the bed.

“I’ve never been so confused in my life.” He grumbles as you walk back into the room, but he’s kindly stripping off his sweat-soaked clothes, and you fight to keep your eyes on his face, refusing to steal his dignity as you reach your hands out for him to take. The second he’s under the water, he lets out a sigh of relief, and you watch as he leans against the wall, slowly sliding down till he’s happily sitting on the floor under the warm stream of water.

“I’ll be right back.” You promise, as his head lulls a little to the side, the effort of making it all the way upstairs and into the shower is taking its toll. You quietly fuss around his room, making it somewhat presentable before stripping his bed, finding clean sheets in the walk-in closet off to the side of the bathroom, as well as some reasonably clean boxers and a well-worn t-shirt. There aren’t many towel options as you search the ones scattered along the floor, finally finding two that smell more of fabric softener then death — which will have to do — as you walk back into the bathroom and plop your findings on the counter before stripping off your jeans and making sure your hair is pulled away from your face, you pause at the sight of Luke, still on the bathroom floor, steam wrapping around him, his head tipped back against the cold tiles and water streaming over his reddening skin. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his mouth is slightly open in content; he looks almost peaceful.

“Scoot over, I want to wash your hair.” You say gently as you step into the shower, your t-shirt already getting wet as you grab his shampoo and conditioner off the shelf, before placing yourself next to him on the floor. His head shoots up as he looks over at you, but your expression must give no room for debate as he nods, pushing himself away from the wall, turning his back towards you as he scrunches his knees to his chest.

“I think I’m dreaming.” He mumbles as you squirt a little bit of shampoo onto your palm, rubbing it between your two hands before threading your fingers into his hair. Luke melts — there’s no other way to describe it — his body almost immediately relaxing against you, his whole body weight leaning back against you as you scrub the shampoo into his hair, taking the time to really detangle his mess of curls.

“Why do you think that?” You ask, as you grab the shower head and rinse out the soapy mixture before reaching for his conditioner, squeezing a generous amount on your hand before slowly running it through the ends of his hair, looping the softening curls around your fingers before letting them bounce back against his scalp.

“Because when else would I have a pretty girl sacrificing her clothes to wash my hair when I’m sick.” He explains, his eyes shutting again as you massage his scalp, his head leans further back, almost landing on your shoulder as he lets out another long sigh. “You smell so good, like you always smell amazing — like apples and home.” His words are getting sloppier, his body somehow getting heavier as you decide now is a good time to rinse out his hair and get him out of the shower.

“I’m gonna steal some of your clothes, do you think you can manage washing your body?” You ask as you stand handing him a loofa covered in soap as he nods in determination, watching longingly as you grab a towel off his counter before leaving the bathroom, digging through his cupboard for a T-shirt and some shorts to borrow.

Luke is out of the shower and pulling on his t-shirt when you walk back into the bathroom, a little of his colour already returning to his face as he pushes his wet hair back from his face. “You didn’t need to do all of this, you know.”

“Someone had to.” You say with a soft shrug, trying to keep your expression relaxed as you glance over to his fresh bed and hold your towel out to him, “Want me to dry your hair?” Luke is never one to turn down an offer to have you fuss over him; he thinks it’s becoming one of his new favourite things. You perch yourself against his headboard, patting the open space between your legs. Luke wasted no time in climbing onto the bed and lying himself between your legs, a shaky groan leaving him as you start to use the towel to dry his hair, your fingers continuing to work their magic on him.

“You know how you said you might want to see me naked another day?” The question is out of Luke’s mouth before he can second-guess it, maybe it’s the antibiotics, but a part of him has lost any and all filter he may have possessed before this moment. You let out a long groan as Luke continues, “I think I want there to be another day, like lots of another days — as many as you’ll give me, I can even keep pretending to understand ECON if it pleases you.”

“Luke, you don’t have to pretend to do anything to please me.” Your words a gentle, followed by a smile he can picture on your face, “You're pleasing me right now by being clean and mildly coherent.”

“Do you think we can have another days?” Luke’s question is so genuine and raw that it sucks all the air out of your lungs, your heart slamming so hard against your chest you’re sure he can hear it.

“We can have another days once you’re better.” You agree slowly, but you know before you check that he’s already asleep, his face pressed into your thigh, his arm wrapped around your calf, his body spent from the shower. His skin is still simmering with a fever as you continue to run your fingers through his hair, massaging the base of his neck as he lets out an annoyed whine anytime you try to slip out from under him.

“Just stay, please.” He whispers as he settles further into your lap — so you do. You stay until your legs are numb and you beg him, quietly, to let you lie down on his mattress next to him, he obliges, his arm wrapping over your waist and pulling your tightly against him, his fever keeping you warm despite the fan blowing the winter chill over the two of you.

You manage to sneak out the next morning as the sun shines through his half-opened curtains, Luke only waking momentarily to take his medicine before slumping back against his mattress.

“Get some more rest, I’ll text you later.” You whisper as you pull on your now dry clothes, briefly crouching beside the bed to push some hair off his forehead and check for his lightning fever. “I think we’re going to have lots of another days.” You whisper as his breathing slows, his body falling back to sleep, and you lean forward to press a soft kiss against his forehead before sneaking out of the hockey house and back to your own dorm.

Finals week hits the two of you like a freight train — the only time you and Luke actually get to see each other is during one of the rare study sessions you manage to slip into your schedule. You barely have time to eat or sleep, but you keep managing to find time to check on Luke’s progress and make sure you answer any questions he might have before his exam. You just can’t manage to stop thinking about the boy who only a few days ago was lulled into a feverish sleep in your lap, whom you promised “another days” to.

It’s in the middle of your final exam review with Luke that he seems to crumble any resolve you had left, his voice barely above a whisper as the clock ticks to ten pm, the two of you barely able to read your notes anymore, your third coffee of the night sitting next to you on the table.

“You really are something special.”

“What?” Your pen drops to your notebook as you raise your head to glance over at him.

“I just need to put it out there, everything you’ve done—” he pauses, “Everything you’ve done and are still doing for me, it takes a special person to be able to do all this.” He corrects himself, his eyes boring holes into yours as you feel everything inside you crumble — if you had any tears left in you from the hell that is finals week, you would have cried at the proclamation.

You really are something special.

It plays in your head on repeat for the rest of the week, his tone soft and sweet every time you hear it run through your head again. He was too sincere, too honest, too open — and now you’ll never be able to stop thinking about him, be able to shake the fact that you think a part of you thinks of Luke as more than just a friend, just a fellow student you’re helping pass his exams.

Everything is getting too real now.

It’s a week later when the message wakes you up.

favourite student 📚: can you meet me at the library? I have something for you.

It takes you a few times to read and comprehend the message, your brain no longer functioning well at eight in the morning since the semester ended, and you barely have enough brain power to figure out he means now. You roll out of your bed, tugging on the large hoodie you had stolen from Luke a few nights ago - not that he seemed to care - and slip your feet into shoes before your bursting out of your dorm room and to the front entrance, almost running straight into a broad shoulder, lanky hockey player.

He manages to hold out a hand to catch your arm as you skid to a stop in front of him, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “I thought you told me to meet you at the library?” You ask quickly, not second-guessing the hot chocolate he hands you, taking a long swig of it before he shrugs.

“I couldn’t wait for you to get there.” He says quickly, reaching out to pull your drink from your hand, placing it beside his on the ground before he reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone, typing on it quickly before beaming down at the glowing screen and turning it to face you.

89%

102 ECON final exam - 89%

He passed.

Luke Hughes, finally passed 102 ECON.

“I told you, you were something special.” He says with a grin that could rival the gods, your body practically vibrating with excitement as you throw yourself forward and into his arms, your own looping around his neck as you let out a high pitched squeal.

“You did it, Luke.” You coo as his arms encompass you, a breathy laugh echoing in your ear as he sways you back and forth, his own excitement buzzing. “This was all you, Luke — I’m so proud of you.” Luke barely gives you a chance to pull your head back before his mouth is on yours - his fingers digging into your back as he holds you tight against him.

This kiss is different to the one at the party, it’s quick and heated and filled with every emotion Luke can think of pouring into it, your breaths coming out ragged as he pulls away from you a little, his forehead resting against yours as he lets out another laugh.

“I really couldn’t have done it without you.” He says softly, like this is a secret between only the two of you, like the world doesn’t deserve to know what’s happening in this moment. The whole world has gone quiet, waiting to see what will happen next, as you stretch your neck to press a gentle kiss against his cheek.

“I think I was just an excuse.” You say quietly, your smile rivalling his, “You had it in you the whole time, Luke, you just needed a little help brining it out.”

“Still, I really needed y—” He pauses for a moment, thinking his words through carefully before correcting himself, “I really needed and still need you, if you plan on hanging around?”

“I’m sure I can fit you into my schedule. I’m a pretty busy girl.” You can’t help the hammering of your heart as he slowly places you back on the ground, his smile — a smile you hope is only ever reserved for you—spreading across his face as he nods.

“I’ll take what I can get.”

#nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl x reader #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes smut #luke hughes fluff

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give-grian-rights · 2 years ago

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SCREAMING i also love the fact that Nightwing's the name of a species in Wings of Fire . as of 2023 i definitely thing that a silly origin of Nightwing would've been a warrior oc . but i think in a few years time, him liking it from Wings of Fire would ALSO be great

Yes, Dick totally got his name from the Kryptonian legend.

#since warriors has been out since 2003 so if he was born in the mid-late 90s #he would've been a young enough demographic to find warriors and get SUPER INVESTED #...i think his favorite characters would've been hollyleaf and dovewing #sorry could you imagine him as robin. on patrol. ranting to bruce about something a kid said in the forums of a warrior cats fan group #...yeah no he'd definitely also be arguing with so many fucking people. because of how shitty warriors is about adoption #'damn you're not my blood child? ok ignore the fact i raised you. i do not value you nor have an emotional connection'#the way ashfur hears that squirrelflight isn't the three's mom and is like 'oh so there's no way they have any emotional value to you? shit #dick grayson

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stevesgother · 5 months ago

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Chalkboard Hearts - S.H

Pairing - KindergartenTeacher!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader

WC - 4.3k

Contains - strangers to friends to lovers, slowburn, so much fluff, teacher!steve and mom!reader. No descriptions are given of reader or abbey, other than that abbey has curly hair, steve and reader are the same age (about 24-25), set early-mid 90's

AN - i don’t write for kids often so i hope this reads well and is realistic. i don’t have a clear end for this series in mind, so i’m gonna keep writing it for as long as y’all want it :) feel free to send requests for blurbs for this AU if you so wish and as always, thank you - emma

“Moooooom,”

You hear a tiny voice whisper in your ear. Most mornings started this way, if not all of them. Whoever said getting children out of bed in the morning was difficult had clearly never met Abbey. Every day you peeled your tired eyes open to see the miniature version of them staring back at you, the only difference being they were much wider, and lacking the distinct fog of leftover sleep.

Today her hair was sticking up in all different directions; frizzy curls here and tangled knots there. Your daughter takes after you in many ways, one being that she’s an active sleeper and it shows when she wakes up. Her bed was always disheveled; embroidered blankets strewn across her bedroom floor and little red lines indented in her cheeks where they had been smushed against her pillow.

“Mornin’ Ab,” you say, voice gravelly with disuse. “Have you made your bed yet?” you eye her suspiciously.

You know she hasn’t and she confirms as much when she spins on her heel and dashes for her room down the hall. Truthfully, you couldn’t care less if her bed was made or not, it was merely a guise to buy you a few extra minutes of peace and quiet each morning.

︵୨୧︵

When she doesn’t reappear, you assume she’s gotten distracted and decide to make your way downstairs to scrounge for something to eat. You never ate breakfast before you had Abbey; either for lack of time or because the smell of food so early in the morning made you nauseous. Eating three meals a day was just one bullet point on the long, running list of changes in your routine since becoming a mother.

Two bowls of Frosted Flakes were set out on the table after deciding there was no time for anything more nutritious.

“Abbey!” You call, “Breakfast!”

You hear the sounds of sniffling and small feet padding on hardwood as she enters the kitchen– pouting. You try not to gape at the utter monstrosity of an outfit she's put on. She whines, “I don’t know what I want to wear!”

You sense a meltdown coming already, on today of all days. Pre-school was easy, as Abbey was a fairly agreeable kid. Or at least she used to be. Lately it felt like you had to battle her about anything and everything.

“You look so beautiful, Ab!” you reassure her, attempting to deescalate the impending tantrum. She has on pink corduroy pants and a frilly forest green blouse. For accessories she’s sporting a chunky plastic necklace that definitely came with a dress-up kit, along with a tutu. You have no idea where the tutu came from.

Eventually she decides not to fight you, at least not on her outfit. However, as she climbs into the kitchen chair, she scowls down at the soggy cereal in front of her and asks in the most darling tone she can muster,

“Can I have Scooby fruit snacks instead?”

“How about I pack some in your lunchbox today and you can eat them at snack time?” you try to barter.

Sneaking a glance at the clock, it mocks you with its unforgiving hands– you’re going to be late and your daughter will have skipped supposedly the most important meal of the day. Some mother you are.

“But I want them right now!” Her petite fists bang against the wooden table and she’s a heap of dramatics wriggling in her chair.

“Hey, what did we talk about? Yelling is not nice, even when we’re frustrated. Right?” She acknowledges you with a teary nod along with more crying and petulant moaning that can be heard as you run to the bathroom and grab a hairbrush with two bows. When you return, she’s still moping over her breakfast, but taking bites nonetheless. A win is a win.

You begin detangling the mess of knots and snarls at the back of her head. “Ouch, Mommy!” she cries when you try to comb through a particularly tangled section.

You place one of your hands over the crown of her head like a claw in a poor attempt at keeping her from squirming, “The more you move the longer it takes, sweetheart,”

“Hmph.” she pouts, folding her arms over her chest. When all is said and done, your daughter has her hair parted and tied into two high pigtails, secured with little pink bows, and you’re rushing her out of the front door with haste.

︵୨୧︵

In all the hubbub, you realize you’ve barely gotten yourself ready. Reaching over to buckle Abbey into her carseat, she asks,

“When can I sit up front with you?”

“When you’re this many,” You hold out both your hands to display all ten fingers.

She mimics you with her own smaller fingers, “Ten?”

“That’s right!” You smack a kiss on the crown of her head as you pull back, she smells like her strawberry scented shampoo.

“Watch your feetsies,” you warn and she tucks her legs unnecessarily far into her chest as you close the door.

The ride is filled with the usual nonsensical ramblings of a five-year-old. She beams back at you through the rearview mirror, eyes sparkling and nodding fervently when you ask if she’s excited to make some new friends today. Your social butterfly, the complete antithesis of you.

The elementary school is only a few miles from your home, and before you know it you’re circling a crowded parking lot and preparing to drop your only child off for her first day of kindergarten. The rush of emotions you feel are indecipherable, something like a mix of somberness, excitement, relief, and anxiety.

As you walk towards the front of the building, you’re surrounded by dozens of kids aged five through twelve greeting their teachers and saying ‘Hello’ to friends they haven’t seen all summer. The teachers are holding laminated signs that indicate their name and what grade they teach; thank God for that. Abbey’s little fist squeezes around your index finger and you can tell she’s becoming nervous, despite her previous unbridled anticipation.

“Hey, it’s okay,” You assure, “Look, I think that’s your teacher right there,” you point towards a tall, brunette man standing near the double doors.

A shy smile tugs at the corners of her lips when she sees the teacher in question. He’s dressed in a striped button-down shirt and khakis, with a lanyard dangling from his front pocket; the typical teacher attire.The sign he’s holding reads, ‘Mr. Harrington’ and just below that, ‘Kindergarten’ with a little cartoon apple printed next to his name. He looks young compared to the rest of the staff, closer to your own age. This must be his first year teaching.

As you approach him, Abbey treks in front, eager to meet him. Her backpack is adorned with sparkly butterflies and it covers nearly her entire torso; bumping the backs of her knees with every step she takes.

The man crouches down to her level and greets her, “Hey there,” he offers a warm smile, “what’s your name?”

“Abbey,” she says timidly, twiddling her fingers and flashing a toothy grin at him. She doesn’t bother with her last name, honestly you’re not positive that she even knows it.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Abbey,” he holds a gentle hand out for her to shake and she does so hesitantly, “My name’s Mr. Harrington, and I’m going to be your teacher this year. How does that sound?” The way he’s so patient and attentive with her stirs something within you that you haven’t felt in years, but he’s a teacher, for goodness sake. He looks up then, locking eyes with you and rising back to his full height.

This time, it’s your turn to shake his hand. “I’m Steve.” He flashes you a smile directly out of a Colgate ad and you hope you’re not blushing as much as you feel like you are.

You must look nervous because he immediately assures you that Abbey’s in good hands this year. “We’re having an open house tonight, I hope to see you both there,”

You glance at your daughter, “What’d you think, Ab? That sound fun?”

“Yes!” She squeals and almost falls over from the weight of her backpack.

“Okay then,” With that, you crouch down to give Abbey one final hug. It’s clear that she’s itching to go socialize with the other kids, so you try not to delay her with your sappiness.

“Be good today, okay?” you give her a tight squeeze and a smacking kiss on her little cheek, “I’ll be back to get you at two-forty-five.”

“What will the clock say?” She asks inquisitively. Her favorite question.

“It’ll say ‘two-four-five’,” She nods in understanding, “But I bet you’ll be having so much fun that you won’t even remember to look.”

She’s already on her way to the door when she calls, “Love you, mommy!” and blows you a kiss with her lips puckered. You blow her one back and fight the tears threatening to surface. When did she get so big?

A pang of insecurity settles in your chest when you chance a look around and see all the children accompanied by two parents. You begin the walk back to your sedan before the thought has a chance to fester.

︵୨୧︵

Six hours goes by alarmingly fast when it’s spent running around your house in a frenzy, trying to catch up on all the cleaning you aren’t able to do when there’s a rampant five-year-old on the loose, making a brand new mess where you just cleaned an old one.

Before you can even register the time has passed, it's two o’clock and you need to pick Abbey up in a mere forty five minutes. Looking around your house, you feel satisfied with the progress you were able to make on tidying and call it a day.

This time, you decide to try and appear more presentable before visiting the school, and firmly remind yourself that it has nothing to do with how flustered your daughter’s kindergarten teacher makes you. By the time you’re dressed and have pulled your hair up into a halfway decent top knot; it’s time to go.

︵୨୧︵

The line for pickup wraps around the front of the building, aided by crossing guards and supervised by a few teachers. Twenty minutes into waiting, you regret not having gotten here a little sooner. ‘Tomorrow’ you think. Soon, you catch sight of two little pigtails bobbing up and down as your Abbey skips over to you, grinning ear to ear while Steve watches from the doors she just exited.

“Mommy!” she shouts as she bounds towards you. You place the car in park and run around to greet her.

“Hi, Bug!” you exclaim as you bend at the waist to pick her up. She gives you a tight squeeze around the neck, and you catch a split second of Steve’s gaze over her shoulder before he’s disappearing back inside the school

Plopping her as gently as possible into her carseat and fastening the straps over her chest, her mouth is already moving a mile a minute– absolutely ecstatic to tell you all about the activities she got up to while you were gone.

“What is ‘open house’ ?” she asks, kicking her feet like she can’t possibly contain all the excitement inside her little body.

“It’s just a chance for all the mommies and daddies to meet your teachers,” you explain, “And you get to show me around your new school, fun right?”

Her face lights up like a christmas tree at the prospect, “Are we gonna go?!”

“Yes, but first we have to eat dinner. What sounds good?”

Without missing a beat, she yells a little too loudly, “McDonalds!”

You want to say yes, of course you do, but your shifts at the ER barely cover the minimum of your living expenses. Your resolve begins to crumble, however, when she looks at you with those saucer-round eyes, and her bottom lip juts out in the most precious pout. Who knew she could be so harmlessly manipulative?

“I don’t know, Ab. I think we have some chicken nuggets in the freezer at home, though,” you say, with an air of hopefulness that she might accept the compromise.

“Not the same,” she whines, “Please, Mommy! I’ll be extra extra good please–”

And with that, it’s over.

“Okay! Okay, fine,” you feign annoyance through a smile, “We’ll stop on the way home,”

You can still hear her squeals of excitement when you close the door and walk around to the driver's seat.

︵୨୧︵

Abbey dresses a little more cohesively for the open house than she did this morning. This time she’s clad in a thrifted pair of overalls overtop a little purple blouse. She leads you, hand in hand, inside the school like she knows exactly where she’s going– despite only having spent six hours here.

Steve’s classroom looks exactly how you’d expect. The walls are a light, mint green and it’s as if a character from Sesame Street threw up all over it. Abbey leads you to a reading nook in the corner of the room, surrounded by books and complete with several bean bag chairs, and proclaims this is her favorite spot. She shows you where her desk is– right in the very front of the classroom– and on it, a laminated sticker with her first and last name sits neatly near the top. The walls are lined with colorful letters in alphabetical order, accompanied with numbers just underneath them.

“Abbey!” you hear a familiar voice call, “I’m glad you and your mom could make it!” turning to you then, “I’m actually not sure I ever caught your name,” he chuckles awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by the fact that he doesn’t know it yet.

“Oh, it’s–” and before you get the chance to tell him, Abbey pipes up and tells him your first and last name with a confidence that she certainly didn’t have when it came to her own introduction this morning. You’re relieved that she feels so comfortable around him already.

He repeats your name back to you and holds out his hand for you to shake, “It’s nice to meet you,” You pay no mind to the way your heart beats a little faster in its cage at the sound of your name on his lips. His palm is surprisingly soft when you grasp it in your own.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you grant him a polite smile, “Abbey could not stop talking about you on the way home,” you pinch her side, teasing, and she giggles in that contagious way that kids do.

“Is that so?” he feigns surprise when he looks at her.

“Nooo!” her giggles amplify as she becomes increasingly bashful.

He crouches down to meet her at eye-level, exactly like he did this morning, “Well, that’s a shame, because I think you might be one of my favorite students,”

Now, she’s a heap of laughter and has a blush spreading from the apple of her cheeks to the tips of her ears. You can’t help but feel enamored by how great he is with children, silently wondering if he comes from a big family, or if he has a child of his own.

“Did you introduce your mom to Nibbles?” he asks her when her laughing mostly subsides.

She gasps like she can’t believe she would’ve forgotten such a thing, then she hauls you by the arm over to a tiny cage on a table, presumably for an even tinier animal.

“Mommy, look! This is Nibbles,” She’s peering between the metal bars of the enclosure and encouraging you to do the same, when you lean in closer you see a small, tan gerbil sleeping in a little nest of bedding.

“He’s our friend and he helps us learn, so we have to be very careful with him,” she tells you with a sudden seriousness that's amusing to see displayed on such a young face. It’s obvious she’s parroting Steve.

You turn to see Steve observing from a few feet behind you, both hands shoved in his pockets, “I didn’t think teachers actually had class pets,” you breathe a huff of laughter.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles with you, “I brought him from home, actually. Figured he could use some socialization. With dozens of children.” he informs you sarcastically. God, he’s funny too.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you to be a hamster guy,” you tease.

“He’s a gerbil, first of all,”

“Right, sorry, my bad,” you smirk.

“No time for a dog, I guess,” he shrugs, “thought I could use the company,” he’s clearly still bantering, but there’s an underlying melancholy in his tone that you can’t quite place. Before you can think about it for longer than a second, an impatient five-year-old is tugging on your arm and begging to show you the library.

“Okay, alright,” you laugh, “better get to it, the library awaits,” you shoot him an apologetic look for having cut the conversation short. You feel less guilty, however, when you see more parents and children start to funnel into the classroom, busying him in yours and Abbey’s absence.

“See ya, “ he waves.

“Bye, Mr. Harrington!” Abbey yells, already halfway down the hall.

︵୨୧︵

In the library you have to shush Abbey several times, much to her dismay.

“We use our inside voices in the library, Ab,” you remind her for the fifth time. She frowns but it’s temporary when she spots her favorite section: the picture books. Abbey is ahead of a kindergarten reading level now, and it's one of her favorite hobbies, but you can still never go wrong with a good picture book.

You’re about to follow her when you hear someone call your name.

You turn, “Stephanie?” you ask, puzzled.

“Oh my gosh! It’s been forever!” an old friend from your shared high school, Stephanie, pulls you into an unreciprocated bear hug. Squeezing and swaying back and forth for an awkward amount of time.

“Hey,” you draw out the last syllable and try to paint your voice with a nostalgic excitement, “How have you been?” you ask, even though you’re sure you’d rather be shot than continue this conversation.

You don’t know if you could really call Stephanie a ‘friend’, or if you ever could. The only reason she even knew your name being the shared, piranha-esq social circle you both ran in years ago. She reminded you of your past– who you used to be– someone who you’re not particularly proud of.

“Oh, I've been just fine!” She gestures wildly with manicured nails. Her lips are overlined and her hair is still damaged from bleaching and too many perms. Evidently, not a lot has changed. You ponder if she’s still the mean girl she always was underneath all that makeup, or if at some point in your adolescence she decided to mature.

“Todd and I just bought a house over on Maplewood, are you familiar?”

“Oh, no, not really– my daughter and I live across town,” You don’t like how ashamed you feel, “I’ve heard it’s beautiful over there, though,” you attempt to smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“That was your daughter?” She’s trying not to sound taken aback and failing, “With–?”

“Yes,” Your teeth grit ever so slightly. You hate that she won’t say his name, as if speaking it into existence would somehow break you. Like you’re fragile.

“I was terribly sorry to hear about what happened, Hon,” Her sudden sympathetic tone irritates you, whether it’s genuine or not. You don’t need pity, especially not from Stephanie Nettles.

“It’s okay, Steph, really,” losing patience by the second, nothing about it was okay. “It was a long time ago, Abbey and I are doing fine,” you assure her.

“Oh,” she fawns as she presses her bony hands against her chest above her heart, “Can I meet her? Would you mind?" Her tone is saccharine sweet. You figure it can’t hurt, but when you turn around to retrieve Abbey, she’s not where you left her. The spot on the rug that she was previously occupying is empty and her book is abandoned on the floor.

“Abbey?!” Calling a little too loudly for the setting you’re in but you can’t bring yourself to care. You search row after row, it’s not a big library, and after every shelf you’re expecting her to be there– browsing novels and you’ll feel silly for overreacting.

But that doesn’t happen, and you realize with mild panic that she definitely left the library; somehow without you noticing. You suppose this is the safest place for her to go missing, but the thought doesn’t soothe you for long as you still have no idea where your daughter could be.

Stephanie is staring at you with concern, but still making no effort to help you locate Abbey. You don’t speak and neither does she as you rush out of the room and begin to pace the halls, still calling out for her. You check the bathrooms by the gym, a couple of empty classrooms that aren’t locked– she’s not there either.

When you’ve checked every available room and potential hiding spot in the near vicinity and still see no trace of her, that’s when the real dread sets in. What if she’d wandered outside and been taken? Or worse, there had been an accident and she’s hurt? She could be miles from here by now, she could be–

“I think this might belong to you,” a mellow voice rings out.

Steve and Abbey walk leisurely towards you, hand in hand. A complete contrast to the frazzled mess of anxiety you are right now. You hurl yourself in their direction and wrap Abbey up in a hug, lifting her off her feet.

“Oh my God, Abbey,” normally you’d be fuming at her for wandering off like that when you know that she knows better, but you can’t feel anything other than relief in the moment.

“Found her on the swings,” Steve continues, “Isn’t that right?”

Your relief does eventually morph to frustration, “You know better, Abbey Jane. Don’t stray off like that again. Do you understand?”

She succumbs to her guilt and you can tell her short-lived freedom has lost its novelty. “I’m sorry, mommy,” her little eyes well with tears. “The other kids were going to the swings, I wanted to go,” she pouts.

“We could’ve gone, baby, but you have to ask first, okay?”

Her meek response is muffled in the crook of your neck, “Okay,”

She’s still sniffling into your shoulder when you remember Steve is there, and your surroundings come back into focus.

“Thank you for finding her, Steve–”

“--His name is Mr. Harrington, mom,” she corrects like she can’t believe you’d embarrass her like that by calling her teacher the wrong name.

“--Mr. Harrington,” you stifle a laugh for your daughter's sake, sending him a knowing look.

He returns the expression, “Anytime,” he smiles, sweet . “Think that's enough scaring your mom for today, huh?”

Instead of acknowledging with words, she simply nods her head, eyes glued to the floor, ashamed.

“I think someones getting sleepy, might be time to head home,” you drag a gentle hand down her back soothingly.

“Will you carry me?” she asks too adorably to say no, despite her being ever-so-slightly too big for it. Grunting as you pick her up, you say, “Thanks, again,”

“No need,” he ruffles Abbey’s head lightly as you pass, “See you tomorrow, right?”

“See you,” her eyelids are heavy already. You make your way back to the car slowly but surely, arms growing more numb with every step.

︵୨୧︵

Abbey manages to bargain a bath out of you and four books before bedtime instead of the usual two. How you ever say no to her, you’re not sure. By the time you finally tuck her in, it's well past nine o’clock.

“Did you have a good day today?” You ask as you bend down to kiss her forehead.

“Yes, Mr. Harrington is my favorite teacher,” she proclaims drowsily.

“He’s your only teacher, Ab,” You snicker.

“But he’s still my favorite,” she replies in the same cadence one would say ‘Duh’.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to go to sleep super fast tonight so you can see him sooner, right?”

You can practically see the lightbulb turn on above her head like she’s just had a groundbreaking revelation and nods fervently. You tuck her in tight on both sides, and give her a kiss on each of her cheeks and once more to her forehead for good measure.

“Love you, Abbey girl,” you tell her on your way out, “Goodnight,”

“Goodnight, mommy,” she says wearily from underneath her princess bedsheets.

The door closes with a soft click and you make your way to the living room. You never had the chance to ask Stephanie what she was doing at the school– from what you knew, she didn’t have any children. Perhaps she was a teacher. It didn’t matter as long as you didn’t have to interact with her again.

As you lounged on your old sectional, you couldn't help your mind wandering back to thoughts of Steve. You wanted to know more about him. Where he came from, what made him want to work with kids, why he needed a gerbil to keep him company. Distantly, you imagined what he was like outside of an elementary school setting. You hoped one day you’d find out.

He was Abbey’s teacher, sure, but what was the harm in a little crush?

taglist - @soulxiez

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

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luminiamore · 1 year ago

Text

IN THE A.

biker geto suguru x black hoochie mama reader

warnings: fingerfucking, soft dom sugu, he’s a tease, sugu has a big dick, but we knew this!

a/n: this man is so fine i need him neow.

second part here.

masterlist

Life has always treated you so well, beyond well, in fact. You resided in one of Atlanta’s finest lofts, debt-free at 23 despite recently graduating from college. Even though you have your own income, your generous parents still send you a fat check every week or so. You had men constantly begging on their knees to fund your entire existence, and on the occasion, women, too. Everything you wanted simply came to you with no trouble.

You wanted that cute brown skin man with the waves that you saw at the grocery store? He already has your number. You want that pretty ’90s hairstyle you saw in a vintage magazine? You were already on your way to go get it done. You want to change your dramatic nails, even though you just got them done two days ago, because you found another style you want more? Who can deny you? It’s your world.

Was it manifestation? Who knows. The one thing you do know is that the world hands you everything on a pure gold platter.

Popularity followed you whenever you went, but who could blame you? You were the epitome of everything sexy. From the way your rose-colored wedges beautifully complement your flawless white toes against your dark skin to how your denim mini skirts hug your curves and accentuate your figure, and your tops, or mainly bikini tops, enhance your boobs so well that they could make a grown man cry.

Had you been an adult woman in the 90s instead of being a high-maintenance child, you might have been a star, perhaps even one of the most iconic video vixens. However, that title belongs to your momma. The OG.

She was the sought-after beauty every top rapper wanted for their music videos. From Snoop Dogg to 50 Cent, Lil Wayne to Jay Z, Biggie - she lit up screens. She even brought fire to the feud between Tupac and Biggie when she appeared in the latter’s video. You’re almost sure that lady even told you about how Pac was nearly your father before she met your dad. And you, like the little minx you were, lived up to her status.

Now, you weren’t in those modern-day rap videos of the pretty big booty woman shaking their ass on camera. Your momma raised you to have more class than that. She taught you that your ass isn’t the biggest asset you have to offer, figuratively. Your face is, the way you make people feel is, the way you seduce people is.

That resulted in you appearing in a few music videos where the artist expressed love for someone, as those typically featured the camera focused on one girl. And that girl was you. Those got you the recognition your momma had. Those got men practically lining up to pay all your bills, those got plentiful women dying to either be you or be with you.

Your reputation preceded you; you were exceptional, operating on a different level altogether. Your complexion was flawless, your lips rich and full, and your eyes possessed a captivating allure that could weaken anyone with just one glance. You were taught to always go after the best because you are the best.

So, what the hell was your ass doing walking around in Oakland City? Wearing your ripped undercut booty shorts, which showed more booty than shorts, along with a vintage Dior top you borrowed stole from your momma, complete with a matching purse.

Your flower sandals from Dolce & Gabbana made such a powerful tapping sound, combined with the multiple pieces of gold adorning your wrists, ears, and neck, that everyone you passed couldn’t help but look to see just who it was, and they were definitely not disappointed.

You’re not stupid. You wouldn’t dream of entering one of the most dangerous areas of your hometown without protection. Your bedazzled gold pepper spray and your fully loaded Beretta Nano 9mm pistol in your purse, itching to be used if someone tries you.

They wouldn’t dare, though. Your momma wasn’t the only legendary figure in your family. Your dad ran one of the leading crime families in all of Atlanta, dealing with heavy drugs, counterfeiting, and smuggling illegal things across borders. He was feared just as equally as he was respected.

Messing with you? Your pops would send their family a well-decorated package with their son on a shirt. The last man that cheated on you was a prime example. You couldn’t feel bad for him, though, you did warn him.

To answer your earlier inquiry, which has been nagging at you since you parked your Toyota GR Supra Coupe at a motel five blocks away from the neighborhood, you were there to buy drugs. Weed, more specifically. You could have asked your father, but you really weren’t up for hearing his opinion on how he believes you smoke too much. So you go to the next best thing, Satoru Gojo.

Since your dad was focused on dealing with harder drugs, he didn’t bother with substances like shrooms or anything related to weed. He considered himself too old for that and delegated the task to his second in command and your friend since birth, Satoru. You quicken your pace, heels tapping rapidly as you approach one of his many houses. You’re almost there.

He has some of the best shit in the A, but whenever you ask him how he does it,

“I just sell it, Sis. My best friend does all the hard stuff,”

You would always roll your pretty eyes at this because this supposed best friend he always bragged about was never around. At first, you believed he fibbed about having a best friend out of embarrassment, suspecting that you were the only one who could tolerate his antics.

But you saw glimpses, small ones. A fine leather jacket hanging off his dining room chair that you know Satoru wouldn’t wear. A motorcycle helmet standing tall on the side of his kitchen counter. Your suspicions proved unfounded as your gaze shifted to a sleek, blacked-out MTT 420 Turbine Superbike as you approached Toru’s driveway.

You know damn well that can’t belong to Satoru. Your movements stop once you knock harshly on the door. You catch the faint sound of a random trap song playing through it. You can’t help but smile, amused by how predictably cliché this white-haired man-child can be. Trap music at a trap house.

Your smile fades as you’re met with a cold glare from a short, thick, light-skinned girl wearing a blonde wig. Studying her features further, you can’t help but acknowledge her prettiness. But the minute she opened her mouth, you were annoyed.

“And, who the fuck you is?” She snaps loudly, the gum she’s chewing matching her obnoxiousness. She’s too pretty for this.

“Girl, bye.” You push past her, causing her to stumble slightly, as you march into the house. Maybe she was about to say something, but you didn’t stick around to find out. With your back turned to her, you catch Satoru muttering softly and glancing past you, “Don’t even try it.”

She sucks her teeth in annoyance, slamming the door behind her as she heads back to the couch where Satoru, another man, and three other girls are seated. Wait- another man?

You glance back at the couch again, only to steady your hands on the wall you were leaning on. Woah. This man was so fine that he almost made your legs give out on you. The fuck?

His face was so pretty. Sharp black eyes and the longest hair you’ve ever seen on a man. The wife beater he wore clung tightly to his perfect skin, so much so that you could make out that he had nipple piercings. Woah. The tattoos trailing up both of his muscular arms had you ready to remind yourself to just fucking breathe. He sported washed black Chrome Heart jeans, and the pretty cross peeking from his waistband gave it away.

This man was looking at you, more like undressing you with his eyes. And you couldn’t look away.

“You can’t be knocking on my door like that Sis, I almost thought you were the feds.” Satoru hums, though he really wasn’t worried. He knew the feds couldn’t hold him for long; he had too much money for that. You quickly glance at him and roll your eyes. When you shift your gaze away from Toru, you turn back to the man who has yet to introduce himself to you.

As if he could read your mind, he rises from his seat, his towering height catching you off guard, and he saunters almost sensually towards where you’re standing in the kitchen. The minute he stands in front of you,

“Suguru Geto. You’re beautiful if you don’t mind me saying,” He brings a hand out to shake yours, his eyes never shifting from your brown ones. You glance down for a moment, and you swear you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy when you catch sight of his immaculately clean, clear polished nails, his fingers adorned with silver rings. Lord, help you.

You give him a smile when you register his compliment, “Y/n. You’re the infamous best friend I hear so much about but never see?” You raise a brow.

Suguru swears he’s died and went to heaven when he hears your honey voice. He thinks he’s met the prettiest girl he’s laid eyes on. The gold grill you have of what he remembers is the Scorpio sign confirms it. I mean, just look at you, your outfit, your jewelry, and your face.

Suguru believes he knows himself. He knows he doesn’t like girls that do “too much,” but you make it look so good. He knows he doesn’t even have a fetish for feet. But if you told him to right now, he would drop down immediately and worship yours. He believed a goddess was walking among him when you walked through the door.

“That’s me, the idiot doesn’t have anyone else,” He mutters. You let out the cutest laugh at his comment that makes his dick harden in his jeans. Lord, help him.

Satoru lets out a dramatic gasp behind the two of you, “Hey! I have Y/n!” You immediately retort at him, raising a finger at him.

“Aht! No, you don’t,” You chuckle, snickering and rolling your eyes as you catch him placing a hand on his heart as if you’ve just shot him.

“Stop hogging my best friend and come get what you came for, Sis,” He waves a bag in the air, holding at least 20 grams of weed, ignoring the two girls tugging on both of his arms.

You squeal and sprint as fast as your heels allow towards where he’s seated. Suguru follows after you slowly, feeling ashamed at the way the other two girls cling to him the moment he sits down. He wants nothing to do with them, he feels almost disgusted by their presence now that you’re here. He didn’t even realize they were here when he arrived, he was only here for Satoru.

You snatch the bag from him, slip it into your purse, and then lunge toward him for a hug, knowing he’d never let you pay, of course.

“Thank you, Toru!” Naturally, he wastes no time pushing the two girls aside to embrace you. You’ve always been his top priority. Suguru finds it challenging to look away because as you hug his best friend, your curvaceous behind is directly in his line of sight. He wishes you would hug him like that.

When you straighten, “I gotta go. You guys seem busy anyway,” You quickly utter and glance at Suguru. He seemed like he was about to say something, but you interject before he can.

“It was nice meeting you, Suguru.” You softly tell him. He might’ve just came in his pants with the way you said his name in that tone. He pauses for a moment, but before he can utter a word, you’ve already dashed out the front door.

He stills, and he turns to his lifelong best friend,

“Give me her number.”

It’s been about two hours since you arrived at your loft. You prepared yourself a nice dinner, a well-made Alfredo, before making your way to your room. You sink into the comfort of your silk sheets, retrieving your ashtray and preparing to roll up. Soft Erykah Badu playing from your Alexa Speaker. You’re interrupted by an unknown number dinging on your phone.

Who’s this?

You smile immediately, feeling a rush of nerves as you realize he asked Satoru for your number. You're accustomed to getting what you want, and right now, you want him. You eagerly await his text, noticing that he's typing.

You observe his directness. Suguru is texting you as if he knows exactly what he wants, and if there's one thing you admire in a man, it's when he's decisive and goes after what he wants. You've already decided to smoke with him, swiftly swapping your shorts for a black Juicy Tracksuit as it got windy. You opt to play a little hard to get.

Your jaw drops at the amount he sent you for an Uber. Is he crazy? While you’ve had people send you rides to go somewhere, you can’t shake the feeling that he just wanted an excuse to send you money. You’re still reeling from the shock when he immediately sends you the address to his place afterward. You grab two rolled-up blunts and slide on a pair of kitten heels. Snatching your keys, you head out when your Uber driver arrives outside.

The drive to his place is surprisingly short, almost too short. Considering how spread out the area is, you’ve only been in the car for 15 minutes, yet you’re still in the same neighborhood. You brush it off and approach his door. As you knock, you notice Suguru’s driveway filled with three vehicles: the motorcycle you saw earlier, a Mercedes E-Class, and a sleek BMW M3. You can’t help but appreciate yet another reason you’re drawn to him.

He opens the door, and you swear you wish you could pounce on him. He’s still wearing the wife beater, and when you glance up at his face, you notice his eyes are low and red. With his hair tied up in a man bun, a few strands cascading over his face, the only thought running through your mind is... He’s so pretty.

“You started getting lit without me?” You feign surprise as he welcomes you inside. He kindly takes your keys and hangs them on the holder by his door. You could feel him staring at your ass as you move to stand beside him.

He chuckles, shaking his head at you. He reaches a hand out. “You know how Satoru is. My room?” You nod, and he shivers as your long, pretty nails brush against his hand. Was everything about you so alluring?

You follow behind him, noting how he never lets go of your hand. His room, much like his style, is entirely black. Black sheets adorn a king-sized bed, with a few rock band posters hanging above where his dressers are placed. He even has a private bathroom, the door wide open. Damn, this man even has lavender incense burning on the small desk next to his bed.

“Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart,”

Don’t mind if I do. You drop your body on his bed with a plop. You start to take off your right heel, intending to reach for the left one, only to find Suguru already kneeling down, doing it for you. When he’s done, he rubs your feet for about three long seconds before pulling away. You gasp softly, looking away from his intense gaze. Is he usually this forward?

“Uh- I rolled two. I get lip gloss on the blunt,” You sputter out, retrieving them from your purse as he stands up from his position on the floor and settles onto his pillow.

He makes a tsk sound, “Don’t play with me,” He grabs only one from your raised hand and pulls a skull lighter from his jeans pocket. As you place the other one in your purse, you watch him take the first hit. You realize he enjoys eye contact because, throughout all of his movements, his eyes never leave yours.

You’re nervous. For the first time in your life, a man has made you feel nervous. His energy makes you nervous, how he observes you with such intensity makes you nervous, and even how he feeds you the blunt after taking a few hits makes you nervous.

You’re mesmerized. The effects of the blunts hit you swiftly, altering your mind and intensifying your urge to fuck this man till he sees stars.

Suguru himself has never felt this way before. He’s had a few flings here and there and has even been in a relationship or two. But he’s never felt the need to be entirely consumed by someone. The minute he saw you, it felt like time had stopped for him; he could hear how fast his heart was beating. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to give you the universe because the world is far too small for someone like you.

“You have a boyfriend?” His husky voice asks this out of respect for you. Honestly, he couldn’t give a fuck less if you had a man. You’d be his either way.

“Why? You want me?” You giggle, though you knew he did, you just wanted to tease him. As you gaze up at him through the haze, your breath catches when you observe that his eyes have darkened noticeably. You recognize that expression all too well—it mirrors the one you give the camera when it’s focused on you.

He doesn’t respond or even break a smile at your inquiry. No, his eyes are fixated on your plump, glossed lips as you take another hit. You shift your thighs a little, you don’t know how long you can wait before he makes his move.

Suguru notices, and this time, his lips twitch up a bit, “And if I did?” His whisper keeps you quiet. What the hell were you supposed to say to that? Suguru doesn’t mind your silence. He needs you to savor your angelic tune anyway since you’ll scream his name in a few minutes. Rising from his position, he tilts your chin towards him, his eyes catching note of the smoke in your mouth. Drawing his lips dangerously close to yours, he exhales softly,

“Let it go.” You don’t hesitate to listen to his command. It’s as if your mind is his now, the way he doesn’t even do anything to get your attention. As soon as the smoke escapes your lips, he inhales it, pressing his soft lips firmly against yours.

You whimper out at the force and immediately kiss him back. Suguru swears he’s already in love when he feels your lips reciprocate his action, the stickiness of your strawberry gloss making him release a sound that had you squeezing your thighs. He’s relentless, nipping and forcing his tongue to merge with yours.

His fervor with just a kiss leaves you reeling. The combination of the weed and his lips makes you feel intoxicated, causing you to grasp onto the fabric of his jeans to steady yourself. When he pulls away from you, it only makes you crave more.

You’re both breathing heavily, and the sound of Brent Faiyez playing on his speaker is long tuned out. He stares at your eyes briefly before gently pulling you down to lay on your back. You lean up to pull him into another passionate kiss,

“More, please.” You whine out, a little too desperate for your taste. You couldn’t understand why you wanted him so bad, maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was the fact that your pussy was dripping the minute you saw him at Satoru’s place. You can tell he wants to take things slow, but you can’t find it in you to share the same feeling. You need him to do something to you, now.

He only whispers, “Patience, sweetheart.” And moves his lips down to your neck. Soft kisses fill your throat before he stops teasing and reaches for your zipper. He's not shocked to learn that you don't wear a bra; he could almost see your hard nipples through the velvet fabric of your hoodie.

Your sigh of satisfaction comes from the moment he wraps his lips around your dark areola and gently caresses the fat of your unattended boob. He starts slowly, listening to the sounds you make and observing how he can persuade you to moan louder. Your breath gets shaky when he gets more aggressive with his movement, pulling at your sensitive nipples. He decides that he wants more from you.

Suguru rasps out, “I know you want me to fuck you,” Your body feels on fire as his touch slithers down your stomach, grazing your belly ring. He lowers your tracksuit pants for you and throws them across his room, forbidding you to do anything that doesn’t include you receiving pleasure. Your body is anticipating as he continues, “But I need to prep you, or you won’t be able to take me,”

He toys with the slender strap of your thong, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on your face as he talks, “Be good and let me play with you for a bit, okay?”

Your fiery personality is well-known for not letting men dictate your actions. You’re quick to dismiss any nigga, and based on instinct, you’re almost prepared to snap: Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?

By now, you should realize that Suguru observes every single move you make, every slight gesture you make, when your breath catches, and even now, he detects that you intend to snap at him. He does nothing but give you a look, a dangerous look, which only implies I dare you. Suguru orchestrates a dominance so calm but prominent that you can’t help but whimper out a quiet “Yes,”

What is he doing to you?

He presses a kiss to the side of your mouth as a reward. He’s in a trance. Suguru can’t pull his gaze away from your panties. You’re so wet that it’s clinging onto the fabric as he slowly pulls it away from your lower lips. He finds himself plunging two fingers into your wet cunt before your thong even touches your knees. Fuck, you’re tight.

“Ah- shit! Sugu!” You mewl, walls immediately clenching on his thick fingers. He quickly begins to rub circles on your twitching clit, observing as you gasp and scramble under him. You’re so beautiful like this, he thinks. He doesn’t hesitate to tell you this, too.

“I know, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful, y’know that?” Your slick is dripping all over his palm as he finger fucks you. You try to keep your moans in, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your mind. But you can’t. You can’t do anything but scream out at the way his long fingers are effortlessly punishing your G-spot.

Suguru moves his fingers faster when you don’t answer him, “I asked you a question, baby.”

Your loud whimpers can be heard over his music. How could you possibly answer? You’re already starting to blank, you’re not sure you even listened to what he said. “I- Oh fuck, Yes!”

The sounds coming from your fat pussy is downright phonographic. The squishing, the squelching. Shit, it’s even dripping onto his bed, creating a wet stain. Fuck. Suguru doesn’t think he can take another minute without being inside you. He needs it, but he needs to make you cum first.

He knows you’re about to, with the way your breathing is stuttering and the way there’s a white cream starting to stain his fingers as he pushes them in and out of you. You’re clenching so hard he’s not sure his dick will fit inside of you. He’ll make it fit, he’ll break your little pussy in if he has to.

Suguru leans against you, his desperate panting revealing his longing for you as he whispers in your ear, “I need you to cum for me, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” He fucks his fingers inside of you harder, rubbing your pretty clit even faster.

You nod eagerly, mind already reeling as you wail, “Y-Yes. I’m gonna cum, Sugu! I- Shitt,” He gently kisses your lips, sliding his tongue into your mouth as if he’s encouraging you to accept it, to just cum all over him. And you do.

Your grip on the bottom of Suguru’s wifebeater hurts your fingers, and you arch your back off the bed while your tight walls clench once more around him. You see white spots in your blacked-out vision, and your squealing is so loud that you worry the neighbors will hear it. He doesn’t stop moving when you cum, wanting to prolong what he knows is the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had.

When you finally stop twitching in aftershock, your breathing begins to slow down, and his movements follow suit. Your panties are long gone. He swiftly pulls out of you while you’re still in a daze, making you unaware that he’s sucking up your essence from his fingers and pulling his jeans down along with his Calvin Klein briefs.

You are, however, aware when he pushes your thick brown thighs flush against your chest. And you’re even more aware when he lines his fat pink tip to your sticky lower lips. Suguru doesn’t let you see just how big he is, he directs your focus to his lips on yours. But Lord, do you fucking feel it. You feel it when he rubs up and down on your wet slit. You feel it when he pushes only his tip inside of you before he pulls back out again.

Suguru doesn’t think he can keep on teasing you like this. He tries to keep it up for your sake, but the way you feel on his tip has his body shaking; it’s almost embarrassing. But he can’t find himself to feel ashamed when you look up at him at him like that, your eyes pleading for him to fuck you into the mattress.

“I’m gonna put it in now, baby. I’m gonna fuck you real good, okay?” You’re learning, you know he wants an answer from you, and you don’t bat an eye when your trembling, honeyed voice whispers, “Whatever y-you want, Sugu.”

Whatever he wants? You probably should’ve never said that, and he’ll show you why. He pushes inside of your cunt slowly, hissing at the same time you shriek when your walls try to push him out. “Breathe,” He rasps out. And you’re trying, you’re really trying to. But he’s just so fucking big, it’s like he’s breaking your pussy in half.

“Y-You’re too big! I can’t-” He doesn’t let you finish, he proves that you can when he pushes in halfway through your slobbering pussy.

“Of course you can, Y/n. You’re almost there, sweetheart. One more breath for me, yeah?”

You listen wordlessly, sucking in another deep breath. It’s inevitable to cry when he plunges the rest of his 8 and a half inches in one go. Suguru lets out a groan in your ear, and the sound makes your insides churn. How is it that he immediately finds your spongy spot? You’re so used to being briefly grazed in that spot that this feeling is foreign to you.

Suguru gives you a few seconds before your pussy starts suffocating him, and he’s forced to start feeding you with slow, deep strokes. “Jesus, fuck!” You keen, mewling, and pressing on his firm abs; the pressure was just too much for you. Are you crazy?

“None of that Y/n.” He uses his left hand to hold both of your hands and place them above your head, gently grasping your throat with his right. All the while, his eyes never leave yours, and his big cock never stops stirring up your guts at that slow pace. He gets impatient.

“You feel so good, so fucking tight. Pretty pussy is mine now, yeah? Tell me it is,” Gradual snapping of his hips against yours in a feverous tempo causes you to scramble under him, with your mind getting lost since you can’t find anything to keep you grounded. He has you altogether under his control, and you can’t find it in yourself to be upset.

You don’t respond, your brain too gone to form any thought that’s not Sugu. You’ve forgotten your manners, he’ll make sure to remind you. He snaps his hips harder, he swears the cries you make almost make him cum on the spot.

“Words, Y/n. Tell me this perfect pussy is mine,” The sound of your soaked pussy filling the air as he whispers against your lips, which are permanently shaped in a perfect O.

You weep out, “Fuck! Oh, Sugu- it’s yours, all yours! I- Ah!” His face adorns with a sly smile at your confession. His body is on fire, your pussy perfectly snug around the shape of his cock. He knows he’s about to cum, with the way his insides are twisting, and his heavy balls are twitching rapidly as they slap on the fat on your ass. Your pussy is so good that he swears you’re not even from this planet. But he needs to get you there first. That’s all he needs to dump his seed inside of you.

He slithers the hand gripping your throat down to your drooling clit, rubbing so fast you think you’re having whiplash. Your cries become louder, and before you even know what’s happening, you’re covering Suguru’s entire stomach and his soft sheets with your squirt.

Suguru follows swiftly after you, letting out a sinful moan, his body trembling as he fills your pussy with his cum. It’s so much, so fucking much, that you can feel it overflowing past your stretched-out pussy. The sluggishness of his thrusts inside you causes him to let out loud breaths and drop his face in the crook of your neck.

Your eyes are still stuck on the ceiling above you, shallow breaths emerging from your sore throat. Woah.

The long-haired man above you is still panting and giving you another command, making it difficult for you to process what just happened to you.

“On your stomach, sweetheart.”

This time, you remember your manners.

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