#2. neither of them really understand love or that what they feel for each other is love yk

[astrolook]

🔥 Synastry Myths That Need to Die (Or at Least Be Roasted) 🔥

Because people act like one Venus square Mars = toxic disaster, while a chart full of trines = fairy-tale romance (hint: neither is true). Let’s break down some biggest synastry myths and how to actually interpret them. 👀✨

🚫 MYTH #1: Squares and Oppositions in Synastry = Relationship Problems? Nah, That’s Just Spicy Drama. 🔥😈

🔥Reality: No, they keep it interesting. A little conflict is necessary to keep things engaging, otherwise, y’all will be bored to death in six months.

🔹 Sun square Moon – Keeps things dynamic—you challenge each other emotionally and grow in the process. Passionate debates turn into deep emotional bonding. It could feel like you live in two different emotional worlds sometimes. 🔹 Venus square Mars – Enemies to lovers. Like a slow-burn romance novel where neither of you admits your feelings until you’re in too deep. Fights can get heated and so as passion. 🔹 Mercury opposite Mercury – Mentally stimulates each other a lot. Never boring.

💡 A mix of soft and hard aspects is 🔑. Too much "ease" = stagnation. A little friction? Sexy and exciting.

🗣️Some of y’all are out here begging for a “perfect” relationship, but are you sure you want one that feels like watching paint dry?

🚫 MYTH #2: Too Many Conjunctions = Soulmate Energy! Nah, You're dating yourself!

🔥Reality: Or suffocating as hell. Y’all might as well be the same person, which sounds cute until it’s not.

🔹 Sun conjunct Sun – "Omg, we’re so alike!" Yeah, for now. But do you really want a partner that mirrors you 24/7? 🔹 Moon conjunct Moon – Emotional twins, but can become too comfortable. Who’s pushing who to grow? 🔹 Venus conjunct Venus – Great for shared aesthetic and love language, but too similar = potential complacency.

💡Some conjunctions? Great. But throw in a few oppositions (for balance) and squares (for energy), or you might end up dating yourself.

🗣️You ever had a bestie you LOVED but couldn’t be around too long because y’all were literally the same person? That’s what too many conjunctions feel like in a relationship.

🚫 MYTH #3: "Saturn in Synastry = Restrictive. No, It's Just A Commitment Test!

🔥Reality: Without Saturn, relationships fall apart. The real problem isn’t Saturn—it’s immaturity.

🔹 Saturn conjunct Moon – Can feel like parent/child dynamics, but if handled well? Deep emotional security. This is forever. 🔹 Saturn opposite Venus – Challenges in expressing affection, but also high commitment potential when worked through. 🔹 Saturn trine Mars – Passion with stability—this is the "we still find each other sexy at 80" type of aspect. Slow and steady passion.

💡 If you have Saturn in synastry, embrace the responsibility but set boundaries so it doesn’t feel suffocating.

🗣️Saturn isn’t the fun drunk at the party, it’s the sober friend keeping you from texting your ex. You need that sometimes.

🚫 MYTH #4: Venus-Mars = Everlasting Passion? More Like a Telenovela.

🔥Reality: Yes, it’s hot at first—but will you even like each other in five years?

🔹 Venus conjunct Mars – 🔥 Chemistry? Through the roof. Emotional compatibility? That depends. 🔹 Venus opposite Mars – Can flip between passionate and exhausting, depending on how you handle conflict. 🔹 Venus square Mars – The sexual tension is wild, sparks fly in all directions. It's an exciting aspect.

💡If you’ve got Venus-Mars magic, add some Moon, Mercury, or Saturn connections so it’s not just lust with an expiration date.

🗣️Chemistry can only carry a relationship so far—do y’all actually like each other outside the bedroom?

🚫 MYTH #5: Moon Sign Compatibility = Everything? Okay, But Can You Communicate?

🔥Reality: Yes, emotional compatibility is important. But have you tried... actually communicating?

🔹 Moon trine Mercury – Emotional understanding and easy conversations (a great underrated aspect). 🔹 Moon opposite Mars – One is moody, the other is impatient. Passionate emotions and spicy debates. 🔹 Moon conjunct Saturn – Deep emotional security, but can also feel heavy or restrictive.

💡Don’t just look at Moons—how do your Mercury, Venus, and Saturn interact? Emotional security is great, but if y’all can’t communicate, it’s pointless.

🗣️Just because you both like to cry during sad movies doesn’t mean you’re soulmates.

🚫 MYTH #6: Twin Flames Can Be Seen in Synastry!

🔥Reality: No. Astrology does not confirm Twin Flames. Stop it.

🔹 North Node conjunct personal planets – Yes, this feels fated, but not every karmic relationship is "meant to be." 🔹 Pluto aspects (especially Venus or Moon) – Yes, this is intense and life-changing—but it can also be obsessive and toxic. 🔹 Vertex aspects – Yes, these can feel destined, but that doesn’t mean it’s permanent.

💡If a relationship is healthy, growing, and balanced, that’s what matters more than any hyped-up label.

🗣️Just because someone feels "fated" doesn’t mean they’re your forever person. Sometimes, the lesson is letting go.

💖 Want to know what the stars say about your love life? 💖

Whether it’s soulmate potential, karmic lessons, or long-term compatibility, I dive deep into your unique synastry & composite charts and let's see what the cosmos has in store for you! 🌙💫💖

✨ DM me for a personalized love, marriage, or relationship compatibility reading! ✨ 💌 Check out my pinned post for pricing & details! 💌

[raiiny-bay]

monster boyz thoughts...

[seasprincess]

Love is in the air? 💘

pt 1 || pt 2

Spencer Reid x reader. !fluff

Synopsis: a certain agent has picked up on a little chemistry between you and genius

warnings: none

Spencer Reid is a genius. Everyone knows it. With his 187 IQ, ability to read 20,000 words per minute and knowledge on so many subjects.

But they all mean nothing when you’re involved.

He shouldn’t get like this around you. Get all flustered and shy. Tripping over words when his eyes lock with yours. Watching as you bat your eyelashes at him when he goes on one of his rambles. Everyone else wants him to be quiet, but you? You look and listen to him like he's a prophet and you're his die hard follower.

But as Spencer lacks in the relationship department it means he doesn't catch onto the way you flirt with him. The way you smile and laugh a bit too hard at his jokes the rest of the team didn’t even crack a smile for. He’s blind when it comes to all the signs that you like him back.

But the rest of the team isn’t blind to those eyes you give him. For them it’s like watching a cartoon character’s eyes turn into hearts everytime you look at the genius.

But there’s one person on the team who notices these little glances between you too. Notices the way Spencer stares at you. And he’s decided to play cupid.

Ladies man Derek Morgan is sat across from you on the jet. Smirking as he gestures for you to take off the headphones that were blasting some new pop song.

“Yeah?” You say as you look at him, slightly on edge because of the muscular man's smirk. His eyes show that this conversation is going to make you uncomfortable. Thank god the rest of the team are either asleep or distracted doing something else.

“So you and Reid. What's going on?” The agent says as he tilts his head slightly. Of course he’s going to use his detective skills to use and analyse you.

With his words your cheeks heat up like the plane had suddenly just got really warm. You feel warm. A blush spread across your cheeks too. Usually you'd try to play off these reactions. And you're gonna do just that now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You try to stay calm, try to not show that his words are affecting you. Why is he asking anyway? Has Reid asked about you? Oh god what if he thinks you're weird? What if Morgan tells him?

“You very much do know what I’m talking about.”

You sigh and put your hands over your face, trying to block out the smirking man that’s asking you the question that makes you want to run home and hide your face in a pillow.

“Is it that obvious?” You say as you look over at Spencer who is fast asleep. He's in the fetal position on the sofa. His arm propped under his head as a makeshift pillow. Completely knocked out from the latest case. He looks so calm which is not a usual look. He’s usually moving about or his mind is running at a million miles per hour. Seeing him like this makes your heart clench, he looks so cute and sweet and-oh my god. You've got it bad.

“It’s obvious to everyone but pretty boy.” Derek’s eyes glance to sleeping Spencer. Not looking at him with the same admiration as you.

You groan again as your forehead is placed on the table in front of you. Work strictly bans relationships between two members but there was no way in denying nor moving past the little situationship between you and the smart guy of the team. You could try to hide it but you'd never be able to get over it. Neither would he. You’re both whipped for each other in whatever geeky way that you both can be.

Spencer and you both being geeky when it comes to your interests meant you both like the same things and that you understand some of his references. Heavy on the some, cause sometimes you have no idea what he’s talking about. His references are just a bit too niche for you to grasp.

“Talk to him.” Derek says casually. Like he hasn't asked you to do one of the most stressful things you can think of involving your personal life.

“Absolutely not.” You reply as you say as you sit up straight in the seat. The jet finally coming in to land after what feels like a

“You gotta do it or you’ll regret it.” He doesn’t give you time to fire back before he leaves your gossip spot, presumably heading for the exit. Which is where he’s going. Not before he hits the sleeping boy's knee to wake him up, making your plan of sneaking past him nearly impossible. Derek just flashes you a smirk before exiting.

Sencer rubs his eyes as he slowly sits up, not wanting to move too quickly to avoid feeling dizzy. He glances down at his watch to only realise he had slept practically the whole journey. People walk past him, saying their goodbyes as he says bye too. Not coherent as he's still sleepy. He looks around the jet before his eyes land on you. You were packing up your things, getting ready to go back to your apartment and probably just crash. The case was really hard on all of you. But Spencer knows you struggle to sleep on planes otherwise he knows you would be fast asleep.

“Good nap?” You say with that sweet smile of yours that makes Spencer’s heart just melt. He has completely and utterly fallen for you. He looks at you softly. His brown eyes look at you softly. From your point of view it’s like looking into a deer's eyes. The big brown orbs looking at you with the sweetest look you've ever seen. But of course you’ll brush it off with the fact it’s because he’s just woken up and not because he could possibly like you.

“Oh um, can’t complain. Other than the fact I have more of my book to read now before I can sleep. Again.” Spencer likes to read a certain amount each night. Not that it takes him any significant amount of words per minute. He could do it in about three minutes.

Spencer reaches down to grab his book that had fallen to the ground due to his snooze.

“Hey so, um, I was wondering.” You say quickly before you can take it back and stop yourself. You know you need to get it out before you change your mind.

“Go for it.” He says with a smile. Standing up and looking into your eyes.

And your brain just melts, you can’t help it. You freeze on the spot and suddenly this seems like a really bad idea. It would be too awkward if he rejected you. What if he thought you were weird? Oh god. This is not a good idea.

“It can wait till tomorrow.” You say, covering up the emotions behind the words you wish you could say. “I’ll see you then. Good night.”

Spencer doesn’t get a chance to react before you've left.

And all he can do is wonder what the hell you were gonna say.

And what he wishes he could’ve said to you.

Part 2

a/n: not proof read😛

@littlelamy

[lisdens]

i fear some people aren't ready to face the fact that at some point vi had to let go of her parentified-child role because it would also mean understanding that jinx is an adult who makes her own choices and doesn't need protection the same way she needed back when they were kids. vi says so herself ('why did you come get me? you don't actually need my help, you haven't for a long time').

everyone who expected vi to become some sort of leader for zaun didn't understand that the reason she fought so hard in her youth for her family was because what she truly craved for was safety for herself and her loved ones. it's the whole reason she has that conversation with vander back in episode 2 of season 1.

vi going after jinx when caitlyn opens the cell would only reinforce the idea that vi has to step into the role of caregiver/protector again. vi isn't jinx's mom, she's her sister, and she has her own battle against her internal demons.

in fact, she spirals down very quickly once locked inside the cell, which is later reflected when caitlyn finds her; she's certain she screwed up again and she believes she's lost both jinx and caitlyn, and she knows it happened because vi was being herself, by doing something she wouldn't have done during her act1 self.

her fallout with caitlyn happened because caitlyn couldn't accept who vi truly is, so how can vi expect caitlyn to be okay with what she's done, when that was the reason they grew apart in the first place?

because caitlyn chooses vi, she prioritizes her over her revenge. caitlyn lets go of it because she loves vi for who she is, and not despite it.

jinx and vi love each other unconditionally, even if they don't understand each other entirely ('i didn't get to do much of this with my sister, she was more into hitting things'), so how could anyone outside of her family love vi, while simultaneously understanding her?

vi probably just went through ten different scenarios of how caitlyn is going to reject her for it, for showing who she is, and who she's always been.

and what does caitlyn do in response?

by this point caitlyn doesn't believe vi has forgiven her, so the whole 'you've grown a bit predictable' isn't a pickup line to get in her pants.

this is caitlyn's attempt at cracking a joke.

vi's worries are met with a dumb phrase that's meant to cheer her up, the same way vi did back in episode 1 ('thought for sure you were gonna get yourself killed').

she spiraled down believing she had lost everyone, and caitlyn proves her wrong with an easy smile and a reassurance; 'this is who you are, i know it, watch me be more than okay with it'.

this, for vi, must feel so, so freeing.

this is the one thing she's been craving for her whole life; the feeling of safety. i'm me, and i'm safe to exist that way in here.

she spent her entire childhood fighting to provide that stability for her family because she was given no other choice but to step into that role, she pushed her own needs aside to make sure everyone else was okay. and now, her sister is an adult who has survived without vi's protection, who has accomplished a lot of things without her big sister by her side.

now it's vi's turn to crave safety, it's vi's turn to choose and let someone else make her feel safe and reassured.

vi's not a symbol of zaun, that's what characters like sevika and ekko exist for; neither of them were pressured to step in and take that role, they fight for their city because they chose to and because they want to (and, if i might add, they're very good at it!).

she's just a girl who went through some really fucked up things in life and only ever wished for a little stability.

and she finds that in caitlyn, so she chooses it.

[yoongelectric]

Drunk in love — LN4

~ believe when i say that you’ll know once you taste it

• part 2: blame it on the vodka

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: the night where you and lando just wanted to forget about each other but ended up getting closer than ever

genre: smut, angst, fluff, friends to lovers

warnings: curse words, jealousy, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex, breeding kink

notes: english isn’t my first language so i’m sorry ig there’s any mistakes. i might have gotten a little excited with the lenght of this fic, part 2 will be shorter

The music plays loudly within the walls of your room as you and your best friend get ready for the night. After hours and hours of trying to convince you, Olivia had finally made it, not that you weren't a party girl, in fact you adored it, the feeling of being drunk, the people, the dancing, the music, flirting with strangers, you used to spend the whole week looking forward to go to your favorite club but for months now all those good times have lost all meaning when all you can see is your best friend going from girl to girl every weekend without any type of remorse. And for months you’ve been trying to do the same thing to stop thinking about him, only achieving the opposite.

You can’t blame those girls, in fact, you understand them perfectly, not just because Lando is rich and famous, that's the least important thing really, but in any crowd he's always the first man you see, he's handsome, attractive, even magnetic, the kind of man no girl would ever say no to, and you were painfully aware of that, because of course, you were one of those girls who could never say no to him.

That's what bothers you the most, because no matter how many dates you go on, how many strangers you flirt or sleep with, how much time you go without seeing him or speaking to him, you always notice how they are not him, how they don't have his laugh, his eyes, his charisma, his charm, his way of hugging you, his way of making you forget everything and everyone, no matter how good they are in bed, none of them can make you feel the warmth that you feel when he simply holds your hand or rests his hand on your waist to help you walk through a room full of people, and it's already getting tiring to hope that at some point that's going to change.

While you finish applying the sluttiest red lipstick you have, and check that you are not missing anything in your purse, you look at your outfit in the mirror, a little black dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, actually, if you are not careful you can flash anyone at any moment, you feel attractive, you know you look pretty, but you also know that neither this dress, nor the makeup you spent so much time on, nor your perfect hair will be enough for Lando to look at you the way you want.

Olivia seems to notice the sad expression on your face, "y/n don't make that face, if Lando is stupid enough to not make a move on you then he doesn't deserve you to spend another second thinking about him" she says handing me a shot of vodka that I swallow without hesitation

“Do you think I'm in love with him because I want to, Olivia? If it was up to me I would only see him as the friend he sees in me, that's what he wants, but it seems I can't.”

“if you want to believe that he sees you only as a friend then go on, i think he’s just a pussy” Olivia shouts from the door as I grab my keys and follow her.

-

Lando stared at his glass of whiskey, lost in thought, looking at the time on his watch from time to time thinking about when you would arrive, he was dying to see you, he didn't know if he was imagining it but he had this feeling that you’d been avoiding him all week, you didn't answer his messages, and if he called you, you quickly ended the conversation saying that you were busy, you had always been very bad at lying, who can be busy on a Saturday morning? He knew that his doubts would be solved at any moment and oh how he wished it was just his head fucking with him.

In the distance he saw a girl who he could have sworn was you, but after looking at her for a few seconds he slapped himself internally for having mistaken you for someone else, how could you be that girl? She doesn't have your grace, nor the light that seems to follow you everywhere making you look untouchable, the people around her don't turn around automatically and he doesn't feel that comfort in his heart when looking at her, but what's the point anyway? None of them make him feel anything like that, none of them are like you and he knows it.

He knows that you are the girl for him, he has known it since he won his first race and as soon as he crossed the finish line the first thing he thought was if you would be proud of him. He knows that he will probably love you all his life and that without you his destiny is to wait for someone to entertain him enough to not think about you all the time. He knows how sad that is and he's not sure if he can continue like this for much more, but he can't condemn you to what a relationship with him means, he barely has time for himself and how could he try to have a relationship with you if he can't give you all the time you deserve? How can he try to be with you if it means you have to be moving from one side of the world to the other all the time or not see him as often as he would like?

If everything was different he would have jumped right into your arms months ago, but you deserve much more than what he can give you.

Max's voice brings him out of his thoughts telling him something painfully true "so you’re already looking for a girl who looks like Y/N to spend the night?" How much more time can he spend trying to find you in another person? probably a lot less than he thinks.

-

He was hypnotized, watching you dance with your friends, running your hands over your body, laughing and looking so sexy, since you arrived he couldn't stop looking at you, a feeling between how bothered he was by that sinful dress that hugged your body in all the right places and the concern for the cold greeting he had received, he was gripping his glass tightly and using all his will not to grab you by the waist and pull you against him, he wanted to ask you the reason behind your actions, how were you able to stay away from him, when it felt impossible for him to do that.

It was then that he saw him, tall, with a bright smile, just the type of boy you've always liked, he approached you and spoke to you so carefree, calm, without the all the nerves Lando felt every time he had to get too close to you. He doesn't know what the boy said to you that made your laugh echo throughout all the VIP area but he was sure as hell it couldn't be that funny, how could your eyes shine like that looking at someone that two seconds ago you didn't know existed? how could you look at a stranger the way Lando had always wanted for you to look at him? oh how oblivious he was

As soon as he tried to get up to stop the situation, he felt the hand of the same girl he had seen earlier on his shoulder and as some type of divine signal it was then that he came to his senses. If he really loved you, he should let you live your own life.

Back to where you were, the nameless boy grinded against you while grabbing your hip and the two of you danced to the rhythm of the music, he was cute, sure, he was nice and funny, but in your drunken state your head seemed to betray you making you think about Lando over and over again, each song seemed to be talking about him, about you, about the two of you, and just when you were trying to get away from the boy it occurred to you to look at him, At this point you should be used to it, glass in hand, a girl on his lap, kissing so passionately it made you want to cry.

You were fucking sick of it, sick of the looks of pity from all your friends, of not being able to get mad at the girl, or Lando, you could only be mad at yourself for having these stupid feelings and not being able to settle for his friendship that at the end of the day was the best thing that had ever happened to you, and you really don't know how or when but you were glued to a wall kissing the guy, he was grabbing your ass tightly and biting your lip while you were pulling his hair trying to understand the situation you found yourself in, with far too many drinks on you, the jealousy, shame and unreciprocated feelings you felt for your best friend, you decided to lose yourself in the touch of the boy you had just met.

When the girl moved away from him to take a breath he saw you, your hair messy, your dress rolled up and that son of a bitch's hands grabbing you just like he would like to do, he didn't even have the decency to take you somewhere more private, but again, who was he to get involved in what you were doing if he knew that he couldn't give you what you deserved anyway, so he grabbed the girl's face and continued kissing her, but he couldn't stop thinking about you, the weight of the girl on his lap made him wish it was you, Lando wanted you to grab his hair just like you did with the boy you were kissing, he knew he could make you feel much better than him, he would take you somewhere empty because only he should be the only one to see you this way, he would grab you by the waist and pull you against him, he would kiss you with so much feelings that you wouldn't doubt his love for you, the erection that grew underneath his pants made him imagine how good you would feel rubbing yourself on him and he was sure it would feel like heaven listening to you moaning his name when he went down to kiss your neck.

“fuck, y/n just like that, baby” he didn't expect that it was going to be your name the one that escaped his lips.

The look of confusion and shock from the girl who was sitting on his lap brought him back to reality, and he doesn't know if he was suddenly sober or if all the alcohol that was in his system hit him at once but his body, his mind and all his senses told him to look for y/n, so apologizing to the girl and getting her off of him, he began to look for his love.

He looked around but there was no sign of her, her friends were still dancing in the same place but she and the boy he had seen her with earlier had disappeared, he asked Max but he told him that he had lost sight of them ago. For a while, when he saw Olivia, he realized that if anyone could help him, it was her.

he got into the crowd of dancing girls trying to get her friend's attention, "Olivia, hey, where did y/n go?" He said when the girl finally saw him

"Lando, I think you should leave her alone, she's busy" your friend knew that today you just needed to forget about him.

"Did she leave with him? Just tell me if she's still here, please" Lando was desperate, he feared that if he didn't find you now he would never have the courage to confess his feelings to you again

Olivia finally gave up "she just told me she was going to his house, I don't think they're gone yet" she took a deep breath and added "she's trying to forget you, I know deep down you know that, don't do anything if you know you're gonna hurt her, Lando."

"Thank you, i promise i will not" he said before running to the club’s door

You don't know why you agreed to this, but you found yourself walking towards the car of the boy you just met today, do you really want this? you don't know, in your head you just think that maybe this is it, maybe he can make you forget about Lando, in fact, you should be happy, he is cute, hot, funny, attentive and respectful, why aren't you happy? And why do you feel so relieved when you feel a hand on your shoulder stopping you?

"y/n, please don't go with him" you turn around when you hear the familiar voice and you feel your stomach do a thousand flips when you see the person you've been thinking about all night.

You pause to look at him before speaking, he looks agitated, in a hurry even, as if he was going to run out of time, but even in that state he is the most attractive man you have ever seen, some buttons on his shirt are undone showing his chest, as if the slightly see-through fabric wasn't enough, his tanned skin glowing under the night lights and you don't understand why he has to come out of nowhere now to ruin anyone else for you.

"Lando, is everything okay?" Your voice denotes concern and Lando just wants to have you in his arms.

"lov- sorry, y/n" he corrected himself "don't go with him, I need to talk to you, please, I need you to give me a chance"

"what are you talking about?" Your words came out like a whisper, you had to be misunderstanding him, or not?

"Sorry mate, this isn't your fault, but I love her, she's the love of my life, I can't let her go."

Suddenly you remembered the boy who was there with you, you looked over your shoulder, you only saw confusion in his gaze and you felt sorry for how he had ended up in this situation just because of bad luck, you shared a look and the boy understood that he had to leave.

"Lando, if this is some kind of joke or you're just doing it because that girl rejected you, I want you to know that it's not funny."

Lando felt a pang of pain in his chest, what had he been doing wrong all this time for you to believe him capable of playing with you like that?

"this isn’t a joke, y/n, I'm tired of pretending that I don't just love you, baby." he said taking a few steps until he was right in front of you "I don't know what I did for you to not want to see me or talk to me, but let me fix it, even if you don't feel the same way, I need you to treat me like before, I miss you love"

"I was just trying to forget you, Lando" the tears began to fall down your face and you didn't know if you felt shame, joy, anger or relief, if he felt the same, why had he made you see him with all those girls before? Why hadn't he spoken sooner? Why hadn't you spoken sooner?

you felt his lips on yours, and for the second time that night you were kissing someone, but this time everything made sense, you could only think about lando, you were right where you wanted to be, you were aware of his touch in every place where his body made contact with yours and time seemed to have stopped, you were addicted to the feeling of finally having him all to yourself and you didn't want to stop even to take a breath or move to another place.

He felt the same way and with all his strength he moved away just enough to mumble "let's get out of here."

-

The car ride to your house felt like a fever dream, you wanted to talk to each other but you had so many ideas in your head that you didn't know what to say first, you wanted to touch each other but you didn't want to spend another minute without being in a place just for the you two, so all you did was share looks of love and happy giggles

You two were finally home and it seemed like you were glued to each other, the heat in the room was becoming more and more unbearable as you kissed, grabbed and caressed each other, thanks to muscle memory you managed to get to your room and Lando just pushed you to the bed before climbing into it straddling you

"So pretty, baby, I can't believe I finally have you" he said kissing your neck and lifting your dress asking permission to take it off.

You nodded silently and Lando wasted no time in removing the garment that covered your body. He began to run kisses and licks over your shoulders, collarbones, arms and stomach until he left you desperate and trembling beneath him. You knew he was enjoying it but you had waited so long for this that you couldn't stand him not touching you right where you wanted, losing your patience you reached behind your back to unclasp your bra.

“nuh huh, that's my job, precious, let me enjoy you just the way I want” He said kissing, sucking and biting your neck, his words sending shivers to the wet areas of your skin.

"Lando, please, you're going to have plenty of time to enjoy me in every way you want, just fuck me already, I can't wait." As you spoke you couldn't help but arch your back when lando gently bit your collarbone making a moan escape your mouth.

you heard him laugh cockily "plenty of time? does that mean we're going on a second date?" and just when you thought about slapping him for his bad joke you felt him cup your pussy relieving half of the tension you felt.

He lived to please you and if you wanted to get to the point that's what he would do, he quickly got rid of your bra attacking one of your nipples with his tongue, circling the muscle over it before taking it all in his mouth, moaning softly into it, after a while he moved to your other nipple, repeating his actions, but paying attention to the previous one with his big, rough, veiny hands, you were a moaning mess, and every once in a while you had to remind yourself that this was really happening and it wasn't a product of your imagination.

"mmh Lando that feels so good, please don't stop" you said trying to reach his member to touch it over his clothes, but you instantly felt him pin your arms over your head

"not yet, y/n tonight is all about you, let me make you feel good" he said moving down to your hips leaving kisses right on the waistline of your panties

He stopped to look at the lace panties you were wearing, black and all see-through, they were sexy but at the same time elegant and Lando felt like he would faint right there.

"these are so pretty, it's a shame i have to take them off," he said, taking your underwear on each side and removing it in one go.

It was at that moment that he saw you naked for the first time, you looked so hot but also innocent, the look of desire and at the same time love in your eyes could not be compared to anything that Lando had seen before, and he couldn't believe he had been missing on this for so long.

He ran a hand over your wet center and hissed at the sensation.

"baby, please do something, I'm going crazy" you begged, pushing your hips against his hand, trying to get more friction.

"well, since you're in such a hurry, god, we have to work on your patience, love." Without warning, Lando put a finger inside your hole and at the same time went down to lick your clit, while leaving his finger still inside you, he licked your bundle of nerves from side to side, up and down and circling his tongue against you, the euphoria you felt at that moment didn’t allow you to speak, the only thing that came out of your mouth were desperate breaths and moans of his name repeatedly. Every time you dared to look between your legs and saw your friend's piercing eyes you felt yourself embarrassingly quick getting closer to the edge.

"Lando, I need more, please, I want to cum."

so you felt a second finger inside you, he began to move them at a soft and strong pace, curving them inside you in the most delicious way, it didn't take long for you to finish all over his mouth and fingers, with a scream of his name and pulling him against you by his hair, he continued sucking your clit until you pushed his head due to overstimulation.

“You taste so good, my love, please let me do it again” he said kissing your inner thighs trying to open your legs again.

"another time, babe, I want you to fuck me, I need to feel you" you said pulling him from his shirt, you were feeling a little self conscious as you noticed how he was fully dressed and you were naked in front of him, so you unbuttoned his pants begging him to take them off, he, always willing to please you, pulled them down at the same time with his boxers, letting his dick come out freely in front of your face.

None of all the dirty nights you spent thinking about him could prepare you for what was in front of your eyes, his member, the perfect length, thick and veiny, with his tip all wet, seemed to beg you to put it in your mouth.

And that’s what you did, kneeling on the bed in front of him, licking the tip vaguely and without wasting much time you started sucking on it. Lando grabbed your hair in a ponytail and allowed himself to enjoy the heat of your mouth.

You wanted to make him feel good, it was the only thing you could think at that moment, and when you looked up and saw his face contorted with pleasure, his head thrown back and tasted his salty precum you could only moan in satisfaction, the entire moment made you so wet again and your hole clenched around nothing.

Against all his desire and will, Lando removed his dick from your mouth, it felt so good, but he needed to fuck you, he needed to feel your wet walls around him, so once again he pushed you on the bed and put your legs on his shoulders.

"Are you ready?" The question felt like a joke, you had been ready for months.

"yes, so ready, please fuck me"

You felt his member press against your pussy and the wetness made it so easy for him to slide in all at once.

Both of you moaned in unison as you felt that you were finally where you belong, Lando stayed still for a moment to let you get used to the size and to take a breathe so he wouldn’t cum on the spot.

When he saw your desperate face and felt how you pushed your hips against him, Lando began to fuck you without mercy, hand on your neck choking you just the way you like it, grunts and moans escaping from his mouth, turning you on more and more.

"baby, please, I'm so close, you fuck me so so good, I love your dick so much, please" you didn't know what you were saying, you just knew that you didn't want anyone but him.

Lando couldn't help but laugh at your state, but he wasn't much better than you, feeling his orgasm getting closer, he removed his hand from your neck and began to draw circles on your clit, his thrusts were erratic and the trembling in his legs let you know that he wasn't going to last much longer.

"land-o, baby, cum inside, I need you to fill me" and with those simple words the two of you climaxed at the same time, white dots filled your vision and you could swear it was the longest orgasm you’ve ever had, when you came back to your senses, your friend removed his member from your hole and turned your positions so that you were on top of him.

"We should clean up" you said, ignoring your tiredness, trying to be responsible.

"Let's stay like this for a while, I need to hug you, hold you close" despite his tired tone you could hear him talking to you with a smile.

A few minutes passed and just when Lando was about to fall asleep, your words brought him out of his state.

"You know we'll have to talk about this tomorrow, right?"

And just like that, he remembered each and every reason why he hadn't done this before.

[monster-disaster]

[orc] Örök 2/4

orc!Örök x human!Reader Good to know: smut

Summary: Örök has dinner with you. And more.

A/N: I read your comments (thank you for loving Örök), but I don't do tagging (I know myself, I couldn't keep up with them). But if it's any help, I upload the new parts every Wednesday. :)

Main Masterlist // Monster March on my Patreon

The hallway is quiet, bathed in a soft glow. The polished leather of his shoes catches the warm light in a gentle sheen. Örök stands in front of your door, shifting his weight every now and again. He wears a dark blue button-up, neatly tucked into the waistband of his jeans. It clings to his chest and stomach a little more than he would prefer, but leaving it untucked had looked even worse, messy in a way that didn’t suit him. He exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension that had settled there since he knocked. His posture is tense, not from discomfort, but from anticipation. It’s just dinner, but as he waits, he catches himself adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves and brushing invisible specks of dust from his jeans. Yeah, he is nervous.

"I'm coming." Your voice is muffled, followed by the soft click of the door opening.

And then, you are there. Just as breathtaking as you were two hours ago.

You are wearing the dress you bought earlier, the white one with delicate blue patterns and that daring slit up at the side. The long cut gives him glimpses of your thigh with each shift of your stance. The strappy high-heeled sandals make the length perfect, and the warm glow of the hallway makes the soft curve of your bare shoulder even more inviting. Örök's gaze lingers, admiration flickering in his dark eyes, but before he can say anything, you let out a soft, thoughtful oh, your expression shifting as you glance down.

His brows knit together. “What?” He instinctively smooths a hand over his shirt, suddenly self-conscious. Maybe the fit really is as bad as he feared. The fabric pulls a little at his stomach. He knew it!

You hesitate, nibbling your lip before offering, "I can change into flats if you want."

Örök frowns, thrown off. "Why would you do that?" His gaze drops briefly to your sandals, then back to your eyes. "Are they uncomfortable?"

No, but..." You shift your weight slightly, choosing your words carefully. "I'm taller than you in these."

There is a brief pause. He blinks at you, then lets out a short, amused scoff. "And? Does that bother you?"

You shake your head instantly. "No. But I thought maybe it would bother you."

A low rumble of laughter echoes in his chest as he holds out his arm for you to take. "Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart. You look amazing in them."

And the truth is, he was so focused on everything else; your smile and the way the dress hugs your curves that he hadn't even noticed the height difference. And even now, as you take his arm with a bright, dazzling smile, he couldn't care less.

By the time you arrive at the dining hall, the place is already alive with the low hum of conversation and the gentle clinking of silverware against porcelain. The warm, golden glow inside contrasts beautifully with the inky darkness beyond the windows. Outside, the desert stretches into the night. The sand dunes rise like black shadows, and above, the sky glimmers with stars.

The familiar table from the other day is empty, and as you approach, Örök steps ahead, pulling out the chair for you just like last time.

"Thank you," you say, looking up at him with a smile.

Örök only nods before settling into his own seat, lifting the menu with a furrowed brow. His eyes scan the unfamiliar dishes, but the more he reads, the less he understands.

After a moment, he exhales through his nose, feeling a touch of embarrassment creep in. "I know nothing about these," he admits gruffly.

But instead of laughing at him, you grin, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Me neither," you confess, leaning in slightly like it’s some shared secret. "But the steak looks safe enough."

Örök huffs a small laugh, relieved. "Steak it is," he agrees.

A comfortable silence settles between you for a beat before he adds, voice teasing, "Let’s just hope we didn’t accidentally order something raw and still kicking."

Your laughter rings out, light and warm, and just like that, the night already feels perfect.

Your food arrives, steaming and delicious, and soon, you both settle into an easy rhythm; forks clinking against plates, occasional laughter bubbling up between bites, and despite spending the entire day talking, it feels as though there is still more to share.

At one point, as you take a sip of your drink, you let your gaze linger on Örök, and without thinking much about it, you say, "I'm glad we met."

"I'm glad too," he admits with softening eyes. "To be honest, I was worried about what I’d do in a place like this." He gestures vaguely at the elegant setting. "I mean, this is all… nice. But I spent decades in my shop, covered in oil and sweat. I know how to work. I know how to keep my hands busy. But just sitting back and relaxing? That’s... different."

"Me neither," you admit, tapping your fingers lightly against the table. "I even brought my laptop just in case I got restless. Thought maybe I’d sneak in some work if nothing else. But I have to admit, it’s beautiful here."

Örök watches you, the way your lips curl at the edges, the way your fingers trace circles on the rim of your glass. "And the company is great too," he adds, fondly, teasingly.

"Agreed," you say, meeting his gaze with a smile that lingers longer than necessary.

The night stretches on, unhurried. Plates get cleared and replaced with fresh drinks that glisten under the soft lighting. The hum of conversation around settles as a band begins to play, blending seamlessly with the low murmur of laughter and clinking glasses.

Örök watches as a few couples rise from their seats, drawn by the rhythm, but what truly catches his attention is you. Your gaze flickers toward them, lingering just a little too long, and the orc doesn't think, doesn't hesitate. He pushes his chair back, standing tall before you as he extends his hand. The light catches the roughness of his knuckles, the calloused fingers that look better suited for holding wrenches than holding hands, but when he speaks, his voice is steady and warm;

"Would you like a dance?"

Your face lights up, and he swears he could never tire of it. It’s a reaction that makes his chest feel too small for the way his heart presses against it.

"Love to," you say, slipping your hand into his without a second thought.

His grip tightens just enough to guide you onto the floor, weaving effortlessly between the other dancers. He turns to face you, placing one hand firmly on your waist while your free hand settles on his shoulder. Your fingers entwine more securely with his, and the rhythm of the music draws you both into a gentle sway.

"Are you still not bothered by me being taller?" you tease, gazing down at him with a playful glint in your eyes.

Örök barely hesitates, his lips curling into a slow, confident smirk. "Not even for a second, darling," he murmurs. His grip on your waist tightens just enough to draw you closer, your bodies moving in a slow rhythm.

You tilt your head, eyes glinting with mischief as you drag your fingers slowly along the back of his neck, letting your nails scrape ever so lightly. "You know," you murmur, your voice just loud enough for him to hear over the music, "I think I like this."

Örök exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers flexing slightly against your waist before he regains control of himself. "Yeah?"

"For someone who claims he wasn’t sure what to do on a trip like this… you are awfully good at sweeping a girl off her feet."

Örök huffs out a quiet chuckle. "I don’t know about that," he rumbles, though there is a flicker of something in his expression. After his wife, he has forgotten how it feels, this mix of intrigue and warmth.

As time passes, the crowd slowly begins to thin. A few couples break apart and head toward their rooms. The sound of laughter and chatter fades, replaced by the soft shuffle of footsteps, but you and Örök remain, swaying. Only when the last few people leave, do you two decide to end the night too.

When you get back to your room, Örök stays at the doorway, watching you with an intensity he can’t quite hide. His eyes linger on you, taking in the way you move, the soft curve of your lips, and the unspoken invitation in your gaze. He is not sure what’s happening between the two of you, but he feels it deep in his bones, like a slow burn that starts low in his gut and builds with every second. There’s a tension in the air, thick and palpable, but he can’t bring himself to cross that threshold, to make the first move. Instead, he waits, giving you the space to decide, to tell him what you want.

When you turn to face him, your smile curling softly at the edges of your lips, it’s like the world tilts just a bit. That smile, that quiet confidence in your eyes, makes his heart race. His breath catches for a moment, but it’s the words that you speak next that send a shiver down his spine.

“Would you like to come in?”

_

Örök lies beneath you, broad and solid, his massive frame sinking slightly into the mattress that smells like you. His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths. The orc watches you, caught between awe and raw hunger. His dark gaze drinks in every inch of your bare body as if committing it to memory. His tusked mouth slightly parted. His large hands rest on your plush hips, calloused fingers kneading your softness, savoring the way you feel under his rough touch. He can't help but marvel at the way your curves spill over his grip, how warm and supple you are in his arms. Every time you shift, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate motion, he groans. His fingers tighten, just for a moment, fighting with the primal urge to grip you harder and take control.

His dark eyes are fixed on the way your body moves above him. "Look at you," he grunts. "Beautiful." His breath hitches as you rise up slowly before sinking back down, enveloping him in your wet heat. A deep, shuddering groan escapes him, his massive body straining, every muscle coiled tight with pleasure.

He wants to move, to flip you over and take you with all the force thrumming in his veins. The urge is nearly unbearable, but the need to watch you, to see you like this, is even stronger. Your breasts bounce with every motion, your stomach and thighs quiver as you ride him.

"You are driving me mad, girl," he growls, thick with need. His fingers flex, digging into your soft flesh, reveling in the way your weight presses him down in the most intoxicating way.

His sharp eyes catch the shiver that runs through you at his words. A deep, satisfied rumble vibrates in his chest as he feels your pussy flutter around him, gripping him tighter with every movement. His mouth waters at the sight of your nipples hardening even more. He reaches up, rough thumbs flicking over your sensitive buds in small circles while your hips roll again. It forces a guttural groan out of him again.

"Örök!" His name spills from your lips in a desperate rush. Your voice is dripping with impatience and need. Your palms press flat against his broad chest, fingers raking through the coarse gray hair scattered across his warm skin. The movement pushes your breasts together, drawing his hungry gaze to the way your damp skin glistens in the low light.

The sight makes his lips curl into a wicked grin. "Do you need some help, pretty girl?" he teases, amused. His large hands slide down to your hips once more, rough fingers pressing into your soft flesh, grounding you in his grip.

"Please," you breathe barely more than a whimper as you sink down on him again. The stretch, the heat, it’s all too much, but not enough all at once. You tremble above him, trying to quicken your pace, chasing the pleasure that coils tighter with every movement.

"Whatever you want," he grunts as he sits up. His feet brace against the mattress, giving him the leverage he needs. The new position forces you down onto him even deeper, ripping a sharp gasp from your throat as he fills you completely. Your walls pulse around him, and he throbs inside you in answer.

"That's it," he rasps against your ear, breathing hot on your skin. "Let me take care of you, pretty girl."

Örök shifts beneath you, climbing further up the bed until his broad back presses against the sturdy wooden frame. You instinctively clutch onto him tighter, as if the small movement could somehow make you lose your balance. Even the thought of slipping from him makes your body react; your pussy clenches around his thick cock. He groans at the sensation while he adjusts his hold on you, thrusting up into you with a newfound vigor. His powerful thighs flex beneath you as he bucks into you, grinding deep inside. The sheer force of his movements sends jolts of pleasure through you, making it impossible to do anything but cling to him. His lips find your neck, hot and searching, his tusks grazing your skin, catching at the sensitive spot where your pulse pounds wildly. He groans at the taste of you, warm and slightly salty, his tongue tracing over your heated flesh before he nips at you, teasing and claiming. He trails lower, dragging his mouth along the line of your collarbone, savoring every inch of soft, supple skin beneath his lips. When he reaches the swell of your breasts, he growls low in his throat and buries his face between them, inhaling deeply.

Every part of you made to be touched, to be held, to be adored.

"Fucking perfect," he mutters against your skin, voice muffled by your tits.

He bounces you on his lap, lifting and dropping you in sync with the powerful thrusts of his hips. The sheer strength behind every movement has you gasping. The slick slide of his cock inside you, the way he stretches you open with every stroke, is utterly overwhelming. Your walls flutter around him, clamping down tightly, making every drag of his length more intense.

Örök knows exactly when you are close. Your head falls back, and your back arches as you teeter on the edge. The movement pushes your breasts even closer to his face, and his instincts take over. His lips latch onto one of your stiffened nipples, sucking the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, his tusks grazing your soft skin. You grow impossibly tighter around him, your body seizing, gripping him so fiercely that it hits him right then and there. His teeth sink into your flesh, not enough to hurt, just enough to claim. A guttural groan rips from his throat as his entire body tenses, every muscle locking up as he throbs inside you. The heat of his release floods you, thick and heavy, and you take it all, trembling in his hold, wheezing as pleasure wracks your body. His arms tighten around you, keeping you pressed close as you both ride it out together.

Even as the pleasure fades, he doesn’t let you go. His lips trail lazily over your damp skin while you lay on his chest. Your breath is warm and heavy on his sweatí skin as you pant, shivering from the aftermath of your orgasm.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asks. No part of him wants to move, to put a distance between you, but he feels like he needs to ask.

"No," you tell him immediately, slowly slipping down next to him onto the bed, arms and legs still holding onto him. "Stay."

[bratbarzal]

The Secret of Us (LH43) 2/3

aka the sequel to let it happen

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

>PART ONE<

it felt like something old, it felt like something holy, like souls bleeding

WC: 28k (I once called this part short I just laughed for 15 minutes alone when the wc loaded)

General Warnings: bed sharing, hand holding, a lot of leaning and longing looks, just a bunch of friendly antics between two friendly friends. platonic pals. aromantic amigos. fluff galore between these two honestly. slight comeback of the banter from lih. jack and ellie win the joint award for worst advice givers on the planet. individual angst - reader lives in struggle city with her senior year of college and the nhl horrors persist for luke, and then an angsty ending (pls forgive me lol) - also mentions of four nations/team usa tw

A/N: sorry this took a little longer, I had a lot of notes and a lot of figuring out what to put where and what to leave for the last part!! I know you all know by now how precious these two are to me, and I really wanted this to show a real progression from how they were in lih!! again, biggest thank you ever for all your feedback on the last part, there's nothing I love more than seeing the reaction to these two and talking about them with everybody, it really ends up being this collaborative yearning for them to work out and inspires so much of what I write so thank you thank you thank you!!!!

Luke feels like he’s floating.

He feels like he’s living in some sort of dream - as sunlight filters in through his windows, and cast you in a surreal glow - he feels like he’s on cloud nine.

It’s all so peaceful, laying beside you - the two of you probably having been awake for maybe fifteen minutes, neither of you talking yet, just basking in the intimacy of being in each other’s arms.

He’d half expected you to shove him off as soon as your eyes opened - as soon as you saw what the two of you had gotten yourselves into, last night. Half expected snarky quips and narrowed eyes.

He hadn’t expected you leaning into his touches, laying on your side and and resting on his chest as he watches five millions thoughts pass slowly through your brain. 

“This might be what I missed the most,” he hums, too lost in the way the pads of your fingers tickle softly against his chest to think about what he’s saying, “First thing in the morning, when you’re still fogged up with sleep and your mouth isn’t moving yet.”

You smile softly at the dig, eyes still trailing the ministrations on his skin before you pinch at his flesh. “You’re not supposed to miss anything, now that we’re friends, never mind have a list.” The way you say it is quiet, distracted, even, and Luke likes to think he can read between the lines by now when it comes to your tone and inflection. You’ve missed it, too.

You’d gone straight to doing it as soon as you opened your eyes, cuddling up to him and drawing mindless shapes into his body as he held you close - it’s what you always used to do before you shot up and left him on his own, rushing back before Ellie ever woke up and pretending like you were never gone. 

Except this time, neither of you have anywhere to be.

“I don’t think you understand how impossible that’s gonna be.” He chuckles breathily, coming out more like a huff as he presses his head back into the crook of his arm and stares at the ceiling, the tips of his fingers still playing with your hair.

“I understand,” you sigh after a beat, eyes glancing up at him when he angles his neck down to look at you. “But that’s what last night was for, right? Closure?”

It doesn’t entirely feel like closure, not to Luke, but saying that out loud makes him feel like an asshole. You had agreed to last night in order to close out the chapter dedicated to the two of you, and saying that he wants to carry it on feels wrong, especially knowing that’s not what you want. 

“Right,” he agrees, noncommittally, wondering if you feel the deep thud of his heart against where you rest beside his ribcage. “Uhh-,”

“Oh my God,” you groan, shuffling up until you’re sat on your ankles, glaring down at him, and swatting the back of your hand where you’d just been tracing lines on his chest,  “You want to do it again!”

He leans up on his elbows, trying to level his gaze with yours. “Is that so bad?”

“You said one more time!” You huff, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, “I thought I was being generous stretching last night out to three,”

“Alright, easy on the stretching,” he watches as you look around for your underwear, “I was the one who thought you could have done three, there was no stretching on my behalf, I have the stamina of a horse-,”

“You could barely stay upright,” you throw back over your shoulder as you fasten your bra, Luke’s eyes trailing down the expanse of your back. “I could have easily done four, even.”

“Prove it,”

“No.”

“Come on,” he chuckles, “One more time, I mean it. We’ve never had a morning with no one else around, it would be a shame to waste such a perfect opportunity,”

“Such a shame,” you mock him, your voice comically low as you reach  down to retrieve the rest of your underwear.

“I swear I’ll behave after,”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” You scoff, hopping into your panties as you send a sceptical look toward him. “You have no self control.”

“Me?” He jabs a pointed finger into his chest with widened eyes. “You folded like a lawn chair last night, you have no self control.”

“That was last night,” you shrug, looking around for a shirt that you can throw on - he watches you pout a little at your dress discarded on the floor, eyeing it up like you’re considering the shame of throwing it back on, and he pushes himself up to go to his closet. “I’m a new woman today.”

“I rocked your world that hard, huh?” He smirks as he passes, letting you shove him on his way past and barking out a laugh when he turns to look back at your now-scowling features.

“You’re not being very friendly.”

He pulls the t-shirt he’s about to hand you back just as you reach for it, your footsteps stumbling before you snatch it from his grip and pull it over your head. 

“We got back here after midnight, I’m pretty sure,” he recalls, watching you get dressed, “So when I said tomorrow, I meant the day after today.”

“That wasn’t very clear,” you huff, pulling your hair out of the neck of the shirt and to one side, leaving the other bare for his eyes to fall upon, “You duped me.”

“Can you blame me?” He asks, stepping a little closer into your space, eyes still on the slope of your neck before they drift up slowly to meet yours. He likes the way you have to angle your head to gaze up at him, only intensifying the more he closes the distance between the two of you. “I never got to spend the morning with you, we never had time together, not like this.”

“All the more reason that we shouldn’t have any now.” 

“I disagree.”

“Of course you do.”

He smiles, fingers reaching out to pinch again at the soft ends of your hair. “I’m always gonna feel like I missed out if we don’t,” he pouts, “And we can’t start a new chapter without finishing the other one, right?”

He thinks your eyes roll by instinct now, whenever he uses analogies like that to try and convince you, but he can see the cogs turning.

He’s right. You know it. You’ll both always be left wondering if you don’t try it now. 

“Plus,” he sings a little, “Some things are better to wean off slowly right? Stops the chance of relapsing.”

“Are you comparing me to a drug?”

“If it walks like a drug,” he drifts off, distracted by the strands of hair he’s twirling in a soft pinch. 

“You’re not making this easy, Luke,” you sigh, reaching up to stop the distracting ministrations of his fingers in your hair. “The longer we drag this on the harder it’s gonna be to let it go.”

He doesn’t tell you he doesn’t want to let it go, because what good would that do? Your mind is set on being friends, and he would be pushing his luck to try for more, no matter how much he wants it. Instead, he laces his fingers through yours, flexing until your palms are clasped together, and he has a bit of leverage over the way your arm moves - can tug and pull you any way he likes, which is, of course, closer.

“I promise I’ll be good after,” he maintains eye contact as he leans down a little, voice low to draw you in, “You’ll go back to Michigan and I’ll let the whole thing go.”

He holds his other hand up, pinky extended to you, and you keep your eyes on his for a good few seconds before you let them drift to where he’s holding it, a flood of memories washing straight through your pretty irises.

“C’mon,” he purrs, head tilting teasingly as he nods toward the digit, “For old time’s sake?”

Your eyes roll, as expected, but he still catches the way your lips curve before you quickly reach out and link your pinky around his. It takes him back to summer, to that night by the fountain, when something between you changed for the better. Just before you pull away, he tightens his grip, clenching his pinky and pulling until your chest bumps into his, leaning to capture your lips in a clumsy kiss.

It’s tame, especially compared to what happened between the two of you last night, and your hands stay clasped together to avoid the risk of them wandering, but he loves it all the same. Loves the way your eyes flutter closed, and your chest slowly deflates of all tension against his. Loves the way you seem to give in, almost immediately, and accept your fate, losing yourself in the way your mouths move together. He uses that to his advantage, slowly and carefully moving forward, guiding you until the backs of your knees are hitting his mattress. 

Even when he lets your hands go, you don’t use them to push him away - instead hanging your arms over his shoulders and playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss, increasing the pressure of your touch to stay attached as he lowers you back onto the bed. 

Everything feels so fluid with you - so foreign to what this sort of thing is usually like, not that he’s even looked at any other girl since the beginning of summer - and the thought of giving it up makes his gut twist in discomfort, a feeling he’s just going to have to push down if he wants to bask in this one last time.

So he pours his heart into it for as long as you let him - large hands tracing down every soft curve of your body, mapping them out, slipping beneath the back of your panties and gripping at the soft flesh of your ass until your hips buck up into his.  

“You’re making this so hard,” you mutter into his mouth.

“And you’re letting me,” he mutters back, “Kissing me back, pushing your hips up, scratching at my hair like you know I like it.”

Those movements don’t even cease as he points them out, and he pulls away just to look at you panting beneath him. 

“You can admit it you know, just one time. Maybe then I won’t carry on chasing it.”

“Admit what?” You whisper, breathless and hesitant.

“That you want me just as bad.”

You look up at him for an extended moment, then, lips parted with unspoken words and chest rising and slowly falling with bated breath. Your eyes flicker between his, pupils dilating as if they’re trying to say what your mouth won’t.

He doesn’t need you to say anything, though - you tell him everything he needs to know with the way your fingers curl back around the nape of his neck, pulling him down until your lips collide.

Your body arches entirely until it’s pressed to his, the curve of your back slotting perfectly into the stretch of his torso, and defying the hold he has on your waist.

You’re too far past the point of no return to push him away now, as evidenced by the soft little noises you hum in between his lips when his touch wanders somewhere beyond where you’ve given him access so far in the morning.

And despite how much he wants to take it further, he also wants to drag it out, so he kisses you for what feels like forever until his lips trail to the side, pressing into the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, your jaw, the side of your neck, the sensitive column of your throat - and the whole time your fingers stay clutched in his hair, pinching and clenching around the over grown curls as your body writhes beneath him. 

If the two of you had been doing this back in the summer, he’d have never let you go - would have kept you between his sheets the whole time, everybody else be damned. 

And you’d have let him, he knows it.

He tries not to get in his head too much about the what-ifs, tries to think about the now, about how you’re clutching onto him and giving in to his persistence, but it’s hard - knowing it’s the last time.

Last night, he’d had the aid of intoxication to drown out those thoughts, but now there’s pressure.

And you must sense it - he must stall in his ministrations, or hesitate somewhere along the way - because you pull him from your neck with two hands grasping at his head, and lift until you’re face to face again. 

Your lips are swollen when he takes you in, pupils blown, skin flushed, and all he can feel when he looks at you is pride - pride that he got you into that state, pride that you even let him. Pride that he’s the kind of person you don’t want to lose completely, that you still want to be his friend.

Which is why he leans in to kiss you - short but sweet, pulling away with his eyes screwed shut and his brows sinking in frustration. And then he kisses you again, and it’s brief, but he can’t really drag it out any more.

And then one last time, because the second just wasn’t enough to be the last ever kiss he gives you. And this time, it’s slow. It’s ardent and loving and he hopes somehow that you feel the meaning deep in your bones, that he’s finally giving in. It’s a kiss so intense that he hopes it bruises, hopes you feel the pressure of his lips around yours later when you’re flying home, and you press your fingertips to the ache there and think of him. Think of doing more, of being more.

Your eyes flutter open slowly when he pulls away - when he’s hovering over you, trying to put his weight on his good side, and watching as you start to realise why he isn’t kissing you anymore.

“You were right,” he sighs, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest beneath him. “Dragging this on is just gonna make it harder.”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes flickering across his features until he finally meets them, your gaze softened and crinkling in the corners a little. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, dipping his head to avoid the lure of your pretty eyes, “I don’t usually start anything I can’t finish."

“That’s okay,” you tell him, a hand lowering to cup at his jaw, stroking gently and pressing your thumb a little into his cheek until he looks back up. “Knew you didn’t have a fourth in you.”

He flicks playfully at your nose as it scrunches when you smile, and rolls off of you, laying on his back beside you as you turn onto your side, resting on an elbow and looking down at him.

“Do you really think we’re gonna be friends?” He asks, head tilting until your eyes meet, and he can gauge the sincerity in your answer. He’s just given up what he’s pretty positive is a sure thing, and if you’re not going to put the effort in to keep up at least a friendship, he’s gonna start to hate himself for it.

You nod, though, not breaking eye contact. “I do,” you assure him, honesty swirling in your irises and assuredness in your tone. “I really did miss you. And not even just this,” you gesture between the two of you, “Although it wasn’t half bad-,”

“It was incredible,” he corrects, lips turning up to match your smile.

“Okay,” you giggle, “I don’t feel like I have to be anybody else when I’m with you, you know?”

Of course he knows. He’s spent his entire life morphing himself into what’s expected. To be more professional around his coaches, more responsible around his brothers, more easygoing around his friends.

But with you, he could be himself - can be himself - and the thought of being able to keep that makes his chest feel a little lighter. 

“Friends,” he holds his pinky out again, waiting for you to loop yours through it, although you just eye it with scepticism. “For real this time.”

“Friends,” you agree, hooking your finger around his and squeezing. 

No kisses, this time, but that’s probably for the best, he thinks.

The look in your eyes and the smile that tugs at your lips will have to be enough to seal the promise in place.

Luke Hughes refuses to lose you again.

If someone had told you this time last year that you’d be making the trip out to Detroit on a random Thursday night in late October to watch a hockey game, you’d have laughed in their face. 

You barely leave Ann Arbor anymore, at least you haven’t this year, already stormed under with assignments and study groups, and riding out to Little Caesars arena with Ellie and a couple of the Michigan hockey guys to watch the Devils had been the last thing on your agenda - but that was before you became friends with Luke. Before you became privy to his recovery schedule, and his return to the league just so happened to fall in time for a game nearby.

You could hardly miss his first game of the season - especially not if it was just to bury your head in your books and hate your life.

That’s not what a friend would do.

And that’s how you find yourself nestled between Ethan and Ellie, in the tenth row behind the away end net, waiting for the team to come out for warm ups.

Ellie’s been talking your head off all day about coming, excited to see Jack on the ice again, excited for you to be with her so she can be excited without being shot down by the hockey geeks at the other side of you, and you’re getting a little overwhelmed by it all.

You don’t know why you’re nervous.

It’s just Luke. Your friend.

Who you haven’t seen since you left his apartment a couple weeks ago, trying not to blush as he hugged you goodbye in front of Ellie and his brother, trying not to let your touch linger and give anything away or drag it out.

The two of you have been texting a little. He’s been busy with his rehab, you’ve been busy with school, but it’s still been working out. He sends you dumb jokes, you’ve now used the eye roll emoji so much that it’s at the top of the list whenever you open them up, and your friendship is slowly but surely blossoming.

Ellie keeps trying to press you on it, though. Teasing jabs of her elbow when his name pops up on your phone, little comments about her plans to visit Jersey, and how you should tag along.

You should have known when her and Jack came back from the hotel the morning after the halloween party that she was onto you. Little shared looks between the two of them in the car to the airport, and side eyes from beside you on the plane.

You wish she’d just come out and say something so you can shut her down, though - set her straight on what is now very strictly platonic between you and Luke.

You’re thankful that when the boys come out on the ice, she’s off getting you guys some drinks - because if she saw you craning your neck just to try and figure out which one is number 43, she’d never let it go. 

When you do catch sight of Luke, you’re pretty much glued to him - watching him round up pucks and practice his handling around his teammates, skating in somewhat graceful circles around the ice, forming a mesmerising pattern that you can’t look away from. 

You almost forget that only Ellie and Dylan went to the concessions until you see a figure shift out of the corner of your eye and snap back into some semblance of nonchalance. 

“So,” Ethan angles his body a little more toward you, like he’s trying to block anyone else from eavesdropping, as if the seats around you aren’t empty for now, “You and Luke, huh?”

You turn your neck slowly to face him, levelling him with an unimpressed glower - narrowed eyes meeting his as he raises a brow in question. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how I spent half of last year trying to get you out to watch a game at Yost, and you told me that hockey interests you about as much as collecting pennies would.” 

Funny how he remembers that, verbatim, you think.

You’d like to think Ethan is a friend - you share a lot of classes, he often saves you a seat when it’s busy and you’re undoubtedly cutting it close, and you let him look at your notes when he dozes off mid-presentation — a transactional relationship, mostly, but he’s not a complete asshole like a lot of the other guys you know. You kind of run in the same circles, go to the same parties, and bump into each other too often to be anything less.

He had been trying to convince you to go watch a game last year, especially after the two of you had worked on a project together in your fall semester, only because of the development in your own friendship, and the fact that you had other kind-of friends on the team. He was adamant you’d have fun - but you knew better.

And the sole reason had really always been Ellie.

She spent your entire freshman year trying to convince you to go with her to watch the team. You’d gone a couple times, and then never again. If you started going to hockey games, she would have tagged along, and you would never hear the end of her prolific yapping about Jack.

And now here you are - sat in the stands, an empty seat beside you with her name on it, and Jack Hughes on the ice below. That worked out so well.

“I’m here for Ellie,” you lie, because that seems reasonable, “The penny thing still stands, I don’t understand a single thing going on down there.”

“Except for the fact that Luke keeps looking up to check on you.” 

And sure enough, when you peer back down at where the guys are warming up, Luke is glancing up in your general direction. It’s a little too far away to meet his eye - obstructed too, by his helmet - but you know Ethan is right. He’s been doing it ever since they came out.

“Maybe he’s looking for Dylan,” you shrug, “The guy’s a liability, Hughes is probably worried he’s gone and got himself lost.”

“Is that why you’re blushing?” Ethan jabs playfully at you with his elbow, smirking when you glare back at him. “You worried about Duker too?”

“Shut up.” 

“I’m just callin’ it like I see it,” he shrugs, dark eyes gleaming with mischief as he smirks knowingly at you, knuckles pressing into your shoulder as he gives a playful shove. “You’re into him.”

“Am not.”

“He’s into you.”

“We’re friends,” comes out by default, and you’re kind of surprised by just how quick, considering it was only ten days ago that you were in his bed back in Jersey. Less than two weeks since he was pressing teasing kisses into your giggling lips and and you were drawing swirling patterns into his bare chest as you both tried to fight sleep, neither of you wanting to succumb to your own exhaustion and end up waking up in a world where you couldn’t be this close again. 

Or maybe that was just you, you don’t know - Luke seems pretty happy to casually text and pretend everything is fine. 

“Did he say he was into me?” You turn a little more toward Ethan as you ask, hips shuffling in your seat to fully angle your body toward his, tilting your head in question and holding your breath in anticipation of his response.

Luke said he only ever talked to Brett on his team about the two of you - and while Ethan saw the two of you in the summer, probably witnessed you acting a little more than friendly around each other, you didn’t think either of you had said anything to him.

But him and Luke are close. They always have been. Maybe Luke has shared a little more than you thought - and maybe that’s not such a bad thing, having a little insight as to where his head is at.

Ethan’s smirk only widens though, amusement evident in the crinkles that form beside his eyes, like he takes pleasure in how easily you fold.

“Luke said the same as you, that you’re friends.”

Damn.

“There you go, then,” you force a sardonic smile, turning back to face the ice, “Hope that helps you sleep a little better at night, I, for one, won’t miss your short-lived attempt at being a professional gossip”

He chuckles from beside you, raising a hand to wave at Luke when he looks back up again, the weight of his distanced gaze already sitting heavy on your chest. 

You don’t know why it bothers you - thinking he’s so content in your agreement. It’s your agreement, after all. You assumed that you would be content too, it’s why you’d suggested it in the first place, but you can’t help it, can’t stop thinking about him, and can’t stop wondering what if?

You thought you’d shut that door at the end of summer - thought your mind was set and your heart was safely kept under lock and key - but of course he’d find a way to weasel straight beneath all your defences. You don’t know how you didn’t see it coming - too consumed by your want of him, too caught up in the familiarity of his longing gaze - considering it was exactly what he’d done in the first place, weakened your resolve with a flash of his crooked smile and caustic charm. 

And that’s exactly how you feel, now - every time you find yourself smiling a little too hard at your phone when he texts you, or checking a little too often when he doesn’t - weak.

When you look down at the ice and see him glancing back over his shoulder in your direction, wondering if he really is seeking you out or if he normally scans the crowd like this - weak.

When your phone buzzes in your pocket after the team retreat to the locker room, and you angle it away from the nosey neighbours sat at either side of you, your lips twisting to mask a smile as you read, If I fall please don’t laugh at me - weak. 

When the team end up losing, and you want nothing more than to go find him - comfort him somehow in the limited time you have before they leave to fly back to Jersey, knowing how amped up he had been to return to the ice - but only end up with a few minutes of his time, in the company of Ethan and Dylan beside you, sharing a brief, noncommittal hug and soft smiles just between the two of you - weak.

Thanks for coming, he texts you when you’re on the way back to Ann Arbor in the back of Ethan’s car, Ellie on the other side, head against the window asleep, and the boys up front, yapping to each other about the game.

You chew on the corner of your mouth, face aglow in the dim reflection of your phone, and watch the little three dots appear, waiting for whatever else he wants to say.

You picture him buckled into his seat, legs too long for any plane to comfortably accommodate him - although you’ve never flown anything other than economy, so what would you know - and regretting not getting any other moment alone. You wonder if you’re the first person he’s messaged since settling in for his flight, if any of the guys have a text waiting for them.

It means a lot that you were there. 

You lean your elbow onto the door at the side of you, pressing your smile into your fist to conceal it in case you catch Ethan’s curious eye in the rear-view mirror. 

I had fun, you text back, sending before you can overthink adding an emoji, fingers itching to tap on the little heart beside the eye-roll in your most used. You’d add it in a message to Ellie - to any of your other friends. Why not to Luke? Thanks for inviting me.

Anytime, he replies almost immediately. I get 2 tickets for every game if you ever want to come again.

You hold on the message and press the heart to react, which will have to be enough, for now, you think.

It’s been 10 days.

Maybe you need to wait until the mere sight of his name doesn’t cause your stomach to do somersaults. Then you can progress to heart shaped emojis. 

Time seems to be escaping Luke, passing quicker than he can even comprehend - November ends up being a blur, 14 games in 30 days and he can barely remember his own name by the time it’s done.

One thing he does remember is you, though, a constant presence throughout the month, even if he didn’t physically see you once.

After the game in Detroit, the two of you took up a new routine, texting one another throughout the day, every day, and when it turned out that texting very quickly didn’t fill the void, he would call you. 

It started on the first, a shutout loss in Calgary left him in a pretty shitty mood - the team piling back to their hotel in almost silence, splitting into their rooms to sleep off the result, and he found himself needing someone to actually talk to.

You had answered almost immediately, despite the time difference, way past midnight in Ann Arbor when he called, and had managed to talk him down without even knowing you were doing so.

He knows he has a reputation for talking, but he was finding it hard to speak, and you seemed to pick up on that fact, unprompted.

It was like some weird version of ASMR, you whispering to avoid detection in an otherwise unconscious house, him humming back similar-toned responses even though there was no one around for him to wake up, and it took maybe ten minutes for him to feel normal again.

The two of you stayed on that call for two hours, though, until your responses slowed down, and you fell asleep with him on the other end. Listening to you breathing felt creepy, to say the least, and he ended the call with a text saying, thank you, waking to a text the next morning that just said, thank you too.

He realised then that maybe you both needed each other, and the calls became FaceTimes, which became daily. 

You congratulated his wins, consoled his losses, kept him occupied on his days off, and he tried to return the favour - celebrating your finished assignments, comforting you through the stress of school, or your family, or life in general, and giving you an escape just like you gave him one.

The two of you even start watching movies together again. Admittedly, through a screen, with a couple second delay on either side - but every Sunday, you both take turns to pick something, setting a random theme the week before and judging each other on how well the film fits.

And it’s weird, having this almost constant contact with you, access he’s never had to anyone other than his family in his entire life, but still missing you.

He feels like he would have been able to get a handle on this whole friend thing, if he could see you in person. If he wasn’t melting at the mere sound of your voice, or staring when the connection lags on your pretty face. Too many times now he’s been caught smiling down at his phone in the locker room, chirped to holy heaven about the lovestruck grin on his face, and having to swallow down the urge to laugh along, because he knows they’re right.

But he had been right, back in Michigan - this is so much better than nothing at all. Having you in his life in whatever capacity you’re willing to be in it will always be enough, and he values your friendship more than most other relationships in his life. 

Which is why, when it comes time for him to return to Michigan, he finds himself in a slump thinking you won’t be there. 

It’s the holiday season before he’s even aware, and thinking of going back to the lake house, and you going back home at the same time, fills him with disappointment.

He puts on a smile in front of his parents, relishes in the time spent with Quinn, but he finds himself checking his phone more often than he should, wondering if you feel like you’re missing out too.

It comes to a head during the Christmas Eve party his parents have thrown for the last couple of years, inviting all their local friends and family to catch up and celebrate the year together while they have the rare chance.

He slips out the back, isolates himself on the deck chairs by the pool, despite the freezing cold, and twirls his phone between his thumb and fingers, wondering if calling you on a day like today is crossing some unspoken friendship barrier.

His brothers know better than to bother him when he gets like this, and this sort of disposition is a new thing for his parents to navigate, so when he hears the back door open, and the soft patter of footsteps come towards him, he holds his breath in anticipation of some awkward conversation, probably with his dad, where he’s berated for bringing the mood down.

He heaves out a big sigh before straightening up, expecting a, you’re going to freeze out here, or, come inside, Luke, you’re being rude.

“Are you avoiding me, Hughes?”

He shoots up then, spinning on his feet at a dizzying pace, and catching sight of you, bundled up a thick, fluffy jacket with your hands in your pockets as you wait for him to acknowledge you.

“No, I,” he watches you step closer, approaching the deck chairs with your eyes on him the whole time. “I didn’t know you were here, I’m sorry.”

“Since when are you such a hermit? Why aren’t you inside?”

“Just needed a minute of quiet,” he shrugs, “Don’t know if you noticed coming through, they’re all insanely loud.”

“Oh, I noticed,” you chuckle, the subtle shyness in your demeanour sending some warped tingle down his spine, “Do you want me to catch you inside?”

“No,” he says before you even finish speaking, reaching out to grasp at your arm despite the fact you’re not turning yet, “You don’t count.”

You hum, lips twisting into an astute smile before you take the final steps to stand in front of the seat beside his. The smile deepens the closer you get, and he doesn’t miss the way you huff out a small laugh as you look at him.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, head tilting as he takes in the playful gleam in your pretty eyes, your attention flitting around his face with a knowing twist to your lips.

“What’s this about?” You ask, shuffling forward and biting back a smile as you point to the patch of skin between your nose and mouth, still staring at him.

He rolls his eyes, thinking, not you too. He’s had enough chirps from just about everyone else, his own mother included. You’d been the one to tell him you liked him with a moustache back when it was fake, you of all people should have his back. “I’ve become an esteemed gentleman,” he snarks, “Some may say it makes me look rugged and handsome.”

“Was it your mom that said that?”

“Others said sexy and mysterious.”

“Others?” You snort, matching his position as the two of you stand closer, now, looking up at him to meet his height.

“Why,” he asks, narrowing his eyes your way, “You jealous?”

“Of what?” You giggle, pointing teasingly at the feature in question, “Someone mistaking the caterpillar that’s taken residence on your top lip as sexy? I’m absolutely beside myself.”

“Ha ha,” he swats at the finger you point at him, and shuffles back into the deck chair, “Did you come out here just to rag on my facial hair? Thought I suited a moustache.” He figures the next best way to gain some semblance of control over this conversation is to reference that night - most times he’s a little more subtle about it, never missing the flush that rises to your cheeks, but this time you don’t bite.

“I’d hardly call that a moustache,” you roll your eyes as you fall down into the chair next to his, painted Michigan blue next to Devils red. “Was just hard to resist, it’s so easy to rile you up. But I’m here because I brought you a gift.”

“A Christmas present?” He asks, straightening up, “I didn’t get you anything,” he pouts as he watches you reach into your bag and pull it out, a bigger-than-he-expected rectangular box wrapped in red paper, a black bow tied neatly around it. 

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” you tell him as you hand it over, the tips of his long fingers grazing against yours as he takes it. “Just saw it and thought of a conversation we had once, it’s no big deal. It’s kinda dumb, actually.”

“Doubt it,” Luke mutters as he shakes the box close to his ear, a brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of what’s inside. He doesn’t think anything you give him could be dumb, but he’s kind of at a loss as to what it could be at all.

“Jeez, don’t break the damn thing,” you chuckle, your hand instinctively going out to grasp at his forearm to bring it down, and his eyes darting to the point where the two of you touch. 

You haven’t touched him since he last saw you in person, in October, and while distance has helped a little with the whole strictly friends thing, he feels like the mere heat of your skin against his has washed away all the hard work he’s done over those arduous weeks apart.

It takes him back to the middle of October, to that night in his room in the apartment in Jersey. Brings back visions of your heated gaze and your soft lips, the way you’d so easily fold to him - your biting remarks sizzling into amorous moans and sweet nothings. Sends his thoughts spiralling to how your body felt against his - to lips pressing fervently into the column of his throat, to fingers clutching at curls at the nape of his neck and legs hooked around his waist - and at the thought of legs, his gaze wanders. 

You’re quite bundled up, up top - a thicker coat, a higher neckline than he’s used to seeing you in for your sweater, very appropriate for the brisk late December air, but you’re still wearing a skirt, and tights that are probably a touch too sheer to properly keep you warm. And the tiny ladder above your knee piques his interest almost immediately, a voice in his head from he-can’t-even-remember-when regaling him with the analogy of ladders in tights being dubbed, the stairway to heaven. 

He swallows, thickly, eyes darting back up to meet yours. 

“Can I open it?” He asks, and he swears he sees your pupils dilate after watching his wandering gaze. “The present.”

“No,” you shake your head with a small smile as soon as he frowns.

“I didn’t think you’d be the wait until Christmas morning type.”

“I’m not, I’m just lousy at watching people open presents. It makes me nervous. You can open it when I’m gone.”

Luke doesn’t quite believe that anything he could possibly do could ever make you nervous, but he lets it go with a nod of agreement, placing the box precariously on the arm of the deck chair.

“You got a late flight home or something? What are you even still doing in the state? I thought you were going back yesterday,”

“I’m spending Christmas with Ellie’s family,” you shrug, “My mom got called in to work last minute so it would have just been me at home, anyway. Gonna go back in time for New Years Eve.”

Luke’s chest aches a little at the thought of you being alone, but it makes him feel better to know you have Ellie. Makes him feel less inclined to do something ridiculous, like ask you to stay - to wake up next to him in the morning, eat dinner with his family, and stay by his side all day.

He can’t spend his whole Christmas dwelling on that kind of rejection. 

Although he feels even worse now, that he hadn’t thought to get you anything. He should have asked, when you became the type of friends who text each other everyday, if birthdays and holidays should be taken into account. 

If you’re the kind of friend who he can watch movies with from over 600 miles away, and who understands his humour enough to send stupid memes that he actually finds funny, and who is the only person he can even communicate with after a bad game - who seems to understand what he means when he says just want to feel nothing for a while, and FaceTimes him just for him to watch you study with your headphones on until he feels calmer - then surely you’re the kind of friend he buys a gift for Christmas. 

“When are you leaving?” He asks, trying to do the mental math on if he’ll be able to get you anything by then - something to take into the New Year, maybe.

“In 3 days. The 27th.”

He goes back to Jersey on the 26th. Maybe he can figure something out. 

“No doubt Jack’s gonna want to see Ellie in the morning before we go back. Maybe I can save you from third wheeling?”

“My white knight,” you place a hand to your chest with a dreamy smile, and he rolls his eyes with a scoff to mask just how much that still gets to him - the easy way you so quickly jibe back at anything he says. 

It’s easier to water it down through a text. Especially when there’s a delay in response, when he’s in practice or you’re in class, and it doesn’t serve to remind him of summer - of bickering from his passenger seat, prodding your feet into him from the other side of the couch, or splashing him with water in the lake. 

“Are you guys gonna stay for a drink?”

“Nah, we gotta get back to help sort all the Santa stuff out for her siblings. They do the whole snow boot-print and half-eaten carrots set up, it’s a whole thing, apparently.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, a sudden distance in the way your eyes drop, like he’s losing you to something heavy and hard. 

“Are you still down for movie night?” He asks, your Sunday ritual only having occurred a couple nights ago, where the two of you had watched While You Were Sleeping - Luke’s still trying to get his head around how you always somehow pick romantic films while actively rejecting the concept of romance, but if he thinks too hard about it, he’s worried it might fry his brain. You’d said it was your favourite Christmas movie, and he had debated just how festive it really was after watching, but he was in no position to deny you when it was, in fact, your turn to pick.  “I’m free on the 30th. I’ll be in California so the time might be a little off, but we can make it work.”

“I’m down. It’s your turn to pick, though, so you better make it good. And you can’t pick New Years Eve, that’s cheating.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he rolls his eyes, his heart fluttering pathetically at the soft way you smile back at him. He’s been asking pretty much everyone he knows what the best New Years themed movie is, and he still hasn’t found anything he’s sold on, yet. But he hates ensemble movies almost as much as you do - Love, Actually not included, because that’s a Christmas classic - so he wouldn’t go near one, not for movie night. “I’m still doing my research.”

“Yeah, well,” you push yourself back up onto your feet, leaning over and ruffling your hand through his hair, “Don’t think too hard or you’ll hurt yourself. You’re kind of the only person I like doing this with, if you give yourself a headache and become unavailable, I’m gonna be really upset.”

He stands too, watches you glance through the window behind the two of you and sigh, and he has to ball his hands into fists by his side to stop himself reaching out to give you a proper goodbye.

He still isn’t sure what kind of boundaries being friends incurs, but some switch deep within him flips - a sudden wave of courage washing over him at the thought of letting an opportunity slip away.

“Are we the kind of friends who hug?” He asks, head tilting as he watches the shy smile slowly break out on your face. Illuminated only by the light through the window, you look so soft that it makes him nervous, this new twinkle in your eye glinting just for him.

It’s so different to how you used to look at him. So much gentler and warmer - so much friendlier, and he knows that shouldn’t make his gut churn, but it does. He still misses the way you used to bite, but he might like this just as much.

“We can be,” you shrug, taking a small step forward, “If that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want,” he nods, taking a small step, himself, until he’s all up in your space, wrapping his arms around your shorter frame, pulling you straight into his chest and hooking his chin over the top of your head. 

Your arms circle around his torso, and he feels the press of your cheek to his front, his own hands rubbing up and down your back as the two of you stay in the embrace for an extended moment.

He’ll be the first to admit he’s been struggling with the whole just friends thing, but this is so much better than the alternative - being able to  hold you to him like this will always be better than nothing, he thinks. 

The want to kiss you will probably dwindle with time, and maybe that’s better than taking a cold plunge into the murky, icy waters of you wanting nothing to do with him, entirely. 

It still doesn’t stop that small part of him wishing for a christmas miracle. 

He sways you a little as he checks back in the house, most people distracted by their own conversations, but he meets Ellie’s eye from where she stands with Jack, the two of them watching the two of you through the window with scheming smiles that only serve to confuse him.

That is, until Jack points his finger upwards.

Luke unhooks his chin to glance up, his heart hammering in his chest at the sight of the small decoration above the two of you. 

“Thanks again for the present.”

“Like I said, it’s no big deal,” you shrug as the two of you finally part, Luke all of a sudden feeling the chill in the air when you take a step back. “I’m really happy that we’re friends, Luke,” you tell him, voice thick with vulnerability, a subtle shine in your eyes when your features soften up at him, and it all only serves to quicken the rampant beat of his heart. “These last couple months have been really weird for me, and I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have you.”

Luke feels his throat seize up, a dryness that spreads into his chest, and cracks like plaster along the cavity, crumbly and weak.

God, you surprise him, sometimes - a conversation that started off with you hazing his attempt at a moustache turning into this, turning into you opening up and letting him in. Baring a fragility to him that you would never have dared to show, all those months ago in the summer. 

And, as is the same as most feelings he develops when it comes to you, he had thought it was just him - finding solace in your computerised company, in texts and FaceTimes and voice notes where you ramble on a little too long and always apologise for doing so. When he aches all over, and the noise elsewhere is too loud to bare, seeking comfort in whatever way you’re willing to give it to him has gotten him through a couple pretty rough patches since October, and he’d struggle without you, too.

“Same here,” he tells you, and because it never will feel like enough, adding, “I don’t know how I ever survived without you.”

You smile, slow and sacred, the kind of look in your eye that he’ll picture when he closes his later tonight, and lean in to hold him again.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper into his chest.

“Merry Christmas,” he echoes back.

And then he watches you leave - watches you slip through the back door into the house, and watches you through the window as you say goodbye, wishing his brothers a happy Christmas as you pass them, and Jack seeing you and Ellie out. 

He falls back down into the deck chair once you’ve gone, throwing his head back with an exaggerated groan. His face is tense, his eyes scrunched shut, and when he opens them, looking straight up to the mistletoe tied to the wooden beam above, he feels like the universe is playing one giant, cruel joke on him. 

Friends, he tells himself, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. Just friends.

He waits a few minutes before pushing himself up, grabbing at the gift and making his way through the house mostly unnoticed, sneaking off to his bedroom to rip the damn thing open. 

The box inside is pretty nondescript, a plain brown with a bit of writing at the top that pretty much just says lamp in warehouse jargon, and his brows furrow as he hooks a finger into the cardboard and opens it up.

He assumes you’ve done some level of assembly already, evidenced by the way it sits on top of the plastic it’s supposed to be wrapped in, and there’s a small note attached. The cord is untied, and wound back up, but he doesn’t have to fiddle with those annoying wires that usually come with it.

Plug this in when you wanna feel like nothing.

He pulls out the device, looking for a clue as to what conversation could have possibly sparked you buying this for him, and pushes himself up from his bed to plug it in as requested.

He’s expecting the warm hues of one of those sunset lamps, a round glow of orange and yellow to wash over his walls. It’s the sort of thing he pictures you having in your room, reminiscent of all those times he’d picked you up from work in the golden hour back in summer, rushing from the club over to his car, skin bathed in radiant warmth.

He isn’t expecting to turn it on to constellations being projected across the entire room. Stars and planets and moons orbiting slowly and serenely across the ceiling. Probably unrealistic in their alignment, but immersive all the same.

His lips turn up into a slow, firm smile, your words from the beginning of summer speaking so clearly into the back of his mind. 

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

Maybe that’s the feeling he’s been chasing this whole time, coming back to his apartment from crappy games and going straight to his phone in search of your name. Asking you to sit in silence with him, until he doesn’t feel the crushing weight of expectation anymore, until he starts to forget all the reasons he feels like crap in the first place.

Luke: best

Luke: christmas

Luke: present 

Luke: ever!!!!!

You: it’s a $20 lamp

You: and you grew up rich

You: so I highly doubt that

Luke smiles at the way you triple text back almost immediately, and sinks back into the pillows at the top of his bed, taking a deep breath and experiencing just how small he is in comparison to the rest of the solar system. 

Luke: I feel microscopic

You: only because I’m in the festive spirit I won’t say I told you so

You: merry christmas luke ♥️ 

Luke: merry christmas 🎄❤️ 

He tries not to overthink a single emoji. It’s the holidays, you’re in the spirit, like you said, and a red heart doesn’t mean anything more than you spreading the love.

Friends, he reiterates to himself as his eyes trace the constellations on his bedroom ceiling, wondering if maybe there’s a universe out there where you could ever be more, again.

Being back home in Chicago for New Years was never really going to be at the top of your list when it came to ways you wanted to kick off 2025. Last year you’d gone back to college a couple days after Christmas - had spent New Years Eve with your sisters back at the house, like one big sleepover; an abundance of rose wine and DIY charcuterie boards with all your favourite snacks. 

It had been perfect, all of you gathered out on the street dressed in about 5 layers so you didn’t freeze to death, watching the fireworks set off by one of the fraternities and ringing in the new year with your closest friends.

This time you feel isolated. 

You love your mom, and you can’t hold her work against her - but you don’t know why she asked you to come back and spend this time with her when she was just going to accept every call in to take another shift.

You got back on the 27th after a couple days with Ellie’s family, and you had to get a cab back to the house because she was at work when your flight landed. There was a note on the counter in the kitchen, and leftovers in the fridge, and when you woke the next morning, it was the exact same.

An apology written on a post-it and a wad of cash for you to go out and get groceries. 

Luke has been a good enough distraction.

He texts throughout the day, enough so that you never feel like you’re waiting on him, and FaceTimes whenever he has a good chunk of time to spare. You almost feel guilty for just how much of his energy you’re taking up, but he seems invested enough in what’s going on with you to never make a comment about it. 

He’s out on a roadie in California - due to play a game on New Years Eve, and despite how much he had tried to convince you he wants to be on FaceTime with you when the clock strikes midnight, you arrange for your movie night to be the night before.

So, on the 30th, you settle into your room - your mom working, again - with enough snacks and drinks that you won’t need to pause the movie, and set up When Harry Met Sally on your laptop, Luke’s face taking up the entirety of your phone where it rests against the screen. 

“Is this the one where she fakes an orgasm in the middle of a restaurant or something?” You ask as you get yourself comfy on top of your bed, a nice thick blanket around your shoulders and your snacks nestled safely in your lap.

“I think so,” Luke responds absentmindedly, his face focused, probably setting up the film for himself. “I had to ask around for recommendations for movies set around New Years, Pesch said this one was perfect. Have you seen it before?”

“No,” you smile as you watch him, brows furrowed and eyes narrowing at whatever is going on with the hotel TV, “But if it is the one with the deli orgasms, Brett might be a little bit of a freak.”

“He’s definitely a freak,” Luke chuckles, “Curtis backed him up, though. Apparently it’s a classic.”

“Oh, well if Curtis said then it must be true.”

“Glad you agree,” he smiles, eyes glancing to his phone and softening when they land upon you. “Are you good to go?”

You give an affirmative hum, and he counts the two of you down to try sync up your streams - which never really works, but Luke seems to find some weird sense of joy in putting on a dorky voice and announcing the numbers like he’s sending a ship off to space. It’s cute, and you’re hardly going to stop him.

Luke never really does a bad job when it comes to picking a movie - even when it’s something you don’t like the sound of, or you hate an actor, or you’ve heard bad things, he encourages you to give it a shot and try something new, and it usually pays off.

Only this time, it takes a mere 10 minutes for this movie to send you into some weird spiral.

You’re a little distracted by Billy Crystal, at first, trying to figure out what you’ve seen him in before - and then something he says seems to stop you in your tracks.

“Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive.” Harry says from the passenger seat of Sally’s car, a bunch of stuff packed into the backseat behind them. “He always wants to have sex with her.”

It swirls around your head until a couple lines later, when Sally asks him about how a woman’s opinion might factor into the dynamic.

“Doesn’t matter because the sex thing is already out there,” he replies, “So the friendship thing is ultimately doomed and that’s the end of the story.”

You daringly glance at your phone, the smaller screen resting against the corner of the bigger one, and are relieved to see that Luke is too intent on watching to notice you - looking at him, wide eyed and panicked, a million thoughts racing through your brain, enough to work up a physical sweat.

You feel clammy, your throat feels dry, your mouth feels itchy, your fingers are throbbing and your chest is pulsing.

And Luke’s throwing popcorn into his mouth.

You keep casting glances his way throughout the movie, only to see him completely unaffected, and you start to wonder if he really doesn’t see the resemblance. The banter, the bickering, how they understand each other on a deeper level than anybody else, the way they watch movies with each other over the phone - it’s uncanny, even, especially when their friends end up together, just like Ellie and Jack, and Harry and Sally are tethered together forever from then on out. 

His teammates have played some sick, cruel prank on him and he hasn’t even noticed.  

Your thoughts unravel as the film plays on - as Harry sleeps his way through New York to get over his ex, and Sally lets joyless men take her on boring dates to pretend that she’s over hers, all the while the two of them ignoring the growing tension between each other. You watch as Sally finds out the ex who swore he never wanted marriage gets engaged to his new girlfriend, and the meltdown that ensues - how Harry becomes her comfort, and years of pent up feelings unravel between the two of them in calamitous fashion - and you feel like you’re about to have a meltdown, yourself.

The palpitations persist as Harry does with trying to gain back Sally’s attention - relentless, and determined - and as the movie draws to it’s end, it seems like your heart has beat itself so far out of whack that you can’t even feel it anymore. Just a bunch of white noise inside you - a buzzing, insistent nothingness that just won’t go away.

This character that even you were annoyed by in the beginning somehow morphed into the man on the other end of the phone - someone who doesn’t give up, who keeps calling despite getting nothing in return, who puts on dorky voices and makes dumbass comments and turns himself into someone worthy of Sally’s time. 

Not that Luke was ever not worthy of yours, but it fits - the way he gives so much of himself to you, now, despite how busy is life is otherwise. 

“So, what are your thoughts?” Luke asks once the credits have rolled, and you almost have to shake yourself out of your reverie, your throat dry and your face flushed.

“I uhm,” you start, blinking hard to try and gather your thoughts, “I liked it. It was good. Very New Years-y.”

The way he smiles is slow, and you hate how much your chest burns at just the sight of it. 

“What about you?” You dare to ask, holding your breath as you await some sort of reaction.

“I was a little distracted, to be honest,” he admits, and your eyes widen, not entirely expecting him to be so open. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “Took me a while to get over Mike Wazowski constantly talking about sex.”

Oh.

“That’s who it was!” You say instead, face crumpling at the picture it paints in your head. “I couldn’t figure it out!”

“Surprising,” Luke comments, his lips twisting mischievously as he watches you through his phone. “I know firsthand how much you like a guy in green.”

Even with the lag over FaceTime, the way he playfully winks at you makes your chest burn a little, and you hope, for once, that you’ve somehow frozen on his end so that you can hide your wide-eyed reaction.

He isn’t supposed to bring halloween up - neither of you are, despite how often you find yourself thinking about it - and so him just casually throwing out a comment like he’s testing the waters throws you off your game, your usually quick-witted retort fizzling out on the tip of your tongue, a prolonged silence spreading between the two of you.

Is that where the two of you are, now, in your friendship? Dropping joking references to the last night you spent together?

“Must have been a phase.” You finally retort, sending him a tight lipped smile when he tilts his head in question, a gut-wrenching, knowing look in his eyes.

“Must have been.”

He has to go before long, an early morning skate ahead of him, and you figure you should probably get some sleep too, while you can - without a busy house and endless amounts of studying to do - so when he hangs up, you throw yourself back onto your bed and stare at the same spot for what feels like hours.

You have plenty of guy friends. 

Granted, you aren’t as close with them as you are with Luke, but that doesn’t really matter. You have the capability of just being friends with them.

Just because you and Luke have slept together you-don’t-even-know how many times, and he kind of made out that he loved you that one time in Michigan, and you spent the better part of 2 months in a catatonic break up spiral after you broke things off with him, doesn’t mean you can’t be friends.

He was the one who stopped whatever the hell the two of you were doing the morning after the halloween party - and you know for sure you would have carried on if he hadn’t.

So that rules out the whole constantly thinking about sleeping with each other thing. If he was constantly thinking about it, he wouldn’t have given up the last opportunity he had to actually do it.

But then where does that leave you?

And why does the thought of him not wanting you all of a sudden seem worse than if he did?

Luke watches When Harry Met Sally a grand total of 8 times throughout January. 

The first time after New Years had been to actually focus on the movie, laid up on his own back in his room in Jersey, without the distraction of your pretty features taking up his phone screen, and not having to keep up the poker face he worked so hard to maintain the first time. 

He really lets the whole story sink in - lets the horrors flash through his eyes as he absorbs just how much of the two of you are in the story.

Sally has your defiance - he sees your unwavering confidence in the way she reacts to Harry’s chirps and remarks, and sees you in her resilience to his persistent charms. 

He wonders if this could have been the two of you years down the line, if you never made up after summer, and he would run into you one day in an airport, or a bookstore, and you’d pass each other by like ships in the night until one day something changed. He’s pretty thankful that isn’t the case - that the two of you have progressed past the longing and avoiding and have become something tangible and real.

He really doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have you.

Most people say he’s one of the lucky ones, having his brother by his side whilst juggling his ever-chaotic career - with parents in the business his whole life, and having Quinn be the blueprint for him to follow - and for as much of his life that he has spent striving to be where he is, he’s managed to surround him with people who understand.

But sometimes he feels like they don’t really understand him.

They don’t understand how he tries to ease the tension with dumb jokes, or how sometimes he can’t help the snappy comebacks and the prolonged eye-rolls that follow what he believes to be stupid questions directed at someone who really isn’t in the mood.

They don’t understand that sometimes he really just needs to shut off - that, whilst he has somewhat of a reputation for being a talker, when shit hits the fan, he doesn’t want to speak at all. He wants to shut himself away, and just sit with his thoughts until he convinces himself that none of it matters.

You get it. You support it - sit with him in the silence, albeit on the other end of a phone call, but you’re there nonetheless. You don’t take his biting remarks to heart, you roll your eyes straight back, and you even get whatever dumb movie reference he makes. 

You mean a lot to him, and the thought of screwing it up in any way starts to mess with his head - which is how your weekly Sunday movie ends up on the back burner for the rest of January.

You don’t put up much of a fight, either, which Luke finds weird, but then again, you’re pretty snowed under with school work. The two of you still talk - texting, mostly, but calls when needed, too - and he doesn’t really feel a divide until the third Sunday rolls around.

January feels like the longest month he he has ever lived in his life - and after a home loss to the Sens, the team’s 4th in a row in one week, Luke shuts himself away on the Sunday night, projection lamp casting constellations around his darkened room, and When Harry Met Sally playing for maybe the 6th time on his TV.

“Are you stuck in some weird Groundhog Day thing I don’t know about?” Jack asks after a while, leaning against the door jamb and craning his neck to watch Harry and Sally walking through Washington Square Park. “I swear you watch this movie every day.”

“Keep falling asleep, I’m determined to watch it all the way through.” Luke lies with ease, eyes never leaving the screen as they speak to each other in dorky voices, and Harry finally asks her out.

“Right,” Jack drags, “Well you’re gonna have to try again some other time, we’re going out.”

“I don’t want to go out.”

“Good thing I wasn’t asking, then.” Jack snarks, pushing himself away from the door and narrowing his eyes at Luke. “You’re really not gonna tell me what’s got you all mopey and weird?”

“Can’t a guy watch a movie in peace?” He scoffs, reaching for the remote to pause the film and straighten up on his bed, “I’m not being mopey and weird, I’m just beat. Been a shit week if you didn’t notice.”

“You were weird before this week, though.” 

“Jesus, what’s with the third degree?” He pushes himself off the bed completely, gesturing for his brother to flick the light on as he turns off the projector. 

“Maybe I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah, right.”

Jack watches as Luke stalks toward his closet in search of a jacket, rifling through a couple until he pulls out something he knows should keep him warm. 

It’s the jacket he gave you to wear on Halloween, and Luke wonders for a fleeting second if there’s a chance your perfume might still linger.

Jesus Christ, he is being weird, he thinks.

Jack calls your name out like he’s reading Luke’s mind, a brow raised when he turns to face him. “Did you two fall out or something?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“Just asking,” Jack shrugs casually, although the way he’s eyeing Luke makes him nervous. Did Ellie say something? Did you say something to her? “So the whole friend thing is holding up?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Luke knows he’s putting the D in defensive, but he can’t help it. It’s technically his job, Jack should expect it by now, he thinks.

“I don’t know, I just think once you’ve crossed that line with someone, it’s kind of hard to just pretend you never did. I can’t imagine just being friends with Ellie again.”

“We’re not you and Ellie,” Luke frowns, a bitterness crossing his features at the comparison. He just about bites his tongue from lashing out, saying something stupid like how you and him are way more mature about your feelings.

“No shit, the two of you are much harder work.” Jack scoffs out a humourless laugh, “She’s batshit crazy and you’re way in over your head.”

“She isn’t crazy,” Luke argues, “You don’t even know her.”

“Luke, she literally broke things off with you for saying one dumb comment,” he huffs back, and Luke doesn’t even question how he would possibly even know that. He never spoke to his brothers about the two of you after things fell apart, but Jack no doubt got his intel from Ellie - morphed and twisted it into his own narrative after the fact, because that’s just what Jack does. “It’s not insane to think she’d do the same with your friendship.”

It is insane to think that. 

Partly because Luke would never be so stupid as to speak about you like that again, and partly because what the two of you have now can’t simply be broken off. Not again. Not on Luke’s watch.

“We’re solid, you don’t have to worry about it.”

The tensing of his jaw is probably what gives him away, he thinks, and he tries to relax all his muscles as his older brother watches him with a scrutinising glare. 

“You’re still into her.”

“Whatever,” Luke sighs, shouldering past Jack into the hallway. He’ll take his brother’s advice for a lot of things - looks up too him even, when it comes to being a player, being a functioning human being somewhat - but the last thing he’s taking Jack’s advice on is dating. Not when it took him like 3 years to ask Ellie out.

“You’re not denying it.”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

“Luke,” Jack grabs at his elbow to stop him storming all the way through the apartment, tugging until Luke turns, avoiding eye contact and shifting on his feet. “You might think you’re doing the sensible thing, but this whole being friends mess while you still have feelings isn’t good for you.”

“This conversation isn’t good for me,”

“You need to move on.”

The words send a spike of anxiety straight to Luke’s gut.

Move on to what? He’s barely been able to look at another girl without thinking of you lately, even in a platonic or professional sense. He’d stopped to get gas last week and had to run inside to get a drink, and the girl behind the counter gave him this disinterested, irritated shake of her head when he’d tried to make small talk while she was ringing him up. He’d laughed to himself going back to his car - had texted you, just been served by your twin at the gas station, and you’d replied straight away with the eye roll emoji yourself.

Moving on doesn’t really seem like an option.

Not until Jack says, “She’s probably dating again by now.”

He says it so off the cuff that Luke starts to feel like he’s reacting in slow motion - a gradual turn of his body to full attention and a delayed, curious tilt of his head.

“Is she?” He asks, dumbly, wondering if that’s another thing Ellie might have filled Jack in on in their catch ups. 

“How the hell would I know?” Jack scoffs, although the way his eyes widen momentarily is a dead giveaway that he’s hiding something. “But it’s been like 6 months, it’s pretty much expected.”

Would you tell him if you were dating?

He’s pretty sure you would. You tell him everything else.

Hell, he even knows your cycle by now, as much as he probably doesn’t want to. 

“I’m just going off what they say, you know, about getting over somebody.”

“What do they say?” Luke asks, teeth clenched, jaw aching and throat all prickly at just the thought of what Jack is going to come back with.

“That you have to get under somebody else.”

He feels like he’s about to throw up.

Absolutely not.

The thought of you giving the same parts of yourself to someone else that you’ve already given to him makes his skin crawl - the late night FaceTime calls, the soft, pretty smiles when it’s just the two of you, the way you’ve given up all resilience when it comes to laughing at his jokes.

Those things are his. They’re only his.

But this is the kind of warped possessiveness that made him fuck everything up in the first place - when the thought of you with Cole Caufield sent his head spinning so far off his body that he couldn’t control his mouth. He feels the exact same panic as he did back in the lake house, hanging balloons and hoping he could stop anybody from taking you away.

It wasn’t healthy then, and it isn’t healthy now. He has to let you go, if that’s what you really want. He has to let you move on. 

And if he’s going to do that, he has to move on, too.

February is supposed to be your favourite month of the year.

You’re a February baby, your birthday falling a couple days after Valentines Day, and the way you end up surrounded by hearts and flowers in the days leading up always puts you in a good mood.

Only this year, you’re getting your ass kicked with assignments and studying for your midterms - and the fact that you’re still waiting to hear back about your graduate programme application.

Most evenings are spent in the library because it’s a lot less distracting than being back in your sorority - constantly playing catch up to all the things you feel like you’re falling behind on - and you barely even notice the passing of time, or what month it is at all, until you’re on your way out of the library one night and there’s a poster by the exit for Michigan Hockey Senior Night - saying, This Saturday, Feb 15th!

This Saturday?

How did you get almost two weeks into a month without even realising it?

You feel like you’re spiralling the whole way home - like time is running away from you. You’d just about remembered to apply for graduation before the deadline last month, and now it’s only 3 months away, and you still don’t know exactly where you’re gonna end up. 

And you haven’t even organised anything for your birthday. You’re usually so on top of that sort of stuff, too. It’s probably too last minute now to get everybody together - people will have made plans, you’re pretty sure, and the thought of not celebrating it makes your stomach turn, like your whole year has gone to waste.

It takes you 20 minutes to get back to the house, pretty much walking in a trance, and it’s only when you’re at the end of the street that you realise you just want to call Luke.

He usually talks you out of these moods without even knowing it - calms you down with some dorky joke or a story about how the guys on his team all grouped together to pull of some stupid prank on him. 

It’s like he knows when you go catatonic. Knows when everything is getting a little heavy, and he does his best to lighten the load. 

But he’s been busy too, lately. Down after a tough run of games, a drop in form, and he’s taking on a lot more responsibility with his team - the last thing he needs is you burdening him with your problems.

You just need to sleep it off, you think, as you sluggishly heave yourself up the stairs toward the front door of your sorority house, then the next time you talk to him you can be the kind of friend that he needs.

A soft exclamation of, “Finally,” pretty much gives you a heart attack as you close the door behind you, your hand shooting to cover your chest as your pulse thuds all the way up to your ears, “I’ve been waiting for you for like an hour!”

Ellie shoots up from where she had been sat toward the bottom of the staircase and comes toward you, an assessing tilt to her head as she looks you up and down.

You’re bundled up pretty thick, sweatpants on top of leggings on top of tights, and about 4 layers on top - and you’re hoping you can get away with using the cold as an excuse for how manic you probably look. The last thing you want right now is an Ellie interrogation. 

“I was at the library,” you tell her, “I told you earlier that’s where I’d be.”

“It’s dark, babe, if I knew you’d be there this late I would have come and got you. Everyone’s setting up for a movie in the lounge, Danica is convinced you’ve been kidnapped.”

“Oh, sorry,” you frown, peering past her to try and get a look through the doors into where the rest of the girls are. “I didn’t realise how late it was. Do you think she’d mind if I just went straight up to bed?”

“You’re fine, I figured you’d be out of it so I told her you were feeling sick, she’ll probably avoid you until Wednesday.”

You smile, tired and soft, but thankful, nonetheless. What else are best friends for if not to get your dictator sorority vice president off your back when she’s on a power trip about group dynamics and bonding nights?

“I love you,” you tell Ellie with a relieved sigh as she smiles back.

“I know,” she replies, “You’re gonna love me even more because I left a gift up in your room for when you got home.”

“A gift?” You ask, narrowing your exhausted eyes her way, frowning as you try to think what sort of gift she might have gotten you. “You know my birthday isn’t until Sunday, right?”

“Yes, I know when my best friend’s birthday is,” Ellie rolls her eyes dramatically as the two of you ascend the staircase together, your legs still aching after your walk home - your entire body wanting nothing more than to collapse atop your bed and sleep for 12 hours straight. “You’ve been down, wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Thanks El,” you offer a tired smile, “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“I’m sure you will,” she winks, “I’m gonna change and then join the others before Danica thinks I’ve been kidnapped, too.”

“Have fun.”

She disappears to her room a little closer to the stairs as you carry on down the hall, shoulders slumped and steps lethargic as you finally push your way into your room, planting your bag to the side of the door and slowly rounding the corner.

You didn’t really have any intentions of seeking out whatever gift Ellie had left for you until the morning with how exhausted you are, but it’s a little hard to miss when your bed comes into view - a long body sprawled out on top of your sheets, head resting in the crook of his own elbow and soft snores falling from his slightly open mouth. 

You just about stop yourself from rushing toward him, dropping your bag off to the side and unzipping your jacket, still stuck in a few more layers that you need to shed.

The need to laugh is a little harder to fight, the sight of him asleep in your bed, the picture of Ellie somehow sneaking him up here and having him wait for you to get home, and he couldn’t even stay up - it’s funny. It’s endearing and sweet, and you can’t really blame him. You’d watched his games over the last week, knew how relentless his schedule had been, so the thought of waking him up to talk doesn’t even cross your mind.

Despite how much you had wanted to talk to him before, and after having a mini-meltdown when you left the library - you think that maybe finally being in his actual presence might be enough. Plus, if he was awake, he’d probably see straight through you, and you’re far too exhausted and frustrated to talk it out right now. Ellie hadn’t noticed when you got home, that your eyes were red raw and your cheeks were all puffy. Luke would, so it’s probably for the best that he’s out like a light.

You grab something warm to change into for the night, slip into your bathroom and go through your usual routine - wash your face, brush your teeth, put your hair up and out of your face so it doesn’t get all frizzy and knotted in your sleep - before making your way back to your bed. 

You grab a thick blanket from your closet and crawl up on your bed beside him, throwing half over his long body before tucking yourself under the other half, shuffling up next to his sleeping form.

You settle pretty quickly on your half of the bed, figuring he must have remembered from the summer which side to sleep on himself, and bend your body in line with his, laying on your side until your muscles melt into the mattress.

And then you pull the arm he isn’t resting on over yourself, getting comfortable with your back to him, but still needing to be held. All the anxiety you’ve been dealing with over the past few weeks seems to seep away when you feel the press of his chest to your tense shoulders, and even asleep, his fingers spread so that you can lace yours through them - hands clasped together until you can feel the steady beat of his pulse below your knuckles, or maybe it’s yours, you don’t really know at this point. With his body moulded to yours like this, limbs bent into the spaces you leave for them, it’s hard to tell where he ends and you begin.

It’s probably how you fall asleep with miraculous ease - weeks of borderline insomnia catching up to you as you drift off within what feels like seconds, safe in the warm embrace of your only escape.

When Luke wakes in the middle of the night, he’s pretty sure he’s in the midst of some weird deja vu dream. 

His arm has gone dead beneath his head, pins and needles shooting from the tips of his fingers all the way to his shoulder as he readjusts himself a little, and he can’t feel the fingers on his other hand.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, too conscious of the fact that it isn’t morning yet - because he just doesn’t possibly feel rested enough for it to be morning, yet - and too focused on zeroing in on his other senses. The sound of soft breaths from beside him, the smell of marshmallow-y shampoo, and the warmth of a body laying beneath his other arm.

He slowly blinks himself into consciousness when the familiarity of it all sinks in - the clutch of your fingers between his, the way your breaths fall in line with his own, your shoulder blades pressed firmly to his chest - and peers over to assess your sleeping form.

You definitely weren’t there when he fell asleep. He probably wouldn’t have been able to get to sleep if you were - too in his head about having you in his arms again. 

He’s been in his head all day, though - coming over from Jersey to spend his bye-week in Michigan, he knew as soon as he landed that he wanted to see you first, and when he got to the house, and Ellie answered the door, he had been a little bummed that you weren’t home.

And then she pulled some mission impossible level sneaking skills to get him upstairs - told him you’d be back soon, and to wait around, and that if he made a single sound, she’d run upstairs and murder him, herself.

And what else was he supposed to do when it was his first time in any space that was solely yours, just sit there twiddling his thumbs?

He’d only ever seen your room in the background of your video calls - walls lined with mismatched frames and prints, pictures of you with your friends, and with your family, one even from the summer, of the whole group back at the lake house, the two of you stood side by side, back when your brewing feelings were a strict secret that nobody else knew about. He remembered when it was taken, his hand lightly pressed on the small of your back to keep you close - remembered the way you leant on him a little while everyone smushed together, and the soft smile you gave him when everyone broke apart.

There wass another picture that catches his eye - you as a kid, sat between both your parents, wearing the kind of smile only a kid could wear, a smile he knows he hasn’t seen on you since. You must have been like 6 or 7, a gap in your front teeth and a sun burnt nose, and he thought for a second that 6 or 7 year old Luke would have had the biggest crush on you if he knew you when you were kids. You probably would have broke his heart, then, too.

Your desk was cluttered, but still somewhat neat, little trinkets littering the shelves above - figurines, a Lego Wall-E missing a couple bricks, a stack of notebooks, a little vase of fake tulips, and a familiar beat up orange Mets baseball cap hanging precariously from the edge. 

Your bed was made, and it looked way too inviting once Luke had taken a brief tour, so he sat on what would usually be his side - and had somehow ended up falling asleep while he waited, your mattress plush and your pillows firm just how he always likes them. 

He hadn’t exactly put much thought into it at the time, but the last thing he expected was to wake up to the fact that you had just gotten home and crawled straight into bed beside him.

He’s hardly complaining, though - aside from the way he still can’t feel his arm, and your fingers are locked pretty tight around his, even in your sleep. When he tries to pull them free, just to try and ease the ache in his knuckles, your body follows, shuffling to face him and cosying straight up to him, your hands falling between the two of you and clutching limply at his hoody. 

He notices as he’s looking down at you that even something as routine as breathing feels easier when he’s with you - he doesn’t feel that crushing weight on his chest that has followed him for the last month, doesn’t feel the sharp pain in his ribs that hits sometimes when he’s too in his head, like a sudden jolt to bring him back to the present.

His torso just moves in tune to yours, deep, heavy breaths that lull him back to sleep so quick it all feels like a dream.

That is, until he wakes up again.

This time he knows it’s morning. He opens his eyes slowly to a brighter room, the sun seeping in through the crack in your curtains, casting your pretty features in a soft, ethereal glow that makes him feel warm all over. 

You’re still just as close, nuzzled right into him, your knees nudged between his thighs, and your arm thrown lazily over his figure, the other curled between you both. His arm is over yours, slung beyond the curve of your back, enough that he can play with the ends of your hair in your ponytail as he takes you in.

“I can feel you watching me.” Your voice is thick with sleep, croaky and low, and he still gets the same feeling in the pit of his stomach that he did back in summer when you’d talk to him first thing in the morning - like it was a tone made just for his ears to hear.

“Been a while since I’ve seen you in person,” he mutters back, his voice equally as croaky, “Trying to memorise what you look like without the glow of a screen reflecting on your face.”

“’S’creepy,” you reply, pushing your face into his chest so that he can’t see you anymore - the rumblings of his hushed laughter causing your head to shake a little. 

You stay laying against him for a moment, your head rising and falling in time with his slow, heavy breaths, and his fingers mindlessly twirl at a strand of your hair. 

“Don’t you have to be up for class?” He asks after a few minutes, no more than a whisper - still feeling the weight of Ellie’s threat from the night before about alerting anyone in the house to his presence.

“No class on Tuesdays,” he just about makes out as you mumble into his chest, tightening your hold around him.

“What do you usually do?”

“Sleep.”

And as good as going back to sleep sounds - the rumbling of his stomach, as always, gets the better of him.

“You wanna go get breakfast?”

He leans back a little so he can look down and catch your eye, your brow raising incredulously as your gaze narrows up at him.

“Of course your first thought of the day would be about food.”

You roll your eyes as you push yourself up and away from his body, the sudden influx of cold running straight through him, and he watches as you stand from your bed and stretch your arms up, the gesture revealing a small slither of skin between where your sweatshirt ends and your pants begin. His eyes trail slowly back up before you can catch him looking, and shuffles up in your bed until he’s sat against the headboard, watching as you disappear into your bathroom.

He retrieves his phone from his pocket as he waits for you - checking the time and for any missed messages, and then putting your address into postmates just to check what is around. “Will it give us away if we order food to eat here?” He asks when you come back, toothbrush hanging out of your mouth as you lean against the entrance to your bathroom, hip pressed into the door jamb. 

“That depends, what time is it?”

“Around 8:30,”

“If you can survive another 30 minutes without starving to death, everyone else should be gone by then.” You tell him before disappearing back into your bathroom. He hears a little movement before you shut the water off and come back into your room.

“If I order breakfast will you go get my bag from my car so I can change? I’ve been in these clothes since I left Jersey yesterday.” He doesn’t specifically mention how he’d let himself onto your bed in clothes he wore on a plane, but he sees the way your eyes narrow as you must realise it.

He’s quite surprised you don’t kick him or something.

“You didn’t change when you went home?” You ask, instead.

“I didn’t go home,” he shrugs, “Came straight here from the airport, hence my bag in the car.”

“Don’t hence me,” you kick lightly at his shin when you come closer, and he’s thankful he had just been expecting the attack, because it somehow hurts less when he knows it’s coming eventually. “How long were you waiting in here?”

“I wasn’t snooping if that’s what you’re thinking,” he defends, although the speed in which he does so causes you to raise a brow in disbelief, crossing your arms over your chest and glaring at him. “I think I fell asleep within like 15 minutes. Surprised you didn’t wake me when you got back.”

“Was too tired to deal with your yapping, to be honest.”

There you are. 

“I’ve missed you,” he says, feeling his cheeks go tight as he smiles like an idiot, leaning back onto his hands on your bed and looking over at you. He doesn’t even really think before he says it, but doesn’t regret it either.

Not when you smile back, stepping closer until you’re almost standing between his legs - and it’s just as he starts to spread them to accommodate you that you reach out and press your fingers into his forehead, pushing playfully until he falls back into your mattress - too in the moment to care about how loud he laughs in response.

Luke coming back to Michigan for his bye-week had been somewhat of a surprise. When he’d told you about the break - about how his brothers had been chosen to represent the country in some sort of national tournament - you’d half expected he’d somehow end up going to support them or something, tag along with his parents, maybe, and watch from the sidelines.

Him turning up in your room the other night had been a more than welcome shock - him spending pretty much every day taking up whatever of your time was free, even more so, and you’re even more dumbfounded that you’re not tired of him, yet. Or that he’s not tired of you.

You spent all of Tuesday morning in your room - eating breakfast bagels and sipping on smoothies and catching up on all the things you’ve been too busy to talk about for the last few weeks. 

He tells you about Quinn and his injury that kept him from playing in the Four Nations, how Jack’s excited to play in the tournament, about how he’s excited to watch him. He tells you about Jersey, and all the cool things he’s been doing with the organisation out there - the sessions he gets to do with all the kids, and all the things he learns when he does them.

He tells you about all the cooking he’s been doing, shows you pictures of poorly plated meals that you try to encourage him on, because he swears they were delicious, and who are you to crush his dreams when he’s trying his best. 

He tells you how all the other guys are off vacationing in hotter climates, and you promise him you know a couple people majoring in psychology if he thinks he needs an evaluation for choosing frosty Michigan over the sun. 

You tell him little bits too - about school, about some of the things you’ve been doing with the girls from the sorority - but your life feels so stagnant in comparison that letting him talk feels like the safer option, and you like listening to him anyway. 

You end up with him all of Tuesday. He comes over Wednesday night, takes you out to the mall and the two of you spend the whole night sat in his car eating sandwich subs and talking about anything and everythin, and watch Jack’s first game of the tournament with him and some of the guys from the hockey house on Thursday - smushed up beside him in a booth at one of the watch bars on campus, sharing a bunch of appetisers and getting him to try all the fruity drinks you ordered. 

He never makes you feel like a tag along or an inconvenience - includes you in conversations with the guys, asks for your input on what to do, even just hangs while you study, and doesn’t huff or puff or complain about any lack of attention if it isn’t directed his way.

It’s almost like you’re meant to be by his side - like he’d have it no other way. It’s seamless, no matter where you are or who you’re with, that where one of you goes, the other will probably follow.

It’s why you’re surprised when he takes you to Yost on the Friday, and you’re just immediately granted all the same access that he is. He takes you on a tour before the arena fills up - walks you through his own history there, regales you of stories from when he, himself, was a Wolverine, and how much he misses it. And the two of you sit alone a little higher in the stands, still for some reason smushed together despite the vacant spaces around you, until you start to get thirsty.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks,” you decide, casting a quick glance down to the ice where it looks like the puck drop is about to happen. He’s been paying for you all week, and you want to give him something back - even if that something is a flat coke and an almost-cold hot dog. “Do you want anything to eat, too?” You stand from the bench, losing the warmth emitting from the side of his leg onto yours.

Luke tugs you back down by the end of your sweatshirt, and you stumble back into the safety of his hold, large hands catching you and guiding you back into your seat. “I can order it over.”

“Oh, look at you, Mr Special Treatment,” you gasp, “Too good to go get your own snacks now, huh?”

“It’s convenient,” he rolls his eyes, “Means we don’t have to juggle a load of food back.” We, like he would never let you go on your own, anyway. 

You wonder for a brief second why the thought of it all of a sudden doesn’t suffocate you - why you welcome it with open arms. 

“Someone else just has to do it for you,” you jibe, and he just shrugs in response - not that you take it to heart, he’s playful about it, and you know first hand that Luke is a good tipper - despite all the times you’d told him not to tip you when he came to the restaurant, all your friends back at the club in the summer had always said as much. “Do you always just miraculously get what you want?”

He tilts his head slowly, eyes flickering down as he thinks about his response. “Not always,” comes out a little quiet, a little pensive, and you try not to shudder at the way he looks back up. He smiles, then, innocent and unassuming, holding out his phone for you to type your order down. 

You can’t quite pinpoint when you lost all resistance when it comes to Luke, but it’s probably too far gone to really do anything about it now, you think.

He’s surprisingly interactive during the game, just as he had been in the watch bar the night before - answering your probably incessant questions with an amused tilt to his lips, eyes on the action but words astute, like he’s truly listening and not just entertaining your attention, stealing sips of your drink when he’s finished his too quick. 

“What even is icing anyway?” You ask after maybe the 6th call, “Like why do they even call it, why not just let someone come get the puck and carry on?”

“Game would be boring if it was just everybody shooting the puck out of their own half,” he tells you, “Needs to be some kind of stakes.”

“I’m gonna bite my tongue about how boring the game might be anyway.”

He juts his knee into yours, your joints swinging together like a pendulum as you bring it back into place, levelling him with a glare. 

“You asked.”

“I actually didn’t,” he chuckles. “How many games have you been to now and you’re only just asking about icing?” He stretches his legs awkwardly to fit into the stands, the touch of his knee removing itself from yours as he leans into his seat. “What have you been doing when my games are on? You can’t have been watching them.”

“Hey, I do watch!” You swat at his bicep, shuffling to give him a little more room, something you seem to do by instinct now, adjusting yourself to better fit him, almost like a puzzle piece, “I watch you, I don’t need to know what’s going on with anybody else on that ice, that’s not my business.”

“Thought you wanted to know more about hockey.”

“Thought you wanted to be the one to teach me.”

“I know you know some things, we’ve talked about it before.”

“When?”

“Back in the club, that time we were spying on Jack. You mentioned a couple Michigan games.”

“Oh,” you pout, a weird flutter in your chest when you realise how long ago that was - almost like another lifetime has passed in the time since - you barely even feel like the same person. “You remember that?”

“You don’t?” He asks, brows furrowing as he gives you a little more of his attention. 

“I do, I just didn’t realise you retained information like that,” you snark back, reaching out to ruffle at his hair playfully. “You’ve taken a couple hits to the head, since.”

“I remember everything when it comes to you.” He says, undoing your poor attempt at lightening the growing tension a little within a matter of milliseconds. God, he’s good at that. “Plus, Ethan said you’ve been to a couple games this season, I figured you’d have gotten the hang of it all by now. You come with Ellie, right, she doesn’t teach you all this stuff?”

“Nah, she lost interest this year,” you reply, leaning a little into your own seat, your posture mirroring his as you get a little more comfortable. “Got a boyfriend in the NHL, she doesn’t need to be scouting for prospects anymore.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing? Scouting?”

“God no,” you scoff, sipping at what’s left of your diet coke as you watch the guys on the ice below, absentmindedly extending the cup over to him as you say, “Hockey boys are too whiney and needy,” 

“Oh really?” You can hear the grin without even looking at him, seeing him lean in to take a drink in your peripheral.

“Mmhm,” you bite back your own smile. “Dorky, too.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“We both know I’m hilarious.”

“You don’t come with anybody else?” He asks, nudging at you to keep you focused.

“Like who?” You frown. You’d been to the Jersey game with Ethan and Dylan, but you can hardly come to their own hockey game with them. Who else would you possibly go with?

“I don’t know, a date?”

You turn to face him, then, pushing your brows together in confusion as your eyes meet his. “You think that I would come to a hockey game on a date?” 

You don’t even remember the last time you went on a date, or what any of that would even entail, anymore - but it probably wouldn’t be a hockey game of all places. 

You’d probably go to a bar, or something. Or grab food together. Maybe go watch a movie.

Or none of that, at all, because the thought of dating kind of makes your stomach turn, all of a sudden. Where would you even find the time, between school and spending half your life on the phone to the idiot beside you. 

“You’re already here on Valentines day,” he smirks, “You’ll probably be here tomorrow for senior night, come back the day after and spend your birthday here, just for kicks, I’ll tell the guys to come in and practice just for you, if you want.”

“I will not be spending my birthday watching hockey, thank you very much,” you huff, “Not coming to senior night, either, my dad’s taking me out to dinner tomorrow, so you’re gonna have to sit in your high tower without me.”

Luke straightens up a little in his seat, losing the playful glint in his eye as he looks back at you. “You’re dad’s gonna be in town?”

“Allegedly,” you shrug, because you feel like it’s one of those things that if you act like you’re indifferent, the universe won’t cruelly rip it away from you. He’d promised when he called around Christmas that he’d come - when you told him that you had stayed behind in Michigan while your mom worked, and a part of you has known since that it’s an attempt to one-up her, prove that he can show when it matters, but you’re not putting any money on it.

“Can I meet him?”

“No.”

“You’ve met my parents.”

“Because I technically lived in your house,” you scoff, remembering the few times you’d spoken to his mom and dad - mostly polite exchanges with his mom, brief but friendly, enough. You and Luke hadn’t really been much at the time, and you had no reason to want to impress them, but the thought of running into either of them now almost terrifies you - the need to leave a more positive impression almost causing your entire body to buzz with anxiety. “You have no reason to meet my dad.”

“I’m literally your best friend.” He says it in such a classically caustic way - bottom lip jutted out and eyes rolling - that it makes you laugh.

“You wish.” You snort, ignoring the familiarity of the way he smiles back at the remark, turning back to the game and trying to focus despite the ringing that’s all of a sudden occurring in your ears.

Luke can’t remember the last time he’s spent an entire week in somebody’s company - someone who isn’t family, that is, or on the very rare occasion, some of his teammates, even though he usually manages to bag a day for a break and some sort of isolation most times he’s on the road.

But since he came back to Michigan, he’s probably seen you more than he’s seen his own reflection. 

And it isn’t even like summer, when you’d spend all that time together - watching movies up in your room when no one else was home, driving to and from the club, sneaking around doing god-knows what to try and figure out what the hell was going on with his brother and your best friend - this time, it just feels a lot less mercurial, a lot less like it’s going to slip from his fingers if he does something slightly wrong. 

Everything that was light and airy back then feels heavier and sturdier now - much more secure, weighed down by months of built trust and appreciation of one another. And for the first time since everything fell apart, he doesn’t find himself wishing he could go back. 

You give so much of your time to him now, so much of yourself, that he doesn’t for a second doubt how much you appreciate him, or want to be around him. He doesn’t sit in your company and constantly crave more.

He sees more too, he thinks - not just in terms of seeing you, but actually seeing the things about yourself you’re trying to hide. Like how you’re stressed about school, and hiding yourself away, and probably not eating as much as you should. He tries to get you out of the house where he can, tries not to be obvious about it, or controlling or pushy.

And by the time the weekend rolls around, there’s glimpses there of something brighter, even if you’re still not fully talking it out - maybe that’s just not how you cope with things. He’s starting to think he understands you a little more these days.

Saturday is the first day he spends on his own, with no plans to even meet you in the evening, because you’re supposed to be spending it with your dad, and he starts to wonder how he’s even gonna be able to go back to Jersey if this is how it feels not being with you for just one day. 

He’s bored. All day.

He trains with a few of the guys in the morning, calls Quinn around lunchtime, his parents in the afternoon, shovels all the fresh snow from their drive and just flits around their house until it’s time to watch the game in the evening, making himself some pasta and kicking back on the couch until there’s a loud knock on the door while he’s watching the highlights from the other game in the tournament.

He’s half expecting his mom to have ordered some sort of food over, not trusting that he could make himself something to eat without burning their house down.

He’s not expecting you on the other side, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes and cuddling at a big back of chips. 

“Let me in, already, I can’t feel my hands,” you huff, edging through the gap he leaves for you when he opens the door a little wider, brushing past him in a dizzying blur of vanilla perfume and spearmint gum. 

“Why aren’t you wearing gloves, it’s like 4 degrees out?”

“The Uber driver had the heat cranked up all the way, I thought I’d be alright until you left me out there knocking for 20 whole minutes.”

He figures you must feel the heat in the house instantaneously, because you’re shrugging off your giant coat and hanging it beside his in the hall as he watches you, still pretty sure you’re a figment of his imagination until you’re pressing the chips into his chest so that you can take off your boots. 

“You knocked once, you were maybe out there 1 minute before I opened the door,” he defends himself, “Plus if I knew you were even coming, I could have picked you up myself, then you wouldn’t have had to knock.”

“You got a vendetta against surprises or something?” You scoff, trailing into the living room like you already know the way, with him following you like you’re pulling him on a leash. 

“Just wasn’t expecting to see you today,” he frowns, blinking slowly as he watches you sink down onto where he was sat in the couch, tucking your feet beneath your body and getting yourself comfortable. Something about it makes his heart skip a couple beats. “Thought your dad was taking you for dinner for your birthday.”

“He bailed,” you shrug, reaching out for the bag of chips that he hands straight over, “Thought I’d keep you company, we both know you can’t enjoy hockey anymore without me yapping in your ear about it the whole way through.”

You might actually be right. Who else is going to ask stupid questions like, do the refs take figure skating lessons to be able to jump like that all the time?

“He bailed?” He asks, sitting down beside you, not letting you distract him with any other casual remark. Your dad bailed on you, for your birthday dinner, and you’re here opening chips and pretending like you aren’t at all phased?

“Apparently one of the boys felt sick or something,” you wave it off, “He could have told me before I sat around the restaurant waiting for him like a loser for 30 minutes, but I guess it’s all hands on deck over there, he texted me as soon as he could apparently.”

Fuck. 

Your dad lives out in Philly, he knows that - would take him almost 2 hours just to fly out, never mind however long to get to and from the airport. He could have text you way earlier in the day, if he knew he wasn’t going to make it out. Could have done so much to make it up to you, to not have you get ready, get all the way to be seated for your reservation, get your hopes up entirely, just to text that he wasn’t going to make it.

He forgot. He probably never even bought a ticket. 

Double fuck. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks, assuming your sudden silence is some sort of prompt.

“Not really,” you huff, slumping down into the corner of the couch, the movement sluggish and defeated, “I’m over it, already, it doesn’t matter."

Luke frowns as he watches you, avoiding eye contact and shrugging it off with indifference, and your words take him straight back to the night of Ellie’s birthday. 

It doesn’t matter.

You’d said the same thing back then, over and over, like you were trying to convince yourself it was the truth - that none of it ever mattered - and he thinks he sees it, for the first time, as clear as day; that this is what you do when you’re really hurt. You play it all off like it’s nothing, let it eat away at you without anyone ever really seeing the damage.

He’d seen a glimpse of it that night after the halloween party in Jersey, when he’d asked if you could ever be more - this glassy, unsure look in your eyes, like you were fighting everything in you that wanted more, shielding yourself from the potential hurt, and the subtle, hesitant shake of your head. It’s what drove him to take things further - to push at your boundaries until you let him back in, even if it was for one last time - because he knew there was something there to cling onto.

He wonders for a second just how often you deprive yourself of more, with anything. How you won’t talk about NYU, because it isn’t a sure thing. How you don’t put up a fight with your dad, and how he constantly lets you down, directing all the paternal energy that you’re owed to his other kids - or your mom, and how she gives you just as little of her time, but it’s somehow different because it’s under the guise of work. 

He wonders if maybe this friendship he’s been cursing the limitations of for as long as you’ve blessed him with it is all you’ll let yourself have, because the uncertainty of how more could hurt you is worse than the feeling of depriving yourself of it - and his chest all of a sudden feels like a vast, empty cavern that his heart just ricochets painfully around, bouncing from surface to surface and trying to steady itself through the pain.

“C’mere,” he mutters, extending his arm out for you to crawl under, and he’s almost surprised by how quick you do - laying your head on his chest and letting him hold you, fingers again playing with the ends of your hair to try and ground himself. 

He’s sure you can feel the rampant beat of his heart, can probably hear the blood rushing throughout his entire body as you rest on him, but you stay quiet for a while after, wrapping your arms around his torso and breathing slowly in tandem with him. 

You stay there for what feels like forever, and he’s almost positive you’ve fallen asleep, until all hell breaks loose at the puck drop, and he feels you shift when players start dropping gloves.

Your tense up until the fighting’s over, and the game gets underway, and you’re quiet again until you ask, “Do you ever get in fights like that?”

“Nah,” he breathes out, his fingers drawing absentminded shapes into the arm of your sweatshirt. “I’m a pacifist.”

He sees recognition flash through your irises when you push yourself up to look at him, lips twisting into a knowing smile, and he smiles too - a feeling of familiarity settling deep into his bones when he notices you pick up straight away on the reference. He can see, too, that you’re thinking about how far you’ve both come since that first day in the club back in summer, when he’d sat across from you in a booth and you’d said you could never see yourself warming up to him. 

And look at you now, eyes softened whenever your gaze is cast in his direction, a pretty flush to your cheeks, and an almost ever-present upturn to your lips whenever he’s around. 

Despite all the things you refuse to tell him or talk about, you’re open to him in more ways than you’ll ever know. 

He reaches to push a stray strand of hair back behind your ear, noticing how you lean in a little to the touch before he pulls back away, and your hand goes immediately to hold his before you settle back against his chest.

How stupid could your dad possibly be to hurt you like he did - to give up any chance to be around you, to break any promise he ever made to you.

Luke vows, then, that he won’t ever do the same. 

He’s gonna be your friend, be in your life, for as long as you’ll possibly let him. When Harry Met Sally can go fuck itself - meaningful relationships with someone of the opposite gender don’t have to be clouded by the murky waters of sexual attraction - what the two of you have goes so far beyond that, now.

And tomorrow, because you deserve nothing less, he’s going to make sure you have the best birthday of your life.

When you wake up on your birthday, your senses are flooded with everything distinctly Luke.

You’re dressed in his clothes - beat up old pyjamas pants that are rolled up at the hips and one of his shirts - laid in his bed, cuddling at his pillow, and surrounded by all of his things - laid on your own in his bedroom despite knowing that he’d fallen asleep beside you last night. 

You can hear him clattering around in the kitchen downstairs, so you aren’t that upset that you don’t wake up next to him, and you’re kind of open to the reprieve, all too conscious of your messy bedhead and sleep-swollen face. 

And it gives you a chance to look around once you’ve fixed yourself up - the space a lot different to his room back at the lake house. It feels a lot more personal - pictures from his childhood littered around, movie posters on his walls, little trophies lining the shelves and medals hanging beneath them. It’s endearing.

And so damn cute.

Framed images of little Luke with blonde curly hair and jerseys two sizes too big, or matching outfits with his brothers, or dorky costumes with painted faces. 

“If it isn’t Mrs Snoopy, herself,” he scoffs when he comes in, juggling two plates of pancakes on a tray with glasses of fresh juice, a flower laid in the middle that he probably just plucked from one of his mom’s decorations downstairs. “You having fun looking through all my stuff?”

You press your lips together to fight laughter, pointing back at the pictures you were just observing when he places the tray down on his bed. “You were adorable,” you tell him.

“Were?” He scoffs. 

“Yeah, were,” you snicker, “You have at least 4 hairs growing out of your chin, now, all cuteness has been thrown out the window.”

He rolls his eyes, gesturing for you to sit down on his bed, “You better eat that before I take it away. I’m never making you breakfast in bed, again.”

He watches fondly as you sink back down onto your side of his bed, and he joins you on his, handing you some cutlery before he leans over, pushing a single candle into your pancake stack. They’re a little lopsided, misshaped and deformed, and the candle kind of leans a little dangerously to one side, but none of that deters your chest from seizing at the sight of it all.

“Do you want me to sing?” He asks as he lights it, looking up at you with a playful smile on his face.

“No I do not,” you scoff, tucking your hair behind your back so there’s no risk of it falling into the candle when you lean toward the open flame. 

“Happy Birthday,” he says, his voice deep and velvety, and the last thing you see before you close your eyes to blow it out and make a wish is his soft smile as he watches you. “What did you wish for?”

“A box of bleach for your hair,” you lie, smiling back sardonically when he shakes his head with exasperation. 

“Maybe next year,” he scoffs, “I already got all your gifts for this birthday, I’m not going shopping again.”

“Gifts?” You ask, frowning a little. When he’d first mentioned your birthday, he’d said he was going all out - that he felt bad he didn’t get you anything for Christmas and wanted to make it up to you. You’d told him you didn’t want anything big, and you didn’t want him spending a lot of money on you, and you’re starting to worry that he didn’t listen. 

Luke is the last person on Earth who makes you feel like you’re mooching off of him - you really don’t want to start, now.

“You’ll see later. We’re still on for movie night, right?”

Your first together since summer. You have plans to sneak him into your house later, after your birthday brunch with your sorority sisters, and you’d agreed to let him keep his turn to pick. 

You nod, a little hesitant, a little unsure.

“I promise you’ll like them,” he assures you. “I don’t mean to brag but I knocked it out of the park.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you tell him, taking your first bite of one of the pancakes, the taste reminding you of the ones you used to eat back at the lake house. “Oh my god, these taste just like Quinn’s!” You say around your mouthful, covering it with your hand as you look back up at Luke with wide eyes.

“He talked me through making them,” Luke chuckles, “I had to FaceTime him for supervision.”

“Just now?” You ask, “Isn’t he like 3 hours behind us or something?”

“He’s an early bird,” he shrugs, taking a bite of his own. “And he said it was his gift for your birthday, I’m not allowed to take credit for them.”

“Yours are better,” you tell him, watching the way his body shifts through the compliment, eyes widening, lips parting, shoulders straightening. Adorable. “You can take credit.”

“Maybe I will make you breakfast in bed again.” 

He drives you home not long after - bundles you up in some old sweatpants and one of his hoodies, and you don’t tell him that you keep his shirt and pyjama pants, too, stuff them beneath the hoody to conceal them before you zip yourself into your coat - and promises to text when he’s on his way, later.

You think it might be the excitement of seeing him again that carries you through the rest of the day. You’d have probably enjoyed brunch with the girls anyway, but it waters down the minor disappointment of them gifting you the same bracelet everybody in the house gets for their birthday, and the fact it sort of just feels like any other meeting outside of the house rather than a celebration of you. 

You really only have yourself to blame for that, though. You’d told them earlier in the week you just wanted to do something chill, that you had a test on Monday and were going to head in early on Sunday night - but that was after Luke had suggested keeping up your weekend tradition and coming over. If they’d arranged anything beforehand, you would have gone ahead with them.

And even though it’s your birthday, you stock your room with all of Luke’s favourite snacks when you get home. You put on fresh sheets, and put back on the hoody he’d given you earlier, and check your phone every few minutes until he texts you that he’s parked down the street.

You text Ellie, who’s gonna distract the rest of the girls downstairs while you sneak him in, and grab him by the hand when you pull him inside the front door, rushing straight up the stairs and pushing him into your room, biting back a smile when you see him chuckling at the whole charade.

He swings the backpack off his arm as he kicks off his shoes beside your own, heading further into your bedroom and throwing him and his backpack down onto your bed. 

“Movie first or presents?” He asks, unzipping the top of the bag and pulling out the folded back of chips the two of you didn’t finish last night.

“Presents, please,” you tell him, sitting down cross legged on your side and clasping your hands together as you wait. 

“Alright, well, you’ve got to let me talk you through them before you come for me, alright, they’re not exactly traditional presents.”

Now you’re nervous, again.

“Like my first thought was that I was gonna buy you a star,” he says, “‘Cause apparently you can do that, and name them after you, you get a certificate and everything. But then I figured you’d have something to say about the colonisation of space or something, so I thought I’d save myself the grief.”

“You’d be right,” you snort, wondering if he would seriously fall for that kind of thing. You can’t just buy a star. Even if you earn as much as he does. “I also think that whole thing is a scam, but carry on.”

“Then I was trying to think well what’s something that you really need?”

“Lukey, you got me a car?!” You gasp, mouth agape as you try to make it obvious that you’re poking fun at him.

“What? No,” he pouts, brows furrowing as he looks back down into his backpack, disappointed with what’s in there. “Wait, do you want a car?” 

“I was messing with you.“

“Obviously.” He scoffs, shaking his head a little as you bite back a smile, “You said nothing big or expensive, I can’t get you a car. Anyway, your Wall-E is broken,” he hooks a thumb toward the little figure you keep on the shelf above your desk - the lego version of the character that you had knocked off the surface one time when cleaning and accidentally vacuumed up a couple of the tiny pieces. He must have noticed when he was in here on his own the other day. When he was supposedly not snooping around your stuff.

Luke reaches into the bag and pulls out a stuffed version of the robot - a cute soft toy that he immediately hands over to you, it’s big eyes all droopy and adorable. You can’t help the grin that breaks out as you look at it, with its chunky yellow body and soft grey treads - cute enough to forget that he may have potentially taken himself on his own private tour of your belongings.

“I know he’s your favourite, but they don’t sell that Lego anymore, so I had to get you the next best thing.” 

“He’s perfect.” You beam, looking back at Luke as he watches you with bated breath. “Thank you,”

“That isn’t everything.”

“Oh.” He hands over a white box, and when you turn it over, you realise it’s AirPods. “Luke, I can’t-,”

“I didn’t spend any money on them,” he argues, “They were gifted to me, I’m supposed to wear them walking in to games but I already have a pair.”

“Still-,” AirPods aren’t exactly cheap - you’d know, you’ve been saving up to buy a new pair ever since you dropped one of yours into a puddle walking home from class one day.

“It’s technically a selfish present, too, ‘cause the microphone on your pair now sounds like shit when I call you, so you need them.”

“Fine,” you huff, not entirely bothered - feeling seen in a way no one else seems to manage to do. “Thank y-,”

“Still not finished.” He smiles, guilty but persistent, and pulls out something folded before he hands it over. You unravel the black bundle of fabric, Jersey, written on the front, and turn it over, 43 and Hughes on the back.

“I’m pretty sure these jerseys cost more than the earphones.” You tell him, lips still twisting when you look at the little scribble at the bottom of the 4. 

“Perks of it being game used, technically free. I even signed it for you. You can wear it when you come watch me again. Or when you watch me from here.”

“Oh God, yeah, it stinks,” you joke, your face curling when you bring it up to your face. 

“Give it back,” he scowls playfully, reaching as you pull it above your shoulder.

“No, I’m kidding.” You pout, “Hey, stop it, it’s mine.” You swat at his hand as he tries to grab it from you, practically wrestling him as he gets a hold of it. `You end up shuffling your legs out from their crossed position to kick him, swiftly leaning over him to cover his mouth when he barks out a laugh. “Are you done now?”

“One more.” He speaks against your fingers, nodding over to his backpack as you glare suspiciously at him, reaching into the bag and pulling out a little envelope. 

You pick at the folded edge until it tears, pulling it open until you can look inside and pull one of the many little cards out.

“Metro cards?” Turning it between your fingers, because what the hell do you need metro cards for?

“For when you’re at NYU.” He answers the question before you even get the chance to ask. “Should get you where you need to be for classes and stuff. They all have 30 days on them, so you’re pretty much set for a year.”

“Luke, this must have cost like at least a thousand dollars.” 

“I have a bad habit of not checking the price when I put my card in, so I wouldn’t know.” He shrugs, although you can tell by the way he’s looking at you that that isn’t the case. He’d put thought into this, had gone out of his way to get you something that actually meant something to you - beyond getting you around a city you’re not even certain you’ll be in after you graduate.

“That’s not funny,” you breathe out, frowning at how he’s downplaying such a sweet gesture. 

“Doesn’t matter anyway, they’re non-refundable, and I’m not gonna use them, so you have to take them.”

You wait for a few seconds, looking back at how many cards are in the envelope, before looking back at him. “Do they work on the PATH?”

“Should get you to Jersey and back if you need ‘em to.”

Your lips twist at the thought of it - commuting across the river to visit Luke as much as you want, no longer having to wait until he’s in town or either of you get a break. Seeing him on a whim, watching movies in person. 

“I’d pick you up from the station.” He tells you, like he’s already thought of it, too. “So yeah, no need for a car, actually. You might have gotten a discount being a student and all, but this way you don’t have to worry about it at all. I know you said that when you move out there you’d want to explore, so now you can.”

You can. When.

There’s no if or could or if you want. 

Luke is more certain of your potential than you’ve ever been.

“What if I don’t get in?” You ask after a beat, afraid to even utter the thought into existence after having poured all your energy over the last couple months into your application.

Your future is so murky that it’s all you can think about at the moment, and you’re trying not to get too attached to any one plan - but this one has a hold on you that you can’t quite shift.

The thought of living so close to Luke - being just across the river, less than an hour, if you have to get the train, and potentially quicker than 30 minutes if you can get a ride - and getting to see him so often makes your chest feel like it’s splitting at the seams, and you don’t know if it’s anxiety or hope that’s causing the ache.

“You will,” he shrugs, like he hasn’t even considered any other option, “but if you for whatever reason decide it isn’t for you, then I’ll just fly you out against your will every weekend and we’ll go ride the subway for fun when I’m free.”

You smile at the thought, even if you know he’s not serious, imagining him sprawled on one of the benches, gangly legs getting in everyone’s way, trying to figure out if he needs to switch lines by squinting up at one of the maps instead of checking his phone like a normal person. “They have a When Harry Met Sally tour.”

“If you think I’m faking an orgasm in Katz’s Deli for you, you can think again.”

“Damn, there goes my master plan.” He slaps his knee, pouting mockingly as his eyes follow your every move.

You look back down again, taking in all your gifts, the meaning of them all settling in and filling up a vast hole left behind by everyone else in your life.

Luke sees so much more of you than you realised. He sees fixes for the little things, the things that accepting his help on doesn’t make you feel like anything less than a whole, he knows what you like, what means something to you, what would make you happy because it’s your favourite. He knows about your ambitions, and your wants, and the things you only let yourself dream about, too afraid to say them aloud. Luke listens to the things you can’t even bring yourself to say. 

“This is crazy.”

“Yeah, well, I’m kind of serious about this whole friend thing.” He tells you, wearing the kind of smile that makes you feel warm all over - and it’s the kind of warmth that makes you realise that you didn’t even know you were cold, before. 

“What if you get tired of me?” You ask, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you wait out his response.

“Won’t.” He smiles, an almost child-like certainty to the way his lips curve. 

Your own lips start to tremble as you watch him, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you start to feel the tell-tale sting of oncoming tears.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, fingers reaching tentatively to swipe at the salty droplet that falls before you have the chance to stop it, “What is it?”

“I think this whole thing with my dad really got to me,” you admit, probably for the first time to anyone, that you’re not as okay as you try to make out. It’s pointless keeping up the act when Luke sees straight through you, anyway, you think. “It’s like no matter how much I try to prepare myself that he’s gonna let me down, there’s this stupid part of me that thinks it’s gonna be different every time.”

“That’s not stupid,” he tells you, his voice firm and his gaze convincing. “It’s okay to want more from people, it doesn’t make you an idiot. He’s the stupid one.”

You know he’s right, but it’s so hard to let go of the idea of your dad that you grew up with - the man who would pick you up from school every day, would blast music the whole way home and sing at the top of his lungs, and would dash a smiley face on every plate with sauce. The dad who was home with you while your mom worked crazy shifts, and would tuck you in at night telling you that you were his world. The thought of him doing that for your brothers now, and not even caring about something as important as your birthday - it just hurts. The stretched out, aching kind of hurt that hangs over you like a dark cloud - the constant threat of rain hovering above. 

“He ended up just sending money over, said to get myself whatever I wanted, which is exactly what my mom did. It probably sounds really ungrateful but I just got really in my head about how no one really showed up for me, or got me something that was personal.” Your last hope after brunch had been Ellie, who had given you a purse she’d gotten at Christmas that you said was cute - you were grateful for all of it, the money, the bracelet, the purse, but the lack of thought and effort sort of lingered like a sour taste in your mouth. “But here you are.”

The way Luke looks at you is enough that you don’t need him to say anything in response - his irises gleam with affection and a softened, slow smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“I think you were right the other night at the game. You might be my best friend.”

“And that makes you want to cry?” He comes back almost immediately, lips upturning into a smirk.

“Well, I’d scream but it might give us away,” you retort, smiling straight back. “The girls are really funny about having visitors in the night.”

“There’s always your pillow,” he nods over to the top of your bed, “Might muffle the noise.”

You laugh, a huff of air from your nostrils that slowly turns into more, until your eyes are crinkling in the corners and your cheeks start to ache.

“I think you might be my best friend, too.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He affirms, serious and straight, like he’d already realised it long before you.

You smile slowly before you push all the gifts gently into a pile by your side, shuffling past them and wrapping your arms straight around Luke’s middle. He reacts fairly quick, his own arms making their way around your shoulders, swaying softly as you stay in his embrace for a good minute or two, just holding onto him as you let all the emotions wash through you. 

You bury your face into his shoulder to save yourself from saying one of them out loud - that you love him, because you’re pretty sure you do.

You’re pretty sure that’s the feeling twisting in your gut.

But you’re can’t quite grasp the extent of it.

You know what love is. You love your family, love your friends - love being outdoors in the spring time, love the colour yellow, the taste of strawberries, and swimming in the lake when the sun is out and the water is warm. 

But the way you love Luke seems different. It isn’t defined by any season, or time, or place. It’s all consuming, all the time. It’s in the stuffy heat of the passenger seat in his car in the summer, in front of the blazing fire in the backyard of the hockey house in the fall, and here, in winter, with the evidence of his love in a dedicated heap behind you on your bed.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, the thought of it doesn’t entirely terrify you. 

The end of Luke’s bye-week arrives quicker than you can really comprehend, and you’re grateful the guys had taken it upon themselves to throw him a little goodbye party at their house, because you don’t have the mental capacity to throw anything together, yourself. 

Ethan had been the one to tell you about it - lowkey, he’d said - the guys and a few people who were close with Luke before he left for Jersey, and he said you could bring whatever of your sisters you wanted.

With it being mid-week, most of them are busy, but Ellie is always happy to tag along, and she even says she’ll do your hair and makeup. There’s a backhanded compliment when she does offer, but you’re too in your head to really let it sink in or affect you. 

It feels nice to do this again, anyway. You’ve been in too much of a slump to really go to any sort of party lately, but what better occasion than anything dedicated to Luke?

It was probably last year that you and Ellie did this, sipped on way too strong homemade cocktails while some pop music played in the background, and you’re convinced not to let the little comments she keeps uttering get to you.

“If I’d have known it would only take Luke to get you out, I’d have got Jack to ship him out months ago,” she says as she runs a thermal brush through your hair, smoothing out the frizz and curling it at the ends. “Should have known after the halloween party that you’d follow him anywhere.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, frowning despite your conviction to ignore her when she gets like this. The mention of halloween triggers something deep within you though, and you immediately smooth out your features when you meet her eye in the mirror, aiming for nonchalance, although you’re pretty sure the abrupt palpitations you feel at the mere mention of his name are visible from where Ellie stands behind you.

“You slept with him in October,” she says, like this is somehow common knowledge, like the two of you have ever even spoken about that, or anything to do with the developments in yours and Luke’s relationship since the end of summer. 

You turn in your seat, mouth agape as you stare wide-eyed back at her, thankful to avoid the hot end of the hair tool. “No I didn’t,” you scoff, figuring denial is your safest bet. Admitting anything to Ellie last time hadn’t worked out too well for you, whether it was the fault of that conversation or not, and you don’t really want to put your heart on the line for her to watch it shatter again. “Why would you even think that?”

“Because Jack said his bed hadn’t been slept in when we got back from the hotel.”

“That’s because Jack’s never heard of making the bed,” you try to argue, but she claps back almost immediately.

“He’s actually weirdly neat. It’s almost annoying.” She shrugs, “I believe him when he says it was untouched, which means you slept in Luke’s bed, and that means you fucked him.”

“Why does it automatically mean I fucked him?”

“Because the two of you can’t stay away from each other,” she rolls her eyes, “Plus, you were avoiding him like the plague, and then all of a sudden you guys were FaceTiming each other every day. And now he’s come back and you spent the entire week with him. I’ve never had to sneak a guy in here for you before, so you can’t tell me you guys weren’t fucking up here.”

“We weren’t,” you say, trying to convey the honesty in your tone. “We were justing hanging out. We’re friends.”

“Right,” she scoffs, motioning for you to turn back around with her fingers before she picks up another strand of your hair. “Probably for the best then, ‘cause I was starting to worry.”

“Why would you worry?”

“Because I don’t want my best friend to get hurt again,” she says, like it’s obvious. “I know you think you’re friends, but he’s gonna crush you when he starts seeing someone and you get left behind.”

“Why would you even say that?” You turn again, this time all attempts at nonchalance thrown out the window. 

She stares back at you, holding the hot brush out to the side as she levels you with a glare at how close you were to making her burn you again. 

You glare back. She’s being a bitch for the sake of it, now. Why would she even bring that up? Where did that even come from?

She huffs, yanking at the wire so it extends and putting the brush down on the heat proof mat on your dresser. 

“Promise me you won’t go all crazy when I tell you this,” she sits on the edge of your bed, hands splayed out by her sides, “Because Jack told me something pretty crazy a couple weeks ago, and I’ve been debating whether or not you need to know.”

“Just say it, Ellie,” you snap, tired of the theatrics. If it’s something you need to know, she should have told you when she found out - weeks ago, allegedly.

“He’s seeing somebody.”

You blink slowly, your eyelids feeling like they weigh 90lbs each. 

No he isn’t. If you don’t have the time to be seeing anybody between your class schedule and being available to him, he sure as hell doesn’t have the time, being in the NHL and all. 

“I’m sorry?” You ask, shuffling uncomfortably in your chair.

“Or speaking to her, at least.” She corrects, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal.

“Speaking to who?”

“Her name’s Yasmin,” Ellie says, and you don’t know why hearing some random name makes your throat go dry - the fact that there even is a name, and it’s not just some bullshit nothing story Ellie is running with. “Jack says she’s a friend of one of the other wags, they met at some bar when they went out a couple of weeks ago and hit it off, he’s texting with her all the time apparently.”

You try to think back on the week, on all the times he’s been on his phone - that first morning, when he’d told you he was checking for nearby restaurants, at the hockey game, when he’d said he was ordering concessions straight to your seats, all the times you thought he was texting the boys - could he have been secretly messaging Yasmin and not telling you?

“He would have told me,” you say, more to reassure your self than defend Luke, if you’re honest. He would have told you, right? You guys tell each other everything. You’ve told him more than you’ve told even Ellie about yourself, about your life. 

He’s your best friend.

He would have told you. 

“I think Jack has his wires crossed or something,” you say, feeling like your throat is closing up on you, or like the walls are closing in. “He isn’t seeing anybody.” And just as she opens her mouth, “Or speaking to them.”

“Would it matter if he was? Even if it’s not Yasmin, if it’s somebody else, is that a problem? Could you watch him just move on?”

You just about stop yourself from biting back, of course it would matter, or, of course I couldn't watch that, your lips staying parted and gaping back at her like an idiot as you try to think of any other response. 

“We’re friends.” Is all you can come back with, but it feels like a lie when you say it, this time. 

“Okay then,” Ellie shrugs, pushing herself up and reaching back for the brush. “Can you stay still while I finish your hair please, I can’t deal with the guilt of burning your neck.”

You feel catatonic, after that, so it isn’t hard to stay motionless, staring blankly at your reflection as you try to compute the information she’s just spewed at you. 

Yasmin, who he hit it off with weeks ago, who he texts all the time, who he hasn’t told you a single thing about. 

You replay those facts over and over in your head, somehow managing to get ready in a zombie-like state, somehow managing to walk with Ellie all the way to the hockey house, integrating yourself into a group in the corner as everyone moves around you, people talking and music playing, and everything just blurs into noises and shapes until your phone buzzes harsh in your pocket.

You don’t know what you’re expecting when you check the notification - mindlessly scanning the words until you’re shocked back into reality, and you have to read it again for them to register. 

It’s an email, and your settings allow you to read the sender and first line only.

From: NYU Office of Admissions

Congratulations! On behalf of the admissions committee, I’m delighted to-

You gasp, and you don’t even open the whole thing up to read it before you’re pushing yourself away from the group you’re with, shouldering past a mass of bodies and trying to catch a glimpse of brunette curls as you crane your neck into every room.

“Hey, have you seen Luke?” You grab Ethan as soon as you see him, who responds with wide eyes and catches you as you stumble.

“I’m pretty sure I saw him in the kitchen with-,”

“Thanks!” You yell, rushing off in the other direction before he can finish, until you finally get there, pushing straight into the room before you can think anything of it.

Luke is in the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter in the far corner, a playful smile on his face, the kind he gives you when he’s trying to make you blush or something. And you’d recognise who’s stood in front of him anywhere, even by the back of her hair. 

Victoria Anderson, reaching her chicken claw hands up and pushing Luke’s curls out of his face. 

You feel a little like the world is spinning around you - like you’re stuck in the middle, and everything else is flashing by in a dizzying blur. You don’t even think your heart is beating anymore, the blood draining from your head as you watch what’s happening in front of you. 

And before he can see you in such a pitiful state, you turn on your heel and push your way back out of the door, slipping through the same bodies you’d passed before until you’re out the front door, the shock of the cold air bringing you back into consciousness. 

Would it matter if he was? It it’s somebody else, is that a problem?

Ellie’s words from before ring like a warning bell through your skull.

Of course it fucking matters. 

All Luke needs to see is a flash of your hair as the door to the kitchen closes to know he’s fucked everything up, once again. He doesn’t know why it takes him a minute to register just how bad the situation is before he makes a move, though. 

Victoria had cornered him a while ago, had been clinging to him for a good 20 minutes or something, and she had been relentless with her questions and attempts at conversation. It had been a little suffocating, even more so when she told him that her and her boyfriend had broken up before the new year, and he’d tried to excuse himself for a drink, but she had followed. 

He’d tried to let her down gently, had told her that he wasn’t interested anymore, and she had pushed her luck, cornering him against the counter, and asking, “Not even for old time’s sake?”

Hooking up with her in the first place all those years ago had probably been a mistake - he’d known it back then, never pursuing anything serious, and he knows it now, when she just can’t take no for an answer. “I’m into somebody else,” he had smiled, pitifully, wincing a little as she ran a hand through his hair to try convince him. “I’m not interested.”

And that had been about as plain as he could say it - thankful for the distracting creak of the kitchen door as it swung shut that he could look away from the way her face turned into a scowl, and then immediately panicked by the sight of you leaving. 

All he could do was blink, wondering if it had been a figment of his imagination. And then he figured that even if it was, he doesn’t want to be in this kitchen with Victoria Anderson. He wants to spend his last night in Michigan with you.

He edges out from where she has him trapped, and rushes out of the kitchen in search of you, looking over all of the heads in the larger space to try and find you.

Ethan catches him by the elbow as he passes, and asks if he’s looking for you.

“Yeah, have you seen her?” He asks, feeling a little breathless as he still tries to scan the room. 

“Uh, she walked past a few seconds ago, looked pretty upset. She was looking for you, before.”

“Why didn’t you go after her?” Luke frowns, watching as Ethan’s brows furrow in response. 

“She’s grouchy when she’s upset, starts getting all mean and bitey, I’m not getting in the middle of that.” He scoffs, crossing his arms, defensively.

“You’re supposed to bite back.” Luke sighs, knowing then that you hadn’t been a figment of his imagination at all. “Where did she go?”

“Think she’s outside.”

“Great,” Luke snaps, figuring he can apologise later for blaming Ethan of all people. He storms off, heading straight for the front door, relieved to find you outside when he bursts through it, ignoring the bite of the freezing cold as he takes you in - leaning against the rail on the porch, wiping at your face before you turn to fake a smile his way - a smile that makes his gut churn when it’s flashed alongside the tears you hadn’t quite managed to hide.

“Hey,” you say, voice small and weak, “Was looking for you.”

Okay. You’re not mad.

You’re upset, which is probably worse, but he can explain things if you’re willing to listen. 

“Ethan said,” he tells you, moving to your side and leaning on the rail, too, his body facing yours. “That wasn’t what it looked like, in the kitchen,” he swears, and you nod, the movement short and subtle. “I swear, I’ve been trying to get her to leave me alone for the past 30 minutes.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug, and his heart plummets at the way you seem to close yourself off to feeling any type of way about it, again. “You can do what you want, with whoever you want.”

“I don’t want to do that,” he frowns, “Not with her.”

“Okay,” you pretty much whisper, your eyes barely meeting his before they dart away, your body turning back to lean against the side. 

He watches you for a minute, trying to gauge how best to handle this, how best to make sure you understand that this is important, that this is something the two of you need to talk about, especially before he leaves for Jersey, tomorrow. The two of you have come too far to let something as stupid as this ruin what you’ve made for yourselves. 

“Hey,” he calls out, reaching to swipe his thumb at the little trail left behind by your previous tears, using the leverage to turn your head until you’re facing him again, and he leans in. “I don’t want to be with anybody but you tonight, I promise.”

Your smile is small, but there’s something there to cling to this time, the soft crinkle of your eyes as you lean into his grip. 

“Okay,” you repeat, blinking up at him as he tries to level his breathing. 

“You gonna come back inside with me before you freeze to death?” He asks, taking his hand away and sliding it slowly down your arm until he can grip weakly at your fingers, hoping they open to let him slide his own through the cracks.

“Wait,” you grip back, your smile growing a little. “I have something to show you.”

“Yeah?” He asks, holding your hand between the two of you, “Did you get me a going away gift?”

You wordlessly hand him your phone from your other hand, and he takes it in the one that’s free, frowning as he looks down at it. “This is your phone.”

“Duh,” you scoff, “Look what’s on there.”

He taps on your screen until it lights up, eyes squinting to read the tiny text - having to read it twice until it registers in his still-a-little-panicked brain. 

“You got in,” he mutters, like he can’t quite believe it - and it isn’t that he wasn’t expecting you to get in, but the excitement feels like a bucket of ice water thrown over his head, shocking and exhilarating all at once. “You got in!” He repeats, this time louder, prouder and the intensity of the smile that breaks out is almost instantaneously achey.

He drops your hand to grab you by the face, holding onto your own smile like it’s the most precious gift you can give him, jumping as he caresses you and letting the sound of your giggle seep into his skin. 

“Yeah,” your voice comes out a little like a whine, tears prickling at your eyes as they almost close with how big your smile is. “I’m going to NYU!”

It’s the first time you’ve said it - the first time you’ve known it for sure - and he’s so lucky he’s the first to hear it, he thinks, that he’s privy to you letting yourself have one more good thing without the fear of it being taken away or falling apart.

“You’re going to NYU,” he tells you, prouder than he’s ever been of anybody else in his life, probably. 

You’re gonna be across the river - a mere 30 minutes away on a good day - and he’s gonna get to see you all the time. Movie nights can be in person, you can come to his games, you can taste all the food you’re convinced isn’t as nice as he’s making out - and all of those things seem selfish to be the first to come to mind, but he can’t help it, he’s so happy he could cry, himself. 

He’s so distracted by the thought of crying that he doesn't realise you’re reaching up - that your fingers are curling around the back of his neck and you’re pulling him down, your lips colliding and moving together until his body turns to autopilot.

His hands grip at your waist, his mouth deepens the kiss until he can swipe his tongue against yours, and his feet shuffle clumsily until he’s guiding you away from the rail, toward the house, and pressing you gently into the cold brick wall. Your back arches until your chest presses to his front, and you kiss and kiss him until you both run out of breath, relying on muscle memory to guide you to all the places you know each other likes.

He’s in a daze when you part, panting and blinking rapidly and trying to form any single coherent thought.

That is, until you say, “I don’t want to watch you move on.”

What?

“I don’t understand,” he mutters, trying to make sense of what the hell you’re talking about. He’d explained the whole Victoria thing. Is that seriously the only reason you kissed him? Because seeing him with her made you feel a certain way? “I thought you wanted to be friends.”

“I did,” you respond, blinking back, “I do, but I-,”

“You don’t want anyone else to have me either?”

He doesn’t even know why he’s getting agitated, it’s probably the drinks he’d had before you got to the party - but he kissed you because he loves you. He kissed you because he’s proud of you, and happy for you, and excited to show you how much of himself he can give when you’re finally in the same place for an extended period of time. He kissed you because he’s spent the last week trying not to, the last 6 weeks convincing himself that he shouldn’t want to, ever since fucking Harry met Sally, and the last 8 or so months trying to fight the need to. 

And you kissed him because you were upset somebody else might have gotten there first.

“You tell me that we can’t ever be more, and when I try move on, you keep reeling me back in,” he huffs, “Like you don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either!”

“That isn’t true,” you frown, trying to grasp at a hand that he pulls away.

“Which part?” He asks, head tilting as he waits for you to figure it out. “You don’t even know what you want,” He sighs, tired all of a sudden and hurt that after all this time, you still aren’t sure on him. You still don’t want the same things, for the same reasons - still won’t let yourself believe in something good, even after the the universe just proved to you that it’s possible. “I don’t even think I know what I want out of this. I think about you all the time, you know, think about us. What we were, what we are now,” He had convinced himself only days ago that he could be your friend, if that’s what you need him to be, but now he can’t help it - not when you dangle the idea of more so carelessly in front of him like this. “What we could be, if you just let me all the way in.”

“I want to,” and because he knows you too well, he doesn’t get his hopes up at how quick you are to tell him that. “I promise you, I want to. I just don’t know how.”

Luke scoffs out a humourless chuckle, breaking eye contact as he clenches his jaw - thoughts working overtime to try and understand again where you’re coming from. 

“It’s been 8 months,” he sighs. “I don’t know how long I’m supposed to wait for you to figure it out.”

He doesn’t see the way your lips tremble, or your eyes well with tears, again.

“If all you want to be is friends, then I’ll be your friend,” he tells you. “But we both have to find a way to move on. It won’t work otherwise.” 

He doesn’t want to move on - the thought of being with anybody that isn’t you honestly makes him feel a little sick, but if it’s what he has to do to make sure he doesn’t feel like this again, maybe he should. 

Your lips stay parted, and you don’t argue back this time, blinking back tears as you stare at him, wide eyed and unsure.

“It isn’t fair to either of us to keep blurring the lines like this.”

You nod, pressing your mouth closed, averting your gaze until you’re not looking at him anymore, you’re looking past him, all the joy from before draining from you like sand in a timer. You stay silent, and he figures a nod is all he’s gonna get, because it’s another minute before he finds the words to say, himself.

“Let’s go back inside, yeah?” He asks, your hand slipping behind your back just as he thinks of reaching for it, the action causing his stomach to twist with guilt. “C’mon, we’ll get you a drink to celebrate the good news.”

“I think I’m gonna go home,” you mutter, so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear it, and you look back up and give him that same small, forced smile that made his gut churn when he came outside, looking at his cheek instead of his eyes. “I have class in the morning, so I should probably go to bed or something.”

“Alright, I’ll walk you-,”

“No, uhm,” you step back, and all he can do is watch as you slip away one more time, “This is literally a party for you. It’s just around the corner, I’ll be fine.”

And if he had thought he fucked up before, this feels a thousand times worse, now. 

“I’m sorry,” you squeak out, and the joyous tears that were teasing his lashes earlier turn somewhat sour, stinging until they gather in a thick pool in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You didn’t.” He’d reach for you again if he didn’t think you’d flinch away - if the sight of you retreating from him once again wouldn’t make him want to curl up and die. “I’m gonna get one of the guys to walk you, alright? Please don’t go on your own.”

“It’s fine-,”

“It isn’t fine,” he doesn’t mean to snap - just wants to be firm, just wants you to feel that he cares - but it comes out harsh, because this can’t be another thing that you sweep under the rug to pretend you don’t care. “Please just wait.”

“Okay.”

He rushes inside then, and he grabs the first of his friends that he sees - thankfully, Ethan, who he knows cares about you enough to make sure you get home safe.

“Hey man, did you find her?” Ethan asks, his face twisting with concern as he takes in what must be sheer panic on Luke’s face. “Is she alright?”

“I need you to walk her home, she’s waiting outside, I need you to go before she goes on her own,” he drags Ethan towards the closet by the front door, where he’d discarded his jacket when he arrived earlier. “Give her this and text me when she’s inside, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” his best friend frowns, confused as he takes the coat from his shaking grip “Are you sure you don’t want to do it?”

“I don’t think she wants to be around me right now.”

“Oh,” Ethan huffs, shoulders straightening as he understands the gravity of the situation. If you don’t want to be around Luke, you probably shouldn’t be on your own. “Right, sure, I’ll take her now.”

“Just make sure you text me when she’s safe.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it, man,” Ethan chuckles nervously, “I’ll text you.”

And all Luke can do again is watch - watch as Ethan rushes out the front door, watch through the little sliver of window as you let him shrug the coat around you, as you accept the grip to both your arms as he tries to warm you up, watch as the two of you disappear from what the small rectangle allows him to see.

Watch as he, once again, lets go of the one thing he wants more than anything else in the whole world. 

[starsinthesky5]

hi archhhh 💘 i have a yail blurb ask for you (?)

what is it like when joe and singer!reader get to have an off day together? do they sleep in, have a morning routine? are they catching up on a favorite t.v. show or going for a peaceful drive? i’d love to hear anything and everything about them just being 🥹 existing as normal people outside of their exciting and hectic careers!

off-days || joe burrow x reader

description: ask sums it up! a blurb all about their off days and normal couple activities :)

a/n: sorry it took me so long to finish is chai <3 ilysm and ty for this ask! i was working on this here and there for like 2 weeks but here we gooo

also for clarification, the YAIL fics are in second person whereas the ask blurbs are in third person but, since i started writing YAIL in second person, these ask blurbs will jump around with the pronoun usage :) think of it as me describing you and joe, or if you want, her and joe. up to you <33

word count: 6.8k

series: you are in love

warnings: language, suggestive references (?)

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

off days are non-negotiable for them.  

with both of their careers being so demanding and intense, it’s easy to get caught up in the relentless grind. before they met, neither of them really knew how to slow down. relaxation and leisure were afterthoughts—things they’d get to someday, when the work was done.  

but the work was never done.  

their shared mindset had always been the same: if you want to be the best, you keep pushing—no matter what. winners don’t rest. (if they ever got matching tattoos, they’d definitely get that inked on their wrists).

and to some extent, that was true. but the reality was, pushing past their limits came at a cost. burnout. anxiety. stress. and in joe’s case—injuries. the relentless pursuit of greatness took its toll, and when all the blood, sweat, and tears didn’t pay off, it stung even worse. for him, it was the agony of losing—of seeing the bigger picture blur instead of sharpen. for her, it was the crushing weight of feeling unseen, of pouring her soul into her music only for it to feel like it wasn’t resonating the way she needed it to.  

and when those moments hit, when the sacrifices felt too great and the setbacks too heavy, the lack of rest caught up with them.  

they constantly talked about how tiring it all was, how much they loved what they did, but the work that went into it was so draining to the point where sometimes they questioned if it was all worth it. after that conversation, they had a realization that they needed to take a minute to breathe. they helped each other understand that none of it would be worth it if they weren’t mentally and physically at ease. that you can’t be the best version of yourself if you’re not feeling your best. 

so after this, they slowly learned to take the off days seriously—not as wasted time, but as necessary time.

time to recharge. time to just be.

and there were plenty of ways for them to do so…

baking & cooking

they love to bake together! she loves, and i mean loves to bake joe a pumpkin roulade with ginger buttercream. it’s one of her specialties as well. anyone lucky enough to get a taste of this dessert, made from her by scratch, would remember the taste for days to come. she’d bring this dessert to thanksgivings, friend gatherings, and even for the guys in the lockeroom. they would ask, and ask, and ask joe when the next time she’d bring some around was. that’s just how good it was. usually it was her victory monday treat for them, but she squeezed in some for birthdays and well…whenever her phone would start blowing up with messages from his friends.

fortunately for joe, he never had to wait for his favorite dessert. he got to have her…i mean it, the dessert, whenever he wanted ;) she loved to see that satisfied grin on his face after the first bite, the first taste of his childhood in dessert form. 

when they bake together, they stick to the classics and make cookies. simple enough for joey’s mind and delicious enough to satisfy their sweet cravings. they’d get all cozy in their most lazy-sunday clothes, standing at the counter together, teasing and laughing while they prepared a variety of cookies from oatmeal (her fav) to chai cookies (his fav). 

they’d steal bites of cookie dough when the other wasn’t looking, fingers sneaking into the mixing bowl, only to be caught red-handed and met with playful swats and breathless giggles. joe always pretended to be innocent, flashing that boyish grin of his, but she knew better—especially when he would wrap his arms around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder, murmuring, “just one more taste, baby,” before stealing another bite straight from her fingers.

it wasn’t just about the baking, though. it was the way he lingered beside her, hands brushing, bodies melding together effortlessly in their homey kitchen. it was the way he’d sneak a kiss when she was distracted measuring flour, or how he’d take over stirring the dough just so he could slide in closer, feeling the warmth of her body against his.

in moments like these, their stardom, their fame, their reputations, it would all melt away. here, in this kitchen, they were just an ordinary couple spending quality time together. just two hopelessly in love individuals being sweeter than the cookies they loaded inside the oven. 

when the cookies were finally out of the oven, they’d curl up on the couch, plates balanced on their laps, stealing bites and feeding each other between soft murmurs of “these are so good,” and “i think we outdid ourselves this time,”. and if joe happened to catch a crumb at the corner of her mouth? well, he’d take his time brushing it away—with his thumb, his lips, or a slow, lingering kiss, because he could never resist an excuse to taste her.

and it wasn’t always just cookies or pumpkin roulade. they’d bake, or attempt to bake anything their hearts desired. cakes, pies, muffins, danishes, tarts, you name it. just put them on the great british baking show already. although, i think joe would flip out if they hated on the way he would sometimes ignore how you would need to prep the dry and wet ingredients separately. to him, it didn’t matter because it was all getting mixed together anyway, why should he waste time making sure the flour and sugar mixture was “powdery enough”. 

as for cooking, they try to make a few new dishes each off-day together. usually a different cuisine too. last week was indian, and they made this delicious butter chicken with homemade garlic naan and tandoori chicken tikka kabobs. when joe sent a photo to his chef, he couldn’t believe that the same man who burnt french toast the first time he made it—had made this impressive meal without any professional help. but what Joe didn’t tell him, is that she led most of the cooking. she usually always did. he’s way too scared that he’ll mess the food up, burn the house down, or somehow give her food poisoning. which is why he lets his lovely girlfriend order him around, telling him what to marinate, what to chop, what to stir, what not to add. 

and you know what? he’s completely fine with that. he’ll follow her around like a lost puppy to the ends of the earth if he needed to. 

—

as they work on plating their scrumptious meal, joe nudged her playfully with his hip, nearly making her drop the serving spoon. “you’re getting cocky in the kitchen, burrow,” she teases, setting the dish down and turning to him with a smirk.

he grins, reaching for her waist to tug her in closer. “i think i deserve a little credit, don’t you? i only needed your help, like, ten times tonight,”.

“more like twenty,” she corrects, giggling when he dramatically clutches his chest like she just stabbed him.

“okay, rude,” he says, leaning in so their noses nearly brush. “you weren’t complaining when i was kneading that dough, though. seemed like you liked watching me work with my hands.”

cocky joe. classic. 

he wasn’t lying to be honest. no matter what he was doing with his hands—gripping a football, kneading dough, kneading her bare skin—she was transfixed by the dexterity and skills of arguably one of his best features. 

her breath hitches slightly, but she recovers from the reaction quickly, narrowing her eyes as she pushes him away with a laugh. “oh, shut up and sit down,”.

he smirks, letting her shove him back but not before he catches her wrist, his fingers curling around it just enough to make her breath hitch again. “make me,” he challenges, voice filled with dangerous intent. 

she rolls her eyes, gently yanking her hand away, but the heat lingering on her skin betrays her. “god, you’re so impossible, joe,”.  

“and yet, you love me sooo,” he quips, finally settling into the barstool, looking way too satisfied with himself.

she turns back to the counter, reaching for the rolling pin, but not before shooting him a playful glare. “debatable.”.

joe leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter, eyes locked on her with that same smug expression. “mm. you weren’t saying that last night when you were nibbling on my earlobe, begging me to let you…you know,”.

her hands freeze mid-motion, fingers tightening around the handle as heat rushes to her cheeks. she looks like a deer caught in headlights, and the way his lips twitch into a slow, knowing smirk only makes it worse. joe and his cheeky, unfiltered mouth—always throwing out shameless comments like they were casual conversation, leaving her flustered no matter how many times he did it.

she exhales sharply, composing herself as she shakes her head with a laugh. “i really should’ve put more salt in your cookies,”.

his grin widens, dimples deepening as he tilts his head. “you wouldn’t dare,”.

“oh, I would,” she counters, pointing the rolling pin at him in warning.

Joe leans in a little closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “but then I wouldn’t be as sweet when I kiss you later,”.

she gasps, whipping the rolling pin at him—not to hit, just to scare—but he laughs, dodging it easily, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“i swear to god, joe—,”.

“you love me,” he interrupts, still grinning like he’s won something.

and damn, she did. 

t.v.

when they’re not baking or cooking, you can almost always find them curled up on the couch, wrapped in blankets, watching the trashiest reality tv shows they can find. at first, joe showed resistance to the world of reality tv, claiming how this was the reason as to why the population of america was slowly becoming stupider and stupider. but then one night, she was watching her favorite guilty pleasure of all time while he was sitting at the dining table working on some film stuff, only half-listening as she gasped, shouted at the screen, and occasionally muttered insults under her breath. love island usa, season 6 was the reason for her outbursts, and as much as joe tried to ignore it, he found himself glancing up more and more often, trying to piece together what the hell was going on.

then came the moment that changed everything.

“are you kidding me?” she shrieked, nearly launching off the couch. “liv chose rob, and now leah’s single? she totally swooped in on her man like it’s been two seconds! what the actual fuck is happening and why is nobody doing anything!”.

joe blinked, his pen hovering over his notes. “wait…what?”.

“oh, now you care?” she shot back, spinning to face him with fire in her eyes. “no, no, no. go back to your very important football things, joe. i wouldn’t want to distract you with reality tv garbage,”.

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before giving in. “okay, just explain it real quick. i wanna know why you’re mad,”.

and that was it. the beginning of the end.

because the second she started ranting—breaking down the drama, the betrayals, the absolute clownery of it all—joe was hooked. he acted like he was just listening to humor her, but by the next episode, he was sitting next to her. by the episode after that, he was throwing in his own commentary.

now? well, now he’s the one pausing the TV so he can go on a rant about how dumb these guys are. “babe, there is no way she actually likes him,” joe scoffs, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth as they watch the latest episode. “she’s playing the game,”.

she hums in agreement, snuggling closer into his side. “oh, for sure. you saw the way she was looking at miguel before she got picked in the recoupling. she’s gonna dump kendall the second they get out of there. i see right through you, nicole,”. 

joe shakes his head, eyes glued to the screen as one of the guys delivers another overly rehearsed speech. “man, how do people fall for this? it’s so obvious that they’re all just horny as fuck, are physically attracted to the person they think is the hottest, but ultimately stay with the ‘safe pick’ just in hopes that they’d make it to the end because america likes a power couple and not the couple who eye fuck each other all day,”.

she smirks, glancing up at him. “you say that but you’re the guy who’s been yelling at the tv for the past hour,”.

he glares at her playfully before stealing some of her popcorn. “whatever. i’m just matching your energy. this is still stupid as hell but i’m invested,”.

“mhm, sure,” she teases, nudging him. “you literally gasped when andrea walked in as the bombshell. you loveeeee the drama. invested? more like ass glued to couch every night for an hour and a half,”.

joe groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “it was shocking, don’t lie. she was all up on rob right infront of leah. like leah? c’mon babe. and he was enjoying every second of it. what a dick,”.

“exactly! and don’t even get me started on the casa amor mess that they started doing a few seasons ago. it’s about to be so fucking messy this time around,” she adds, eyes widening. “you know those boys are gonna be on damage control the second they walk back into the villa with there wannabe insta models hanging off their arms,”.

joe lets out a long sigh, shaking his head. “man, the producers are evil for the shit they spew on these kinds of shows. like this is probably so damaging for the contestants,”.

she giggles, reaching for the remote to start the next episode. “i know, but just admit…you love the drama,”.

joe leans back against the couch, wrapping an arm around her. “...fine. but if we’re watching this, you better not complain when i make you watch game of thrones later,”. 

when joe found out she had never seen game of thrones, he looked at her like she had personally offended him. it was so bad. he literally had to go get some fresh air on the patio after her confession. 

god, he’s such a drama queen. 

“you’re joking,” he said, blinking at her in disbelief like she had just confessed to a murder.

she shook her head, trying not to laugh at how dramatic he was being. “nope. never seen a single episode,”.

joe ran a hand through his hair, looking absolutely distraught. “baby, this is the best piece of visual media ever created. like, ever,”.

“that’s what you said about the dark knight,” she teased.

“okay, well, that’s also true,” he said, still reeling from the information. “but game of thrones is different. it’s a cultural phenomenon. i…i can’t believe you’ve never watched it,”.

so, naturally, he made her start from season one, episode one, and they spent the next few weeks binging the entire series. and, to joe’s absolute delight, she lowkey loved it. sure, she complained about the amount of war scenes, and she definitely wasn’t thrilled about how the last season turned out, “they did daenerys so dirty,” she huffed. 

but overall? 

she was obsessed. 

and she hated it.

of course, she got her revenge when she caught joe secretly enjoying gilmore girls with her. at first, he acted like he wasn’t paying attention. he’d sit on the couch, scrolling through his phone while she had it on in the background. but then, slowly, he started asking questions.

“so, who’s this jess guy? why does he look so smug?”.

“wait, why is everyone mad at rory? what did she do?”.

“oh, this dean dude suckkkkks. i mean, why the fuck is he getting mad at her for not being able to say ‘i love you’? she should break up with him. if she can’t say it that means she doesn’t feel it,”.

before she knew it, joe was fully invested in gilmore girls just as she was with game of thrones. he had opinions on all the characters and it was so freaking adorable because this was so not his domain. “emily gilmore is ruthless, but lowkey iconic,” he admitted once. and he definitely had a soft spot for luke. i mean, who doesn’t? “luke is so misunderstood. him and lorelei make perfect sense, i need them to get together like…now,” he’d ramble, and the sight of him so immersed in something she enjoyed made her heart skip a beat. 

aside from their individual guilty pleasures, they had plenty of shows they loved watching together—the office, spongebob (which joe swore was peak comedy), true crime documentaries, stranger things, and currently, the white lotus and suits.

oh, and don’t even get them started on their marvel movie marathons. those were mandatory. no excuses, if, ands, or buts. although, they were close to being on the chopping block because one time, he caught her looking at steve a little too…lovingly. 

“that’s america’s ass joe. don’t take this from me,” she waved off while turning her attention back to her first love while her true love looked at her like a neglected piece of candy at the bottom of the halloween candy bucket.

but ultimately, you’d find them both glued to the screen, no matter how many times they’d watched the same superhero movie over and over again or which secret childhood crush of hers was on the screen. their shared love for marvel was one of the first things they bonded on the second time they hung out—dinner in soho post july 4th celebration. 

the fact that she had this hidden nerd side to her was one of the most attractive things to him. she came off as so polished, rich but genuine, and diamond-like. but inside? a total nerd with a soft heart that geeked out over everything and anything imaginable. 

it was adorable. 

peaceful drives

some of their best off-day moments happened on those peaceful evening drives.

sometimes, there wasn’t a destination. just them, the hum of the engine, and the open road stretching ahead. she’d have her feet propped up on the dash, joe’s hand resting on her thigh as he absentmindedly traced circles on her skin. the windows were cracked just enough to let the breeze in, and the playlist they curated together—filled with everything from 90s r&b to soft love songs—played quietly in the background.

other nights, they had a mission. ice cream. there was this little spot, tucked away on the outskirts of town, that they swore had the best homemade flavors. she’d always get something fruity, while joe stuck with classic dairy free chocolate chip cookie dough. they’d sit in the car, parked under the glow of a streetlamp, sharing bites and laughing over whatever ridiculous thing came to their minds. 

but her favorite drives? the ones where joe took her to his quiet place. the lookout point. a secluded clearing, just outside the city, where the sky stretched wide and the stars shone brighter than anywhere else.

“i used to come here all the time when i needed to clear my head,” he admitted one night, leaning against the hood of the car with her tucked against his side.

she looked up at him, then at the endless sky above them, the stars mirroring the look in his eyes. “and now?”.

he glanced down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “now, i just bring you here when i want a perfect night,”.

because this wasn’t just any place to him anymore. it was their place. the spot where he first told her about his dreams, where he let her see the parts of him he kept hidden from the world. and most importantly, the place where he asked her to be his girlfriend. “i knew that night,” he murmured, tracing his fingers along her wrist. “knew that i wanted you to be mine. couldn’t imagine doing life with anyone else,”.

she smiled, tightening her hold around him. “good thing i said yes, huh?”.

he laughed softly, pressing his lips against her temple. “best decision you ever made, if i do say so myself,”.

they’d lay back against the grass, her head leaning against his side. both of them staring up at the stars, thinking about how they found each other in the midst of the chaos of the universe. like two stars in the extensive, endless galaxy, they had been pulled toward each other by some unseen force, their paths crossing at the perfect moment.

the stars above them seemed to shimmer a little brighter, as if reflecting the spark between them. the world had felt so large, so overwhelming at times, but here, in this quiet moment, everything made sense.

they were like constellations that had been drawn together by fate, their bond a connection written in the stars. in the grand scheme of everything, they were just two tiny dots in the cosmos, but together, they created something beautiful—something infinite, like the galaxy that stretched above them, full of mysteries and promises yet to unfold.

that place used to be his safe space, but now, his safe space had become her. the feeling he would get when he’d come back there, with her, made him realize he’d truly won at life, he was right where he needed to be.

everything he had ever wanted was right there beside him, under the stars.

weed (duh)— not in season though

sometimes, after a long week, they just needed something to take the edge off. nothing crazy—just a little something to help them unwind. joe, of course, looked ridiculously good while smoking, the way his fingers held the joint so effortlessly, the slow drag, the way his lips wrapped around it. she swore he did it on purpose, especially when he’d exhale, head tilted back, a lazy smirk playing on his lips when he caught her staring.

“you like watching me, don’t you?” he teased one night, passing it to her.

she rolled her eyes but took a second too long to respond, too distracted by how unfairly attractive he looked. “shut up,” she muttered, waving him off.

but she wasn’t really a smoker. never had been. which is why joe—because he was thoughtful like that—went out of his way to find the best fruity edibles money could buy. something just strong enough to relax her but not enough to make her feel like she was floating off the earth.

“try this one, baby,” he had said, holding up a little pink gummy. “it won’t hit you too hard, i promise,”.

and he was right. twenty minutes later, she was curled up on his lap, giggling at absolutely nothing while joe ran his fingers up and down her back, just watching her with that soft, adoring look. “i love you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. 

she snorted, her giggles bubbling up like a fountain. “you’re like…really good at making me feel like a queen,” she murmured, her words dragging out a little more than usual. her fingers traced random patterns on his chest, completely losing track of where she started and where she ended. 

joe, his head tilted back against the couch, let out a chuckle, his voice slow and thick with the high. “nah, baby, you make me feel like.. like a king,” he grinned lazily, reaching for another gummy, his hand moving in exaggerated slowness. “like...a king who has the most beautiful queen, ya know?”.

“oh my god," she giggled again, her eyes going wide. "did you just…did you just say you’re a king?" she leaned in, squinting at him like she was solving a mystery. “you’re, like, a royal or something?”.

joe just stared at her for a beat, lips twitching as if he was deep in thought. “yep. royal...that’s me,” he nodded seriously, his tone way too dramatic for the situation. “king joe. ruler of the couch, prince of snack foods, master of…this.” he gestured wildly around them, making everything sound so important.

she laughed so hard she almost fell off his lap, clutching onto him for support. “oh my god, we’re so high,” she gasped between giggles, “this is amazingg,”.

joe snickered, his hand lightly rubbing her back, his touch lazy but somehow still rhythmic. “i know, right? we’re, like...we’re so high, the stars probably think we’re floating with them,” he paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “are the stars high? do they even know how high they are? like, are they high?”.

“oh my god," she breathed, eyes wide, "i’m gonna have to go to space and ask them. they probably have, like, a whole planet of edibles.” she grinned, completely lost in the idea. “i bet they smoke meteors,”.

“meteors!” joe echoed, his voice a little too loud, his excitement making him sit up straighter. “that’s it! that’s what we need—meteor weed. it’s out of this world.” he paused, his hand on her cheek, his eyes soft and amused. “you’re so cute when you’re high, you know that? i wanna put you in my pocket and carry you around everywhere,”.

she sighed, practically melting into him. “shut up, i’m already in your lap,” she mumbled, but it was affectionate, a goofy smile spreading across her face. “you’re gonna have to get a bigger pocket to fit me, though,”.

“don’t worry,” joe smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to her lips, “i got the biggest pocket,”.

gardening

gardening became their thing—well, mostly hers, but joe was more than happy to help. he liked watching her work, liked how focused she got when she was tending to her plants, her hands in the dirt, her hair tied back, a little smudge of soil on her cheek that he never told her about because he thought it was cute.

his house, his backyard—it had never looked this full of life. all her doing. once upon a time, it was just a plain, well-kept lawn, but now? now there were raised beds overflowing with fresh herbs and vegetables, flower beds bursting with color, vines creeping up the frame she insisted they build together.

“it just needed some love, joe,” she had said, planting a kiss to his cheek before turning back to her garden, her little paradise.

and sure, he might not have been the most knowledgeable gardener, but he did have one favorite plant.

“ms. pepper pot,” he had proudly declared one afternoon, pointing to a thriving bell pepper plant. “because she gave us nine orange bell peppers, and, well—,”.

she nearly fell over laughing. “joe, you did not just name our plant ms. pepper pot,”.

“i absolutely did.” he crossed his arms, nodding in satisfaction. “she’s special. she deserves a name,”.

and just like that, ms. pepper pot became a staple in their little backyard garden, and joe—whether he’d admit it or not—got a little too invested in her progress. 

he even started taking photos of her. like i’m talking week by week progress to make sure there was nothing wrong with her growth because he was just so damn proud of those juicy peppers. he’d even be out there alone sometimes, admiring all the work they’d put into making this house feel like a home. 

joe also surprisingly found solace in being out there with the plants. something about being with nature, away from the screens and the chaos inside, was healing for him. like he could just exist out there with the shrubs and greenery. 

be one with the plants, as he liked to say.

sometimes, joe would even go as far as making her a custom bouquet with flowers from their garden. when he had the time, he looked up a beginners tutorial on how to arrange one, ordered all the necessary things to properly cut and trim the flowers, and got down to business. 

and to both of their surprise, joe was actually pretty good at it. 

it was those damn hands. 

their versions of nights in on off days

self-care nights were her specialty.

she took them seriously, too—candles lit, soothing music playing, and a whole lineup of skincare products ready to go. joe had been skeptical the first time, grumbling about how he didn’t need a face mask, but she knew how to wear him down.

“just trust me, babe,” she had said sweetly, already smoothing the cool mask over his skin before he could protest further.

now, it was routine. she’d get him all cute—plush headband to keep his hair out of his face, a fluffy robe that he pretended to hate but secretly loved, even a little eyebrow shaping because “joe, just let me clean them up a little, you’ll thank me later,”.

“this is embarrassing,” he muttered once, sitting there with a clay mask drying on his face.

“this is self-care,” she corrected, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “and you love it,”.

he just huffed—but he didn’t deny it.

he didn’t deny it because, deep down, he knew she was right. even if he acted like it was the most ridiculous thing ever, he secretly loved these nights—loved the way she took care of him, the way she made him feel pampered in a way he never expected. and the little things, like the plush headband and the robe, made him feel...comforted.

“yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, but his lips twitched into a small smile. “i don’t know how you talk me into this every time,”.

oh, please. he’d once again, follow her around like a lost puppy till the end of time if needed. he’s never saying no to her and that signature pouty face she’d sport around him. she doesn’t need to talk him into shit. 

“it’s a gift,” she teased, grinning as she applied a layer of lotion to his hands with the utmost precision. “you’re lucky. most guys don’t get this kind of treatment,”.

he raised an eyebrow. “you mean torture,” he quipped, but the softness in his voice gave him away. he was more than content, especially when she moved closer to adjust the robe around his shoulders, brushing her fingers along his arm like it was second nature.

“whatever you say, baby,” she smiled, smoothing his brow with a little more care. “we’re just getting started,”.

he sighed dramatically, his head falling back against the bed frame, clay mask cracking a little in the process. “at least this part’s not too bad,” he muttered, but his eyes were half-closed in relaxation. “it’s actually…kinda nice. i’ll admit it,”.

she smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. “see? i told you you’d love it,” she teased lightly, brushing some more lotion but over his neck now. “next time, no complaints. just let me do my thing,”.

“yeah, yeah,” he mumbled again, but there was a softness in his tone now, a warmth in the way he looked at her. “you’re lucky you make it so...worth it,”. she laughed, content in the quiet, in the way they fit together perfectly, even in moments like this. 

game nights were his specialty.

the moment they settled into their usual gaming spot, it was on. the couch, covered with snacks and blankets, became their battleground. joe was all in, the competitive fire in his eyes burning brighter with every game they played—whether it was mario kart, smash bros, or fifa. any game where he could wipe the floor with her? he was all about it.

“baby, do you ever let me win?” she groaned one night, tossing her controller aside dramatically after another crushing loss in smash bros.

joe leaned back on the couch, smirking with that way too confident look on his face. “Nope,” he said smugly, like he’d been born with a controller in his hand. “you’ve gotta earn it,”.

"wow," she huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “what happened to happy wife, happy life?”.

“we’re not married,” he reminded her, nudging her thigh with his foot, making her flinch. “but you know, close enough,”. she shot him a playful glare, eyes narrowed in mock offense. “small details. you treat me like wifey,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

his grin widened, and before she could react, he pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist, making her feel that familiar warmth of his embrace. “fine,” he said. “one free win next game just to make wifey feel better about her skills,”.

“oh, how generous,” she teased back, looping her arms around his neck, their faces just inches apart. “guess i’ll just have to practice more to beat you fair and square, huh?”.

his smirk deepened, a mischievous glint in his eye. “i’d like to see you try,” he said, his voice playful and a little taunting. he nudged the controller closer to her hands, his fingers brushing hers as he did. “but good luck with that, babe,”.

she laughed, the tension between them crackling with flirtation as she settled back in his lap, her gaze locked on the screen. “oh, it’s on now,” she said, the determination in her voice completely at odds with how comfortable she was nestled in his arms.

the game resumed, but their playful banter and his occasional teasing made every win and loss feel like it didn’t really matter. what mattered was that they were together—competitive, cute, and perfectly in sync in their little world.

morning routine tid bits

on their off-days, they take their time when they wake up. no alarms, set time to roll out of bed, or any early morning priorities to attend to. joe’s football body clock does cause his eye to flutter open around 6, but she quietly lulls him back to slumber if he tries to get up. also because she was not about to lose her human body pillow before 9 am. 

once they do wake up, they tend to cuddle in bed for at least 20-25 minutes. just time for lazy morning kisses, skin to skin time, giggling over the dreams they had during their sleep, the usual. 

they’d take turns freshening up in the bathroom, sometimes together when they felt extra clingy in the morning. joe was always the last one out, but it wasn’t because of his infamous superman curl—it was because of the skincare routine she had roped him into once they started dating.

at first, he’d grumbled, calling it “too much” and “a waste of time.” but she’d been so sweet about it, and over time, he couldn’t deny how good it made him feel. he’d become surprisingly dedicated, even if he still made fun of it in his own way.

“you know,” she’d tease from the bedroom, hearing the sounds of him in the bathroom, “you’re lucky you look cute with all that stuff on your face,”.

“i’m so happy you noticed, babe,” he’d call back sarcastically, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “this is my super secret routine for glowing skin. you should try it sometime,”.

“oh, i do try it,” she’d reply, laughing. “but your skin’s, like, way softer than mine now,”.

he’d roll his eyes in the mirror, even though she couldn’t see it, pretending to be annoyed but secretly pleased. “whatever, i’m just doing it for you. don’t get any ideas,”.

“too late,” she’d say, winking at herself in the full-body mirror diagonal from the bed.

when he finally emerged, his skin glowing, she’d grin at him. “well? am i seeing the benefits of this routine?”.

joe would lean against the doorframe, looking like he was pretending to be casual but secretly loving the attention. “yeah, yeah, you’re welcome,” he’d say, ruffling his hair. “i’m basically a skincare guru now,”.

“a very cute skincare guru,” she’d add, walking over and pressing a kiss to his cheek, her fingers lingering there just a moment longer than necessary. he’d smile, pretending to be indifferent but totally melting under her touch.

for breakfast, sometimes their chef was around, and sometimes he wasn’t. joe still stuck to his football diet on his off-days (unless it was off-season) so if his chef didn’t prepare something ahead of time, which abided to his nutrition and protein intake, then she would. or he would. or they both would. 

she lovvvveddd her toasted everything bagels with avocado & herb cream cheese, side of turkey bacon, and whatever smoothie joe had whipped up for her because he was an absolute pro at it. he made sure that she got her protein intake, either from the food or from the smoothie. her health was one of his biggest priorities and he’d do anything to make sure her mind and body were both right. 

his breakfasts were…quite large. i mean, he is a 6'4" football player after all. the spread would include eggs, turkey bacon, toast, sometimes pancakes if he was feeling extra hungry, and a massive bowl of fruit—he always made sure to add some green stuff in there, like spinach or avocado, because “gotta get my nutrients, babe,”.

she always found it adorable how seriously he took his food, especially in the mornings. he’d sit down at the table with that satisfied grin, eyeing his plate like it was a trophy he’d just earned.

“you know, most people don’t need this much food for breakfast,” she’d tease, leaning on the counter as she sipped her smoothie, watching him go to town on his third serving of scrambled eggs.

joe just grinned, wiping a bit of egg off his lip, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “it’s a necessity,” he’d say with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. “you’re lucky to be witnessing greatness at work.”

“greatness, huh?” she raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “looks more like gluttony to me,”.

he’d just laugh, shaking his head. “hey, you’re the one who bakes me cookies and pies. i’m just making sure i can fit in my uniform at practice and have enough weight on me to prevent damage,”.

she grinned, rolling her eyes. “yeah, well, maybe don’t eat like you’re training for a marathon. i still have to live with you,” she teased, pushing his plate toward him for the fifth time.

“hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” joe smirked, taking a bite of his avocado toast. “besides, i gotta keep my energy up to beat you in smash bros later,”.

“we’ll see about that,” she replied, already planning her revenge in their next game. but for now, she couldn’t help but smile at how he was so comfortable with himself—huge breakfast and all. it was just one of those little things that made him so him.

after breakfast and a little morning news recap—because they both hated being unaware of what was happening in the world around them—they’d head out for their morning walk around the neighborhood, sometimes even down by the river. 

joe would grab her hand as they walked, fingers intertwined with a natural ease, his long stride keeping them moving at a steady pace while she stayed close, content just to be in his presence. the mornings were still cool, the sun barely starting to break through the sky, and they’d chat about anything and everything—lighthearted conversations about what was on their minds, or sometimes just comfortable silence, the kind that made the world feel like it was just the two of them.

“you think the river’s any lower today?” she’d ask, peeking down at the flowing water as they passed the familiar path. the river had always been something she loved to check on during their walks, the way the water changed from day to day, shifting and moving with the weather.

joe would shrug, squeezing her hand gently. “probably,” he’d say, glancing over at her with that soft, lazy smile that always seemed to make her heart skip a beat. “we could walk down there and see, if you want,”.

sometimes they did, taking the small detour toward the water, the quiet rush of the river mixing with the sound of their footsteps on the gravel path. joe would slip an arm around her waist as they reached the bank, the soft breeze tousling his hair, and they’d stand there together for a moment, watching the water flow by.

“feels like we’ve been here a million times,” she’d comment, leaning into him, her head resting on his shoulder as they both watched the sunlight catch the river’s surface.

“yeah,” joe would agree, his voice a little quieter than usual, the calm of the morning settling over him. “and yet, it always feels like the first time. always feels new with you,”.

she’d smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “we’ve got our second spot,” she’d murmur, the words holding an unspoken promise of more mornings like this.

more quiet moments shared together.

[mommyslittlebird]

Broken

Another cut segment of Her Special Girl Part 2! (Hopefully coming soon)

CW: Stepmom/stepdaughter, mention of strap on usage, sexual experimenting, shame, no explicit smut but still very much 18+

“Mama?” You asked, laid back against the headboard with Wanda’s head resting on your chest. The strap she’d just fucked you with was still nestled between your legs, resting sticky against your thigh. Neither of you had the energy to get up just yet, and you were more than happy to stay just like this until your stamina returned.

The night had been wonderful. You’d never felt more complete and satisfied in your life. Having Wanda inside you made you feel like the most important girl in the universe. She loved you. She took care of you. Everything was perfect.

Except your stomach tightened with a certain unshakable shame and embarrassment.

You hadn’t cum.

She had to have noticed, but she hadn’t mentioned it. Your mind swam with possibilities. She had to be disappointed, right? I mean she’d fucked you for over an hour, putting in so much hard work to make sure you felt good… all for nothing.

You weren’t sure why it hadn’t happened. You’d felt so wonderful the entire time. She had made you feel so good. But your orgasm simply never came.

“Yes, my little love?” She mumbled into your chest. She was practically collapsed against you from exhaustion. It had been a good long while since she’d fucked anyone like that.

“I did a good job, right? I was good?” You tried to keep your composure, but your voice came out far shakier than you were hoping. Your hand nervously played with her hair, braiding small bits of it at random.

She turned to the side, propping herself up on her elbow so she could see your face. “Of course you were, angel. You did wonderful. Mama’s so proud of you.” She wiped your hair from your face, cupping your cheek to force your avoidant eyes to meet hers.

“Even though I didn’t…”

She lifted her eyebrows, waiting for you to finish your question. She knew what you were trying to ask, of course. When you didn’t continue, she reached up and squeezed your hand. “Did you still enjoy yourself?”

“Yes! Yes I-“ You felt the need to reassure her she hadn’t done anything wrong. Whatever the problem was, it was with you. You’d felt fantastic. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t cum. Your nervous ramblings were cut off when you felt her hand gently squeeze yours again.

“Then that’s all that matters, honey,” Wanda reassured, resting her head back on your chest. “I enjoyed myself, too.”

You looked back down at her, confused. “But I know you worked really hard and I… I don’t wanna make you feel bad.”

She rubbed her hands up and down your hips in a calming motion. “I don’t feel bad, love. You were doing so good for me, telling me how much you loved me and how much you were enjoying yourself. I wasn’t doing this to make you cum, honey. I was doing this to make you feel good.”

You took a deep breath, still anxiously fiddling. You trusted her, that she wasn’t upset, but you couldn’t shake the feeling there was something wrong with you.

As if she could read your thoughts she knelt over you, straddling you on either side. You could feel the toy pressing against your stomach as she reached for your cheek again.

“You aren’t broken, detka,” she stated simply. Tears unexpectedly pricked your eyes at her words. She wiped them away with her thumb. “You don’t have to cum every time, sweetie. It’s okay.”

“But this time was special, and I really wanted to show you I was enjoying myself and… and I just don’t understand!” You cried.

“Sometimes our bodies react in ways we don’t expect,” she explained. “And each and every body is different. Some things that work for other people might not work for you. But that’s okay. I’m here to learn all about your body, and what it needs for you to feel the best it possibly can. It’s not a failure for either of us that you didn’t cum, sweetheart. It wasn’t a failure at all because we learned about a new way to make your body feel good.”

You nodded in understanding, so relieved she didn’t think you were broken or that there was something wrong with you. “So we can do it again?”

She laughed and kissed your forehead. “Of course honey. And next time we can use the vibrator if you want. I bet that will make you feel even better.”

You smiled. You were so glad you had her with you, on this journey to discovering your own pleasure. You wanted more than anything to learn what made her feel good, and it made your heart swell to think she wanted to do the same.

She collapsed against your chest again, peppering kisses across your bare skin. “And for the record,” she teased seductively, “I think I came enough for the both of us.”

[rbfclassy]

STILL IN LOVE! #2 — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after still messing around with your ex husband, you began to wonder if you’re still in love with him after finding out about his new girlfriend…

INFO...ex husband!toji x fem!reader, reader & toji have two kids, megumi is readers bio son, jealousy, smut, angst, arguments, alcohol, drinking problem, family problems, arguing in front of kids, toxic behaviors, crying, mentions of divorce

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

It’s been about three weeks since you found out about Toji’s new girlfriend. You still haven’t met her or properly seen her yet, but from what the kids tell you, she seems nice. It still felt weird having to get used to the idea that your ex had actually moved on. It was silly to think about, you know. Having been married over five years and getting a divorce, you’d think that means you would be done with your ex, but no, it was quite the opposite. Toji and you were still at each other, flirting, kissing, having sex. Neither of you had essentially ‘moved on’ from one another. It was normal for the both of you. It just never clicked in your mind that he would actually leave and live his life like a divorce is intended to do.

You’ll pin that blame on yourself, thinking too much into what you had with him is what caused you to feel this jealousy in the first place. Having remembered how you were once her spot, being the girlfriend that he took everywhere and did everything with. Hell, shes even met your kids before she’s even met you. It was clear Toji felt serious about her, otherwise he would’ve never brought her around Megumi and Naya. That thought made something twist in your chest.

“Mommy?” Your daughter’s little voice pulled you from your thoughts. Her big eyes watching as you applied your moisturizer in the bathroom mirror, a stuffie in her arms.

“Yes, baby?” You smiled, kneeling down so you were eye level with her.

“Daddy is at the door. He’s asking for you.” She blinked, squeezing the stuffed animal in her arms. Usually Toji just comes on in announced, startling you when he suddenly speaks, but you found it weird that he was now waiting at the door to speak to you. You grabbed your daughter’s hand, walking her to living room where Megumi was watching teen titans and eating popcorn. “Ooo, is that starfire?!” You daughter ran towards her brother, letting go of your hand.

Your eyes landed on Toji who leaning against the door way, dressed in a black hoodie and gray sweats, a stoic look on his face. “Hi, mama,” he greeted.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked, folding your arms across your chest.

“Can I talk to you really quick? Outside?” He nodded his head in the direction behind him.

“Yeah.” You nodded, following his footsteps as you shut the front door behind you. “Something wrong?” You looked at him.

“I won’t be able to take the kids this weekend,” he sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Sorry.”

“What do you mean? Why?” Your brows furrowed, standing there confused.

“I got…things to do,” he meekly answered. He kept his answer as vague as possible leaving little to nothing for you to go off of, but deep down you had a feeling it had something to do with his new girlfriend.

“Things to do? Like what?” You questioned, poking the inside of your cheek with your tongue.

“Nothing important,” he quickly replied, sucking in a breath.

“If it’s not important then why can’t you take the kids? They’re not gonna be happy about this,” you try to explain. You couldn’t understand why he was being so secretive towards you all of sudden, especially when it came to his time with the children.

“Can you just accept the fact I can’t take them? Please?” He seemed to be getting impatient, rolling his eyes every time you questioned him on something. It was obviously bothering him.

“Does it have to do with your new girlfriend?” There was no harm in asking him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“That’s none of your business.” He tone was rough and stern, almost like you hit a nerve.

“Oh?” Your brows raised in surprise in his sudden change of attitude. “I think it is my business considering this involves your time with our children and the fact you bring her around our kids, Toji. It’s a simple yes or no question.”

He let out a scoff, averting his gaze in a different direction. A sigh left his lips as he ran his hands down his face. “Here you fucking go,” he groaned. “You’re getting jealous.”

“I’m sorry?” Your eyes narrowed as you stared at him.

“You’re getting jealous of her, aren’t you?” His question hung in the air for several seconds as you stared at him in disbelief.

“Here you go assuming shit like always. See this is why we can never have a normal conversation, cause you always wanna start something! Where the fuck did that even come from?” You were starting to see just why you and Toji got divorced. There was some truth to his words, about being jealous. Though, you were too stubborn to admit such a thing to someone like him. What good would it do you anyway? He’d probably just laugh in your face and walk off. “Have your weekend to yourself, Toji. I’ll find someone else to take care of Megumi and Naya.” You turn around to enter the house, not having the energy to argue with him.

“Woah, what do you mean someone else?” His hand is wrapped around your wrist as he pulls you back towards him. “Why can’t you?”

“Cause I have things planned! Pretty sure Shoko won’t mind watching them.” You snatch your wrist back from him, only for him to grab onto you again, pulling you back. “What, Toji?!” You ask in annoyance, sighing loudly.

“You got things planned? With who?” It almost made you laugh how he was the one asking so many questions, trying to peak in on your life.

“That’s none of your business,” you casually say as you stare him. His jaw clenches, finally letting go of your wrists. Both of you stared at each other for what seemed like several minutes when in actuality it was only a mere second. You had a date on Saturday night, someone you met while you were out shopping for groceries. He was handsome, and kind enough to ask you to a dinner, even offered to pay. It would be wrong if you said no because you wanted to say yes, so you did. His name was Kento Nanami. “Goodnight, Toji.” With those words, you walked back into the house and shut the door behind you, locking it.

“Mommy, what did daddy want?” You daughter asked, peaking up from behind the couch.

“I’ll tell you two tomorrow, just keep watching your show.” You smiled at the both of them, quickly rushing to your room to try shake off the funny feeling that you had. Why couldn’t he just be upfront with you? Tell you the truth? You wouldn’t mind if you he needed time to himself, but to come out and be secretive about it was a different story. Then, to start arguing with you simply reminded you of the times he and you fought over the stupidest things. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so defensive, but you couldn’t help it.

You tried not to dwell on the situation too much, instead thinking about the date you soon had. You got walked over to your closet, skimming through the hanging clothes in search of a perfect dress to wear. Something elegant yet sexy is what you were going for. You didn’t want to wear anything too over the top in fear of scaring him away, but you wanted something that also showed him you weren’t a prude.

Finally, you landed on your favorite black dress, the corners of your mouth forming into a smile as your eyes scanned over the piece of fabric. “Perfect.”

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[ratridingaskateboard]

Always See Your Face

New girl! Reader x Eddie

Summary: There is a new girl at Hawkins and Dustin will do anything to make sure Eddie doesn't find out.

Warnings: slight sexual innuendos, cursing, mentions of drugs. Y/N is described!

A/N: Hi! This is the first time I have written a fic in a while but I hope you enjoy it! Depending on the feedback I get from this I might write more :) FYI perspectives in this story will change and will be indicated by: --

--

Dustin had always been one to have his friends' best interests in mind. He might have overstepped boundaries at times but he knew what was best for him and his friends. Even though Eddie was several years older than him, he still knew that the last thing Eddie needed in his life was a girlfriend. What if he started hanging out with her and Hellfire stopped existing? What would happen with his band? Everything would go to shit because some girl would grab his attention for 2 seconds.

Dustin found himself every morning before school sitting in the back of Eddie's van with the back doors open. Eddie let them sit in the back and read comics while he would perform his drug deals for the kids who had extracurricular activities after school. Dustin looked up from his X-Men to observe a car he had never seen before. Strange, but not uncommon to see until he saw a figure he had never seen before.

She dawned a black denim jacket adorned with several Metal and Punk bands that Dustin would not be able to recognize but had seen in Eddie's vast cassette collection. Her legs were barely covered by a short red plaid schoolgirl skirt and her chest was wrapped in a Sex Pistols T-shirt. She was bending down to seemingly grab her backpack from her backseat and several football douchebags whistled at the response of seeing her backside. This did not catch her attention though as she quickly grabbed her backpack and placed it on the roof of her car. She glanced at Dustin and he felt himself gulp. Fuck- He was staring at Eddie's dream girl. He frequently heard Eddie go on tangents that no girl in Hawkins had the same interests as him. Now he proved himself wrong- Dustin could prove it with his own eyes. Not only did she have his style but she had a pretty face similar to that of one of the girls from one of Eddie's porn mags that Dustin had unfortunately found in his van. They both shared the same long brown hair and doe-shaped eyes.

What was Dustin going to do? Not only was this girl weirded out by the amount of time Dustin had been ogling her but she could ruin everything. She did not even understand the power she possessed by simply existing in the wrong place and at the wrong time. He had to do everything in his power to make sure neither of them saw each other.

Dustin's feet started to jog in her direction as she had already begun her strut to the front entrance of the school. Before Dustin could get the chance to tap her shoulder, she swiftly turned to face him, discomfort shown in her face.

"Hey man, I would really enjoy it if you could leave me alone." She barked.

"No no no! I don't mean anything bad by following you. I'm sorry for staring at you earlier but um... Oh! The principal had actually sent me to give you a tour of the school and to show you where your classes are!" Dustin had secured a good enough lie to not seem like the creep he was presenting himself to be.

Her eyes widened and her gaze softened.

"Oh, okay." She smiled and Dustin could feel himself getting more anxious knowing that she was that pretty when she smiled.

The bell began to rang, signaling to every student that it was time for Hell to begin. Dustin heard a familiar voice call out to Mike and he swiftly grabbed her hand and pulled her into the school, making sure to avoid any possibly common route Eddie normally took.

"Can I see your schedule?" Dustin asked, giving out his hand eagerly.

It seemed like she could hear the annoyance in Dustin's words and swiftly pulled out the crumpled sheet of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. Dustin quickly looked over the paper and let out a sigh of relief. Even though she was a senior, she did not seem to have a single class with Eddie most likely because her classes were for the more advanced students.

"Okay, Y/N. This way!"

Dustin guided her to her first classroom, Mr. Stadford's Physics class, and said that he would meet up with her after her second. After the first period was over, Dustin ran to meet up with Y/N and to make sure he was able to beat her before she left the classroom. Yes, Eddie and her shared similar hallways for classes but Eddie had a tendency to be late to each and every class he went to. Alongside this, Dustin made sure that she was always early to her classes. This cycle repeated until lunch.

--

Y/N had found herself bound to the little curly-headed boy. She shouldn't say boy he was only a couple years younger than her. Moving was hard but going to a new school was even harder. Her parents' divorce could not have been more sudden and even though he had been a tad bit too eager, she really appreciated Dustin's kindness.

She frowned after exiting her third-period class to find no Dustin. Guess she would have to find the cafeteria by herself or simply follow the crowd that had corralled its way down the hall.

Once she entered the cafeteria, she felt the eyes on her, all over her. Thankfully, there were plenty of tables that had not recognized that fresh blood had entered their school. She saw a familiar head of curls bobble in laughter and she started her stride in his direction.

Once she had gotten to the table, it seemed to be filled with only boys all wearing the same T-shirt Dustin was wearing. She assumed it must be some sort of club he had not introduced her to yet. The majority of the boys had noticed her walk up to the table and she could tell they were not often approached by women. The only ones who hadn't noticed were Dustin and an older boy with long shaggy brown hair.

"Hey," She put her hand on Dustin's shoulder and her moved her head down to his level. "I know you showed me around and I might be asking for too much but is it alright if I sit with you?"

A look of dread filled Dustin's face as he looked up at her from his lunch. She had automatically assumed that he had felt bad for not escorting her to the lunch room.

"It's okay! I found the lunch room just fine." She rubbed his shoulder to put him at ease and sat down next to him.

There was nothing but silence.

She had felt as if she had sat at the wrong table and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Dustin was still agape and didn't seem to have changed his expression even after her reassurance. She turned to view the other boys at the table. They stared at her with a sense of confusion and wonder but all too awkward to speak first.

Finally, she turned to the boy sitting at the end of the table. His gaze softened when she gazed at him. His eyes were wide also in shock from a stranger sitting at their table but there was something different in his expression that she couldn't quiet read. Embarrassment? No. Confusion? No. Longing? Maybe but not quite.

This silence was cut short by a food tray plopping on the other side of Dustin.

"Jesus, that line was long!" A boy with a bowl cut sighed.

"Where are you guys so quiet?" He looked around in disbelief but immediately found the source when he spotted the brunette sitting on the other side of Dustin.

"Hey." She waved.

--

A/N: Depending on how things go with this I will definitely continue this as a series. Lemme know your thoughts!

[arcaneconfessions]

I feel like everyone bitching about shipping and shipping discourse need to understand that Timebomb, Caitvi, and Jayvik, are all ships that predates Arcane as a show by years.

And the people who ship them might not even be shipping the versions of the character's that are in Arcane.

Caitvi has been a ship essentially since they debuted in LoL, Timebomb at least since Ekko got the game lines that outright state that he had a crush on Jinx before she went full mad bomber, and Jayvik at least since it was revealed in their lore to have been academic rivals turned partners turned bitter enemies.

None of the ships that started in Arcane are going to be as popular or have as much fanart/fic about them.

Like the oldest Caitvi fic I can find on AO3 is from 2014, and it's not even tagged Caitvi it's only tagged as their pre-arcane shipname of Piltover's Finest.

Oldest Jayvik fic I can see is from 2015, oldest Timebomb fic is 2016.

This doesn't even get into the fics that inevitably got deleted over the years, or were lost in the ff.net purge, or are just on fic sites I don't use like Wattpad.

Like I keep seeing people (who I can only assume are fans of just Arcane) who are acting confused by people shipping these ships because they feel the ship wasn't presented well, or convincing to them personally in Arcane.

As if all three of these ships don't predates Arcane by years, and Caitvi in particular is at least a decade old, and the other two aren't far behind.

I feel like a number of people who were either introduced to these characters via Arcane or have only ever interacted with the Arcane part of the expanded canon, are failing to understand that a number of people who ship Jayvik, Caitvi, and Timebomb were shipping those ships before Arcane was even announced.

Or that might not even be shipping the versions of the character's that are in Arcane, but in one of the many skin line AUs.

I mean my favorite iteration of Caitvi are the <3 skin AU, where they're a pair of highschoolers who are starcrossed due to being in different cliques, with Caitlyn being a preppy good girl, while Vi is a trouble making skater girl.

Because it's a cute au where neither are cops. I mean look at these two:

https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/leagueoflegends/images/2/24/Vi_HeartacheSkin.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20230208202510

It's great.

And maybe it's lame of me to pick the AU with the lowest stakes, but acab, and this is like one of three skin line AUs where they aren't cops, and also they canonically write love letters to each other and go on secret picnics in this AU.

While I honestly don't think Arcane Vi is in any kind of headspace to try to be starting a romantic relationship for basically the entire show. And Caitlyn isn't really either in season 2.

But that's one of the good things about Riot.

They've made a number of AUs where these two characters aren't the the mentally unstable and grieving women they are in Arcane. Where they can be in a healthy and happy relationship with no relationship based strife.

Arcane fans need to expand their horizons, and stop assuming the worst about each other based on who they ship is basically what I'm saying.

Also people complaining about the multiverse being brought into Arcane in season 2, should come to terms with the fact that the idea of multiverse and alternate timelines have also explored in LoL expanded canon before Arcane.

That's basically the logic that the skin line AUs exist under.

.

[pullupinarari]

hi bea i read that request for fics is closed but you said we can send in ideas for blurbs? im sorry if im wrong btw. but i am humbly asking for your wonderful talent to write this small idea for a blurb:

lewis finally came home after all his farewell tour and everything. and obviously we know how grace will stick to him like a glue she is hihi. but what if when it's night time or early am like 2-3am when everyone is asleep, reader wakes up and goes to the kitchen alone. trying to make a cup of tea or smth to calm herself down. apparently all this farewell stuff and all these lovely messages from the fans, and even listening to lewis talking abt his emotions, it get the best of her.

but she kept it to herself bcs she doesnt want to be sad in front of him or make it worse. but then lewis woke up to an empty bed and came looking for her downstairs?

a/n: I LOVED writing this, thank you so much for sending me this scenario and for trusting me with it, love 🩷 hope you like it

Having your husband back home to you, to your family, is like a breath of oxygen that was lacking on your body. It’s the feeling of comfort, of security and, above all, it’s the relief of having him by your side, of having him just a few meters away - at the distance of a kiss. 

It’s been two days since Lewis finished all his farewell duties, and you two decided to take these first few days of him back home slowly. The environment surrounding your house is peaceful, living in a comfortable silence - a much needed one after all the information that all of you had to process with the new change that you’re dealing with. 

The mornings are filled with cuddle sessions on the sofa, enjoying some time for yourselves while Grace is at school. The air is comfortable, light between your figures as you lay your head on his chest, feeling how his heartbeat calms down due to your presence. Lewis’ fingers travel up and down your back slowly, landing sweet kisses on your features as he looks down at you with pure adoration in his eyes - still mixed with some remnants of tiredness lingering in them. 

And neither of you need to say a word. The emotions surrounding the two of you is way more than just an invisible string, it’s a complete web by now, wrapping your minds, diving you into the other’s feelings. 

You two need time, patience and understanding for what you are about to face as a couple - delving into what seems like a complete new world, leaving behind something that you already knew like the back of your hands. But you’re willing to do it, together. 

And everything feels better when you are together, when your family is reunited. If the mornings are slow and quiet, the afternoons are filled with laughs, silly jokes, your daughter’s small feet running around the house - she is the only thing that could break the castle of silence that you and your husband build at the beginning of every single day. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Grace and Lewis are absolutely glued by the hip, never letting go of each other - only if it’s really necessary. And together, their dad and daughter moments would paint the most adorable sight, a painting of the most truthful, infinite love that you have ever seen. The masterpiece that you are lucky enough to admire every single day, for hours on end, feeling even more blessed to be part of it - especially when both of them fall asleep on your lap, your nails gently grazing both of their heads, intertwining with their matching curls. 

However, you can’t seem to let things go completely - or, at least, not as easily as you would like. There’s a heavy weight on your stomach, your heart feeling tight in your chest when you let yourself get into your own head too much. 

Maybe it’s the memories of every good moment you’ve spent with the team over a decade, maybe it’s the recognition that people have been paying your husband - every little thing making you more and more emotional. Or maybe it’s the comments that you read online, or the messages that some people from Mercedes are still sending you. 

Or maybe, to tell the truth, you’re just scared. Scared of changing, scared of delving into the unknown - even if the new team is definitely not unknown to you nor your husband. But still, it’s changing a part of your life that has been a constant for so many years. 

Sometimes, when we live amongst the chaos, we just need something to stay still. And, somehow, in your head, that team was part of the few things that would stay still, in the middle of everything that could change a million times, in a never ending metamorphosis. 

Tossing and turning in bed, the anxiety keeps boiling in your chest, making it hard for you to get some decent sleep. Today is just one of those days where you find yourself on the verge of tears over the smallest thing. Feeling your emotions way too heightened, feeling every little thing way too much. 

The clock reads 2:39 am, everyone is asleep. The house is dead silent as you slowly walk downstairs, dragging your body through the corridors until you reach the kitchen. 

Preparing a warm tea to help calm you down, you can’t help but let some thin tears fall free from your eyes as you stir your drink. Technically, nothing’s wrong. You have everything you need - especially now that your husband is finally, peacefully, asleep in your shared bed. 

Feeling your entire family being wrapped in a bubble of love and gratitude, gets the best of you - realizing that there are still so many good people by your side. 

Sipping on your tea, you wipe the tears away from your cheeks, thinking about the times you have decided to cry downstairs, away from your secluded, private space next to your other half. 

To tell the truth, you would just rather keep it to yourself. You don’t want to be sad in front of Lewis, let alone in front of your daughter. It’s just easier to suck it up than to let it out, especially when you know that this is an emotional time for your husband, as well - this is his moment, really. So, you will gladly take the weight of everything on your shoulders now, so he can finally let his emotions out, for once - feeling everything to the fullest, accepting and dealing with his sentiments, embracing his tears. He is allowed to feel, to cry, to vent, to question, to be vulnerable in the safety of your home, of your arms. And so, you want him to make the most of it in this transitional phase. 

In your shared bedroom, the man is turning his figure during his peaceful slumber, his arm absently reaching for your side of the bed, wanting to hold you close. Meeting the emptiness on your pillow, Lewis slowly opens his eyes, blinking a few times to the realization that you’re not by his side. 

With furrowed eyebrows, the man sighs before leaving his own place on the mattress, his feet moving to find you. The more he walks through the house, the closer he gets to the sound of your sniffles, leaving your body from time to time. 

Finding your frame sitting on a chair, with your back to the door, the man feels something switch inside of him when he sees the way your head hangs low, how your hands rub your eyes tiredly - silently crying away from him.

Walking over to you, his figure immediately hugs you from behind, arms wrapping around you while his face reaches the crook of your neck - landing innocent, sweet kisses on your skin. 

You allow yourself to be held by him, trying to force a small smile on your features while you subtly wipe the tears from your face. 

- What’s wrong, my love? - his sweet voice asks, whispering in your ear as his lips continue adorning your cheek. 

Shrugging, you find yourself trapped in the situation, your mind running to think of an excuse. 

- Nothing, baby. I’m just feeling stressed, that’s all. I am finishing my tea already, we can go back to bed - you pretend, and Lewis leaves your figure for a second, to take a decent look at your face.  - Love, come on. It’s just you and me. What’s going on? - he insists, raising an eyebrow at the way you just tried to dodge the topic.

Sighing in defeat, you finally give in.

- Saying goodbye to the team, your farewell tour, all the messages and the nice things everyone has done, it just gets the best of me. - you shrug again, noticing the hot tears coming back as you try to hide your face in your hands, feeling embarrassed now. 

Holding your wrists gently, Lewis uncovers your features, crouching down so he is more eye-leveled with you. 

- Oh, love - his fingers cup your face, thumbs wiping away the tears that insist on swimming through your skin. - Why didn’t you talk to me about it before? Why do you feel the need to cry in the kitchen, in the middle of the night? - his own voice cracks a bit at the thought of his wife not feeling comfortable enough to vent to him.  - I just didn’t want you to deal with all of this. This is your moment, Lew. You are experiencing feelings that are way stronger than mine, you have way more to accept inside of you, to come to terms with. I am here to help, to support you, not to bother you with my stupid cries when this is your time to be vulnerable, not me. - you explain, almost in a cold manner, making Lewis’ heart sting in his chest, at the way you devalue your own feelings. 

You get up from the chair, moving away from your husband’s stare as you go to put your mug in the sink. His shadow follows yours, his arms trapping you against the counter, not letting you run away from him, as you turn around - your eyes meeting again.

- Baby, please. - his voice is low, barely above a whisper, just so the two of you can hear. - This isn’t just my moment, this is our moment, we are taking on this new era as a family, love. I never do anything alone, I’m never by myself, because you are my biggest pillar. But please, don’t feel like you need to hold your cries - especially from me. We are together in sickness and health, happiness and sadness. We laugh together, we cry together. I don’t ever want you to hide any of this from me, my angel. - his eyes are soft, looking straight into you, seeing you for who you are, your bare emotions on the surface of your skin now, as more silent tears paint your features. 

Without a word leaving your lips, your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close to you as you try to calm your weeping. 

- I love you so much, my love. And I care about you, silly. I am here to dry your tears, in the same way that you always dry mine. Almost ten years of being together and I can’t believe I need to tell you this - he makes a chuckle leave your body, kissing your hair as he is still holding you close.  - This is a good goodbye, baby, not a sad one. But it’s okay to cry, yeah? Everything is fine, darlin. We will be fine, as long as we stick together - he cups your face again, whispering the words to you as his lips get closer to yours, closing the remaining distance between your bodies with a kiss. 

The warmth of his lips makes you melt, immediately packing all the loose thoughts in your mind, making you forget about the nonsense that was hovering over you. 

- No more crying to your tea in the middle of the night, okay? I don’t think tea is supposed to be salty - he smiles at you, seeing the way you affirmatively nod at his offer. 

After taking a deep breath, you notice your figure getting lighter, like all the weight you were carrying has just left your body. With a final kiss to your lips, your husband lovingly caresses your cheek with his fingers. And whilst smiling at you with love in his eyes, he grabs your hand, guiding you back to bed.

And it’s in the comfort of his embrace that you find yourself again, reigniting the little fire inside of you that keeps you going. It’s next to the love of your life that you understand that the alleys of your heart always return to the same place, in the exact same direction to Lewis’ heart - beating as one.

[inuyashaluver]

can you write a jessie x hockey!r, where r gets into a fight during one of her games and jessie is watching from the stands with some of the chelsea players? thx

cheeky - jessie fleming

jessie fleming x reader

description: in which your girlfriend brings her friends to her cheeky girlfriend’s game

warnings: jessie still plays for chelsea!! let’s pretend ucla offers women’s hockey 🫠 swearing, mentions of a fight, suggestive

a/n: you guys don’t understand how much this request has infiltrated my tiny brain, thank you you so so much, my love, enjoyyyyy

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, jessie were quite literally some of the nicest people alive. every time someone was around the two of you for either a short or long time, they came out feeling lighter, happier and all round just more positive.

you and jessie just radiated love, a special bond between the two of you that was just undeniably beautiful.

—

you and jessie met at a college party years ago. you both went to ucla yet never crossed paths until this party. you weren’t really a party goer and neither was jessie, you both found refuge in the backyard of the house you were at.

both of your friend groups had unknowingly ditched you and you both wanted some air, away from all the drunk frat boys and sorority girls.

“sorry, do you mind if i sit here?” you ask the brunette where she sat on a small bench. her head snapped up from her phone at hearing a familiar accent. canadian.

“oh, yeah, go ahead!” jessie stutters, scooching over a little and patting the spot next to her. you smile at her gratefully, sitting down with an exaggerated huff.

jessie lets out a laugh when you sat, both of you looking at each other with bright smiles. you both thought the other was breathtakingly gorgeous, feeling like the party was a little worth it at this point.

“you sick of seeing people basically fucking each other everywhere too?” you ask her with a shake of your head, your eyes falling on a couple making out in a way that should definitely be behind a closed door.

jessie chuckles, looking down at the cup in her hand and nodding while taking a sip of it. “that and my friends ditched me” she rolls her eyes, you nudge her shoulder with yours, “mine too, don’t worry” you grin, making her return one shyly.

“i’m (y/n) by the way” jessie smiles, repeating the name in her head that she would surely never forget.

“jessie” you smile at her, pink cheeks a little evident on the both of you when you made eye contact again.

“sorry if this is weird but are you from canada?” jessie asks nervously, your eyes widen comically, your face brightening at the girl's question.

you didn’t really have many friends from back home who came to the states for college. sure there was a bunch of canadian girls at college but none of them were this pretty. or this easy to talk to.

“i am! don’t tell me you are too?” you question, jessie smiled at your excitement, her heart beating quickly at your glistening eyes. she nods, making you start rambling with where she was from.

you both continued to chat and it was scary how much you had in common.

the conversation was full of laughter, shared jokes and most definitely a shared attraction. “so, jessie, what do you do besides being an environmental warrior?” you say cheekily, the girl scoffs, slapping your thigh gently and rolling her eyes,

“i play soccer” she mocks, you give her an impressed smile as she explained how good she really was, “mhm, i should come and watch you sometime, superstar?” you flirt, giving her a charming smile that had butterflies swarming in her stomach.

you’d both gone far from friendly conversation, the flirting taking over after about 2 hours of you familiarising yourself with each other.

“yeah, maybe you should, and you? miss number solver?” she teases back, referring to you doing an accounting degree.

“i play hockey” you move a little so you could face her better and she does the same, although, her face has a shit eating grin on it.

“what’s so funny?” you narrow your eyes at her, “you’re so canadian” she laughs, you shake your head as she throws her head back in laughter, clearly enjoying how you’re not even defending yourself.

she encourages you to talk about your sport and to say she fell in love with you there was an understatement. you spoke with so much passion she really loved to see and hear it.

you also admit you fell in love with her when she talked about her sport, but even more with how intently she was listening to you, soaking in every word you said and clarifying things she didn’t understand.

you both felt something bubbling under the surface as you talked, so much so, when the party started to filter out, she asked if you wanted to get some ice cream and who were you to decline?

the teasing and the flirting throughout the whole night was so unbearable, you asked her out on a date without a second thought, smiling brightly when she accepted without any hesitation.

you both began to date after a few months, becoming one of the ‘it couples’ around campus when everyone could truly tell how much you were in love with each other.

you went to each other’s games with bright, adoring smiles, wearing each other’s jerseys with pride.

you had study dates together, most of the time getting distracted but neither part was complaining.

you were there for each other throughout all the ups and downs, talking and listening to one another for hours and somehow feeling not enough when you were with each other every second of the day.

you’d both established a career before you even graduated college, star athletes in the making in your respected sports.

you’d do anything for each other, so much so you moved with her to england when she signed her contract to chelsea.

—

while jessie played for chelsea, you still continued to play hockey in england also. it was hard being away from home but jessie made it all better.

your continual support for each other offering a sense of security that nothing else could. it also helped that you both represented canada nationally, often getting the opportunity to go home together.

—

the chelsea girls knew you too well, you came to every single game without fail with a bright grin on your face in the ‘fleming’ jersey that was almost worn as much as your own.

“your wife’s here” niamh teases as she warmed up with jessie before a match, the two of you weren’t married, or engaged even, not yet at least but this didn’t stop niamh from wishing you were, knowing how much her best friend adored you.

“where?” jessie grins, stopping all movement and frantically looking for you, niamh directs her head to where you were sitting in the friends and family section and her heart swelled with pride.

you wave at her brightly and she returns it instantly, her face growing warm at the smile you sent her, snapped out of her trance at niamh’s laugh. “such a sap” she smiles, jessie just gives her shoulder a little shove, continuing to warm up.

when the match was over after an easy win, jessie bounded over to you without a second to waste. “hi, baby” you smile as she walked into your arms, the barrier making it a little difficult but you both didn’t care.

“hi, gorgeous” jessie says breathlessly, pulling you into a sweet kiss with her hand on your cheek. you smile against her, your own hand on the side of her neck, your thumb brushing against her skin gently.

“my superstar” you say as you pull away, brushing away some stray hairs from her face before pulling her into a tight hug.

“gotta impress my wag, baby” she says cheekily, kissing your cheek repeatedly to make you giggle, working successfully like it did every time.

“i’m definitely impressed, baby canada” you smile, pressing another quick kiss to her lips as you pulled away slightly.

her hands make her way to your waist, rubbing up and down gently as you chatted, only lasting for a couple of seconds before you ushered her to interact with the fans.

“i’ll see you at home, beautiful” she winks, pecking your lips before running away, shouting a quick “i love you” over her shoulder that you quickly returned before leaving to drive home.

—

you had an upcoming game, an important one at that. you’d been nervous about it all week, jessie frequently having to calm you down so you could breathe. you were the captain, both for this team and the canada team so a lot of pressure fell on your shoulders.

the only reassurance you had was knowing jessie would be there, even inviting some of her teammates to come and watch you since they had the day off.

jessie wasn’t one to miss an opportunity where she got to ogle her talented girlfriend and show you off at the same time so she was extremely excited.

the morning of, let’s just say it was extremely difficult to get you out of the house.

“what if i fuck up?” you whine, turning from the door and walking back to jessie who was watching you from the doorway. “you won’t” she assures, pinching your cheek softly before turning you around and giving you a soft push to the door.

you turn back around, “what if something goes wrong?” you say nervously, “baby, you’ll be fine, we can deal with it” jessie chuckles, you throw your head back in annoyance.

the people who only knew you from hockey would be shocked to know you did this before every game. they’d be shocked to know how soft you were when it came to your girlfriend.

“i don’t want to go” you groan, jessie draws you in by your waist, her arms wrapped around them securely, “baby, you’ll be amazing, like always” jessie says earnestly, her brown eyes looking directly into yours so you knew she wasn’t lying.

“but you don’t know that” you pout, jessie quickly smiling before pulling you into a sweet kiss.

“i’m your girlfriend, i know everything” she says cheekily, pecking your lips a couple of times and managing to pull a small smile out of you.

“you go do your best, that’s all i want from you” she smiles, her hands now cradling your face as your arms wrap around her. “okay” you breathe out, determined.

smiling before pulling her into a breathless kiss that made both of you feel dizzy, sharing a quick i love you before she had to physically push you out of the house, knowing you’d convince her to stay.

—

jessie made her way to the arena in your jersey, your number written neatly tiny on her cheek. she was accompanied by niamh, zećira, aggie and hannah.

to say jessie got teased the entire time was an understatement but she didn’t care, she had no shame with the amount of love she had for you.

when you skated out on the ice with the ‘C’ over your heart, you had no ounce of nervousness at all. a complete contrast from the morning.

the truth is, on the ice, you were ruthless, completely contradicting how you were off the ice.

you carried yourself with complete confidence, expecting nothing but the best. you were a little rough but one of the best players and everyone knew it. you didn’t take any bullshit.

you were strategic, smart and calculated. you knew what you were doing and you were the captain both in this league and nationally for a reason. a team leader without fail. a role model, a borderline legend.

jessie and her friends cheered loudly for you when your name was announced on the loudspeaker. jessie watched as you waved around the arena before locking back in, skating around the ice in preparation for the game.

jessie was on the edge of her seat the entire time watching you, scoring 2 points in a short amount of time. you were playing exceptionally well, jessie’s heart swelled with pride but she was extremely nervous how this one player kept trying to rile you up.

she knew you didn’t take any disrespect and knew this girl was about to get her ass handed to her.

the girl was being overly physical with you and you would counter it every time. she was the other captain and knew she’d get thrown into the box if she tried anything too much. her behaviour was surprising.

but the girl continued, having the nerve to be near you every time with something to say every two seconds.

you’d ignore it, having dealt with people more annoying than this but it flipped when she started talking about jessie. your jessie.

she started with the insults about you until she said, “is your girlfriend some sort of puck bunny?” you fucking lost it.

you dropped your stick and both of you break out into a heated fight. fists flying before you grabbed her by her shirt, slamming her into the glass and spitting out words that we’re definitely not family friendly. jessie’s eyes were so wide in shock, never really seeing you in a fight like this before.

“talk about my girlfriend like that again and i’ll shove the puck down your fucking throat” you exclaim, getting pulled back by the referee and getting told to go to the penalty box.

you send a glare to the girl and she falters almost instantly before you skated to the box. you sat down with a huff, arms crossed over your chest as you watched your team dominate the other.

jessie shook her head while she looked at you, niamh and zećira cheering you on throughout the fight and even more now that you were in the box.

when your ten minutes was up, you played the rest of the game with passion, finishing with an easy and well deserved win. jessie ran down to where the change rooms were, her teammates waiting nearby.

jessie watched as you skated off the ice, catching your breath as you quickened your pace to jessie. her face was etched with worry as you approached, watching as you took off your helmet hastily and took out your mouth guard.

“hey, baby” you say brightly, bounding over and wrapping jessie up in a hug, your face instantly tucked into the crook of her neck, your cold nose brushing against her warm skin.

“for someone that just beat the shit out of someone, you’re very happy” she says amusingly, her arms wrapping around you without hesitation.

“she deserved it, trust me on that” and jessie did. you pull away from her at arms length, a cheesy smile plastered on your face as you looked at her.

“are you okay?” she asked, her voice clearly laced with worry, you nodded, kissing jessie’s cheek tenderly as you drew her a little closer.

“i’m fine, love, especially since my biggest fan is here” you grin, “you should see the other guy” you laugh as jessie slaps your shoulder lightly, “cheeky” she chuckles, pulling you into another tight hug in absolute relief you were okay.

you could tell she was on edge because of the circumstances, the hug telling you everything you needed to know. you hugged her tightly, letting her find solace in you and honestly calming you both down.

you wave over at her teammates when she pulls away and chat with them excitedly. you held onto jessie’s hand the entire time you all chatted, thanking them for coming and watching.

“what does that say on your stick?” niamh questions, you smile, moving your hand to show that you’d written jessie’s name with a little heart next to it on your tape, a tradition for you ever since you’d started dating.

“good luck charm” you grin, both of you getting teased for your bright pink cheeks. you say goodbye to them before they leave, turning back to jessie with a sweet smile. this is the side of you she knew the best. an absolute softie.

before you get changed, you draw jessie into another kiss, unable to stop yourself from smiling against her when she whined against your mouth.

you give her an amused expression, seeming as though she was a little riled up about the whole situation. “shut up” she groans, pushing you away by your chest slightly but you came right back, pressing a sweet peck to her lips,

“i didn’t say anything” you mumble against her, squeezing her hips gently before you ran to the change room, wanting to get back home as quick as possible.

let’s just say violence is never the answer but is excusable only for the way your girlfriend reacted to you when you both stepped through the door of your shared apartment.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

liked by niamhcharles17 and 44,232 others

_jessflem: you wouldn’t know she beat someone up 10 minutes before this but here we are

view all comments

yourname: so worth it

↳ _jessflem: really was actually

niamhcharles17: your girlfriend’s got a crazy fist on her but is SUCH a softie

↳ yourname: watch it niamhy

↳ _jessflem: biggest softie ever

↳ yourname: you’re supposed to defend me

↳ _jessflem: i love you?

↳ yourname: yeah. whatever. i love you too.

[alphajocklover]

1,000 Followers Special: Douchebag Revolution, The Revolution Begins

I’ve never claimed to know all the details about the strange things I report on. I know more about the world of transformations than most people, and even most other TF reporters, but I don’t know everything. I don’t know who made InstaJock, I don’t know what about the town of Maxford turns people within it into straight jocks, and I don’t know why wishing on a specific star turns people into jocks, even if it is some sort of magical supernova. Even the Douchebag Revolution, one of the groups I’m on good terms with, has its secrets. As loud, dumb — and if I’m being honest, obnoxious — as the members of the revolution can be, they are surprisingly skilled at keeping secrets. They tend to ‘prank’ me and other reporters with fake info, which makes getting any information out of them like pulling teeth. With a lot of persistence, and a bit of bribery, I have been able to get some interesting info out of them though. Including the true story of how the revolution began. It was told to me by one of my contacts in the revolution, and confirmed by another outside the revolution, so I’m sure it’s true. I won’t be retelling the story word for word, due to some of the… stylistic choices made by the douchebag who told me it, but I’ll do my best to do it justice.

As some of you might remember, the Douchebag Revolution was formed to fight against SAD, the Society Against Douchebags. The mysterious group were using futuristic technology and time travel to transform straight douchebags into gay nerds. That might not sound so bad, especially considering the other stuff I’ve reported on, but messing around with time is dangerous, especially on such a scale. No one, not even the revolution, knows why they go to such lengths, or why they want to get rid of douchebags so badly in the first place. There are theories out there, but even for me they’re a little out there. What is known is that they were transforming douchebags into nerds left and right before the revolution began. From what I understand it actually looked like they were close to getting rid of douchebags entirely for a moment. Until they messed with the wrong guy. Or, I suppose, the wrong brothers.

Despite having a 2 year age difference between them, Chase and Mike Hayfield were practically twins. They had the same hobbies, the same interest, and were even the same height and weight, something the younger Mike would often tease the older Chase about. They were as close as brothers could be, and loved each other dearly. That was why it was a shock to both of them when they realized that their close relationship was never meant to be. Before SAD got involved, Chase was nothing like Mike. Chase was a classic, muscular, douchebag jock, one who basically despised his nerdy fag little brother Mike. Neither brother would have been aware of this… if they hadn’t used Chase’s blood for one of their experiments. SAD’s nanobots, the ones that had changed Chase’s DNA and brain chemistry as he grew, were designed to be invisible to almost all tests. But due to their experiment, and the fact that Chase was one of their earliest victims, Mike was able to discover the nanobots, and use them to get information about SAD. Each brother was horrified, but for completely different reasons. Chase was horrified at the person he was supposedly ‘supposed’ to be. He hated douchebags, and the thought of hating his own brother made him feel sick, made him want to run and hide from the truth they had discovered. Mike, however, was horrified that someone had been manipulating his brother’s life. He believed that no one should be able to manipulate someone's life like that, to change them on such a level without permission or even letting the person know what they had lost. He was scared he’d lose his big brother… but he wanted his big brother to be who he really was. He could see that a part of Chase, a part of him he wasn’t even aware of, missed who he used to be, and he was the one who convinced Chase to take the cure they synthesized. Mike Hayfield, a complete nerd, was the one who started the Douchebag Revolution.

Most douchebags actually get a little pissed when someone brings this up. I mean, they got saved from a bunch of fucking scientist by a ‘nerdy fag.’ But most of them don’t say anything. They don’t want to insult their leader after all. Chase Hayfield may be a huge douchebag, but he never lets anyone insult his little brother.

**Hope you guys like this! I actually had a hard time writing this one, but I'm glad how it turned out. Stay tuned for more!**

[jossamology]

josssam headcanons. (part two)

❝ i thought we had a connection 𓈒　 　𓈒　　❞ sam giddings + josh washington this is part 2 of jossam headcannons, enjoy! x

josh pretending he’s not listening to sam’s ramblings, but he could recite every word back to her—her voice has become his favorite sound.

late-night confessions over text, josh sending her random deep thoughts at 3 am because sam is the only one he trusts with the parts of himself that he hides from everyone else.

falling asleep on the phone together, neither wanting to hang up first, so they just listen to each other breathing until they drift off, a silent comfort in the connection.

rainy days spent together indoors, sam curled up with a book and josh quietly sketching in the corner—neither of them needing to speak, the silence filled with unspoken understanding.

late-night gaming sessions where josh lets sam win (but never admits it), just to see the way her face lights up in victory.

josh calling sam his “wolf in sheep’s clothing” because she’s sweet on the outside but tougher than anyone realizes, and that strength is what draws him to her.

josh doodling on sam’s notebooks during class, little sketches of things that remind him of her—stars, wolves, and her favorite flowers.

autumn walks in oversized coats, sam tucked into josh’s side, their breath visible in the crisp air, but the warmth between them enough to keep the chill away.

josh never really liked rom-coms. he'd grumble and complain every time sam picked one, claiming he was more of a horror guy. but deep down, he always caved. he’d sit beside her, arms crossed at first, but slowly he’d relax, sneaking glances at her instead of the screen, watching the way her eyes lit up during her favorite scenes. and even though he pretended not to care, he secretly took mental notes of every movie she loved. later, when she wasn’t around, he’d rewatch them alone—just so he could memorize the parts that made her laugh or the moments that made her smile. it wasn’t about the movies for him; it was about knowing her better.

josh writing unsent letters to sam, pouring out all the things he’s too afraid to say out loud—how she makes him feel grounded in a way no one else can.

coffee shop hangouts, where sam orders something sweet and josh sticks to his bitter brew, always stealing a taste of hers just to make her roll her eyes at him.

camping trips where josh insists on building the fire, even though sam teases him that he’s “a city boy”—he just likes the way she laughs when she catches him struggling.

josh making playlists for sam but never sending them, just listening to the songs that remind him of her on repeat, wondering if she would feel the same if she knew.

josh and sam dancing in the living room was a rare sight. sam wasn’t much of a dancer, but when josh got a little too drunk, it was one of his favorite things to do. he’d stumble toward her, that familiar playful grin on his face, and pull her up from the couch. she’d protest at first, laughing, but she never resisted for long. josh would wrap his arms around her, moving clumsily but with surprising grace, using the slow dancing skills he’d picked up from his sister’s birthday parties. sam would rest her head against his chest, swaying gently to whatever song was playing, not caring about the missed steps or how offbeat they were. in those moments, it didn’t matter—he held her like she was the most important thing in his world, and somehow, despite her awkwardness, it always felt perfect.

josh confiding in sam about his darkest fears, trusting her with the pieces of himself he doesn’t show anyone else, her reassuring presence grounding him when he feels like he’s losing control.

sometimes, josh quietly feared that one day, sam would find someone better. he did everything he could to keep her close, always going the extra mile, because in his eyes, she belonged with him. he couldn’t imagine her with anyone else—she was his world, and he hoped, with every part of him, that he was hers too