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bratbarzal · 3 months ago

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Let It Happen (LH43) 1/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No school? Check.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deserves better.

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

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

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

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

Luke Hughes loves summer.

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

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

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

He does love living with his brother.

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

And he really is grateful for that.

But, God, can he be annoying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s nothing.”

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

“Fine, it’s Ellie.”

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

“She’s refusing to hang out with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know her?”

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

Not the truth, but not exactly a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,”

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

“My name’s on the lease.”

“Maybe you could talk to her for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Since when do you work here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Five minutes of your time?”

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

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

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

Who doesn’t love a shortcut?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know who you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about ‘em?”

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

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

Us. Oh, he likes that.

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

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

“A nudge, then?”

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

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

“Are you here to eat or annoy me?”

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

“How profound.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is fun.

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

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

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

“We could make a competition out of it.”

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

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

“Whoever actually gets them together, wins.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t see that happening.”

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

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

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

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

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

But God, you were pretty.

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

“I’m Luke.”

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

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

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Luke.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I know her.”

“Clearly.”

“This is her basket.”

“Does she need to sign for it?”

“No, I-,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has you figured out, by now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack swats at his arm and rolls his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cole Caufield being one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn. You walked yourself right into that one.

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

“You wish.”

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

“I think you’re an idiot.”

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

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

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

“Good for her.”

“Alone.”

“No shit.”

“To ask her out.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How could you possibly know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you find out?”

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

“Does this mean we’re teammates?”

“No. It absolutely does not.”

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

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

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

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

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

Much better.

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

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

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

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

So it has to be for him and Jessica.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was I not supposed to?”

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

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

“Well done, you can read.”

“Why?”

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

“So?”

“He’s on a date.”

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

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

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

“To get his hair cut.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

“Any food?”

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

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

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

“Thanks, Cara, that’s everything.”

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

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

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

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

“Won’t he complain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In your dreams, Hughes.”

Luke sort of envies the charm you hold over people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That would usually drive him crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re really keeping score?”

“You’re not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She started it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wasn’t feeling it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you get to that conclusion?”

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

A death wish might actually be an understatement.

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

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

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

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

“What, that?”

“You’re so dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not something you really love talking about.

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

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

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

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

Interstellar.

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

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

“Me too. I love space movies.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re gonna be so shocked.”

“Sports movies?”

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

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

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

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

“Only if I get to ask one back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>PART TWO<

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

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

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #luke hughes fluff #my hearts going pitter patter pitter patter like I could throw up #need to post this before I fall asleep lmao #*writing

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naomijoestar · 4 months ago

Note

HELLO 😍I absolutely love the clown stand post! Can you do the same for Bucciarati gang as well?

Masterlist here <3

I’M SO GLAD YOU LOVED IT! Thank you @stretch-time for the idea <3 Also I sincerely apologize for the extremely late reply, I have been so busy! Requests are currently turned off until I complete the other asks I have in my inbox <3

(Stand side notes: it’s small in size but not as small as the sex pistols, stand abilities: cartoon physics type of stuff, you’ll understand what I mean when you read)

Bucci gang with a goth reader who has a cute clown stand

(La Squadra version here)

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno’s calm, serious demeanor doesn’t waver when he sees your clown stand for the first time. He’s trained himself not to judge a stand by appearances, but even he is taken aback by the sight of a bright, cheerful clown at your side. Giorno quickly assesses the potential of your stand, wondering what abilities could possibly match such a strange look.

He tests it by sending Golden Experience to strike. However, your clown pulls out a massive mirror, reflecting the punch back toward Golden Experience. Giorno’s eyes widen, and he steps back, reassessing his approach. The clown smirks, pulls out an oversized bucket, and dumps a seemingly endless stream of banana peels onto the ground, causing Golden Experience to slip and stumble.

Every time Giorno tries to counter, the clown anticipates it, pulling out ridiculous objects that disrupt his strategy: an anvil to block his punches, a giant mallet to deflect attacks, and even a cartoon bomb that sends Golden Experience flying back when it goes off. Giorno begins to respect your stand’s unique power, realizing that while it looks innocent, it’s a master of psychological warfare—each item it pulls out makes him question what absurd attack might come next. With a small, impressed smile, he finally says, “I underestimated you.”

Bruno Bucciarati

Bucciarati remains polite, even respectful, when he meets you. But his brows raise when he sees your cheerful, colorful clown stand. It doesn’t align at all with your goth aesthetic, which only makes him more curious. “Interesting choice,” he says, in a tone that’s equal parts admiration and confusion.

During your sparring session, Bucciarati sends Sticky Fingers in with a zipper punch, expecting a quick victory. However, your clown smirks, pulling out a giant hand mirror, which Sticky Fingers punches instead, causing the zipper to close around Bruno’s own fist. He watches, surprised, as your clown quickly sets up an obstacle course of oversized props: a giant spinning top that Sticky Fingers has to dodge, a pie that ends up splatting on Bucciarati’s face, and even a door that leads him in circles.

Despite this, Bruno begins to chuckle, realizing your stand’s playful nature is a surprisingly effective strategy. At one point, he zips through the air to get the upper hand, but your clown pulls out a huge net like a cartoon hunter, snaring him mid-zip and dropping him to the ground. Bucciarati finally laughs, wiping pie from his face. “You know, I expected a serious fight, but this is a refreshing change.”

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia takes one look at your clown stand and bursts out laughing, doubling over as he tries to catch his breath. “What is that? It’s adorable!” he snickers, clearly underestimating the threat. But his laughter quickly turns to surprise when your clown pulls out a toy slingshot and launches a rubber chicken at his face. The slap from the chicken’s beak leaves him blinking in shock as he wipes his nose, muttering, “Did that thing just hit me?”

Enraged, he summons Aerosmith, sending it diving toward the clown. But your stand pulls out an enormous balloon, which Aerosmith crashes into, its tiny propeller spinning uselessly against the inflated surface. Narancia’s jaw drops as the clown cheerfully waves at him before producing an enormous spray bottle labeled “Bug Repellent” and dousing Aerosmith with it, sending the miniature plane spiraling out of control.

Frustrated, Narancia shouts, “Alright, now you’ve done it!” But every move he makes is thwarted by the clown, who starts producing absurd obstacles for Aerosmith to dodge: fake trees, tunnels, even cartoonishly large bubbles that trap his stand inside for a few seconds. By the end, Narancia is out of breath and flustered, but even he has to admit, “Okay, that was kinda cool…but you better not tell anyone I said that!”

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio’s first reaction to your clown stand is a deadpan stare. He’s entirely unimpressed. “You’re kidding me, right?” he mutters, crossing his arms as he sizes up both you and your stand. He half-heartedly summons Moody Blues, not expecting much from a cutesy clown stand.

But the clown immediately bounces into action, producing a giant pair of glasses and plopping them onto Moody Blues’s face, temporarily blocking its vision. Abbacchio tries to remove them, but the clown has already pulled out an enormous pair of handcuffs and snapped them onto Moody Blues’s wrists, binding it in place. His eyes narrow, annoyed that his stand has been bested by something so ridiculous.

Growing more irritated, Abbacchio commands Moody Blues to break free, but the clown whips out a bucket of quick-drying cement, dumping it over the cuffs. Abbacchio watches, slack-jawed, as Moody Blues struggles, the cement hardening around its wrists, temporarily immobilizing it. When he finally frees his stand, he mutters a string of curses under his breath, annoyed but impressed by your clown’s effectiveness. “I’m not saying I respect it, but…fine. You win this round.”

Guido Mista

Mista laughs heartily the moment he sees your clown stand, nudging his Sex Pistols to join in. “A clown? That’s hilarious!” he says, grinning. But as soon as he gives the order to attack, the clown whips out a toy gun, pointing it at Mista with a mischievous glint in its eye. The Sex Pistols cheer, thinking it’s a joke, until the clown fires rubber bullets at them, each one sending a Pistol ricocheting off in surprise.

Annoyed, Mista sends more bullets your way, only for the clown to deflect each one with oversized comedy props: an umbrella that spins bullets back, a massive rubber glove that bats them away, and even a mirror that sends them flying back toward Mista. “Hey! That’s cheating!” he shouts, but the clown merely shrugs, honking its nose in response.

Frustrated, Mista tries to outsmart the clown, but each time he tries a new strategy, your stand counters with something even more absurd. Finally, the clown pulls out a comically large magnet, attracting all of Mista’s bullets and forcing him to back down. He’s left scratching his head, baffled. “Alright, I admit it. You got me. But that thing is still creepy in a weird way…”

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo’s analytical mind is immediately confused by your clown stand. “A clown? Is this some kind of joke?” he sneers, his impatience clear as he activates Purple Haze. He expects the battle to be quick, underestimating your stand entirely. But before Purple Haze can make its move, your clown snaps its fingers and produces an oversized gas mask, strapping it onto its face with a smug grin.

Purple Haze’s virus-filled fists swing toward the clown, only to be deflected by an enormous rubber mallet that sends it staggering back. Enraged, Fugo watches as the clown starts hurling ridiculous items at Purple Haze: pies filled with an anti-viral cream, a giant magnifying glass that shrinks Purple Haze’s hand momentarily, and even a huge eraser that somehow removes patches of Purple Haze’s virus fog temporarily.

Fugo’s patience wears thin as he tries to keep up with your clown’s unpredictable tactics. Each time he thinks he’s cornered it, the clown produces another cartoonish item to counter his moves. By the end, Fugo is seething, his face red with frustration. “I don’t understand how that thing works!” he snaps. You simply smirk, watching him struggle to make sense of your clown’s absurd yet effective abilities.

There it is! I hope the long wait was worth it, if you’d like anything specific added or anything changed you can always message me and I’ll fix it!

If you have anything specific you’d like me to write for any jjba character/squad parts 1-7 you can request it if my requests are open!

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jsluvtzu · 1 year ago

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distraction

chou tzuyu x fem!reader

summary: getting a little sidetracked never hurt anybody (especially when it's tzuyu)

cw: fluffff, some cursing, slightly suggestive, men dni

wc: 694

a/n: i was smiling so hard writing this

the dimly lit room was filled with faint music coming from tzuyu's phone, and loud, aggressive typing from your laptop. you were behind on a week's worth of work since you were sick last week, and you had been at it for hours with no stopping point in view anytime soon.

"y/n.. you almost donee?" the sleepiness in tzuyu's voice made it obvious how tired she was. not just physically tired, but also tired of having to wait for you to take a break and finally pay attention to her. you were so focused on catching up that you forgot to keep track of time, unintentionally making your girlfriend worry a bit.

you sighed deeply and stretched out your hands in front of you, "almost, tzu. just a couple more slides and i'm done." tzuyu pouted and put her phone down, turning to her side to face you. "you need a break love, it's been 2 hours.. you haven't even eaten dinner yet." you glanced over at tzuyu and saw her obviously concerned expression, those pretty puppy eyes and pursed lips she gave you made your heart melt.

"i know, i know, i just really need to finish up. my boss would be on my ass if i didn't have this in by midnight." you reached your hand out to rub gently against your girlfriend's cheek, studying her features. "okay, just get it done quickly.." tzuyu grumbled and went back to scrolling mindlessly on her phone.

reluctantly, you also got back to typing away at your project, getting lost in your own world. you were so entranced by the soothing sounds of your keyboard that you didn't notice tzuyu shift around the bed to sit up until you felt her wrap her arms around yours, hugging your arm and snuggling her head on your shoulder.

you smiled and kissed the top of her head, not even peeling your eyes away from the screen for a second. tzuyu eventually dozed off on your shoulder, snoring softly and relaxing enough to the point where her head fell forward and she jolted herself back up. you slightly laughed at her clumsiness, picking her head up gently and placing her closer to you this time. tzuyu's head fit perfectly in the crook of your neck, giving her access to inhale your warm scent.

as you began to get stuck on a more confusing part of your project, staring at your screen hoping a solution would magically pop up like an ad, you felt small, soft kisses on your neck that moved up along your jaw, to your chin, and finally to your lips.

you groaned and moved your head to the side to keep your eyes on the screen, "tzuu, stop.. 'm trying- to work-" tzuyu didn't even let you get a word in and instead interrupted you with kisses in between every word. at this point your whole view was blocked by your girlfriend's face, but were you really complaining?

she kept attacking you with little kisses everywhere, peppering them all around your whole face, making loud "mwah" sounds to emphasize each one. you gave up trying to get her off of you, letting her freely show her love for you.

tzuyu got up on her knees and straddled herself over your lap, skillfully moving your laptop off to the side without breaking the kiss. you were basically eating each other's faces at this point, and you tried to slow down the pace, taking control over the moment. tzuyu complied and her kisses were now longer, more intimate. you took your time enjoying how your lips moved together in sync, tasting the usual nightly jasmine tea she drank on her tongue.

after a while, you pulled away with a small giggle, picking up your phone from the nightstand and checking the time. shit. "your project was due by midnight, right?" tzuyu whined at the sudden pause in your little makeout session, wanting nothing more than to just getting back to feeling your lips on hers again as soon as possible. "yeah.." you did a double take, looking at tzuyu and back down at your phone,

- "2:17 AM"

#twice imagines #twice x reader #twice fluff #kpop x reader #tzuyu x reader #tzuyu fluff #twice tzuyu #chou tzuyu

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writer-komaru · 2 years ago

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* ੈ✩‧₊˚ Aura of Temptations ᙏ̤̫’’ .(‘♡°༘,*)

✧Rating: Smut + Fluff + Comfort

✧Characters: Asmodeus

✧Word Count: 5’4k

✧Summary: You find yourself suddenly pulled into Asmo’s room for an all intensive pampering session after days of not sleeping or taking care of yourself. At first you blissfully believe he’s just trying to help, but you begin to pick up on some more sexual undertones. He uses the mask of pampering to cleverly hide his true intentions of getting to third base before his brothers using some of the tactics he’s all too good at. Can you resist his seductive nature or will you tangle yourself in his velvety spider web of pleasure and have his way with you?~ ♡

“Ughhh… finally, I’m done,” You groan in relief as you close the last heavy book and place it onto a tall pile of other books, “After three fucking hours… I’ve finally done it! I’m freeee!!”

You threw your arms into the air with a tired cheer, arching your back while you’re at it to ease the aching feeling in your back. You’ve been hunched over these dusty books for what felt like a century; reading them over, writing down notes, rereading them, writing more notes, and rereading once again just in case. This so-called “academic training” Lucifer is putting you through is really testing your mental and physical capabilities. If it wasn’t for Mammon sweet talking you into a “fun family study session” just to run off, leaving it to you to pick up his slack, you would probably be out enjoying the fresh, hellish air, living your best life. But it didn’t matter to you anymore! After pulling a few all nighters and stealing a few caffeine patches from Lucifer while he was busy yelling at Satan’s cat for scratching the curtains, you completed two essays on the history of magic in Devildom, a data sheet comparing the changes in climate to the local impact of the town, and a cross word filled with all kinds of buzz words related to human culture. Lucifer explained to you how these exercises would not only strengthen important studying, reading comprehension, memory, and information gathering skills needed in everyday life, but would also help you learn more about the unfamiliar place you’ve found yourself in. And no matter how hard you begged on your knees to get out of it, he only doubled down, stating clearly that if you couldn't complete a basic essay, there was no way you were fit to be their assistant. You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from mentioning that the only tasks you have been given so far are either simple errands that require little to no brain power or basic chores you’ve already done religiously back in the human world. But once again, none of it matters now that you’re free! You quickly carry your finished work into his office and set it in the designated basket. After peeling off the caffeine patches and taking a nice, big, well deserved stretch, instead of being filled with joy once again, you’re filled with a sense of overwhelming discomfort.

“I feel I aged twenty years… guess I should just go to my room and hibernate for the next few years,” you laugh to yourself as you try to hobble back to your room. But suddenly, something stops you. You tilt your head in confusion at the strange aura coming from the stairs. After rubbing your delirious eyes, you stealthily hone in on the target, hiding strategically behind the various tables and pillars in the hallway. As you take a peek up the stairs you notice the aura seems to be coming from upstairs, trickling down the steps like an ominous cloud of smoke. What in the world could be going on up there? Isn’t everybody out taking a stroll around Devildom? At least that’s what Lucifer told you before ditching you… grrr, you’ll get him back one day. Him and Mammon, too! Anyways, back to the problem at hand. If the house should pretty much be left just to you, then what’s with all this strange aura stuff you’re seeing? You rub your eyes again, just to make sure your exhausted brain isn’t playing tricks with you, yet the aura is still there. Summoning all the courage you can muster, you carefully tip toe up the stairs. If it couldn’t get any stranger, after reaching the fifth step, the aura suddenly dissipates.

“What the…? It’s… gone?” You scratch the back of your head and shrug, “Guess it was nothing. I really need some damn sleep before I seriously start to hallucinate.”

Turning around, you begin to make your way back to your room. As soon as your hand wraps around the doorknob, you feel a sudden, light grasp on your shoulder.

“Ohh MC~ ♡” A voice draws out your name with a pleasing tone.

“GAAHHHHH!!!!” If it wasn’t for physics, you would have probably jumped 12 feet into the air. Your body spasms in surprise as you almost fall limply to the ground if it wasn’t for this mysterious intruder catching you.

“Oops! I guessed I scared you. I’m sorry, MC, hehe~♡ How did your studies go- AGHH!!!” Your tired eyes open just enough to watch Asmodeus’s face twist into a look of absolute horror, “Oh my God!! MC, You look like you haven’t slept or been outside in years!”

“I feel just as bad as I look right now…” You chuckle miserably.

“Oh my poor dear, don’t you worry! Asmo’s got you now. I’ll nurture you back to your sweet, adorable self in no time!~” He giggles to himself before sweeping you up in his arms and carrying you up stairs and to his room. The gentle yet firm hold is almost enough to make you fall asleep already. When your eyes blink open yet again, you’re greeted by the comforting atmosphere of Asmo’s gorgeous room. Such a welcoming sight… you feel your body carefully placed on a plush chair.

“Now, what to do, what to do… hmmm… ah! I have just the idea!” He exclaims and smooths a hand over your head, “I was actually planning on giving myself a pampering session today, but I think you might need it a bit more than me right now. Would you like that, MC?~ ♡” He smiled down at you and rubbed the side of your head.

“God, That would literally be so perfect… thank you so so much, Asmo,” You nod enthusiastically like a kid who’s offered a mountain high pile of toys.

“That’s great to hear~ ♡” his thumb brushes over your cheek for a few seconds before he leans even closer.

“The bath will take a few more minutes to fill up. Is there anything specifically you want me to do to pamper you?” You feel his body hover over yours, whether it’s intentional or not is beyond your mental capacity.

“I’m up for anything, really. Just something that will help me relax,” you sighed, looking up into his eyes to catch the faint glint in his eyes.

“That can certainly be arranged, no worries. I’ll do everything I can to make you feel nice today after working on all those assignments for Lucifer. Mmm, maybe you even deserve a small kiss? Hehehe, I’m just kidding~ unless you want one?” He inches his face closer to yours, laughing softly at the blush it’s beginning to develop.

“Blushing already?~ ♡” he teases.

“You’re… really close, is all,” you murmur and look away. You gasp slightly as he grabs your chin and turns you to look at him again.

“Is that really all…?~” his warm breath brushes against your skin. What was he up to… before you could get even more overwhelmed, you gently pushed him back by the shoulders.

“A little too close. Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me, not doing… whatever this is,” you try to laugh it off but in reality your mind is racing a mile a minute.

“You’re right, my bad~ The bath should probably be ready now. There’s just one more thing left to do…” Your sleepy eyes snap open as his hands rest on your waist. He notices your reaction and softly shushes you.

“Shhh~ You’ll let me take care of you, right? In your state, I doubt you could do this on your own without falling over. May I do the honors?~ ♡” he asks with a sickeningly sweet voice that has your body strangely getting hotter. Well… he was kinda right. You wouldn’t be surprised if you toppled over just trying to stand up. He just wanted to do you a favor, and yeah, being undressed would probably be really embarrassing, but if it meant you got your needs taken care of, maybe I will be a worthy sacrifice.

You once again gathered your courage and nodded as a sigh of consent, “Yeah… just don’t get frisky or I’m telling Lucifer.”

“You have my word, even if it will be a bit hard to resist~ ♡” he chuckles softly as his fingers dip under the waistband of your shorts. There’s a certain look in his eyes, one that seems to read ‘Sit back and relax, I’ll pamper you to your heart’s content~’ but that might be what he wants you to know… either way, you couldn’t help but let out small whimpers as he slides your shorts off your ankles.

“Mmmm… these are quite pretty~♡ I’ll keep on for now,” his hungry eyes fixate on your exposed panties. Just as you’re about to swat and push him away, you sense something. That aura from before, you can feel it again, clear as day. Was that aura… coming from him all along? There’s no doubt in your mind he’s the source of it. But why? What could it be? While you’re busy deciphering the strange aura, you fail to realize your shirt is already off and folded off to the side. You come back to reality as he whispers in your ear.

“You look absolutely gorgeous like this, it’s getting a lot more difficult to restrain myself… but I can tell you’re slowly feeling the same way too, am I correct?~ ♡” he giggles devilishly.

“What do…” you don’t even have to finish that question as you feel his touch return to your sides, ever so lightly sliding up and down. The touch causes you to shiver.

“Mmm? Are you a bit sensitive, hon?” He asks in an innocent voice as his fingertips trail down to a much less innocent area. You have no idea what he’s up to but it could be sleep deprivation or the building needs pooling inside of you, whatever it is, you feel your self restraint easing away. Your face felt progressively hotter, your breathing becoming more shallow, the obvious hint begging the poor spot between your gets growing needier by the second.

‘Come on, brain! I know you’re almost dead, but please let me use a few more brain cells!’ You pleaded to yourself, ‘Think, MC, Think! Use Lucifer’s teachings as an example. What does it have in common? The aura is caused by Asmo… these symptoms happened after his touch… and… he’s the Avatar of…? That’s it!’

“Asmo, are you trying to sedu-“ before you could even admit your findings, he suddenly lifts you up into his arms once again.

“We better hurry before the bath overflows!~ ♡” Such a beautifully innocent expression… he’s hiding something, that’s for sure. You just have to stay conscious a little longer and… your breath is completely taken away as you enter his oasis of a bathroom. It looked like something you’d only see in magazines. Magnificently smooth marble pillars, cascading, translucent curtains tied back with pink roses, intricate patterned tiles all surrounding the main centerpiece of the bathroom. The bath. And it was nothing short of luxurious. It was decked out with foamy bubbles and scattered with pink rose petals. You pause for a few seconds to take in the senses around you. There’s faint, jazzy music playing from a small speaker on a vanity, the unique scent of what you could only describe as hints of strawberry and vanilla, and the soft gurgling of steamy water filling the tub. He glances over at your fascinated expression and chuckles in amusement. He steps closer to the bath and sits you down at the edge.

“Does that cute expression mean you like it?” He reaches over and turns off the tap. All you can manage is a nod, which is enough to satisfy him.

“One moment, let me prepare everything I’ll need to make you feel like your refreshed self again,” he walks over to the vanity and begins taking some things out of the draws. The moment apart gives you the chase to finally breathe. There’s something about him right now that’s both overwhelming and exciting, it’s honestly rather intiscing, but you’d never admit that. You begin to regain your ability to have rational thought. He’s definitely up to something and using his aura and physical advances to accomplish it. You gulped nervously. If his aura really is what you think it is, you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to resist it. And if the rest of the guys even just find out about the fact he undressed you, you’d never hear the end of it. You jump as Asmo happily strunts back to you, laying a tray of numerous goodies on the edge of the bath. You whine internally as all your rational thoughts seem to go back out on vacation, right when you needed them most.

“Hon, can you look into my eyes for a second?~” His alluring voice causes your dilated eyes to meet his equally, if not even more, dilated eyes. Everything about this felt like a fever dream…

“I know it’s all going pretty quickly for you, but I want to pause for a moment to ask for your permission to take the rest off. I’ll only do it if you want me to,” his voice has a new sense of worry in it that has your heart skipping a beat. This is your chance, you can finally confront him on his sneaky actions! You can remind him how upset everyone would be with him for seeing you in nothing but your bra and panties. But instead… you say, “Yeah… I want that.”

His gaze is unwavering, searching for any major signs of appreciation. After a few seconds, he relents and returns to his cheeky smiling self.

“Thank you for this opportunity… I definitely won’t take it for granted~ ♡” He leans over you and runs his hands in circles over your hips. This tease, it’s like he could read you like a fucking picture book. How did he know your hips were sensitive? How did he know you always shiver when he whispers into your ears? How did he know the effect his prolonged gaze on your body has on your heart? Oh, he wasn’t just a tease, he was the Avatar of Lust. He knew how to get people worked up and he was clearly exploiting his knowledge to use it against you.

“Mmph!” You bit your lip to hold back your noises as he began to pull down your panties. Was this really happening? Was this even okay? You felt like you were at a boiling point. If he caught even a glimpse at the absolute mess you were down there, you’re absolutely sure his little teasing game would only get worse. And worse it did.

“Wooowww~ ♡ look at that…” He licked his lips at the strings of liquid desire that clung from your aching cunt to the wet spot left in your panties. If humiliation was a grain of samd, you were a fucking desert right now. You whined in embarrassment but couldn't hold back how your pussy twitched.

“You’re even wetter than I could have ever hoped you’d be… mmmm… and how you keep twitching, I think you like this too. What a naughty girl you are… ♡” he kisses your cheek and traces a finger down your lower stomach, “but, I like that about you~ ♡”

Just as his finger gets mere inches away from your swollen clit, he feels your hips twitch away. He smirks and takes his hand away.

“Your gorgeous body almost made me forget why I brought you here~ Silly me, can’t have this getting wet, either~ ♡” you gasp as he lips your bra and sets it to the side. When he looks back over at you, he sees your hands desperately trying to cover your breasts. He finds it both amusing and adorable.

“Go ahead and slide into the bath. Tell me if it’s too warm or cold for you and I’ll adjust the temperature if needed,” he gives you a playful wink as you turn your back to him and hop in the bath. As soon as the warm, soapy water envelops your skin, you’re unable to suppress your moan in time. How could you not, this water felt incredible to your poor, sore muscles and aching body. You let your body rest against the edge as the intoxicating smell made you dizzy.

“Ahhh… hah….” You panted.

“Does it feel good?~ You definitely look like you’re enjoying yourself. Mind if… I join?~ ♡” You heard his sultry voice whisper in your ear as he joins you in the bath. You glance over at him. He’s… he’s n-naked too? As if this situation couldn’t get any more lewd, he sits down in front of your spread legs.

He strokes your cheek softly, “Your mind looks like it’s not quite here… how cute. ♡ I think you’ve waited long enough for your promised pampering. Just sit back and relax~ You’re in capable hands~ ♡”

That’s the last thing you remember hearing from him as your exhausted brain finally takes a well needed break, just for a while. You have just enough consciousness left to feel the numerous amounts of face masks, creams, rollers, and much more he uses on you. Compared to his touch from before that was practically quaking with desire, his touch now was a lot more gentle and loving. He fussed over each and every detail of your face mask, adjusting them to fit your face perfectly. Sooner or later, he began to soak some rich soap into your messy hair and gently scratch at your scalp. It felt so nice to be taken care of, to be loved after putting yourself through hell and back. You weren’t surprised in the slightest when you opened your eyes to see him presenting you a cup of tea. Did you just… fall asleep?

“Good morning, darling. You fell asleep while I was washing your hair so I decided to give you a break while I made you some tea. It should give you back some of your missing entertainment,” he set the teacup in your heads and rubbed a hand over your shoulder, “I know this has been a lot for you, so please take it easy. I wouldn’t wanna push you past your comfort zone,” he cooed sweetly.

You didn’t even realize how thirsty you were until the tea slipped down your throat. It tasted wonderful, like a flurry of peaches and mint. It wasn’t long until you finished the whole cup and sat it down on the tray with the leftover supplies.

“Heheh, good. How do you feel? A little less tired, I hope?” He soothed.

“Mhm… yeah, I’m feeling a lot better, actually,” you rub the sleep from your eyes.

“That’s wonderful, I’m glad~ now that you’re awake, it might be time to move to the main event~ ♡” he chucked.

“Main event…? What d-does… that mean?” You shivered, fainting innocence.

“Well, how can I call this a true pampering session until I give you… a little bit of a massage, hm? Would that feel nice on all your aches and pains?” His tantalizing touch drifted all the way from your shoulders to down on your thighs, “I’m assuming your body has been aching for some touch for quite a while, hasn’t it?”

Your breathing grew more and more uneven as his aura filled your mind with a desire… a desire for him. For his touch, “yeah… I… I feel strange...”

“Oh? Strange how? Does it hurt?” He hum’s curiously as his thumbs massage the muscles of your thighs.

“N-no, it... Aghh…you… you know what it is…” You look away out of embarrassment from his blatant teasing.

“Mmm? Could it be… a need, of sorts? ♡” His thumbs circle over your inner thigh.

“Hahh… agh… yeah… like… a need… a strong need,” you felt your pussy fluttering around nothing as his touch only got closer, “why… are you… doing this…?”

“It’s simple… It's because I love you, hon. More than anything I can name… more than I can even understand. I have this urge inside of me whenever I see you. It wants you, all of you. And now…” a strange pink smoke begins to swirl around him as his eyes glow brightly, “I get you all to myself~ ♡” You watch helplessly as he sprouts wings and horns, grinning sinisterly at you. Your breather quickens as he more roughly squeezes your thighs just to hear you whine. He leans in, so close you might just lose your mind, “I know how badly you need me too. I can practically smell it~ want me to help you? Relieve that desire that’s burning under your skin?~ ♡”

His dirty words made you whine. There’s no way you could resist him, not in this form. You’ll just have to deal with the problems later because right now you just want this demon in front of you to do whatever he wants with you.

“I think I know a certain spot that’s been begging for my attention ever since I saw those cute panties~ ♡ let’s see if I can fix that…” his wild eyes look below the crystal clear water as his delicate fingers spread your pussy wide open. Your shift around uncomfortably at being so open to the water swirling around you. As soon as you feel the sinful press of his pointer finger and middle finger against your clit, you stifle a moan and twitch your hips eagerly.

“Oh, someone’s excited, hm? Is it because of me… or maybe the spell I’ve cast on you? ♡ Maybe both~” he giggles to himself.

Spell? Is that what all the aura was- Your train of thought vanishes completely as his fingers rub small circles against your swollen bud.

“Nghh… ahh.. oh fuck….” You whine as you pussy clenches even more. It already feels like so much, but you so desperately wanted to beg for some stimulation to your cunt too. Your wish would soon be granted as you feel his two fingers slide down to your cunt and rub it up and down, making sure to continue rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb.

“Is that better?~ Even in the water I can feel how slick you are. You must like this a lot, hm? Hehe, I don’t think I even need to ask~ ♡” his fingers slowly and carefully pushed inside your twitching hole.

“Aaghhh… f-fuck… oh god, Asmo.. agh…” you’re reduced to a whining, shivering mess as his fingers explore the insides of your pussy. And they were so talented too. They immediately knew the exact gummy spot inside of you to rub to make your eyes roll back. It just felt too good, you couldn’t do anything but moan and twitch. You wanted more but you were also scared of what more would feel like. His wrist started to quickly flick his fingers in and out of your trembling pussy, jabbing right against your g-spot and pressing harder on your clit. You felt like your body wasn’t even your wit control anymore, you were totally at his mercy.

“Mmmphhh… you’re clenching on me so tightly, and it’s so warm~ ♡ I could just do this forever…” he sighed dreamily as his motions sped up. How could he keep such a relaxed face while you were fucking fighting for your life? It felt like your senses were on fire, like your cunt was ready to cum at any second.

“Ready to cum so early? Hehe, I don’t blame you, I’m quite good at this. After all, I’m the Avatar of Lust. I can make you feel things no other demon can ever dream of making you feel. Hehehe~ ♡ How about I make a deal… I’ll let you cum as many times as you want if you chose me and only me instead of my brothers. How about that? Doesn’t that sound fantastic~ ♡♡”

It does sound rather tempting, but you could care less about deals right now. The only thing you want is to cum, cum around his skilled fingers. If that meant being his forever, then that’s just a plus.

“Aaghh p-please… I’m yours, only yours. Please Asmo, I need to cum so badly… I can’t hold it much longer..” you cried out.

He smiles devilishly, “Perfect answer, my love… go on, let go of everything and release all that cum for me…♡ cum for your demon~ ♡”

The final thread of restraint snaps as you moan desperately, squeezing on his fingers so good he feels his dick twitch in anticipation.

“Aghh… hahhh… oh god… that… that was amazing… felt amazing….” You heaved in between each word as you lay limp against the edge of the bath. The post orgasm bliss felt like heaven but it was quickly ripped away from you as Asmo’s fingers contributed to thrust you open.

“Gah, w-what, n-no hurts please, please no more… Aghh…” it didn’t take long for the pain to melt into mouth watering pleasure as he stimulated your poor little clit over and over again.

“Mmm I think you’re pretty much ready to take me now… that is if you wanna. I can keep fingering you if that’d make you feel best, cutie~” he playfully licked the outer shell of your ear.

Even though his fingers felt like heaven, you could only imagine how good his dick would feel. Would it feel even better? Oh you just had to give it a try~ You lean back and wrap your legs around his waist.

“Hehehe someone’s eager, huh? Aghh… I’ll try to be gentle… just don’t squeeze too hard or else I might break that promise~ ♡” He snickered as he lifted your hips up and angled his throbbing dick to your overstimulated cunt. You mind raced with ideas of how big he could be but as soon as you felt his head rub against your entrance you could already feel your legs beginning to give out. He’s… pretty big…

He smirked at the worry in your eyes, “Are worried I’ll hurt your tight little cunt or I’ll make you feel so good you won’t be able to get off without my dick?~ ♡ just i’ll have to figure it out as me go~ ♡” without very much of a warning, you felt the head slip in past your entrance to right against that sweet spot of yours. And holy fuck we’re you enjoying it. Even though he warned you, he was too big, you had no choice but to squeeze him like your life depended on it.

“Aaghhh… p-please sweetie, loosen up or else I can’t go deeper… damn it I wanna fuck you so bad… ♡” he grit is teeth in agony and pleasure. He brought a quick finger to your clit and gave it some deep rubs, thankfully coaxing a moan out and letting you loosen up for him a little. His hips snapped forward again and again and again, each time he made sure to hit your g-spot straight on.

“Aaaagghhh Asmo I can’t I can’t it’s too much!!!~” you wailed as you felt another orgasm approaching.

“My dear please… you’re squeezing so fucking hard you’re going to… drive me crazy!~ ♡♡” he dug his nails deep into your plush hips and thrusted into you at such a fast rhythm it left you right at the edge.

“Aghhhh I’m going to break… s-slow down, my pussy is going to die!!!~” you cling onto the mable for dear life as the demon drilled into you from behind. It felt so lewd but it also felt like heaven~ yet you still needed more, “pleaseeee Asmo I’m begging you I need more!~”

“Still need more?~ ♡ can’t wait to get to that edge?” He teased in your ear with a chuckle.

“Pleaseeee I’d do anything please make me cum again~” You cried out, unable to even process the words fully before they left you mouth.

“I.. agh… think I got just the idea.. brace yourself… for the might of the avatar of lust~ ♡” He stayed thrusting into you even faster but that wasn’t the main focus. No, because when you began to feel a strange vibration sensation emerge from his dick, tremouring right against your cervix you were just wailing, you were screaming.

“Oh gods, oh gods this can’t be real… asagghhhhhhh!!~ why is it vibrating so hard?!!~ how.. how is it even doing that?!!” You didn’t know if you were more scared or excited by this new discovery. All you knew is your pussy was twitching like crazy against the sinful vibrations wracking through his clock and right against your sensitive walls and clit.

“The avatar of lust has more than a few tricks up his sleeve to make just about anyone come undone on my dick~ ♡ you’ll find out soon enough if you’d like, hon~ ♡ Ahh… just… let me fuck that tight pussy nice and hard~ ♡” your back arched on command as he growled in your ear. Moans and grunts left your lips like a constant prayer, it’s just too fucking good, way more than a human like her should be able to handle. That was until Asmo finally snapped and flipped her around so ass was in full display for him. She didn’t even bother asking what was going on, just moaning and begging for more of his vibrating dick. He mounted her and quickly remained fucking her pussy into oblivion. The change of position allowed him to directly assault her poor, poor absurd cervix. Each snap of his hips against her ass sent electricity straight to her pussy which was dying to cum from all the extreme vibrations.

“Aaghhh Ahh Ahh AGHHH AGHHH!!~” Her moans grew louder and louder as she got closer to cumming, “I’m close so fucking close please just ruin me-“ suddenly, there was a series of stomping footsteps and opening and slamming of doors. They were all home already?! Shit, why now!? Right when you’re on the brink of one of the best orgasms in your life!! As you turned around to give Asmo a sad look, you were greeted with a smirk. Don’t tell me. His thrusts went faster and faster and faster until the water started to splash out of the bath and onto the floor.

“Waaaittttt we're gunna get caught aaghhhh!!!~” your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Don’t matter to me… I’ve been aching for sex with you for way to damn long to stop now~ ♡ Come on, give them a nice loud moan~ let them know who you belong to~ tell them who fucks you’re beautiful, tight pussy the best!~ ♡” He bends your back into a perfect arch, only applied by the intense lust magic he forces into you.

“Aaaagghhh!~~ AAAAGGHHHHHH ASMOOOOOOO DOESSSS!!!~” You released a loud scream as you came yet again, shivering pathetically. Your eyes screwed together as his passion fucking didn’t even hesitate. You were losing your damn mind and basking in it.

“Let’s keep going… until we finally get caught~♡” he laughed wildly, clearly getting drunk off your pussy. But you were just as drunk off of his dick too.~ You nodded in agreement and continued moaning like he’s rearranging your guts. It felt so good, so, so deliciously good. You never wanted this to stop.

Sure enough, the door creaked open, revealing the first unlucky person to witness the lust-filled display that the two of them were putting on. Their jaw dropped open at the sight of a wildly out of control Asmo practically bending you in half and slamming into you at such a furious pace you just couldn't stop cumming. His erotic magic surged through your veins as you kept shouting, moan after moan, dirtying the water with your combined cum. Your face was permanently twisted into a lewd expression as you felt your whole body alight in a constant explosion of pleasure from his none stop fucking and overwhelming magic.

“Agaghhhhhhhhh~” You sobbed out in bliss.

“If… you want us to stop… you’re going to have to kill me~ ♡” Asmodeus flashed the intruder a spine chilling death stare and groaned in pleasure as he plunged in deeper.

Reblog + Like + Comment if you wanna see even more obey me or Asmo in specific posts (hehehehe I had a lotta fun writing this I’m such a simp for asmo I hope I did him justice <3)

(I’ve been writing for like 8 hours with no hours of sleep I think I might take a break tomorrow. I’ll make a poll for my next post in a few days or so, I need to recharge)

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #asmodeus obey me #writer komaru #fem reader #afab reader #obey me fluff #obey me comfort #obey me nightbringer

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tiredistic · 7 months ago

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"BRAT"

Pairing: Regina George x Janis imi'ike

Words: 1622

Content warning: Smut, Absolutely no fluff. Angst, a hint of barking..? manipulation. kinda?? Black mail, Cheating, general mess. Hate sex.. Power dynamic,

Summary: Regina is sleeping with other girls, and Janis deals with her. They end up fucking because they're still madly in love.

A/n: Just this little fic bc writers block is hitting kinda hard.. Idk where this was going I just wanted them to fight then fuck ykwim?

Regina came back to the apartment, slugging in through the door, her mascara smudged and her hair damp from the rain. It was late, yet Janis sat there on the couch, her back to Regina. She knew she was fucked.

"Where did you go?" Janis asked, not bothering to look at the blonde. Janis knew the answer, she just had to ask. Something in her wanted to forget all about it, but how could she?

"You know where."

She turned to Regina, capturing her face, sympathy daring to invade her brain. Regina was so fucking hot, gosh Janis hated being mad at her. She had to I mean how can you not? You know your girlfriend is sleeping with other girls, how else would you react!?

"What the fuck were you thinking? You keep throwing our relationship out the window!"

"We never had a relationship! We weren't even a big thing! Gosh I don't know why you get so fucking dramatic." Regina snapped.

"So what are you doing here!? We live together for god's sake. Were we nothing when we fucked on at least every surface in here?"

"Okay we had sex move on! If I want to go to sleep with other people I don't know why it's your problem!"

"Everything you do is my problem! When you come home drunk and high all the time, who takes care of you!? What about when your back starts acting up??"

"Oh yes my saviour! Thank you for doing everything for me, shut the fuck up."

"Why does everything have to be a struggle with you!? Why can't you understand that you're hurting me?" Janis pleaded, "I thought you loved me"

"I never said that I loved you."

"You did! What happened to us!?"

"Oh my gosh, Cady- shit i mean jess-"

"Oh my shit they were so right about you!" Janis complained, "You just screw every girl you see! Fuck you for making me feel like I was something to you"

"You are something to me."

"Act like it."

Regina then grabbed Janis's face, pulling her in for a heated make out session. Janis leaned into the kiss, her hands on Regina's wet shoulders. Regina was making out so intensely, Janis felt the hatred on Regina's tongue. Janis, being the bad bitch she is, doubled the passion, their tongues fighting for dominance.

Their bodies intertwined, then they found themselves in the bedroom. Regina started to strip, peeling the wet clothes off of her cold body. She started down at Janis, teasingly playing with herself, saying things like:

"Lets just fuck and forget all about this."

and,

"They say make-up sex is the best."

Janis wanted to enjoy it. Janis wanted to feel something again. But right now, she felt like this was just a coy, something to win her back just for Regina's emotional abuse. Gosh was it working. Just looking at Regina doing her usual complaining made her shiver, it was no help that the blonde was dripping wet and naked. She felt herself already getting wet.

"I dunno. I thought the name Jess fell out of your mouth a minute ago... I don't think I can forgive you." Janis played. If this was a game just for Regina to have her fuck buddy back, then she was going to make the best of it.

"I swear baby, Jess was just a toy, your my real deal." She traced circles on the sheet, leaning into Janis, trying to seduce her.

"Fine. If I'm the real deal.. You'll do as I say." Janis whispered into the blonde's ear, she grabbed her jaw harshly leaving slight red marks on her face, "Get on all fours and bark for me if you're loyal."

Regina paused, she couldn't believe this request. All stages of grief flashed across her face, before she kneeled down on the floor before Janis. She gave Janis the, "are you fucking serious.." look before letting out a pathetic bark,

"arf..?" She sighed, her eyebrows creasing. This was so weird.

"Is that all you got? Is that how you treat me after fucking cheating on me with multiple girls? Is this your way back into our relationship? a pathetic bark?" Janis scoffed.

The power dynamic was so different then what she was used to, it really shocked her. It also made her so turned on she could feel her cunt dripping down her leg weather she liked it or not.

Janis grabbed Regina by the hair, pushing her head up perfectly to make eye contact.

"I said bark, bitch."

"Ruff!!"

Janis mused, letting go of Regina's jaw, kissing her gently, almost like a reward.

"By the end of the night, I might just forgive you."

"Why don't you just forgive me now.. it wasn't that deep."

"I dunno if I'm over you hooking up my close friends, or the whole female population."

"I'm not going to be able to touch you tonight am I?"

"Considering you were just at some hoe's house before coming here.. no."

Regina sighed, getting up from the floor and crawling on the bed, laying on her stomach away from Janis, thinking they were done for the night.

"They never could fuck me like you." the blonde said softly, "Please baby.. let's forget all about that, yeah?"

Janis slapped Regina's ass, leaving a sharp red mark. Regina yipped, turning back to Janis sharply, attempting to roll over.

"what the fuck was that for!?" She hissed, tears forming in the corner of her eyes, and her face flushed from arousal and pain.

"You think I'm done with you? You have hickeys all over your backside!"

"Those bitches.. I told them not to mark me.." She said quietly under her breath, but Janis heard.

Janis was furious, but she was also glad. She had more things to hold Regina accountable for.

"You let everyone hit your pussy? I never knew Regina George was such a whore." Janis teased, sliding her fingers along the girl's cunt.

"I like to think- I'm very selective." She gasped, her head digging into the pillows as her hips we held down.

"I don't think Hayliee B. is being selective." She slipped a finger in, wiggling it ever so slightly.

"Janis- it wasn't that serious-" She squirmed.

"Maybe Paige G. has something to say about that, hm? Was that serious?" Janis said, slipping her second finger in.

Regina gripped the cover harshly, letting out a lengthy moan. She tried to grind herself on Janis's fingers but with no avail.

"Jan- Janis that was so long ago.. She doesn't matter, only you do."

"Awee, is that the sorry excuse you pull out of your ass every time a girl finds out your bullshit? Is that why you came home looking like an absolute mess?" Janis seethed, pumping the fingers into the blonde.

"maybe its what you told that bitch before coming here!" Then she added a third finger.

Janis noticed the slight blood on her fingers as she fucked her dumb. Regina was drooling, her eyes rolling back as she whined and cried into the pillows.

"Tell me i'm the best you ever had."

Regina nodded,

"Say it!" Janis yelled, slapping Regina's ass again.

"Your the best- your the fucking best..I swear" the words spilled out from her mouth in a desperate plea.

Janis sped up, she loved hearing the girl's raspy voice as she helplessly trembled on her fingers.

"'m gonna come! gonna come!" Regina moaned, her eyes shutting and her body starting to tremble.

Then Janis pulled all three of her fingers out of the whining girl.

"What the fuck!?" Regina caught her breath, she turned around to find Janis smirking like a mad man.

"Please Janis, it wasn't even that bad, I don't deserve to be punished like this!"

"Just how much times did you come for other girls?" Janis teased.

"Not much- they could neve get me off like you" Regina cried.

"Is that so? Get off on my leg then."

"Baby-"

"Do it, slut"

Regina climbed on her leg, grumbling and complaining to herself on this 'bull' Janis was putting her though. She looked at Janis, who was leaning back, looking at her intently.

The blonde started slowly grinding on her leg.

"This better than earlier? This better than the bitch you fucked?" she tilted her head.

"So much better."

"Address me as mistress alright? or I will punish you."

"okay... mistress"

"Bark."

Regina listened, right away this time. She barked loudly and with no hesitation. Her eyes not meeting Janis's once.

The cycle went on for a while. Feverish humping to Janis's leg, while Regina was subjected to whatever the brunette wanted.

"Close?"

"So close-" Regina's breath spiked as her body started to tremble. "Please mistress-"

"You wanna come?"

"Yeah."

"What are you to me?"

"I'm just your bitch, fuck.. yours only.." She moaned, her head rolling back. She grabbed Janis's shoulders as an attempt to hold herself up.

"What am I to you?"

"You're my mistress. Janis, you're the only person for me." She puffed out, her hips getting tired from the rutting.

"Is that right? So you're done with all the other side chicks?" Janis questioned, she was having so much fun.

"YES! Come on Janis- please just let me come! Please, please.. fuck" Regina cried desperate for release. Her hair stuck to her face as her mouth gaped open.

"Come."

Regina let out a long scream as she coated Janis's leg. Her head slumped onto the brunette's shoulder. Her body twitched momentarily as she just had a 28 yard stare in her eyes.

Janis caught the shaking girl, letting her ride out her high.

"Was that good?"

"So good mistress." she whispered, falling asleep on her girlfriend.

#and if I had an obsession with making them fight then what!?!?#mean girls #mean girls 2024 #regina george #rejanis #janis imi'ike #I wrote this while watching a mukbang..#get ready for the emotional roller coaster #smut #my writing

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katyawriteswhump · 7 months ago

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the freak in the penthouse part 6.2

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve.

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3

6.2 more than words

It was always tricky to focus on anything other than naked Steve in the luxurious walk-in wet room. Nevertheless, Steve seemed quieter than usual. Eddie found himself distracted in different ways from usual.

Okay, his first distraction was still Steve’s shiny body. He dripped with suds from the soap Eddie lathered across his chest, before teasingly wandering it lower. They were, in fact, similar in height and built, with Eddie maybe a fraction of an inch taller. Steve was maybe more trimly muscular. Yet sometimes, Steve seemed strangely… brittle?

Nah. Not the right word. Eddie couldn’t quite nail it, and it was probably all in his ‘freakin’-the-shit-out-today’ head.

More palpably, the bright strip-lights revealed the deep shadows around Steve’s eyes, shouty as bruises. When Steve slid his wet palm to grasp Eddie’s semi, Steve yawned.

Eddie brushed Steve’s hand away, noting that, despite Eddie’s games with the soap, Steve was totally not turned on right now. “You all right, Babe? You look beat.”

“I know what’ll pep me up.” Steve smiled tightly, turned away. He braced his hands to the tiles and spread his legs.

Eddie stroked Steve’s shoulder, eased him back around. He peeled wet hair from Steve’s puzzled face, and kissed him, deep and slow, amid the water and steam. The rumble of Eddie’s personal apocalypse grew deafening, and it wasn’t even about the money issues anymore. Dustin would sort that.

Levelling with Steve, whatever that meant, felt more important. And Eddie grew more tongue-tied than ever.

When they’d gotten out of the shower, Steve tied a towel around his waist and said, “What do you wanna do?”

This was the part where they usually ordered room service and got smashed. “Table-top pool?” suggested Eddie.

“You hate that!” Steve threw his hands in the air, and his towel slipped beneath his hips. “I always wipe the floor with you.”

“Today could be different, Stevie.”

“Fat chance.”

The ruse worked. Steve drank beer, munched pretzels and potted endless silly balls. Meanwhile, Eddie reclined on his beanbag, chain-smoked Marlboro Lights, and necked Diet Coke. He kept his head clear, while he shared with Steve everything that happened before he’d buried himself in the penthouse.

It’d begun when he’d hired a studio, some session musos, and recorded several songs that he’d performed with Corroded Coffin. He tried to get Gareth and the guys on board. However, their lives had moved on after Eddie, in Gareth’s words, “Blew them off for yer egghead friends and to live the fucking high life.”

“I taped an EP, persuaded a few indie stores and Tower Records to stock it. It was a honking great floperooza, and then, while I was merrily licking my wounds, one of the music rags reviewed it.” Eddie sighed out a cloud of smoke. “They slammed it as the worst kind of rich-kid vanity record. You know, when I penned those songs, I hadn’t a dime to my name. So yeah, I bled, dude, and now I can’t seem to stop picking that scab.”

“It sucks. Anybody would bleed.” Steve lined up his last red. Instead of potting, he began to cough, dumping the cue down and doubling over. Eddie rushed forward, placing a hand on his back.

“Stevie? You okay?”

Steve elbowed Eddie off, took a slurp of the Coke Eddie offered him.

“Fucking pretzel got stuck,” wheezed Steve. “Rain check?” He dashed for the washroom, grabbing his uniform pants on the way. Eddie stubbed out his cigarette—probably a good call, before they both choked their lungs out, pretzels or otherwise.

Steve shortly returned, still shirtless and wearing his hotpants. He ruthlessly potted his final red: “Bam! Champ wins again. Your turn to break, Loser.”

They reset the table, and Eddie’s breakoff shot was typically disastrous. A ball shot up and landed in an enormous potted palm, which let Steve into the game. Eddie picked his nails ragged and continued his story.

“After that journo shot me down, I holed myself away in this dump, which was insane. I detest everything about this kind of forced-conformity shithole. I should give the dough to a homeless shelter. Instead, I can’t bring myself to leave the fortress of corporate evil! Which is beyond insane, and you know what I hate the most? I’m whining about it to you, like the woooorst kiiiind of entitled brat.”

Steve missed what looked like a screamingly easy shot, at least for him. “You don’t have to be poor to be down on yourself.”

Steve passed Eddie the cue and Eddie put it aside. He didn’t know what he was gonna say, only that he had to say something. Steve merely looked confused again, so Eddie grasped his hips, tugging him close.

“Listen to me, Stevie. Hiding myself away in a tarnished-ivory tower wasn’t the answer. Till you came along to rescue me.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Steve flashed an apparently delighted grin, flung his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “Your hair’s not that long, Rapunzel.”

Eddie went in for the kill: “I like you, Steve. I literally never said that to anybody before, and—”

“Yeah, I can tell that.” Steve’s bitchy tone didn’t reach his wide eyes.

“Ah shit, this place has turned me soft. Look, I mean it from the top of my greasy rocker head to the tips of my dainty metal toesies—I really like you. Look, I can’t hang here forever…”

…BUT I DON’T WANT THIS THING BETWEEN US TO END.

Eddie wanted to holler it so loud the chandelier would crash from the ceiling and wake the dead in Dallas. Instead, he found himself saying:

“...and I know it sounds dumb, but I wanna help you, like you’ve helped me, and—”

“Zip it, Eds.” Steve pressed his fingertips to Eddie’s lips and rattled out a dry laugh. “Yeah, I know what it looks like, me peddling my ass and all, but the truth is, I don’t have to do this anymore. You were an exception.” He quirked a half-smile: “Tonight’s about you breaking free, not me. C’mon, man—let's party.”

....

Chapter 7 on tumblr

Chapter 7 on AO3

Thank you for reading. Likes, reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕 writing this sort of fic can be lonely, and I appreciate it very much!

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 7or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

#steddie #thefreakinthepenthouse #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington whump #steddie fanfiction #steddie smut #steddie angst

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 2 years ago

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Words: 7,362 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: S10/S11, The Reapers Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, injury, blood and gore, language A/N: This is part of a series! You can find the rest on my Master List, the pinned post on my blog.

Summary: The group enters Meridian in search of supplies. Y/N tries to find Daryl and something to help deal with The Reapers, but is waylaid by the enemy.

Your name: submit What is this?

Maggie stopped beside you and you looked up. She gave you a tight smile. “How is it?” she asked.

You let your shirt drop to conceal the wound on your side again. You’d finally taken the bandage off with its moss padding and decided it was no longer needed. You nodded. “Fine. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about anymore.” You glanced over at Negan where he was leaned up against a tree a short distance away, watching you and Maggie closely. “Are you sure about this?” you asked her in an undertone. “Can’t say I’m excited to wear someone else’s rotting face over my face…”

She nodded. “I’m sure. We do what we have to, right?” She looked back at Negan. “We work with who we have to…”

“Hey—” you called her attention back to you. “It doesn’t forgive what he’s done—nothing ever can—but he might have saved my life out here just by getting those supplies.”

Maggie nodded, her expression still grim. “I know. And I’m glad about that.” She managed a tight smile and you grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Alright,” you said, standing. “Let’s get this over with.”

As you approached, Negan smiled, knife in hand.

“What’re you smirking about?” you asked.

He tilted his head. “Walker school is in session. And I’m the professor. This should be fun,” he quipped.

You stepped close into him. “This isn’t a fucking game, Negan. This is life or death. The skin we have to wear was peeled off of corpses—corpses who were once living, breathing people. They had personalities. They had friends and families. This isn’t fun. This is a nightmare.”

Negan sighed. “I’m just trying to make the best of things, alright?”

“Yeah, well keep that shit in your head next time,” you growled. Negan watched you stalk away to stand with Elijah. He glanced over at Maggie.

“Touchy… ready?” he asked.

She glared at him, her jaw clenching, but she nodded.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl stared through the binoculars at the swirling walkers at the edge of the open space. His heart started to pound. This had to be his family… it had to be. There were no more Whisperers, so it was the only thing that made any damn sense. Were you in that horde somewhere?

“Dixon?” Pope snapped.

He shrugged, lowering the binoculars. “Could lead ‘em out a few miles and double back around.”

Pope seemed to chew on that for a moment. “Good. Wells. Go.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Wells? Come in. Over.” Leah paced up and down the room. “Wells? Come in! Over.”

Pope was stoic. Daryl could feel the tension thickly in the room, like it was filled with a toxic humidity.

“I’m going after him.”

“There’s no point. He’s already dead,” Pope asserted, snapping out of his frozen state. “This was her. The dead didn’t kill him. She did.”

Daryl’s heart was pounding and he knew Pope was right. Some of you were out there among the dead, enough to gather them and lead them. He could only grit his teeth and hope you were out there too. He didn’t know whether to hope that you were holed up somewhere away from here, away from where he knew this battle was going to happen, or if he should hope you were hidden among the dead and making your way to him. Had you been in that house that day, hidden down in the cellar? Had you heard what he’d said to Leah?

His stomach twisted. If you had—had it ruined everything he’d just found again, everything that was just starting? He’d just been saying it to her strategically—everything he’d done since he and Dog became enmeshed with these Reapers had been for the sake of you and the rest of his family. But if you’d heard him as you huddled down in that cellar, what had you thought? What did you think of him now? He felt a cresting wave of nausea and shifted.

Pope’s radio sounded. “Sir, they’re back. The dead.” Pope stood. “So, she came back. My enemy. Let’s go,” he barked. Daryl fell in with the others and filed out to stand on top of the wall. The horde had returned, moving steadily toward their position.

Daryl jumped as there was an explosion suddenly on the edge of the open space. “They won’t make it here,” Pope laughed.

With a shock of terror running through him, Daryl raised the binoculars to his eyes and began to systematically scan the herd, looking for a sign of a walker that wasn’t really a walker. He felt slightly shaky with fear, and he gripped the binoculars with white knuckles. A minefield. It was a minefield. The imminent danger to anyone in that horde was clear.

Then, suddenly, he spotted two figures that were moving slightly against the flow of the movement of the herd. They shifted outward toward the side as the rest of the walkers continued forward, setting off more mines that exploded with echoing booms and geysers of sprayed dirt and gore. The figures slipped away close to where the wall curved.

He had no way to tell who they were, but at least he knew some members of his family had survived the Reapers’ attacks in the dark that night. It felt like a lifetime ago already. How long had he been embedded here? How long had all of you been stuck out there, probably hurt and starving? Too long. The horrible thought crashed down on him that maybe you had survived the initial attack but were wounded and succumbed to that injury alone in the woods somewhere, no supplies, no one to help you… He wasn’t there. He wasn’t with you when he should’ve been. How had he let you get ripped from him after just refinding you again after all these years? His heart stalled out completely at the thought.

As soon as he had an opportunity, Daryl slipped away, using the excuse of getting his crossbow and bolts. He moved along the top of the wall making a beeline for the direction he’d seen the two figures slip. “Hey,” he greeted the guard ahead. “Ya want a smoke?” And when he dropped the matches and the man bent to pick them up, Daryl thrust his knife into his neck and heaved the body over the wall.

It landed with a thud close to Maggie and Gabriel and Daryl’s face appeared at the top. “Hey! Go around that way!” he shouted down as loud as he dared. “That way!”

He didn’t dare to stay there another second, not even to ask the one question he was so achingly desperate to ask. “Where’s Y/N? Have you seen her?” But instead, he slipped back to the barracks and grabbed his gear, dual knives stowed, crossbow slung over his back, and bolts in hand. Shit was going down and The Reapers weren’t going to know what hit them. But where he’d end up in all the chaos, what role he would play, he didn’t know…

Gabriel had already left Maggie and headed to find the stashed rifle to cover from overhead. Maggie was just about to dash off, away from the concealed hole in the wall, when she heard rustling behind her and spun to see you emerging through the trash heap. Maggie rushed to help you out of the pile. You gladly accepted her hand. You were specked with nicks and cuts from exploding shrapnel, but you didn’t appear to be seriously injured.

She pulled you into a tight hug. “I was worried ya wouldn’t make it outta that minefield,” she admitted, her eyes wide.

You nodded and swiped at a drop of blood running down your neck with the back of your hand. “Honestly, so was I,” you breathed.

“Negan and Elijah?”

“They’re alright. Or they were when I slipped off.”

Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. You’re set on this?” she asked you for what felt like the hundredth time.

You nodded firmly. “Yes. These assholes are bound to have a well-stocked armory. And I’m not leaving here without knowing Daryl is safe.”

Finally, it occurred to Maggie to tell you that they’d seen him. “We saw him. He killed a guard so we could get inside. He was up on the wall.”

Your expression was urgent and desperate. “He’s alright?” She nodded and your eyes shut for a brief moment. “Thank God… Could you see where he went?”

“No. We were still outside the walls. Couldn’t see anything. He must have rushed off quick. I’m sure they’re expectin’ him to be somewhere.” She hesitated. “Y/N, you might not be able to get to him with all of them—"

“I’ll get to him one way or another. Nothing is stopping me. Just go crack this place open and get to the food. And please be careful. I’ll see you on the other side.” You gave her arm a gentle squeeze and she watched with some apprehension as you rushed off and disappeared into the shadows, moving deeper into the complex.

Maggie had told you she thought the building in the middle of Meridian was most likely to be their base of operations. Your hope was that everyone would be on the wall, watching the spectacle of the walkers, and you’d be able to move through mostly unhindered. If you could just find some guns and ammo, it’d be a nice insurance policy for everything going down.

Back at the wall, Daryl was nearly overwhelmed with internal panic. Another solider was preparing the onslaught of arrows and explosives to rain hell down on the incoming walkers, and his family among them… You could be down there. He turned and stared at Leah, who was looking over the wall at the continued approaching onslaught of the dead. Daryl glanced back at the hwacha.

He couldn’t just let this happen. He had to do something. Something, anything.

“Leah…” he drawled in an undertone, stepping in toward her. “Ya can’t let ‘em do this.” His heart was hammering.

“Why?” she asked, her brow furrowing, confusion overtaking her features.

He licked his lips nervously and shifted. “Some of my family is out there. They’re walking with the dead.”

The words sunk weightly like an anchor to the ocean floor and laid there still. Her face was impassive at first. Daryl rushed on—he had to make her understand. He had to appeal to the Leah who had let that father and son go on their sweep, the one who hadn’t been able to put the woman out of her misery. That Leah would understand. The glimpses of the Leah he’d spent time with in the cabin would understand. She had her own family, and she clung to it. Was there enough of her left in there?

“You’d do anything for your family and so would I. They’re here for the food your group took from them and without it everyone will starve. There are families, kids where I come from. Ya can’t do this.”

But Leah’s eyes grew narrow and cold. Her voice was laced with disbelief and betrayal. “You lied to me.”

Daryl’s blood ran cold. His throat constricted so much he could barely breathe.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Now close to the center of Meridian, you spotted a long, low building ahead. Two guards were walking the perimeter endlessly in a loop. It seemed promising.

You fingered your knife in its sheath, loosening it, and concealed yourself behind a stack of wooden pallets. When the first guard was passing by somewhat close, you let out a short whistle. He froze in his tracks, his hand going to a weapon at his hip. Then you tossed a rock that landed in front of him on the other side. He spun.

“What the fuck is—” But he never finished his sentence. You plunged your blade into his neck and he dropped to the ground and bled out silently. Your stomach turned. It was never easy killing another person, even when they’d been the cause of so much grief and death themselves. The other guard would be rounding the corner of the building heading your way any second. You dashed to cover toward the corner, leaving the body of the first man where it lay.

“What the hell?” The second guard was immediately on edge as he rounded the corner and spotted the heap in the middle of the path. “Ron? Hey—Ron!” he began rushing over. You watched his hand move toward the radio clipped onto his vest and that’s when you threw your knife as hard as you could. You’d been aiming for his head, but your throw strayed and the blade buried itself into his upper arm. He let out a shocked yell and spun.

You needed to end this as quickly and quietly as possible. You rushed him before he could recover from the shock and pain and kicked him as hard as you could in the side of the knee. There was a sickening crack and he toppled with another yell. You gripped the handle of your knife and pulled it from his arm before stabbing it swiftly into his skull. He twitched and then fell still and silent. Out of breath and drenched with sweat from the adrenaline and nerves, you hastily wiped your knife on your pants and frisked the bodies for any keys. You lucked out. The first guard had a small key ring on his belt. You pulled it free and rushed to the nearest door. Your hand was on the handle when you heard a tremendous crash near the front of the wall—the truck. Maggie had succeeded in crashing it into the gate. Walkers would be pouring in now. You needed to hurry.

You tugged the door open and rushed inside.

At the wall, Pope was staring in disbelief at the dead walking right into the front courtyard. He grabbed his radio. “Carver, what the hell is goin’ on down there?” he demanded.

”It’s the enemy. They’re in the walls!”

Pope spat on the ground. Leah had finally stopped staring at Daryl and was watching, riveted, as her family attempted to stem the flow of walkers. His heart was pounding. He had miscalculated… she could give him up at any moment. But he couldn’t let them fire that damn rain of arrows…

Below, Negan and Elijah slipped in with the dead unnoticed and sabotaged the fight whenever they could. A jab of a knife here, a push of a walker there. Elijah had taken shrapnel in his leg and was bleeding heavily. Negan tried to help him limp to some sort of cover.

Pope pressed the button of his radio again. “Carver. You know what to do. Secure the armory. Over and out.” He turned to look at the other man who was readying the hwacha. “Aim the hwacha into the courtyard. Fire when ready,” he said.

Leah rounded on him. “What?! Our soldiers are down there!” she said in disbelief.

Pope only adjusted his stance and looked outward over the chaos. “And their sacrifice will be rewarded in Heaven.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were inside the main part of the complex and had been unlocking and throwing open every locked door you found as fast as you could, keys rattling, searching for the arsenal of weapons you were sure these assholes would have. There could only be so many doors, so many hallways, right? Finally, you thought you were on to something. There was a section of an L-shaped hallway that had a couple locked doors in a row, with nothing but hallway on the other side. They seemed to be leading to some final something, and you were hoping that was guns and ammo.

But there was a sudden clank behind you in the building, like a door being thrown open and rebounding against the wall. Someone else was inside with you. “Shit,” you murmured, your heart absolutely pounding as you rifled through the key ring, trying key after key. You thought you could hear heavy bootsteps echoing down the next hallway, or were you imaging that? “Come on, come on!” you urged yourself. Too slow.

A tall figure stepped out from around the corner and you recognized it as the man Leah had referred to as Carver when you were hidden in that house, the one Daryl had been arguing with. He had an almost satisfied look on his face, like a coyote who thinks he’s cornered a rabbit. “Well, look what we have here,” he said, approaching slowly, step by step.

You shoved the key ring into your back pocket and readied your knife. You nodded. “You better radio for back-up, asshole. You’re gonna need it.”

He smiled and scoffed. “That’s cute.” He held his hands out at his sides. “You’re the one trapped back here with a locked door behind you. Nowhere to go. And you’re not her,” he said. “Which means I get to kill you right now instead of bringing you to Pope. Your friend isn’t going to be so lucky.” He was still advancing on you.

“Lucky? You have a weird definition of lucky…” you said. You felt like you were being drawn like a bowstring, waiting to snap or fire.

“No, see, Pope is gonna kill her slow. Real slow. Your little band of misfits has killed a lot of our family. He’ll want to make her pay for that. But you? I’m gonna kill you quick. I’ll snap your neck just like a gamebird. You’ll barely feel a thing.”

“You mean like I killed those two guards outside? They certainly didn’t see it coming,” you said. You saw a flinch of rage pass over his face. “You’re doing an awful lot of talking. Stalling?” you asked, adjusting your grip on your knife.

He pulled his knife and stopped, squaring his shoulders to yours. “Let’s go.”

You threw your knife and it buried into his left shoulder. He hadn’t seen that coming, and certainly hadn’t seen you lunging toward him with a second knife right after. With a yell he was able to deflect your strike and you collided hard with the wall, jarring you for a moment. You ducked as he swung at you, practically falling completely to the floor, and you kicked at his knee.

“Fuck!” he staggered back. You straightened up, readying yourself for whatever was coming. Carver grabbed the handle of your knife that was still in his shoulder and gritted his teeth. He pulled and withdrew it with another yell. You had a split second to react as he threw it, straight and strong, right at the center of your chest. You thanked your quick reflexes. Without thinking, your hand moved to deflect it with the blade of the knife still in your hand. It ricocheted sideways and landed on the floor.

But Carver was now advancing again with a quick succession of steps, swinging his blade with fluid movements that had you staggering back and jerking out of the way. You were already exhausted and you were thanking the fucking universe he didn’t seem to have a gun on him already… but he did have a big fucking knife. You ducked again and it embedded into the wall. While you were still down, he kicked you in the stomach and your breath left you in a gasp, your lungs seizing up. Another swift kick landed in your side as you curled over and that sent a searing pain through you that nearly blacked you out. You vaguely were aware of a warm wetness on your side which surely meant the stitches Negan had placed in the knife wound there had ripped.

You had no time to stop. Without a breath of air in you, you forced yourself to uncurl and slashed your knife through his lower leg, cutting a deep gash on his calf. He yelled and jolted but returned his attention to pulling his blade from the wall. You fumbled back, still slightly prone on the ground, and grabbed your second knife, then you did your best to straighten up on your feet. You couldn’t stand up all the way, still hunched from the kicks he’d landed in your stomach and side, but you met his eyes with determination.

There was a coldness on his face and you wondered if that’s what he’d looked like when he’d killed Elijah’s little sister, when he killed much of your family, likely in their sleep. You felt another upwelling of pure rage in your chest. You lunged toward him, aiming for his neck with your knife, but his elbow blocked you, connecting with your arm hard enough to send the blade flying out of your hand and down to the floor, clattering with a metallic sound that rang in your ears. His elbow next connected with the side of your face and this time your vision did black out for a moment. There was a rush of rustling fabric and the only thing you could do in your blindness was lurch back in hopes of dodging him. He kicked you swiftly in the stomach again and you were back on the floor. Your vision returned in a blur and you scrambled to your hands and knees as he advanced on you. It felt as if your cheekbone was broken. There was a rush of heat and a pounding sensation there.

You still had one of your knives on you and you righted yourself again, this time waiting on the defensive as he wielded his own blade. You jerked back to avoid a swing at your middle. His other hand came across and caught you on the other side of your face with a punch. You fell into the wall, disoriented. His boot landed hard on your back and pressed your front into the wall so you were briefly pinned there. You squirmed until you got a knee up and shoved backwards off the wall with all your force, allowing you to break free. Miraculously, you managed to knock his knife away too and kicked it as hard as you could so it slid all the way down to the opposite end of the hall and stopped against the baseboard.

But despite the loss of his weapon, the hits just kept coming. You’d barely land one blow or feel your knife pass just through his clothing before you were pummeled again. You were realizing that, at least as injured and exhausted as you were, you were out of your league with this guy. Even at your best, this may still have been a losing battle. It was time to get away…

You wiped a trickle of blood from your nose and saw him smile sickly at you. The hallway was a bloody mess. Smears from the fight were on the floor, on the walls, and it was impossible to tell what blood came from who. His leg and shoulder were still bleeding, and your shirt was now soaking in blood from your side that was also running down your pants. You knew you were bound to have other cuts, but they seemed inconsequential compared to the pain in your body and face from the hits, kicks, and Carver throwing you into the walls and floor almost like ragdoll. At one point he’d had you by the hair and you’d only escaped because you’d elbowed him in the groin.

“Give up?” he asked. “I can end this fast for you right now. Just hold still.”

“Fuck you,” you spat back, tasting blood in your mouth from a split in your lip. You had to get past him and get a head start to get away. The guns and ammo weren’t important right now. What was important, was living long enough to see your son again, long enough to find Daryl. You could retake this place without the arsenal if you had to.

Carver chuckled. “You’ve got nowhere to go and you aren’t getting past me.”

You clutched at your side and grimaced, bending to pick up your second knife from the floor. One last try, and at the first opportunity you were gone… “What’s the deal with you and Leah anyway?” you said suddenly.

He froze and the cocky smirk melted off his face. “…What?”

“You heard me. What, you’re trying to get in her pants? I mean, how much clearer can it be that she isn’t interested? She slept with some random guy she met in the fucking woods over you, for fuck’s sake…” You wiped at something on your cheek with your forearm, unsure if it was sweat or blood.

Carver looked enraged.

You adjusted your hold on your knife as subtly as you could. “Is it mommy issues? You just weren’t hugged enough? What is it? Because you reek of desperation.” Carver seemed to regain his composure some and his eyes narrowed. “I knew you were in that house. And I knew that asshole was with you. None of you are leaving here alive.”

You shook your head. “Well, you got two out of three right.” Then you went for it. With one hand you threw the sheath of your knife as a distraction. It toppled end over end through the air, and while Carver was focused on whatever that object flying toward his face was, potentially a knife in his mind, it gave you just enough time to actually throw the real blade. It struck high on his thigh, almost near his hip. You rushed him as he was still realizing what had just happened and landed the sole of your boot on the handle as hard as you could, throwing your bodyweight into it, kicking it in deeper. The blade sunk in and Carver screamed as he crumpled to the floor. You ran as fast as you could, slipping a little in the blood, and sweeping up his knife at the other end of the hall before you disappeared around the corner. You ran and just kept running until you were out of the building and able to tuck yourself away around the corner behind some debris.

With the adrenaline waning after a moment, you began to assess the damage, and the fear of how close you had just come to losing that fight sunk in. You shut your eyes and your head fell back against the wall behind you. You pressed a hand over your side and it was hot and sticky. Your hands were stained crimson. You tried to regain some oxygen.

You could feel your pulse in every part of you, fast and hard, but especially in the tender swelling on your face. “Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, putting a hand up to feel the swelling over your cheekbone lightly with your fingertips. Good chance that it was broken.

You jumped slightly and sank back into the debris even further when you heard the slam of the exterior door around the corner open. You could only hope you hadn’t left an easy-to-follow trail of blood to where you were concealed. You glanced around frantically for another place to conceal yourself farther away.

But Carver hobbled into view a moment later, his radio to his mouth and his other hand pressed into his leg. “Say again, Shaw?! Pope is dead?” There was static and a faint answer but you couldn’t hear it. He hung his head for a moment and doubled over slightly before the radio sounded again. “I—I had one of them cornered by the armory but she got away… Yeah, well I took a few knife wounds!” he added angrily. “I’ll deal with it. I can keep going,” he said strongly. “That community building? Yeah. Yeah, I’ll head there now. I’ll check it out. But let’s get this straight, Shaw—if I see Dixon, he’s a dead man. Over and out.”

This sounded like they had a lead on your family… maybe Daryl. You’d follow.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Bodies. You kept coming on bodies… all of them Reapers thankfully. You didn’t know who was leaving them. Maggie? Daryl? But you followed the trail as silently as you could, also ghosting behind Carver. He was leaving fat drops of crimson everywhere he went, limping through the seemingly empty building.

You were near utter exhaustion now, but necessity drove you on. You fixated your mind on the important things; reuniting with Maggie and ensuring she would be going home to Hershel, keeping Elijah and Gabriel and Negan alive, and finding Daryl. Chiefly in the forefront, was the last. You knew now that his cover was gone, and not just because of what you’d said to piss off Carver. Daryl was being hunted too. You were seized by a terror that froze your blood, that because of your injuries you wouldn’t get there fast enough—that Carver or one of these other fuckers would find him first and—no. No, you couldn’t think like that. Daryl was a warrior. He was a survivor. And rage and fear were your enemies right now just like The Reapers. You’d realized that your anger had propelled you to take too many risks in that fight by the armory with Carver. It was the reason you were so wounded now, the reason your face felt split open, the reason you couldn’t stand up completely straight. You should have realized sooner that you couldn’t beat him one-on-one. You should have withdrawn. But you couldn’t change that now. At least you’d drawn blood… But now you could only keep your cover behind him, stay silent in stealth, and follow. You kept hoping for an opportunity to catch up to him and end it. Move forward. Step by step. Room by room. He was sweeping the building, coming on more and more bodies of his fallen family as you were sure Leah was elsewhere.

A shadow suddenly moved in a hall to one side of you and you sank back into the nearest room, holding your breath. You glanced around the small space and spotted what looked like a closet. You turned the doorknob as silently as you could and slipped inside, straining your hearing.

You heard some shuffling and the wooden floor creaked, but within a minute there were heavy bootsteps leading away. You waited one minute more before peeking out and when you saw you were again alone, you slipped out and returned to the hallway.

You were trying to pick up Carver’s trail again, searching for spots of blood among the dust and piled old furniture. Then there was no need. There was the clear sound of fighting ahead and you clutched a hand over your side, withdrew your knife, and forced your legs to run.

You came upon Maggie and Negan furiously fighting with Carver, and despite his injuries he seemed to somehow still be holding his own and also dealing a lot of damage in return. Elijah was sweating on the floor, clutching his leg.

You stood back a moment, waiting for an entrance. Maggie was hurled to the floor and lay there, dazed for a moment. Negan had lost his weapon and was pulling himself to his feet. Carver still hadn’t realized you were there. He loomed over Maggie, raising a boot as if he was planning to stomp down on her, when you lunged forward and jabbed your blade into his back as hard as you could with a wild yell.

Carver yelled and spun wildly, flinging you off. You lost your footing and slid a short distance away on the ground. Your knife. Where was your knife? It was still sticking out of his back.

Carver leered at you as he stalked over. What the fuck?! Was this guy made of metal? He was still advancing on you! You scrambled backwards on the palms of your hands, trying to put some distance between you and him. He was limping, but still a formidable figure. You struggled to get your hand on the knife you’d taken from him at the end of the last fight, but it was beneath you. As you struggled to withdraw it, he growled and descended on you, his hands going immediately to your neck. Your breath was cut off. He was squeezing as you struggled, scratched, kicked, but he lifted you off the ground. Your toes left the floor and your vision began to shrink and fade. If he squeezed any harder, you were worried your throat would crush beneath his fingers and that would be it. You could feel his sweat dripping down onto you, feel the violent shake in his hands with the effort he was expending to snuff you out. This was it—it was all going to be over. You’d never find Daryl. You’d never see DJ again. You’d failed.

Then, you felt nothing all. All sensation left you. Darkness descended.

Negan tossed the bell down next to Carver’s collapsed form, his chest heaving. He bent over trying to catch his own breath. “God, what a fucking shit-dick asshole,” he said, glancing up at Maggie. She was crawling her way over to your still form on the ground. “Hey—is she—?” Negan broke off and gulped. You weren’t moving.

“Y/N?” Maggie called to you softly, a hand over her face where she’d been struck with the metal pipe. “Y/N?” She grabbed your arm and shook it but you didn’t stir.

Negan straightened up, his brow deeply furrowed. “No, come on…” he breathed. He limped over and took in your beaten face and your side soaked in blood. Red hand prints glared on your neck. Had he been too slow? “She’s not—”

“Y/N!” Maggie clasped your face and then saw that at least your chest was rising and falling. She hung her head in relief. Just then, another door opened down the hall and Daryl stepped out.

“Hey—” He rushed toward the huddled forms of his family. As he came closer, his eyes fixated on a body laying prone on the floor. “Maggie—No!” his voice broke and he froze, his boots suddenly rooted to the floor. You were lying there, completely still, Negan on one side and Maggie leaned over you. One of your sides was completely soaked in blood and even from the angle he was at he could see the swelling and developing bruises on your face. “No. Maggie, she ain’t—she ain’t—”

“Daryl, she’s alive! She’s alive,” Maggie burst out in a hurry. “She’s unconscious, but she’s alive.”

Daryl shifted back and forth a few times in the hall, trying to shake the paralysis that had seized him. But when he saw Carver suddenly stirring behind Maggie, reaching toward a knife laying not too far off, he rushed forward and punched him across the face. Carver fell still again as Daryl shook out his hand.

He turned his eyes to you again. Maggie crawled over to Elijah, who was sitting up watching the scene, shaking, angry and pained tears pouring silently down his face. Negan stood and retreated as Daryl knelt down beside you. His eyes were on the red handprints on your neck and he squeezed his eyes shut. “He did this?” he drawled. He didn’t need to hear Maggie’s answer. He brushed your hair back away from your face and clasped it as gently as he could. “Y/N…” He felt sick. You’d obviously fought tooth and nail since you’d snuck in with the others. His eyes trailed down your blood-soaked clothing. “Y/N, c’mon. C’mon and open yer eyes. I need to see ya. Wake up…” His voice was near a whisper. “Wake up, please.” His plea was heart-wrenching. Elijah squeezed Maggie’s hand and Negan gulped at the sudden tightness in his throat before staring down at his boots. This felt like a very private moment that they were all intruding on.

But then—you stirred and Daryl perked up, grasping your shoulder and smoothing a hand down your arm. “Y/N! Hey—can ya hear me? S’me.”

Now your eyes dragged themselves open. It seemed to take you tremendous effort at first, like they were weighted under some heavy blanket of ice-cold snow, but when Daryl’s face came into focus above you, they flew open wide and you pulled in a gasping breath. Unfortunately, this mostly resulted in a coughing fit that doubled you over and had you clutching an arm around your bruised and tender midsection. Your throat felt raw and on fire. The sensation was like you were trying to breath through a straw.

“Hey—hey, easy,” Daryl was coaching you, his hand on your back. “Look at me. Y/N, ‘m righ’ here. Look at me. Slow breaths, alrigh’?”

You focused on his voice and tried to calm your breathing. When you were able to focus on him again, tears welled up in your eyes. “You’re alright,” you managed. There was a rasp in your voice that twisted Daryl’s stomach. “I’m so happy you’re alright.” Tears stung your eyes.

Daryl felt a knot high in his chest, like he’d swallowed a stone. You were covered in blood and clearly battered, and you were relieved that he was okay. He clasped your face again, his eyes searching, drinking you in. “‘M alrigh’. And yer gonna be now too. S’gonna be okay.”

You fell against him, shedding a few tears that dotted his shirt, and Daryl wrapped his arms around you tightly, just tight enough that you felt safe for the first time since that night on the road when you’d been torn away from him.

“I hate to break up this heart-warming reunion,” Negan interrupted, for once not actually sounding sarcastic, “but how are we getting out of here? We’re not exactly in the best fighting shape at this point. Elijah has a broken leg, Maggie took a pipe to the face, and Y/N nearly just had the life choked out of her by this asshole.”

Maggie stood up, Elijah’s sickle in hand, and started toward Carver. “And he’s gonna pay for all of that and more right now.”

Daryl spun. “No! Maggie, don’t. Not yet. Leave him.”

“What?” She stared at Daryl with a piercing gaze.

He was refusing to separate himself from you completely. “No, he’s our ticket outta here. Don’t.”

“No!” Elijah yelled desperately from his spot on the floor. “No! What he’s done—”

“Ya think I don’t want to jam my knife into his heart righ’ now?” Daryl growled. He looked back at you and you could clearly read the pain he felt at seeing your condition on his face. Daryl’s jaw clenched. “Hell, I’d like to put him down myself with my bare fuckin’ hands… but he’s the only way we’re all gettin’ outta here alive and with what we came for in the first place.”

“Daryl—” Maggie started.

“No, he’s right,” you said, trying to stand, pressing one hand over your neck. You winced as Daryl helped you to your feet. “He’s right. I tried to kill him twice and I failed both times. I almost died both times… in the shape we’re in, if any of them can fight like he can, we can’t hunt them down and all make it out of here. We just can’t. And it’s not like we can cover ground fast enough to sneak out and get away.” You met Daryl’s eyes again. “You’re right.”

Elijah broke down, but Maggie conceded and did her best to comfort him. “Fine. We’ll wait.” _ _ _ _ _ _

“I was so close to their armory—I could feel it,” you said, wincing a little as Daryl dabbed at your side. “I was right there with the keys but—” you shook your head. “Carver showed up.”

“He did all this to you?” Daryl asked, gravel heavy in his voice. He swiped at a smear of blood on your cheek with a bit of gauze and you nodded.

“Mostly. My side is from that night on the road.” You bent and looked at it now that it was clean. The wound was inflamed and an angry red again from Carver’s blows to it. The stitches had torn. “Negan stitched it for me and collected supplies I needed. Kept it from getting badly infected.”

“Mmm…” Daryl hummed, tossing aside some dirty bits of cotton. You studied his handsome face and were relieved to see that he didn’t appear hurt.

“I was worried I wasn’t going to find you in time today,” you said softly. “I heard them over the radio.”

Daryl set down the wet cloth he’d been using on a cut on your forearm and reached for the gauze. He shook his head. “I didn’t know if—I was worried ya were gone that first night we all got split up… I saw the blood on the road where ya’d been and I just—” he broke off and his hand froze, still pressed over the clean bandage he was applying.

“I know,” you said, resting your hand over the top of his. “I was worried about the same thing. And then I saw you when we were hiding in that house—but you were with them—”

Daryl’s stomach turned and his eyes met yours again and they were filled with worry. “Y/N, what I said—”

You stopped him by grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling his lips down on yours. You didn’t care about the pain from the bruises and split on your lip. Kissing him washed it all away and seemed to lessen the other aches in your body. After a moment, he pulled back and studied your expression intensely, his finger tracing down the side of the graceful curve of your neck, hitching on the marks he knew would bruise deeply from that prick’s hands. His chest ached.

“I know you were only saying what you had to,” you said. “To convince her. I can’t imagine what that was like for you, having to act like one of them.”

Daryl hung his head and avoided your eyes. A shudder ran through him as he thought of torturing Frost and being tortured himself. Your brow furrowed and you clasped his face. “It’s alright,” you soothed him softly. “We’re both right here now. Later. You can tell me about it later… if you want to.”

He glanced up and met your eyes again. There was turmoil in his blue irises. He nodded. “Yeah.” He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “I wish I could take all this hurt from ya,” he drawled, looking at the swelling on your face.

You shook your head. “No. I’ll be fine. It’s okay. I’m glad at least one of us is in fighting shape.”

He frowned and grabbed another roll of gauze to cover a cut on your hand. When he was finished, he leaned in and kissed you softly, then left a kiss on your forehead too. “Time to finish this and go home.”

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