#I liKE creepy lakes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

star2fishmeg · 3 months ago

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ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴ' ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ

[29.8k] Pairing | Luke Hughes x afab!reader Summary | if y/n knew how their friendship would play out, she would’ve never spoken to Luke in the first place. Now she finds herself in a game of cat and mouse except she’s ready to surrender. But he’s not. Warnings | 18+ smut, angst, childhood friends to lovers, swearing, underage drinking, dry humping, choking, making out, praise kink, size kink, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), very creepy behaviour towards y/n, protected sex Authors Note | slow burning again. Covid also never happened. This is a work of fiction, please remember that my dudes ♫ love lost - mac miller [small worlds masterlist]

The house next door to the L/n’s had been vacant for six years after they moved to the lake until the Hughes’ moved in with their three boys. To say the l/ns were relieved to have neighbours finally would be a significant understatement, they were running straight to the Hughes’ front door with offerings of freshly baked cookies and a two-year-old y/n tucked in their arms. It started a beautiful friendship between families, but temperamental summers when the Hughes’ would return to the lake.

When y/n and Luke first met, they had been no older than a couple of five-year-olds with faces slathered in sun cream and the highest peak of curiosity in the world. She and her father had been seconds away from taking their boat out onto the lake, a bow-seated bowrider that most of the lake's inhabitants owned, but to the Hughes boys next door, it was the coolest thing they’d seen. Before they knew it, Jim was dragged across the docks by Jack, Quinn keeping up with Luke behind them. Y/n’s dad stood up, placing his hands on his hips in a typical dad manner, chuckling while y/n snapped her head around to face the docks.

“Apologies about him,” Jim smiled, referring to his middle son’s enthusiasm. Quinn and Luke stayed tucked into Jim’s sides, “He’s got far too much energy.”

“He’s all right, anything I can do for you?” her dad asked. Y/n’s eyes jumped between all three boys, she knew they’d lived next door during the summer for years, but she’d never really spoken to them, Quinn was nine, and that was scary enough, not that he looked scary with his brown hair sticking out from under his cap and gentle eyes. Jack was a dirty-blond, eight-year-old ball of energy with a constant smile on his face, she heard him in his garden all the time. Luke was the shyest, but he had the cheesiest grin out of them all.

“Ellen and I are about to head off to view a boat, actually. I was wondering if it would be possible for you to take the boys out with you? I’m hoping it’ll get them used to the waters.”

Y/n perked up, looking back at her dad and then back at the boys buzzing on their toes, eyes glowing under the sun, and she held her tiny hand out towards Luke, “Yeah! Come, come!”

It was safe to say that after a full day of exploring the lake, listening to the boys talk about hockey, reminding them to sit still, her father had never been more grateful to only have two children, one being a daughter who seemed to love bossing Jack (specifically) around.

That was how the two families managed to occupy the children as rambunctious kids. Shuffling them between each other, introducing various activities from each other's lives just to cure their boredom and get them befriended. The boat trip had been such a success that Jack had insisted they teach y/n mini sticks, her brother was only two and still far more interested in what toys he could chew on. So, they did just that, Quinn gently teaching the rules and watching over the younger ones, especially when Jack got really into it. But it was Luke who’d stick to her like glue, choosing her as his teammate every time, whacking his brothers if they hurt y/n (which they giggled about, planning to bring it up later).

Another day when the weather was particularly calm, Ellen and Mr. L/n took the children paddleboarding, Jack and Quinn picking it up rather quickly, able to stand on their feet when both used the board together. That didn’t last long when Jack supposedly elbowed Quinn in the back, resulting in the eldest Hughes shoving Jack into the water, which then meant the board capsized and both boys became drenched. Y/n and Luke giggled, opting to sit on their board cross-legged and facing each other, talking about their favourite TV shows and school stories. Ellen thought it was a sweet sight, her little Luke warming up to someone, having a refuge from Toronto, someone of his own so he wouldn’t be confined to his brothers all the time. Not that that was a bad thing, but the other two boys had people at the lake they knew, their own friends and he seemed to adore her, just as she adored him the same.

Every year the nearby town held a carnival that featured rides, food stalls, almost impossible games and the public’s favourite, the firework display. The one night a summer when everyone seemed to spring to life, families, couples, and friends, all came together for the memories. Strings of fairy lights hanging around the walkways, colourful, flashing stalls and rides with music drowning out under the crowd’s chatter and the floods of people making it too easy to get lost in. It was one night Luke in particular would never forget, fear shook him to his core seeing how busy the walkways were, and how big the world was and he concluded that if he was scared, y/n must’ve been too.

Both families attended together with a chain of their children clinging to them, weaving in and out of people just to reach a good spot for the fireworks. Quinn hated it the most, somehow, he had been roped into getting Jack through (who made it his goal to play every game possible), clutching his wrist while Jack complained about his grip and that he was pulling him too fast. Ellen guided Luke through, and Luke’s hand held y/n’s in a vice grip, as tight as he could for a child. He couldn’t look at her though, his cheeks burned pink the whole time and he concentrated too hard on getting away from the crowd, y/n with him. He thought he’d cry if he lost her.

It was then that Luke experienced butterflies for the first time. The moment they reached the fireworks spot, both families huddled together, ear defenders ready in case they got frightened by popping and squealing. But not Luke and y/n, the only thing clutched in their hands were each other. The comfort of another was all it took to rid the fear, children don’t seem to mind if their hands are clammy, they held each other's hand as the fireworks lit up the sky in beautiful shades of reds, oranges, yellows in bouquets and whistles to willows and cackles, the first display they’d remember and have reflect in their beady eyes of awe. He squeezed her hand, turning his head to search for any fear in her face but she gazed back at him, lips grinning as his blond curls bounced in the breeze. They never let go, even when they didn’t need to hold each other anymore.

Crickets chirped throughout her garden, fairy lights running along the fence illuminating ever so slightly in the dark. No chatter from the docks, lights in the house absent and the time hitting midnight on the dot when young voices, terrible at whispering broke through the silence.

“Luke, move over!” she kicked his leg, attempting to roll away from the box of board games next to her.

“I can’t, the wall is there!” Luke protested, rolling into y/n, trying to shove her back to her side.

Group sleepovers are the pinnacle of good times but also the cause of a war. Y/n had a treehouse in her garden before she was born, her dad had built it after having fond memories from his childhood when he had one. Her mother suggested she invite the Hughes boys over one night since they weren’t far, and the treehouse had board games and cushions in there anyway, all they needed were sleeping bags and roll mats and they were set and wouldn’t be disturbed, as long as they closed the door.

It wasn’t large, a squeeze, in fact, the four top-to-tailing (Luke and y/n together in the smaller section, Quinn and Jack in the larger where there wasn’t a big box) but it was cosy and as long as Jack kept his arms and legs in his sleeping bag, everyone would be happy. Except he didn’t. Just before they were about to fall asleep, Quinn was awoken by a Skittle bouncing off his head and rattling against the wood. He ignored it until another hit him. Then a Skittle hit Jack, who threw one at y/n and Jack failed to stifle his giggles until someone smacked him with a pillow. Y/n grinned, watching the boy pout but grab his own and hit Quinn, whose eyebrows couldn’t have knitted any further into his forehead as he, with a stronger momentum, swung around and whacked Jack clean around the face.

“Oh Lu~” she chimed, watching him shield himself with his own pillow. She hit him but softer than she’d hit Jack and the four fell into a pattern of giggles and pillow swinging, burning all that pent-up energy children had. It was moments like those that brought the fondest memories to people, the ones that stuck with people forever and no matter how much time passes, the memory stays in the very place where it all happened. Always. People never forget things that made them laugh until their stomachs ached, even if they did get scolded in the morning for going to sleep too late or being too noisy. The memory never fades. Everything always stays.

When Luke was eleven, his family moved officially to Michigan, on the opposite side of the lake. The town separated them, albeit not far, he still wished he could live next to her all the time, but that would’ve taken the magic out of the vacation home. She was still the girl next door but now they’d get to see each other every day instead of once a year, he could invite her over to his, hang out on the weekends, after school, and visit all the places she used to talk about. He could see his best friend all the time.

Y/n hadn’t known about the Hughes’ move. Of course, her parents told her they were moving out of Toronto but where to be a guessing game. Out of all places, it was at school she discovered they’d moved to Michigan when the locker next to hers had been given a new lock. She closed her locker door and turned to take her leave for class until she came face to face with Luke Hughes and his bright blond curls, standing next to her just as awestruck as she was. They broke into smiles, arms thrown around shoulders and faces buried into necks, hugging until the final warning bell rang.

If you had asked Luke at the time if he liked y/n, he would’ve rejected the idea profusely out of embarrassment, but even years on, he still attached himself to her at the hip. He didn’t know what love felt like, or what a crush felt like at that age, but he did know that he always felt this warm sensation in his chest when he was around her, like flowers blooming and he couldn’t help but smile and tune the rest of the world out when she spoke. He’d always ask her for homework help, even if he knew the answers, he just wanted to hear her talk. If her friends received compliments and gifts from other boys, he’d provide her with them. When she didn’t have a partner, she’d find him. When she cried, she cried into him, when he’d lose his temper, she was his serenity.

He remembered the first time she bawled her eyes out to him, clear as day and the first time he’d seen her vulnerable. He had been flustered through and through, never having a girl throw herself into him and nuzzle into his neck the way she did, tears soaking his hoodie’s collar and arms winding around his torso tight. He rubbed her back timidly, copying what his dad did when his mum was upset and let her cry at their lockers, the hallway scarce of anyone else but her muffled sobs and his hammering heartbeat.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, his stomach sinking.

Y/n sniffed, turning her head and pressing her ear to his shoulder, avoiding his gaze, “It’s stupid.”

“Well, it’s not if you’re crying.”

“Basically, Mark C had this list that ranked most pretty to least pretty out of me and my friends and he and his friends put me at the bottom and it’s stupid because it doesn’t do anything but then he said that ‘there’s always an ugly one’. Jenny found it and tore it up.” She babbled, tears soaking his hoodie, but he didn’t mind. He just held her tighter, stroking her back until she’d cried herself dry.

“He’s such a jerk, I think you’re the prettiest, so he was wrong anyway.” Luke, fuelled by a bitter taste in his mouth, hadn’t thought through what he had said or the weight of it and spoke from his mind. Hearing that a boy thought she was pretty and openly admitted it without shame or fear exiled any sort of misery from her. Somehow, and she didn’t understand why at that age, it meant everything that it came from Luke. Luke who’d grown up with her and seen her worst moments already (like horrifically sunburnt).

She squeezed him. He wasn’t the kind of guy to throw around compliments or comments, he was a thinker, just like his oldest brother.

“Do you wanna come over? We can watch movies and I’m sure we can drop you home.” He asked, his voice soft. She pulled back, hands fisting his hoodie, eyes sore and puffy and Luke felt his heart shatter at the sight of her sadness. She nodded eagerly, failing to contain the smile that crept onto her lips. She couldn’t help it, Luke just did that, and had that effect on her.

It was just a movie to make y/n feel better, but Luke being the youngest of three meant he fell victim to relentless teasing from his brothers the moment he got home. With bags dumped in the hallway, he and y/n made it to the large living room that opened into the dining room on the right-hand side which overlooked sliding doors into the garden, a breakfast bar dividing the kitchen and dining. Jack’s eyes lit up, first, engulfing her into a bear hug and then wiggling his eyebrows at Luke. Quinn simply ruffled both their hair and took his seat on one of the sofas, engrossed in his phone.

“Woah, look at Lukey bringing a girl home, we only got here a week ago an-” Jack started announcing but Ellen soon ushered him quietly, guiding Luke and y/n into the living room. She apologised for the mess, they had only recently moved in and there was still a lot of decorating to complete. The basics were down, sofas, TV above the fireplace, and dining table in the dining room but the place lacked photos and other miscellaneous decor for now.

“What do you wanna watch, Lu?” she curled up on the sofa, tucking herself into the armrest. Luke sat next to her, an awkward distance between them.

“You choose, I would pick Harry Potter, obviously.” He slumped into the backrest so his feet could reach the coffee table, just about.

“Harry Potter’s good, put that on.” Luke did, loading up Netflix and hitting play. He wanted to do something, cut the awkward air between the two of them but she seemed happy curled up in the corner, but he imagined her cuddled into him instead. Y/n burned to lean into Luke, bathe in his embrace again, the warmth of sitting close to someone and perhaps she would have if Quinn left the room. It wasn’t like he was paying attention to them, so she readjusted and shuffled closer to Luke, butterflies flittering in her stomach as she closed that awkward gap between the two of them. Luke glanced over to Quinn, but quickly turned back to her and sat up straight, turning his body into hers in return and putting his attention back onto the film.

They hadn’t made it halfway through the film when they fell asleep, Quinn too. Y/n’s head lay on Luke’s shoulder, his head leaning on hers. It was tough work surviving a day of school, clearly, but at least they were comfortable. The whole house fell into a silence, if a pin were to drop, the rattling against the floor would echo. When Jack emerged from his room, he genuinely thought he’d been home alone the whole time and crept down the stairs, flinching when he accidentally kicked a hockey glove to the bottom. He hung a left into the living room, catching sight of Quinn knocked out with his hood pulled over his head and Luke and y/n cuddled together, Harry Potter still playing on the TV. He could have woken Quinn, he could have woken Luke and teased him red, but he fumbled in his pocket for his phone, snapped a photo of his little brother and scooted around the house to find Ellen as if he had a rare treasure to show her. Sometimes siblings aren’t all that bad.

The summer of twenty-fifteen worked slightly differently than either family were used to. The l/n’s were used to having an eleven-year-old and an eight-year-old, with the additional two teenagers and Luke next door but now Jack was allowed to bring his friends Trevor and Cole. That was four teenagers, two pre-teens and a child, the Hughes’ now with two cars on their drive and double the noise level. Jack’s friends weren’t trouble, though. Trevor was like Jack, loud and full of spirit while Cole was on the quieter side, yet still as adventurous as the other two. When Jim had told the l/n’s the situation, y/n’s parent's souls were sucked straight from their bodies, how were they supposed to entertain that many kids?

One tradition that hadn’t changed was the carnival. That still stayed but the world wasn’t so big to them anymore. The fairy lights stayed, the food and game stalls were still the same, the rides had been refurbished and chatter still muffled the music. They had the strength to move through the crowds on their own now, recognise each other amongst the people and knew exactly where their meeting point was. Quinn was relieved he didn’t have to babysit Jack anymore, he met up with his friend Brady before the firework display. Jack, Trevor and Cole played every game they could afford with brotherly competitiveness raging through them and Luke still held her hand above it all. Weaving through bodies, hand clasped in his, she followed him with every ounce of trust she had, feeling a spark surge between them and watching his ears tint pink when she squeezed. When they’d arrived at the spot, the parents were already huddled together, Jack and his musketeers arriving shortly after with various prizes hanging around their necks and stuffed under their arms and Quinn arrived last. They weren’t huddled as close as they all had been in previous years, the little groups seeming to form their own huddles and Luke and y/n were included in that pattern, standing slightly to the side, almost in their own world.

Spinners of blues, glitters of whites and brocades of purples painted the inky sky in tune with the song that played in the background, following every beat almost perfectly. Their hands became warm in each other's hold, almost too warm but letting go would’ve felt wrong and awkward, especially since the electric feeling felt too good. Maybe they were too old to be holding hands now, there wasn’t much of a point anymore but perhaps they felt like it was all they had left of the innocence of childhood before school got harder, friendships got messier and before everyone started changing. Luke peered over at her, smitten by the way the fireworks always brought a smile to her face. She had such a lovely smile, the kind where her eyes crinkled in the corners, and she was confident about showing teeth. A burst of adrenaline shot through him, and images of couples he’d seen around flashed through his mind and maybe he would regret it, maybe he would burn hotter than his sunburn but at least he could say he tried.

With a hitched breath, Luke placed a sweet, quick kiss on her cheek before turning back to the sky above as if he’d done nothing at all. Her eyes widened and her head whipped around to look at him, confirming as if she hadn’t been dreaming and the way he smiled victoriously gave her every answer to her questions.

“Luke!” he flinched at his name, eyes wide, his worst fear hitting him like a brick; did someone see that? Was he about to be yelled at for kissing a girl’s cheek? Is Jack or Quinn going to chirp him for the rest of his life about it? He sheepishly turned towards his family, only to have relief wash over him when it was just Ellen calling him and y/n over.

“I want a photo of you and your brothers,” Ellen called, and he and y/n shuffled over, hearts thumping in their chests with cheeky smiles that kept a secret only they would ever know.

Quinn, Jack and Luke stood together, Luke in the middle wearing his University of Michigan fleece (which he wasn’t sure who it actually belonged to), Quinn on one side, hands tucked into the sleeves of his grey hoodie and Jack on the other, who, for reasons unknown, decided to don an all-burgundy jacket and beanie in the middle of summer. Neither of the boys smiled, more so due to being forced into a photo with everyone else watching and giggling at them but unknown to them at the time, that photo would be hung up on their staircase and be one of the favourites.

The problem with growing up is that the big world starts to become smaller and more enclosed. You learn and feel new things that you never thought existed. Unfortunately, the group found out the hard way that things change. The ladder on y/n’s treehouse had rotted over the winter, but her father replaced it with a staircase instead, for ease but she thought it looked cooler that way. It also made getting the mugs of hot chocolate into the treehouse easier than it would have been. But because everyone had grown, and they’d gained two extra bodies, it meant the inside was even more of a squeeze than before, even after replacing the large box of board games with a small cabinet instead. Top-to-tailing once again, Jack, Cole and Trevor on one end with Quinn, Luke and y/n on the other, but this time Jack was kept awake by Trevor’s snoring. He should have expected it really, it was usually him keeping everyone up with his antics, but he loathed how everyone else managed to fall asleep but him, but he hated more that if he dared wake anyone, he’d be sleeping outside.

He couldn’t blame everyone for being out cold, they’d spent the afternoon making friendship bracelets, Luke and y/n giving each other matching blue ones that he just knew would become the most prized possessions with the way their eyes lit up. Jack may have been loud and chatty, but he observed his brothers intensely and learned vicariously and what he figured out was that his little brother was utterly obsessed with this girl he desperately tried sitting closer and closer to. Luke even blew on her hot chocolate, the way Quinn used to do for him. To think that an eleven-year-old made bolder moves than he did. Quinn had told him to lay off Luke, let him be enamoured and that it was sweet to watch him break out of his comfort zone. Of course, the eldest knew exactly what it was like to feel so tucked away in your shell all the time, so if anyone was rooting for Luke and y/n, it was Quinn.

The air around her slowly warmed, her shivering stopping and a hot breath fanning across her pillow. Opening her eyes a crack, Luke’s curls fell in front of his eyes, sleeping bag zipped to his lips and he shuffled closer to her. If this was his way of cuddling, she accepted it immediately, shuffling closer until foreheads almost touched.

“Goodnight, y/n.” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Lu.”

Jack vaulted over the sofa, clutching the diary to his chest and manically laughing as Luke chased him desperately, with sheer panic in his eyes and a face redder than Cole’s sunburn. Luke had never felt so hot in his life, never wanted the ground to swallow him up more. He wished he’d never let Jack in his room, he wished he’d been more careful and tidied his room when he was asked because everything from that point further could have been prevented.

“C’mon Jack! Give it back!” Luke whined, lunging at his brother, who dodged him. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought it too!”

“It doesn’t matter if I’ve thought it, you wrote it down!” Jack teased, opening the diary above his head to read more of the paragraphs. More of Luke’s deepest secrets. “I think y/n’s the prettiest girl in my grade and even the world, I like her smile a lot and she makes me feel all tingly when she laughs.”

“Shut up! Muuuum!”

Jack eventually handed the diary back, his laughing taunting Luke as this was now something that would hang over him for the rest of his life, be brought up every summer until the end of time and he begged the universes and any deity out there that Jack didn’t spill the secret. He was awful at keeping secrets. He and y/n were best friends. She didn’t even feel the same anyway, or at least he thought but, if he was lucky, perhaps took the risk, even just once, it could work out. What was the worst that could happen?

“Lukey and y/n sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!” Jack sang, eventually ending the tune with kissing noises as Luke's face grew redder and redder. If he could hit him with no consequences, he would’ve hit him hundreds of times, he wished he was big enough to cross-check him hard next time they were on ice.

“Shut up!” Luke yelled and shoved him, but Jack repeated the song, “Mum! Tell him to stop!”

“Your face is so red! You do think she's pretty! Wait ‘til the other’s hear this!”

“Jack, stoooop!”

Jack grinned like a menace, running away through the sliding doors and through the yard towards the dock, “QUINN! Luke has a crush on y/n!”

To Jack, it was harmless, brotherly teasing. They’d make up, move on and forget about it. They couldn’t do anything anyway, Jim and Ellen would scold him (or Quinn) for messing with Luke if they continued, and y/n would find out and everything would be ruined. So, it became a Hughes secret, and everyone would let Luke pine himself to death and decide if he wanted to make a move or not. And Luke’s nerves exploded. His mind raced and emotions tangled into a knot. He was still a growing boy, he didn’t know anything, and he was just about to begin middle school and after that high school where y/n would likely and undoubtedly make new friends, like other boys and he’d fade into the distance as nothing but the boy next door. If anyone were to have their heart broken it would be him, and he’d do everything to ensure that never happened.

When you start high school as a freshman, you don this mentality that you’re a lot older than you are. Perhaps it’s because you’re in a larger school with kids a year to four years older than you are, you’re all mature now. You dress better, follow trends, are influenced by the people around you and the media, and develop into your own person and your classes are more challenging. Yet, there are twice as many people, twice as many judging eyes, people you know and others you’ve never seen before. People openly tell you your flaws, force you into a shell and all the rumours brainwash the consensus and nobody knows what’s real and what’s not, if there’s a correct way to wear something, enjoy something, who was in your league and who was far out.

But it was also a clean slate for most. When Luke and y/n started high school, their friendships hadn’t merged like they used to. Luke found his crowd, like-minded boys who enjoyed sports and finding ways to cure teenage boredom and y/n found hers, a mix of different personalities that found common interests out of the blue. The differing schedules and groups pulled them apart more than they had liked, only sharing two classes in the end and Luke despised whoever made their timetables. She’d pout when they compared schedules, a violent urge to cry knowing she wouldn’t see his smile and curly hair every day, wouldn’t be able to find him easily for a hug when she needed it, and wouldn't have him by her side anymore. When she’d looked back up at him, with glossy eyes, his stomach dropped, and he knew exactly how she felt. He opened his arms and let her bury her face into his chest, arms winding around her, and they both mourned the loss of being two peas in a pod as dramatically as angsty teenagers would.

He did his best to see her at her locker, leaving cute little notes through the vents with hearts doodled under the message. He smiled and talked to her in the halls, they hung out after school when they could, he glared at anyone who dared talk shit about her and they hugged whenever one had a bad day, Luke hanging on longer, always. But as he’d feared, she had shown interest in other boys like his efforts had been wasted, and other boys had reciprocated but for some reason when they left cute notes, it was romantic, not that led to anything. But seeing the real world lit the fire under him, he needed to be a go-getter now, do something.

Nothing sucked at the lake though. There was no competition at the lake, no interruptions and he had the whole summer to make a singular move, or at least drop a hint. That was his one goal, drop y/n a hint that he liked her. She was a smart girl; she’d catch on but if she accepted it was an entirely different anxiety. He’d watched Jack make moves on girls before, it wasn’t that hard, surely. All you had to do was just go for it. And he would if his nerves didn’t eat him alive like vultures. This was his best friend he liked; he’d cry like a baby if she rejected him but hate himself for ruining something precious more.

Michigan could get hot during the summer, a blazing hot sometimes where the UV was high enough that thirty minutes outside, you’d feel that burning sensation along your skin. All those years ago, Jim and Ellen had bought that boat they viewed, it had sat identically to the l/n’s on the dock until Quinn had been old enough to drive it himself and take his brothers and friends out on the lake. Well, it was more like Jack’s friends as, for another year, Trevor and Cole had tagged along for their lake house getaway.

Luke had no problem with Trevor and Cole and quite liked them as people. So did y/n, maybe a bit more than the youngest Hughes liked. Y/n sat opposite them and Jack on the boat, donning her new bikini and sunglasses she begged her parents for since she wasn’t a kid anymore. Thank the heavens for those sunglasses, if either of the two had caught her staring at them, she may have just jumped overboard because they looked divine. Trevor with his flowing hair, always perfect no matter what direction the wind blew and tanned skin that glowed in the sun, immaculate humour that made anyone laugh. Cole who was the embodiment of the sun and so soft-spoken, shoulders broad with inviting arms. The boys in her grade weren’t like them, hadn’t grown into their features yet, and still had awful haircuts but not Trevor and Cole. They worked out, proudly sitting shirtless and flashing their six-packs off to the poor, fumbling girl in front of them. Her friends would have killed to be there, these guys were so much hotter than the ones she knew, but also so far out of reach that all she could do was admire them.

Jack elbowed Trevor, subtly gesturing over to a zoned-out y/n with a playful smirk on his face. Catching onto his hint, he tensed just to watch y/n look away, attempting to play it off. The older boys chuckled, Luke sending a stabbing glare towards Jack. She’d been caught, been too sloppy and now they knew she was staring. How embarrassing. Luke shuffled closer to her, thighs pressing together as he slung his arm over the back of her seat, just as he’d seen Jack do before.

“C’mon, dude, uncool.” Luke scolded, irritation bubbling in his chest as his brother and friends laughed until they moved to the seats at the front of the boat, likely intending to get Quinn to stop so they could jump in the water. He wanted her to look at him the same way, desperately. He also worked out regularly, grew out his curls the way she liked them, and wore the clothes she said looked good on him so what was so much better about them than him? What was he doing wrong?

Heat flushed up the back of y/n’s neck, tingles jolting through her as their skins touched softly. His arm around her felt secure like it was meant to be there and suddenly the embarrassment faded. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, listening to Luke mumble something under his breath. God was he cute when he pouted, cute that he’d stood up for her once again. He was taller, more confident, attentive, and wearing the clothes she loved on him, he’d listened when she rinsed his last haircut, completely warmed up to her presence, talking all the time with her about anything, going everywhere with her. Luke was her anchor. She leaned into his side and tucked herself into him, his muscles relaxing underneath her touch, and he hesitantly rested his head against hers, shutting the surrounding world out as they bathed in each other's company.

The sun gracefully set into slumber, painting the sky with gradients of oranges to yellows over the lake and the back gardens. Y/n’s legs dangled over the porch of her treehouse, facing out towards the lake and feeling the breeze through her hair, a hot chocolate still warm cupped in her hands. It was peaceful up there, next door was too loud, Jack throwing some party while Jim and Ellen refuged in her living room, chattering with her parents about all the children and presumably the Hughes boys’ NHL drafting. Her parents were hockey fans, but neither child played the sport, not seriously at least, but she knew it was Luke’s world and because of that, she made sure to attend his games when she could.

Luke’s footsteps thumped on the wood of the platform, and he took a seat next to y/n, swinging his legs back and forth over the edge. Jack’s party had become too loud to bear, and he felt the sweat radiate off the bodies he’d weaved through to leave the house, deterring him from wanting to join in. Besides, he didn’t want to be at the scene of the crime when Ellen and Jim found a broken pool cue in the basement, or a giant stain on the rug in the living room.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked, smiling at him. Of course, she knew, but she loved seeing him smile.

“Wanted to see my favourite person, is that wrong?” Luke’s shoulders bounced when he chuckled. Something she loved about him was that when he laughed, he laughed with his body, shoulders bouncing, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, sometimes when he laughed really hard, he’d lean into her.

“Mmm, nooo, I guess not. Just thought you’d be down there,” she gestured her head towards his house, “getting the party experience for when you make it with the big dogs.”

He screwed his face up, “There is the last place I wanna be right now. It’s a disaster and I don’t wanna be roped in with the blame. Plus, Jack’s been making out with a girl for an hour and every corner I took they were literally there, so gross. And Quinn’s at Brady’s. Would rather be here with you.”

“Well, aren’t you a cutie pie,” she teased. Luke’s ears tinted pink and she raised her mug towards him. “Want a sip?”

Without a word, his lips pressed to the mug, sipping the lukewarm hot chocolate which was more marshmallow than liquid. He wiped the corners of his mouth with his sleeve, watching her lips meet the exact spot his did. His stomach fluttered at the sight, the orange hues cascading over the two in perfect timing. She looked…beautiful.

They fell silent for a moment, attention drawn next door as a group of guys cheered over a beer pong win, jumping into each other and loudly claiming that the winning shots were for the girls watching. They imagined that it was them, at some place in the future, at a party with their friends where they all played drinking games, and it was normal to express such things openly. Where everyone had grown out of their teenage features and minds, understanding the world a bit better and having fun was easier. Y/n knew all the girls that entered the Hughes’ house were pretty, and she admired the way they dressed and styled their hair, their confidence and no wonder the boys liked them.

“I can’t wait to be like them one day, Lu.” She mumbled, placing her (now empty) mug to the side. “Pretty and having fun like that, they’re all so cool. My friend’s sister goes to college, and she tells the wildest stories, and how she met her boyfriend is insane.”

Luke’s mouth dried, it was now or never, and he couldn’t miss his chance again. Why were feelings so hard? Why couldn’t she see herself from his eyes? Y/n placed her hands on the platform edge, fingers curling over the side, and he glanced at them with temptation burning through him. Be a go-getter, now or never, do something. He placed his hand on hers, fingers curling the same as hers did. It was an awkward way to hold someone’s hand, sure, but you don’t really think things through when your heart is pulsing in your ears, and you think you’re about to explode in adrenaline.

Y/n turned her head and looked at the heat on her hand, his larger one fully engulfing hers, “You looked pretty today. You look pretty all the time. I told you that years ago. I like the way you smile, and I like your bravery, the way you’re not afraid to talk to people, that you bring comfort to people. There are lots of pretty things about you other than your face. And hair…and eyes.”

Looking up at him, their eyes met, and he wasn’t smiling. He was being real. He’d seen straight through her once again and said exactly what she needed to hear. But the way he said it came straight from his heart, his eyes never wavering away from hers like he’d been trying hard to put up a confident front. His hand squeezed hers, the sunset lighting up the green in his eyes but not in a soul-staring way, they shimmered. His words flowed through her veins, echoing around her head and wrapped around her heart like a hug and no matter how hard she had tried to suppress it, maybe she liked him a lot. And he’d just confirmed that maybe, just maybe, he may have felt similar.

“Lu,” she asked, his gaze softening at her voice, “do you really think kissing is gross?”

He shook his head sheepishly, wetting his lips, “No…I just don’t know how to do it.”

“I can teach you,” she paused, eyes jumping to his lips and back to his eyeline, “I’ve read a lot of romance books to have an idea.”

His voice stammered, eyebrows raising as his chest became heavier, breathing deeper until he managed to spill the words out, “You wanna kiss me?”

“Yeah, like…it wouldn't be weird because like…we’re best friends and all so…if we’re gonna learn it may as well be with each other.” Y/n avoided his eyes, looking between his lips, chest and their hands on the decking. They were warm, a nice warm that felt secure, the contact made her stomach flutter because yes, she had thought about kissing him, what it would feel like, if it was acceptable, what he would think of her and if he wanted to kiss her too.

“Yeah, it’s not weird if we kiss.” Luke piped up, hand leaving hers and fingers gently tilting her chin up to meet his eyes, “I wanna kiss you too.”

Y/n nodded lightly, confidence driving her to lean closer into him and the world fell silent. Luke short-circuited, he really should have asked his brothers for advice before agreeing but he wasn’t going to be a coward when she was right there, her eyes fluttering closed, and he copied. His fingers slid to cup her cheek, tilting his head in the opposite direction while his heart pulsed rapidly, faster than hockey had ever made it beat. Their lips pressed together for a closed-mouth kiss, meeting tentatively and tasting the marshmallow remnants but a new kind of euphoria burned through them for those five seconds, an addicting one that when they pulled away with uncontrollable smiles, they leant back in for another, a passionate one that lasted a few seconds longer with more confidence as they’d found comfort.

Pulling back with eyes fluttering open, Luke’s hand covered her’s again, “Are you sure you’ve never done that before?” he whispered, enamoured by the high he was left on. A high that urged him to kiss her again, and again and until they couldn’t breathe.

“Now you know how to kiss someone.” She giggled, turning back to face the sunset as if it hadn’t fazed her at all. No blush as if she’d kissed someone a million times. Like it was empty.

And that was that. It ended as fast as it started and both fifteen-year-olds watched the sunset until the sky bled into ink and the stars rose, not a word between them. That painful desire to keep kissing her terrified Luke through to his bones. Her lack of reaction, lack of sparkle in her eyes gave him the sickening reality check that maybe it was just a kiss. That when the euphoria circled through them it only fuelled a fire in him. Had he not been clear enough when he explicitly said he wanted to kiss her? He needed to be braver, bolder. If she wasn’t picking up on hints, he’d just need to spit it out, but not now. He could barely form a sentence as he processed the storm of emotions. What’s the worst that could happen anyway?

Y/n whipped her head back towards the sunset, a small smile settling on her lips to mask the twisting in her stomach. The kiss felt electric, joy running through her veins and Luke’s lips on hers let a new kind of warmth flourish in her chest, one that made tingles of excitement spread through her. She could tell the kiss had him enamoured, he sat wide-eyed like she’d hung the stars out, utterly infatuated they’d just shared their first kisses. It wasn’t like she hated it, that it didn’t mean anything to her because it did, there’s no one else in the world she’d rather have her first kiss with. The problem was that it made her feel things. Things she’d never felt before and she didn’t know if she liked the kiss or if she liked Luke. She didn’t know anything, and she couldn’t risk hurting him out of her own confusion and stupidity.

Leaning up against his locker, half-listening to what his friends were talking about, Luke watched the two from across the hall, his tongue licking his top teeth as y/n laughed with the boy she was with. One year ago, he and y/n had kissed in her treehouse, and one year on he still thought about it. They hadn’t brought it up since, it didn’t matter anymore, it was only a kiss apparently. They continued their friendship like it always had been but every now and then they’d stare at each other for a little bit too long and let the memory wash over them again.

But he still didn't like what he was watching, it felt like a festering wound in his body with the way she looked up at him with stars in her eyes. Gradually he clocked out of his friend’s conversation and tuned into y/n and mystery guy’s like a satellite. The hall wasn’t too busy, most of the crowds retreating towards the stairs, so while their voices weren’t clear, he caught the gist. It didn’t mean he was happy about it, in fact the way he spoke to her as if she were stupid didn’t quite sit with him right, how could she like him? Luke’s glare only stiffened, burned holes through the guy’s head the more he swayed her with his compliments and smiles, God was it unbearable and Luke was at his wits end with it. Weeks he had seen the two together and his croaky, fifteen-year-old self’s voice echoed, ‘be a go-getter’.

He pushed off his locker, weaving around the passing students and just as he was so close to interfering, he wished he’d never left at all. The world moved around him, but the volume never made it, a ringing in his ears as the words left her mouth easily.

It’s a date, see you Saturday.

He huffed with a lump in his throat, stomach dropping and his heart bleeding out his chest and onto the linoleum, but his feet didn’t move fast enough as by the time he’d processed what he’d seen, heard, his eyes met hers and he found himself approaching her. Even at sixteen, he towered over her, shoulder leaning against her locker with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, eyes glossing but holding back the tears.

“You two seem friendly lately, not goin’ around finding my replacement, huh?” he half-joked, trying his best to put on his signature smirk.

Y/n folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, his eyes catching sight of the friendship bracelet he made her when they were kids, “Stop it, we’re just talking. And nobody could replace you, Lulu. You’ll always be my number one bestie.”

Bestie.

“So, where’s he taking you on Saturday? Not a walk in the woods, I hope. You know what happens there.” He didn’t care, no, no, no he didn’t. At least that’s what he had tried to tell himself. He just needed to know she was safe, yeah. That was it.

“He’s not gonna kill me, and if you must know, we’re going to the roller rink, he wants to be cute and teach me to skate.” She watched Luke cock an eyebrow; his smirk still glued to his lips as if to non-verbally ask her ‘Really? Does he not know you at all?’. “What? I tried to tell him I already knew but he insisted and like, he’s cute and he was trying so why not?”

The bell shrilled and crowds began shuffling. Luke raised his hands to surrender while she rolled her eyes, pushing him by the chest backwards towards their class as he chuckled at her, spinning around. His heart had officially been shattered to pieces; he wasn’t even in the running. He’d lost a love, but he still had his friend, but the part that stung was that he lost his first love to someone else. He had been too slow, a coward. Maybe it would have turned out differently if he hadn’t agreed to kiss her in the first place. Maybe he should have said something in the treehouse. Seeing them together would only add more salt to the wound and he didn’t think he could just get over that quickly, couldn’t bear to see them in school together, it was like having an arrow labelled above his head labelling him as a loser.

“Okay, okay, I’ll leave you two at it then. Call me if you need anything.”

Y/n stopped pushing him and walked close by his side, looping her arm around his and holding tight to not lose him amongst the crowd. Luke wished he could have enjoyed the affection, but it was different now. He was just a friend and how would her potential boyfriend feel about her clinging onto him? Would it be his fault? Oh God why was it so confusing.

One weekend. One date was all it took. Luke spent the whole weekend in his basement, shooting pucks and not caring if they hit the wall or the net, that wasn’t the point, all just to clear his head and focus on something else. He started to hope his dad would yell at him for being too rough, it would give him something else to be upset about. After the puck slammed into the wall, he stood up straight to catch his breath. Hockey was supposed to channel his energy so why did his body feel so heavy still? His eyes burned hot, glazed over and he wiped the streaming tears with his sleeve. He was used to being on his own now, both his older brothers in the NHL and now his best friend had someone else. The one time he needed brotherly advice, comfort, to hear their voices the most, they couldn’t be there, and a call wasn’t the same as sitting on the porch roof watching the sunset.

Meanwhile, y/n’s face held an amused facade while her date mansplained Fantasy Football at her, eyes subtly flickering to the clock on the wall periodically. The whole date hadn’t gone badly, he paid, bought them drinks, listened intently to every word she spoke but what more was there? They’d been skating in circles, and he’d been trying desperately to appeal to her, bragging about his football achievements and now Fantasy Football. He was nice, cute, yeah, but y/n couldn’t help but think of Luke every time a word left his mouth. This guy was not special, her stomach was silent, no butterflies like Luke gave her. His smile wasn’t contagious like Luke’s. Luke would’ve taken her somewhere new they could both try or somewhere they both loved, Luke’s voice was easy to listen to when he told hockey stories, and he’d already explained fantasy sports to her the same way he would have explained it to a guy. All she thought about was Luke, compared to every guy she met. Poor Luke. She should have told him she liked the kiss then maybe he wouldn’t have run blue in the hallway. She couldn’t turn the clock back, but what she could do is move forward with the realisation that she did like Luke Hughes, more than a friend.

She’d told Luke about the disaster date, and he’d been surprised to hear she hadn’t enjoyed it since he’d watched the two shower each other with nothing but attention and affection for weeks but Luke had made up his mind. It was time for him to take the backseat, let go of their childhood.

Once Monday came around, Luke had to try his best to push his own feelings aside, lay off the romance hints, less like her wannabe boyfriend and act more like a friend, she wasn’t interested in him now, she had other boys, and he had to at least pretend he wasn’t interested in her. They were besties, nothing more, nothing less. She said it herself. He’d lost his chance. Even if he tried to ask her out now, what if she rejected him? Laughed in his face? His feelings mattered too, and the last person he wanted hurting them was y/n. Y/n and Luke had made their agreement to be friends, and they hated themselves for letting the flowers of a bittersweet tragedy grow in their lungs violently unless they loved each other the same.

His logic may have been screwed, but it was the only way he would be able to stay in her life, yes girls and guys could be best friends but when you were in love with yours who liked someone else, that became horrendous to bear. Especially on the daily. How was he supposed to be just her friend if he had to be reminded of why he’d go to all ends of the Earth for her every day? He’d head straight to his friends between bells, pretending he’d not seen her face sink when he walked past. At lunch he sat with his friends most of the time, got involved with their shenanigans while she sat with her group, as if he didn’t notice the longing in her eyes. In classes, he’d join his friends a little more, not all the time but more than he used to. When the final bell rang, it was her he sat with on the bus, and it became the best part of the day listening to his voice talk, having a conversation like they used to. It wasn’t until he’d started putting a wedge between them that he realised how deep he’d fallen into her grip, and getting out would be the hardest, most confusing and painful part of it.

Y/n wasn’t used to the whirlwind of emotions, the on-off behaviour but after months of Luke being unable to decide if he wanted to hang out with her or not, she’d gotten used to it. She didn’t expect to see him after the first bell anymore, didn’t expect him to find her in the halls (but he did give her a smile and that little upwards nod guys do when they passed each other) or at lunch anymore but when they met on the bus at the end of school, they fell back into each other like magnets. She didn’t know what she did wrong that made him build such a wall, but for the first few weeks there wasn’t a night she hadn’t cried about it, not a day where she’d see his face in the halls and her heart not gain a heavy weight. It had her emotions in one giant blender, he wanted nothing to do with her throughout the day but once they got home, he replied to texts almost instantly, hung out with her over the weekends, glared daggers into every guy who ever spoke to her and what the hell was going on? He had her engulfed in blankets of loneliness and then bouncing back into that warmth of giddy sensations. The one thing she did know for certain was that the further apart they floated, the more she realised how much she loved Luke Hughes.

When Valentine's Day rolled around, y/n closed her locker, cheeks aching from smiling so much. It would be the day she asked Luke if he wanted to celebrate the day of love with her, go into town, on a date. As she turned to leave, Roller Rink guy unfortunately cornered y/n to her locker, a cocky grin on his face. Nausea riddled; her smile dropped. She thought telling him that they should just be friends would be enough, but he was persistent on wooing her. Luke chewed the inside of his cheek, a cold glare on Roller Rink, he couldn’t have cared less about his name, he didn’t want that taste on his tongue. How could this guy not get the memo?

“So, you got plans tonight? Gonna give me a second chance?” Roller Rink smirked, stepping that inch too close for her liking. So close that y/n stepped back, bumping into someone else a lot taller, broader.

Luke almost left it, almost walked away but his blood boiled too hot, “We do, yeah. Sorry buddy, maybe next time.”

“Well look who it is, haven’t seen you in a while, Hughes. How about you let the girl speak, yeah?” Roller Rink mocked, condescending. Y/n had never been more grateful for Luke to step in, never been more grateful for a friend like him. Relief fell through her, shoulders becoming weightless, and her muscles finally relaxed.

“Actually, he’s right. I asked him to meet me here. Bye.” She stuttered, grabbing Luke’s hand and dragging him through the hall, leaving the other guy in their dust. She grinned the whole way to Luke’s, hoping he was just as ecstatic as she was. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, falling weak to her.

It was their childhood all over again, Luke and y/n curled up on the sofa, but this time she had her head tucked into his chest while his arm sat comfortably over the back of the sofa. Her ear pressed to his heart, listening to its calm rhythm as Harry Potter played on the TV. They weren’t supposed to be that close; he was supposed to be keeping his distance, pushing those ecstatic feelings aside, being her friend but the way she snuggled into him, fitting like a glove in his figure, had his head spinning. The last time, it would be the last time he’d let her do this. Perhaps he could make an exception for Valentine's Day.

Valentine’s Day had been the exception, and the final one. When she left his house, he’d taken a long shower, staring at the wall and rethinking his options. Y/n was playing with his feelings, tugging his heart strings and he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t cope with the bursts of paradise when their met eyes, only to remember that if she really liked him, she wouldn’t have agreed to a date, and wouldn't have avoided his eyes after kissing him. Maybe he was immature, unable to regulate such strong emotions, but he hated the back and forth, he just wanted someone he couldn’t have. She went on a date; she didn’t like it so she went back to him to seek the affection he couldn’t give her. Best friends weren’t supposed to be rebounds; he didn’t want to be a rebound. If he was to have her, he wanted her, exclusively but maybe right now just wasn’t the time.

He stopped speaking to her in class, she tried her best to crack him, grab his attention and hopefully he’d return her energy like he used to but all he gave were dry, short replies. He couldn’t let himself fall for the sweet sound of her voice and she couldn’t let him ignore her interest. When they’d pass each other in the halls, she’d smile that warming, toothy grin at him, but he barely looked at her. She caught him after school, asking him if he was taking the bus but Luke waved her off, saying he was carpooling with his friends. Luke was always busy when she’d asked to hang out, which was okay, he was allowed to have friends. At least he still texted back, not instantly and the messages were shorter, but she took what she could get. Was part of growing up watching friendships float apart? She knew that the older you got, your friends either become closer or further from you, and Luke had been her childhood friend, but she never imagined he would be the one to drift. He was also a human though, he had his own life and his own friends, she would always be there, but his current friends wouldn’t so maybe he was just making the most of things. It made sense, next year they would be graduating, and they’d never see most people again. After all, she still had summer, and you’ll never have the summer you had at seventeen.

Y/n pulled the photo album out of her wardrobe, brushing the dust off before sitting cross-legged on her bed. It had been a while since she’d taken a walk down memory lane, more prompted to revise over what life was like before high school started, when times were simpler and smiling came easy.

Each photo still had pristine quality, her and the Hughes’ boys on paddleboards, from her and Luke sat together to Jack and Quinn drenched with a capsized board, their treehouse sleepover where they got yelled at in the next morning for being noisy, the time where they played roller hockey and she grazed her elbow, her decorating Jack’s hair with glitter hair clips and a whole lot of her and Luke thick and thieves. Her and Luke at the fireworks, hand in hand, playing Swingball, asleep on the sofa, making friendship bracelets. The bracelets they still wore, even if they weren’t as close anymore. Both blue with a little white braided in, a matching pair.

In every photo of herself and Luke, there was not even one where Luke’s attention was on the camera, his eyes were always lit up and focused on her. Each page she turned, the memory played like tapes, vividly and she remembered all the times he’d tried his best to impress her. When she told him that she liked his hair longer, he grew it. When she liked a specific item of clothing, he wore it more. He defended her when Jack and his friends laughed at her, held her closer in the crowds at the carnival, everything about his life revolved around her. Kissing her cheek when they were eleven must have taken a lot of courage and she brushed it off as a friendly gesture. And what did she do? After all his efforts, the way he was utterly enamoured when they kissed in her treehouse, she went on to agree to a date with some loser she didn’t really like because she was too oblivious to realise that Luke, her best friend, had been heads over heels for her since they were kids, and she was too late in accepting that. Luke would have never kissed her if he didn’t like her and now at seventeen, he really didn’t.

How things fall into a complex circle, a game of cat and mouse. Chasing, running, chasing and running, back and forth, back and forth. Guilt tore through her body and she slammed the album closed, running her hands over her face. Perfect, she liked him back the moment he was hard to reach. That horrid guilt in her, that empty feeling when her stomach dropped to the bottom, heart twisting in her chest when she thought about the pain, she’d put him through. It wasn’t over, it couldn’t be over, there must’ve been some part of Luke that still held on to hope. What felt like a fire lit inside her stomach, she wasn’t going to lose him yet. The summer was approaching, and over summer she’d have him all to herself with endless possibilities to talk to him, win him over again, prove that he wasn’t just a friend. She would not give up on Luke.

When the summer hit, all of Luke’s efforts hit the fan. She lived right next door now. He woke up every day only to see y/n flaunting around in her bikinis, he didn’t think she could get more beautiful but now she was stunning and as much as Luke tried not to check her out, he did every time. Luke himself spent more time at the gym, grew into his features and he towered over his brothers, he wasn’t hard to miss, y/n resisted the urge to gawk at him with his summer glow.

It felt like his childhood all over again, all of them hanging out on the boat, him and y/n sitting opposite each other, Quinn driving, Jack, Trevor, Cole towards the back hogging the wakeboard and now y/n’s friend, Kim (who had bulging heart eyes towards Cole) sitting next to her. Every now and then he’d catch a glimpse of y/n from the corner of his eye, posed pretty with her chest puffed out, large sunglasses perched on her nose with her lips wrapped around the straw of a canned cocktail as she listened to Kim talk. Butterflies fluttered into his stomach all over again, he hadn’t looked at her properly in so long, he felt eleven again looking at her like she was the embodiment of Aphrodite sent down to Earth for him. What he couldn’t see was y/n looking at him back, eyes raking his figure and the way his curls bounced in the breeze, shorts fit around his thighs, smirk sat pretty on his lips. It was like the sun shone a halo around his head and her heart couldn’t have beat more profoundly out her chest.

When the evening fell, Luke stood on his porch, empty bottles of beer in his hands as he watched her boat pull into her dock, Kim lugging a picnic bag over her shoulder and waving off as she left for home. He hadn’t meant to, but it was a moment of weakness, one of those moments where he wondered if he had just been a little stronger, able to cope better with being so close to her while living in pain, if he’d be the one out there in the boat, enjoying a cute picnic dinner on the waters.

Y/n struggled as she failed to tie the boat to the dock, the knot slipping, and she groaned in frustration. After a long day in the sun, the last thing she wanted to deal with was her own lack of strength. With the rope clutched in her fingers, she groaned loudly, glancing around for at least someone to help her until her eyes fell upon Luke at his porch. She called his name, waving him over desperately, letting him discard the bottles in his hands before he waltzed his way down the porch and through his garden.

“Need help?” Luke’s voice called out to her as he strolled along the dock, shading his eyes from the setting sun as he approached her.

She stepped away, handing him the rope, watching the way his arms flexed as he pulled the knot tight against the cleat, “Thanks, that was being a pain in the ass.”

“They always are, the worst is waking up and seeing the rope snapped, that’s a pain in the ass.” He chuckled, remembering the morning he found Quinn with his head in his hands with a snapped rope at his feet and boat floating four feet away from the dock. They stood in an uncomfortable silence, the lake’s critters singing their songs with the occasional car driving in the distance. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, shaking his hair out of his eyes, “Sooo, it’s been a while, huh? How have, uh, you been?”

“All right, you? Congrats on fourth overall pick, by the way, I knew you’d get there. You excited?” She smiled, rolling back on her heels and folding her arms under her chest.

“Yeah, I’ve been okay too. Sorry I didn’t reply to your text, I had so many I’m still getting through them, but thank you,” he chuckled, watching her shoulders raise as she gave a little huff in amusement, “and I guess, I’m happy that I’ll be with Jack but it’s gonna be tough. But I’ll worry about it later, I’m planning on college first, making some friends and that. Speaking of, Cameron, really?”

She forgot about him; he was that irrelevant she had actually forgotten she’d briefly dated her classmate, Cameron. She only did it in hope Luke would interrogate her, it made her a horrible person, yes, but Cameron was no saint by any means either. She hoped Luke would do what he normally did, get protective and ask her a million questions, like he did with Roller Rink, and he’d swoop in and woo her away instead, but when Luke only glared and scoffed, her plan for his attention had failed.

Y/n’s eyebrows raised, and she blew out a defeated puff of air, shaking her head at Luke, “Don’t even go there, Lu. A wet rag would have a more interesting personality than he ever would. Thank God it’s over, finally. Surprised you didn’t interrogate me at the time.”

“Eh, I thought about it, but I didn’t wanna be that guy, y’know?” he shrugged, a static sensation crawling its way from the pits of his stomach where he’d shoved it, scuttling through his limbs and into his muscles. That euphoric feeling from the treehouse two years or so ago prying its way back into his memory the more they spoke. The feeling was exactly what he was running from, he couldn’t help liking her more than a friend but all the weight on his shoulders lifted and he felt free again, like being a professional hockey prodigy didn’t matter to her, she would like him anyway as just Luke.

“You’d never annoy me like that.” They fell into a silence, Luke prodding the decking with the tip of his slides, y/n watching him occupy himself. She forgot how being with him felt. He felt exactly like they were standing, warm summer evenings on the docks with the breeze in their hair, in a smitten haze where nothing mattered. “Lu? Where’d you go? What happened to us?”

He froze and stood properly, eyes squinting from the sun’s glare as he looked up slowly. He hadn’t gone anywhere, is what he wanted to say but the wet glaze in her eyes suggested that y/n would’ve torn him to shreds if he kept avoiding her. He’d hurt her enough. His throat dried, a lump forming when he swallowed, “I…I got swept up in this whole draft business, family were really on my back about the whole thing, then I had Five Nations last year and Worlds next year, practice was intense and um, I was losing time with my friends…I guess. They’re likely moving out of state for college, and we’ll probably never see each other after high school.”

He wasn’t lying but what he really wanted to say refused to leave his throat, like the words were stuck in his chest.

She nodded, it was a valid answer, it made sense, she knew how his life revolved around hockey, when had it not? It just didn’t feel like he’d said everything he wanted to say, but he didn’t continue. He watched her purse her lips, the pinks from the sky fading into dark and the moon reflected over the lake, little lamps on the dock glowing yellow around them. If there were any moment he could kiss her, it would have been then. It had to be that moment when he felt his younger self spring to life within, entranced with her existence alone and the memory of the day they met, her hand reaching out to him specifically and never letting it go. Not Jack’s, not Quinn’s, always his.

“That’s fair enough,” she gave a gentle chuckle, “maybe a little warning next time, I thought I pissed you off.”

“Never, I’m sorry about that, I should’ve said,” he laughed with her until they settled, “well, I should get going before I ruin game night for the family, it was nice to chat again.”

“Yeah, it was. Thanks for tying the boat, see you ‘round.” With little nods and longing smiles, they both turned, heading in opposite directions towards the paths up their yards until the sudden burst of adrenaline rose in her chest. There wasn’t a lot to lose anymore, they were on good terms, he wasn’t pissed off with her and what better way to give him a fat hint, “Lu!”

He stopped in his tracks and turned towards her yelling, he hadn’t made it too far down the dock, her voice was crystal clear and his nickname in her voice just made his chest swell.

“You’re looking good these days!”

That uncontrollable urge to grin took over his muscles like he was a puppet, she’d finally noticed. His hair kept long the snug swim shorts, t-shirts and polos in styles she’d once said suited him. How could he not feel a buzz run through him, almost dizzying. As if on autopilot, fuelled by this sudden nostalgic rapture, he called back,

“And you’re still pretty!”

No, she was beautiful, but he’d rather not yell when he knew his brothers were chewing table legs waiting for him. If he admitted it now, he’d never go back, he’d fold all over again and although she thought he looked good, spent their conversation glancing at his arms and lips, showing sprinkles of indications that perhaps he was still in the running after all, making his move after he’d sat in the backseat for so long pretending like he wasn’t interested just felt wrong. He had so much to explain before he even tried.

Another year, another carnival and y/n thought she’d be enjoying the games and food stalls with her best friend, Kim. She thought they’d be in photobooths, laughing over the stupid games that the odd person won and trying out the new churros stall but instead, the moment Cole offered to accompany her on a few rides, y/n knew she’d be on her own until the fireworks. She had no idea where Luke was, so tagging along with him was off the list as well and she was not going to hang around the parents and her brother and his friends, gross.

The woman behind the counter smiled, handing the cone of churros to y/n before turning to the family next to her. Kim may have been missing out, but she sure was not going to pass up the opportunity for fresh and warm sweet treats that only cost her a couple dollars. She stepped to the side, away from the counter, the aroma of sugary delights filling her senses as she took her first bite. She hadn’t tasted something so incredible since she discovered what pancakes were.

A firm hand on her lower back wiped all sense of a blissful retreat from her body, her grip on the churros tightening and she froze, a cold presence looming over her with his hot breath plaguing her neck. Why? Why in all places where there are families with children? She wanted to run but her legs locked into place, that horrific fear chilling her spine and the default thought that it was over echoing in her mind.

“You look a little lonely, I can keep you company.” The guy breathed deeply in her ear, with a suggestive tinge in the way he spoke. She didn’t dare look him in the eye, just peered through her peripheral vision enough to know he was at least in his twenties.

“I’m not, I’m with my boyfriend, actually.” She replied, as confidently as she could possibly bear without bursting into tears. His thumb rubbed against the fabric of her jeans, her appetite sinking into nausea.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I don’t bite.” He pinched a churro from her cone and now they’d been infected, now she didn’t want them anymore. The closer he stood to her, the filthier she felt like it was all her fault for not moving away. Y/n’s eyes remained fixed to the grass below, tears welling and her throat closing as she choked back a sob. She squeezed her eyes shut, helplessness overruling every ounce of strength she had the closer the guy pressed himself into her back.

“Yeah, but I do so fuck off.” Luke’s voice clipped, his hand sliding over her shoulders gently. Y/n’s eyes snapped open, immediately recognising the white Air Forces and the voice in her ears, legs finally gaining the ability to move again, and she let Luke’s hand guide her into him instead, dropping the churros into the bin nearby. She wrapped her arms around his middle, ear pressed to his chest and the tears ran hot, yet the way his arms secured around her shoulders brought a warm sense of belonging somewhere.

“Woah, easy tiger. Was just making sure the little lady was safe in a place like this-” the guy raised his hands in front of his chest as if to surrender, an amused smirk smeared across his face as Luke’s stare darkened. His guilt taunted him, he should’ve been there and then she wouldn’t be shaking in his arms. Kim shouldn’t have ditched her, and he should have been a friend and stuck by her side. The minute he saw the guy approach her, his vision burned red and he was shoving his way through the crowds, whatever people were shouting at him couldn’t have mattered less.

“-I’m calling security.” Luke exasperated, and he would’ve called security if the woman with her child at the stall nearby hadn’t already done so, the creep swearing and making a break for it. Y/n pulled her face away from his chest with red eyes, arms loosely wound around his waist still as she peered up at him. Luke’s eyes softened and on instinct his palms cupped her cheeks, wiping the remaining tears away with his thumbs. “I got you, s’just you and me.”

Her eyes sparkled under the fairy lights, stared at him like he was an angel sent from the skies to watch over her and he knew it. He saw it just as she saw his ears tint pink again. They hadn’t done that in months. He hadn’t felt that hot in months and the outside temperature was breezy.

Y/n hoped he kiss her. Right there, where they were alone. Their eyes never leaving each other’s and his hands jolting electrifying sparks over her skin. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be touched my him, how light she felt. The less and less they’d touched, spoken, been in each other’s proximity the more intense the memory and feeling crashed over her in waves of yearning. The voice in her head begging him, Luke! Please stop running! I love you! Love me like you once did!

His hands dropped and slipped into his short’s pockets, his gaze eventually leaving hers and jumping to the flashing lights of the stalls surrounding them, “You all right?”

“I am now, thanks.”

“I’m sorry,” he watched her open her mouth to speak, but he couldn’t keep it in his chest, she was there, and his emotions were running too fast to think about what he was doing. The words spilled out, “I’m sorry for not being there. Now and over the past year. Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry. I wanted to tell you at the docks but, I dunno, I fucked it and then it was too late and-”

Her hands balled around his t-shirt, pulling him closer, “Lu, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

“No, no you might not,” he ran his hands through his hair harshly, “it wasn’t just because of hockey and my friends. I was jealous and insecure and that feels so good to finally admit. You went on a date with what’s-his-face, and I don’t know, I guess I thought I was being replaced and I was stupid about it, then it got too deep and fuck!” And I was so in love with you and then I lost my chance.

Y/n didn’t let go of him. His hands slipped back into his pockets, and he waited, eyes searching hers with sympathy written in them, the guilt on his face with shaky breaths. That was it? He was just insecure and was unable to process it? She heard him out, she would have probably thought the same and at that age, it wasn’t easy to just speak up about it, especially when you think you have no chance at all. She wasn’t mad, disappointed slightly, angrier at herself that he felt like he couldn’t tell her.

“I forgive you. I probably would have done the same thing, honestly. Yeah, you were stupid, that was really stupid, and it really hurt. I’m also sorry for making you feel like you were being replaced. But if it brings any reassurance, no one would ever be able to replace you.” She pulled him into a hug, arms wrapping around his middle again and his around her shoulders, their height difference making them fit perfectly.

They pulled away after a few seconds, Luke clearing his throat as they stepped back awkwardly, “We should, um, probably head to the spot now.”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, totally. Um, thanks for stepping in again…I really appreciate it.” She blinked twice and fixed her hair, snapping out of her daze, the corners of her lips quirking upwards. Luke nodded before they re-entered the crowds, her arm looping around his as he led them through, glancing at her every now and then until they’d slipped out the other side, catching sight of Jack and his friends heading in the same direction as them.

Their families chose the specific spot when they were kids, it was out the way of the popular viewing places and to reach it required tackling a tedious staircase to the top of the hill, but it was the best spot that looked over the carnival below. Like most years, the two families were divided into their own little huddles, but Luke and y/n stood together like they were eleven again. Her grip around his arm tightened a little, head leaning against his arm and unleashing a giddy tingle into Luke’s chest. Y/n’s heart raced like she’d never been alone with him before, like it was the first time she’d been alone with him and God, just thinking about how Luke had kissed her for the first time in that exact spot just made her stomach warm.

He slipped his hand out of his pocket slowly, keeping his eyes on the sky as the firework display’s music faded in. Like feathers, her fingers ran down his forearm, tracing over his skin and veins that ran hot with a resurfacing captivation like a drug he just couldn’t quit. Without saying a word or giving each other any kind of endearing look, her palm met his and fingers interlaced, rebuilding the bridge between the two lost souls as the pinks and reds of whirlwinds and willows reflected over gleaming eyes.

The Hughes family threw parties all the time, had been since they moved in next to the L/n’s all those years ago. Jim and Ellen always had some sort of party for the boys and as they grew older, Jack more or less became the main host, especially with the arrival of Trevor and Cole. That night it was the two families along with the Tkachuks, who moved to the lake a few years prior, who held some sort of belated celebration for Luke’s drafting success. According to Ellen, they would have done it nearer the time, but Quinn insisted the Tkachuks should join since they had played such a big role in the Hughes’ lives.

Afternoon barbeques drifted into evening drinks and s’mores around the bonfire, Jack and Cole tossing marshmallows into each other’s mouths, Matthew telling Trevor (who spilled molten marshmallow on his knee and was trying to wipe it off with great struggle) a detailed story from one of his NHL games, Brady and Quinn debating something, it wasn’t entirely clear anymore what the topic was but they seemed to be in disagreement either way and Luke’s eyes flickered around the fire, in search of his person. Her brother was still there, kicking a ball around on the grass with a couple of his friends he’d been allowed to invite. Her parents were inside talking to the other parents.

He stood up, unnoticed by the others, and wandered to the side gate, taking a quick look back before slipping out quietly and ambling next door to the l/n’s side gate, silently turning the hatch and letting himself into their garden. As he suspected, a faint, amber glowed from the window of the treehouse and those fairy lights didn’t turn on by themselves. With a sigh of relief, Luke carefully made his way across the garden, his footsteps heavy on the wooden stairs up to the platform and he opened the door a crack before letting himself into the structure.

The treehouse felt tiny compared to when they were kids. He was too tall for it now, having to duck under the door and crane his neck slightly, shutting it behind him. Y/n sat against the wall, staring out the window with her legs stretched out in front of her. She’d watched him come up the stairs, and it brought the slightest bit of relief that someone had noticed her absence. Luke sat next to her, shoulder to shoulder with his back against the wall like hers, the little lights that hung around the top of the walls giving their skin a dim glow.

“What’cha doin’ up here, pretty?” he asked softly.

She turned her head to face the wall opposite, head bumping the wood, “Got cold and needed to think. What about you? Don’t you wanna be down there, gettin’ advice from the big dogs?”

“Would rather be here with you.” He chuckled lightly, Deja vu of the conversation. The last time they sat in the treehouse together, before things spiralled. She shivered, running her hands over her arms to rid the goosebumps. Luke shimmied his sweatshirt over his head, the navy blue ‘USA Hockey’ one he always thought would look better on her, “Here, put this on.”

“You sure?” he nodded, and she pulled the sweatshirt over her head, the size engulfing her but she was too warm to care, “Thanks, but really, how did you know I was here?”

“Had a feeling. Do you wanna talk about it?”

She stayed quiet for a little moment before speaking, “M’just a little worried about college. My friends applied so far out of state with all these cool stories from relationships and drama and shit and I feel a little…boring. What if people at UMich think I’m boring? What if I’m gonna be alone? I’m not boring, am I?”

“If it brings you any comfort, I’m worried too. You know my friends are leaving the state too, and I also haven’t exactly been the most exciting socially either, just those odd parties, you remember those surely,” he muttered, his voice raspy as she nodded, “you’re not boring, by the way, never losing a game of beer pong is a talent people will kill for in college, and you won’t be alone. You’re the most likeable person I’ve ever met, and I admire how you find talking to people so easy. Remember when we started high school? You jumped straight into the jungle and made friends within the first day, took me a week to properly make mine, I was terrified. Besides, I’ll be there so you can always come find me.”

Y/n didn’t reply, but she soaked in his voice and how easy the words left his mouth. He always knew just what to say, and that was yet another reason why she loved him. She sighed, leaning her head against his bicep, gently nuzzling her cheek into him as if to comfort herself. If only he’d wrapped her arm around her, but resting his head against hers was enough, just like they had when they were kids watching Harry Potter. Back when Luke pined over her and she didn’t think too much of it, not knowing what it was, what it meant. He may have been the only guy that ever loved her like that. Roller Rink was far more interested in the idea of having a girlfriend and Cameron…Cameron couldn’t have cared less about who she was as long as she had female anatomy.

“Do you think I’m lovable? Like, not because of the way I look.” She babbled out of the blue, Luke’s eyebrows knitting with confusion at her sudden question, but he had asked what was on her mind.

“I think you’re the most lovable person there is. You’re funny, you’re witty, you have this admirable determination and ability to socially chameleon. Oh God, and you’re so sweet, always know how to make someone feel at peace. What’s-his-face and fucking Cameron have no idea what they’re missing.” He rambled, a smile spreading across his face as the lights in the room sparkled in his eyes. She looked at him with awe, his voice like a song that would now become her favourite as he talked with adoration, valuing her as a human being with her flaws and perfections that crumbled the walls he’d spent so long building.

“Lu…” She wanted to say something back, kiss his face all over, take him by the cheeks and kiss his lips so hard they wouldn’t be able to breathe. That comfortable silence between them where eyes met and debated leaning in, submitting to his childhood crush and her adolescent realisation.

Her phone buzzed, she hesitantly pulled her eyes from his and after reading the notification she slammed the device back onto the floor, groaning and rolling her eyes. She grabbed her phone back, swiping and blocking Cameron’s Instagram. Blocking was crazy, but it was the only way he’d stop begging her for ‘another chance’.

“Going by that reaction, I’m taking that was Cameron?” Luke raised his eyebrow, watching her place her phone to the side and lean back into the wall.

“Can I tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone, not even your brothers…okay?” She breathed out, staring at both their feet.

Luke hesitated, shivers running up his spine, “Yeah, I didn’t tell anyone about the twenty-fifteen fireworks, did I?”

“Ugh, he was awful, I’m actually glad it didn’t last long. Such an asshole, I just couldn’t do anything right for him. Bad girlfriend, bad person, bad kisser, prude. And talk about peer pressure, I didn’t wanna have sex with him, right? Because if I’m gonna lose my virginity it’s definitely not gonna be with him, and then he got all pissy and said that if I didn’t, he’d tell people I was a bad fuck, couldn’t make him cum or whatever. Anyway, you probably heard the rumours.” Y/n took a deep breath, she wasn’t sure why she was telling Luke that, but why would he tell anyone? It wasn’t like he had any more experience than her.

“What happened next?” he asked, deep down his blood boiled, the nonchalant facade he’d been building up began to crumble the more they found themselves alone, the more childhood memories that flooded back to him and reminded him of how much of a coward he was, that he should’ve just shoot his shot instead of running away.

“Then I caught him cheating, broke up with him and he threw a tantrum about it, started talking shit about you, saying how I was probably cheating on him first anyway, so it all cancels out. Told his friends that he caught me sucking your dick and how distraught he was over it. Next day he happily made out with his new girl in the hall, so I obviously did not matter at all and was just a plaything.” She chuckled sadly, leaning her head onto Luke’s bicep. He wanted to scream, hold her tight and tell her how wrong she was about herself, that she wasn’t a plaything, that he was a prick. But he couldn’t, instead his mind travelled to the worst parts of him, he would’ve beaten the hell out of Cameron given the chance. His deepest fantasies crept back to him like a virus all over again.

“You don’t deserve to be treated like that,” his voice lowered, gaze peering down to her with a fiery glaze in his eyes and she looked back at him, curious. “I’d never treat you like that, you’d mean everything to me. Every word, every kiss, everything.”

She released a shaky breath, adrenaline sparking in her chest, “I can’t stop thinking about how easy it was to move on for him, I just want to forget the humiliation, but I don’t know how to do that.”

His gaze burned through her, a rush of desire surging, and she’d never seen his face soften like that before, like he was thinking carefully. Luke’s hand reached for hers, sliding over her thigh and lacing their fingers together, like they always seem to do. From the pits of his brain, eleven-year-old Luke squeaked out to him and his heart screamed to grasp the opportunity: stop being stubborn, you like her, you like her, you like her, you still like her.

“We could make out, we’ve already kissed here, and if he can do it, why can’t you? Think of it as liberation.” She would have thought he was joking if it weren’t for the way his voice dropped and calm tone. He was dead serious, not a drop of amusement in his voice but he was right, they had already kissed once so what was the harm in doing it again? She peered up at him, eyes scanning his features, flickering between his lips and waiting gaze.

She’d be a fool to pass up Luke Hughes’ attention after growing apart from him. When he suggested making out, why would she pass it up, the guy still gave her butterflies even if she was just holding onto a painful delusion written by the past. It wouldn’t do any harm, it would take her mind off her turmoil, the haunting thoughts that a boy used her, and humiliated her. It wouldn’t do any harm; it was just a kiss. Only a kiss that would stick with her, their mutual magnetic pull over the summer striking up the same thought between them. Maybe they did like each other the same.

Letting go of his hand, she hoisted her leg over his and straddled his lap, hand settling on his chest. A newfound adrenaline lit up inside her like wildfire, his large hands cupping her jaw with nerves wrecking his body, thumb rubbing her cheek. He wet his lips, his one hand sliding to her nape, and he pulled her in slowly.

“Yeah, liberation.” She whispered, closing the gap between them, lips meeting timidly before she melted into his body, Luke’s tongue ran across her bottom lip, a moan drawing from the back of her throat as she let him in, licking into his mouth with a sweet desire.

Neither had an expert understanding of how to make out, but the more they fell into a rhythm of disconnecting for a breath, just to connect again for another taste, the more electric the tension between them became. She slid her hand from his chest to his curls, fingers tangling in the loose ringlets and tugging tenderly, too caught up in the pleasure to think coherently. Luke moaned hungrily, his hand gliding from her nape down the curve of her spine and his hand settling on her hip, fingers gripping her hipbone the moment she rolled into his crotch. The buzz from the gathering next door was silenced in their ears, the only noises in their proximity being the sound of their lips eating each other and tongues lapping in a hot and heavy haze, whines slipping in as a warm temptation flushed through them. He bucked his hips up, as if on an instinct, following his heart rather than his head for once.

Even if they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, they pulled back panting, eyes locked in a risky delirium. He ran his thumb over her swollen bottom lip, gulping when she wrapped her lips around the fingertip, sucking softly and swirling her tongue while refusing to drop the intense eye contact. Luke’s heart thundered, hard. So strongly he could feel it in his ears and undoubtedly his cheeks were pink. They were in each other’s grasps, overridden with a lewd rhapsody that had the bottom of their stomachs twisting and eyes half-lidded with lust. If Luke could feel how her underwear stuck to her in that moment, she would have never been able to recover from it. Kissing him so deeply with every ounce of desire that riddled her bones sent her into a dizzy haze, pussy throbbing for more every time he adjusted his hips up to meet hers.

“What else can that mouth do?” he muttered, watching a new side of the girl he grew up with. His head was in a whole new place, a foggy mess all because she squirmed on his lap, felt euphoric on his tongue and kissed him like she meant it, like his hands over her body was all it took to light the spark that burned between them.

She released his thumb with a coy smile, a string of saliva between her bottom lip and his thumb. She could feel how tight his shorts had become and gave her hips another roll over his crotch, thriving in how his breath hitched, “Wanna find out?”

“Please.” He said with a shaky breath, hands finding their way to her thighs, running his palms along the flesh.

Y/n bit her bottom lip, readjusting her seating by spreading his legs and setting herself on her knees between them. Although not comfortable, that was the least of her concerns. She flipped the hem of his t-shirt up and unbuckled his belt, fumbling with the button of his shorts and tucking her fingers into his boxer’s waistband. He lifted his hips, allowing her to shimmy his bottoms down just enough for his cock to spring free. He leant his head against the wall, hands covering his face when she rubbed languid strokes over his cock, thriving in his muffled whines when her thumb circled the pre-cum around his tip.

“Mm, so big, Lu.” She hummed, spitting into her palm and giving him hard strokes from the base, smiling at how his Adam’s Apple bobbed. God, he wished he hated it, wished he didn’t feel ecstatic when she called him his nickname, the name only she called him. He wished he hated how her hand looked tiny against his cock, how good he felt.

“Shit,” he whined, “need your mouth already, please, y/n, please.”

“Only if you stop hiding, I wanna see your face.” She gave his tip relentless kitten licks, a vicious thrill shuddering down her limbs to her core. He did as he was told, hands trying to grip the wood beneath them and she grinned, taking him into her mouth and just to drive him insane, moaning and his taste blessing her taste buds.

“Oh God,” he breathed raggedly, a twinge of a groan mixed in as her tongue lay flat on the underside of his cock, swallowing him as if she’d done it hundreds of times before like she’d thought about it intensely. Her name left his mouth in a mantra, followed by swearing and whimpers he never imagined himself making.

She peered up through her lashes, the moan she let out reverberating around his cock with such a tainted pleasure that he gasped, his eyes fluttering open to the sight of her bobbing her head over him, watching him lose himself with a burning face and submissive mewls emitting from his lips. Writhing under his childhood best friend’s mouth, in her treehouse of all places while she sucked him off with shameless lust wasn’t something he expected. She had him a moaning mess and for a moment he thought that only she could be capable of doing so. There wasn’t a chance any other girl could make him feel that much emotion during such a filthy act, his childhood crush flooding back to him all over again, all that excitement, nerves, butterflies in his stomach and now the adolescent storm of love, lust, desire, dedication and everything that got mixed up in between.

He tensed, y/n’s free hand skirting up his shirt and splaying over his abs, feeling all the dips in muscles as his core tightened the deeper she took him, hissing when his cock hit the back of her throat. How on Earth she managed it, he wouldn’t know, and he didn’t care because it felt exhilarating, sweat forming on his forehead. He bucked his hips up, an erotic, deep moan drawing out from her.

“Fuck, so close, m’gonna cum,” he breathed, “gonna cum, y/n, please.”

His thighs shuddered, her hands lying flat on them as Luke exhaled deeply, the knot in his core unravelling as he thrust into her mouth, his hot cum coating her tongue and throat and his jaw slacked, panting when she swallowed every drop of him, as much as she could before pulling her lips off him. His eyes pricked tears from overstimulation, fluttering shut as his chest rose and fell.

“Where-where’d you learn that?” he whispered, tucking himself back into his underwear and re-dressing himself. It was as if his high wore off, the world tuned back in, and he could hear the buzz of his family’s gathering next door again.

She wiped the dribble of cum from her lip with her finger, taking it into her mouth and licking it clean, “I read a lot, followed my instincts.”

“Fuck, that felt incredible. You’re incredible, never gonna forget that. Fuck, you’re still an amazing kisser, oh my fucking God.” He couldn’t help but smile, it felt like old times. The easy air where no judgement lurked, secrets could be spilt and they’d stay between the two of them, he’d sit there, admiring and folding over how pretty she was while she’d treat him like a prince. Perhaps they’d just made another bad choice, how could he not ignore his feelings now, it was so hard to resist temptation and push back the butterflies. After all those months running away from himself, from her and all that achieved was him running back around straight into her grip again. He was done with running; he was going to give himself one last chance.

With a giggle, she crawled out from between his legs and re-took her seat next to him, “Now that was memorable. Remind me to kiss you more. Do you make noises like that for every girl? They were so fucking hot.”

“Nah, only you. Been only you. Kissed only you.” Luke let a chuckle pass his lips, closing his eyes and grinning to himself. She exhaled, peeking up at him in his peaceful state. Only her, only her. Even after all that time, he’d never looked at another girl. She was the only girl he’d ever kissed, only ever done anything with and even after he’d kept her far from his reach, it was because he only ever wanted her. Now they had each other, side-by-side, in her treehouse where she’d given her first ever blowjob and she didn’t regret one second of it, and never would despite however life turned out.

“You won’t tell anyone about this…will you?” her voice was quiet, and she pulled her knees to her chest. “Not because I’m ashamed but like, well, you know, kinda embarrassing people knowing our business…”

Luke copied her, resting his arms over his knees, “I’m not gonna say anything if you don’t want me to, y/n. You know I wouldn’t do that, but I get what you mean. I really don’t want my brothers talking about it, and you know Jack can’t even keep his own secrets.”

“Are we cool now? No more of- whatever we’ve been doing?” she held out her fist.

“We’re cool. Just you ‘n me again.” He bumped her fist with his, “We’re thinking of taking the boat out again tomorrow, you should come.”

She nudged his shoulder with hers, “Maybe I will, maybe I’ll wear my best bikini.”

“Maybe you should, maybe I’ll wear the blue shorts.” He nudged back, both knowing exactly which items of swimwear they were referencing. The hibiscus pattern bikini that couldn’t have suited her any more perfectly and the swim shorts that hugged his thighs too nicely, that he only wore after he’d caught her staring.

They smiled brightly, lights reflecting in their eyes as they leaned into each other’s sides. The sweet sensation of closure, burying a hatchet in the place it all started. It wasn’t a conventional way to make up, but feelings resolved that night, messages conveyed and for those few hours they spent up there, they were finally on the same page.

Reconnecting with someone who was once your entire world changes your perception of life itself. The sun shone brighter, the air warmer and serotonin at an all-time high. What they hadn’t realised was that reconnecting after straying away came with a thick tension between them, not like a negative, doom and gloom but something else. Something exciting.

On boat days, every time their eyes would meet, stomachs would twist and feel a heat pool in their cores. Every little move felt suggestive, every time he adjusted the way he sat so his shorts would rise up his thighs slightly, every time she adjusted her bikini, when he’d place his hand on her hips as he’d walk past, sitting on his lap and playing with his curls to make more space for the others on the seats.

At the golf course, with his lean arms wrapped around her, hands on top of hers and guiding her positioning and swing of the club, his breathing on her neck making her body melt into his and Luke fighting off the urge to drop the club entirely and pull her into his embrace, to pepper her neck with butterfly kisses until he found her sweet spot.

Nights around the firepit, cuddled on his lap in the lawn chair wearing his hoodie, his hand stroking her thigh and mumbling conversations between each other, lips dangerously close with hot breaths on each other's necks.

Naps where they lay on each other's chests, arms wound around bodies and legs tangled under sheets and blankets.

The difference between their reconnecting and the average person’s reconnecting was that actions spoke louder than words, but neither were speaking up. Luke had done his best, been explicit in the treehouse, held her close whenever they were together. Y/n was in a bumbling state, accepting every one of Luke’s attempts, relishing in the feeling of being loved and appreciated, hoping her time and attention would be enough for him.

The difference between Luke and y/n couldn’t have been more obvious to a bystander. Luke, a shameless loverboy enduring the relentless teasing from his brothers about how down bad he was and y/n, endeared but tortured Luke with her inability to verbalise her feelings, an overthinker. Luke spent so many years being direct about himself and y/n spent so many years stuck in her head and generating the worst possible situations. All he wanted was confirmation, something that said ‘You’re my only too, my everything. Only you’, something from her vocal cords.

Y/n wiped the sweat from her forehead with her arm, knees sore from kneeling on the grass for so long and hands soaking from the gardening gloves. Her mum had gone crazy with her flowers again, and insisted she needed the family to help her plant the new bulbs much to her father and brother’s dismay. The worst part was the chatter from the Hughes’, taunting her with how much fun they were having and how she was doing manual labour in the heat. A whole morning of listening to laughter, Jack and Trevor’s voices above anyone else's but all she thought about was Luke and his smile, his real laugh that came from his chest, the way he laughed with his body. All while she dug holes just to refill them again.

Somewhere around noon, she had thrown the gloves off and stood up, exhaling deeply and next door still had fun without her. God, if her fear of missing out was that bad then college would be excruciating. Having enough and falling submissive to her FOMO, she climbed her treehouse stairs, settling on the step that was high enough to see over the garden fence.

You don’t deserve to be treated like that, I’d never treat you like that, you’d mean everything to me. Every word, every kiss, everything.

For a guy who’d been all over her, confessed that he felt something for her and told her that everything between them meant something to him, she sure became suspicious of it. Her stomach sank, tongue poking the inside of her cheek at him looking perfectly entertained pressed between two girls on the outdoor sofa, one of them suspiciously close to his face. She could only see him from behind, but she knew any girl who entered the Hughes residence was drop-dead gorgeous and if there was one thing she had learnt was that boys suck. He didn’t flinch out the way, didn’t move seats, didn’t push them off, he just let them. Jumping to conclusions wasn’t the person she wanted to be, but the festering irritation in her stomach wasn’t ignorable. Yet she trusted him, and before she would deep it, she wanted to think first, at least ask him about it before her jealousy got the best of her. She turned on her heel, thumped down the stairs and continued her gardening, which was now a lot more fun than next door.

Luke’s face burned red, only Jack would do him dirty in front of his cousins like that. His business was apparently the family’s business. The whole morning he’d been interrogated by his cousins about y/n, how she was, what she was up to, was she cute, did she make him happy, what she looked like. He pulled his phone out, opening his camera roll and pulling up a photo of her, his cousins leaning into him for a better look of the screen in the sun.

“Oh my god, she’s so pretty, Luke!” Beth mused.

“How have you not asked her out?” Stephanie asked in a hushed voice, earning giggles from Jack and Quinn.

“I have been trying since I was eleven, okay? She’s just…not easy to read sometimes. I mean, I think we’re on the same page now, so I was gonna ask her next time I see her, ask her on a date to our favourite arcade.” He grinned at the thought, he’d planned it when he was fifteen and had been counting down the days to finally ask her himself.

He lay in bed that same night, seconds away from rolling over and turning his lamp off until his phone flashed, an influx of y/n’s texts coming through like wildfire. Running his hand over his dreary face, he picked his phone back up, reading each message one by one with unease. He squinted his eyes as if it would clear his confusion, her sudden outburst of accusations making him replay the events of the day.

Y/n/n Who were those girls??? Why were they literally on you Luluuuu how many girls are you gettiiinnng Lulu Huh? What are you talking about Oh they were my cousins. You met them years ago. I was showing them pics of you They were not on me thats gross they were looking at my phone so untwist your panties

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat, or it felt like it. He was showing pictures of her? To his family?

Y/n/n ?? Beth and Steph?? That was NOT them they were blonde as fuck My panties are fine thank you Lulu LMAO yeah it was Didn’t know you were spying on me you lil peepin tom Yeah sure sounds like it. It’s okay to be ✨jealous✨ but you’re still no.1 Y/n/n Ok I believe you WAS NOT SPYING WAS STUCK DOING GARDENING AND WAS CURIOUS Not jealous loser

Luke blew a puff of air through his nose, liking the message and placing the phone on his nightstand before rolling over. Usually, he was the one biting back his tongue, but seeing her jealous for once just made his heart swell a little more, it was cute, she cared.

Y/n lay face down in her bed, face stuffed into her pillow and arms by her side. At least the irritation left but now she just felt like an idiot. But not a big idiot since she at least asked Luke what was going on, but still an idiot for even assuming he’d go and do something like that to her. She just hoped Luke didn’t think she was stupid.

Y/n hung her head in defeat, she tied the knot exactly how Luke had and yet she still couldn’t win. Another evening out on the lake with Kim, another evening where she wished she didn’t have to tie the boat to the dock.

Hands nudged hers out the way and once again Luke had come to her rescue, crouched next to her and tying the rope to the cleat, like he had at the beginning of summer. They stood up straight, smiley, waiting for someone to say something with the crickets chirping and Luke’s brothers’ voices in the background.

“Thanks…again. I should get it someday.” She scratched her neck.

His mouth faltered, opening and closing to speak but he couldn’t choke the words out. He wanted to ask her, scream from the rooftops but something in his mind stopped him. What if she said no? How awkward that would be, they’d have to spend the last weeks of summer pretending as if nothing was going on, even if it was more than obvious that feelings were mutual. But what if she rejected him again? His hands slipped into his pockets, and he rocked on his heels.

“So, uh, since we're cool, um, was wondering for a while now if, um, and you don't have to but, uh, if you wanted to,” he started, sweat forming on his temple as his body ran hot. He’d watched Jack ask girls out, he made it look way too easy than it was, why couldn’t he just spit it out, he wanted it, that moment was what he’d been waiting for his whole life, she was right there. Chest tight, stomach doing flips, the adrenaline surging through him making his cheeks flush pink.

Her heart throbbed, cheeks ached but in a nice way, in a joyful way. This time, she would not miss her chance, it would be her and him until the end and she hoped, she begged the stars that he was going to ask her on a date. The whole summer with him, kindling spirits and rebuilding what had crumbled, two flames burning together and feeling as if she were the only girl in the world to him.

What was the worst that could happen? Rejection. Fear. Luke’s knees felt like jelly, his hands trembling and his mind coming to a blank. He couldn’t breathe, his heart wouldn’t pace itself and the words tumbled from his mouth in a panic, “um, well, Jack, Quinn and I were gonna check out this beach tomorrow and I was wondering if you wanted to come?”

He wasn’t lying, they were, but it wasn’t what he wanted to say. Y/n kept her smile even though it felt as if all her organs had been sucked from inside her to leave her a void. All that hope just for it to dissipate into thin air. All the little moments they shared, holding hands, exchanging secrets and forgiving, forgetting and going nowhere. It wasn’t until then it occurred to her that some people just weren’t meant to be more than friends. Just weren’t meant to take that leap into romance. Some people just were not ready.

“Yeah, sure. Text me the details.”

The closer they were just felt like they’d drifted further apart. They’d come so close until one of them just couldn’t do it, pushed the other away and not out of dislike either, because it was hard to not love each other but when you’d been friends for so long, everything - friends, family - felt at jeopardy. Right person, wrong time? It didn’t matter. Y/n and Luke would spend the rest of their summer as close friends. Nobody could hate Luke more than he hated himself, that bubbling in his stomach, boiling blood at only the boy who would stare back at him in the mirror. Nobody cried more than y/n, that pang in her heart every time they’d hang out, bottomless hollowness in her stomach when she soaked her pillows in the comfort of her bedroom. So close yet so far, like the stars that sparkled in their eyes when they looked at each other like they’d hung them out for each other. Once again, they’d signed that contract to be friends and if they were just that little bit braver, then maybe they’d stop letting the flowers of a bittersweet tragedy grow in their lungs, choke and suffocate them until one couldn��t do it anymore and concluded their decision. It was time to move on, stop waiting and set themselves free from the one who couldn’t decide.

Starting at the University of Michigan was like a breath of fresh air. New people, new environment, new life. Although she missed waking up on a lake, she and her roommate, beautiful and blonde, Bella (if she was going to make friends she may as well start with her roommate, right?), clicked well and decorated their dorm cosy with little lights hanging along the walls and bed frames, a rug to give the place personality and photos on the walls of family, friends and interests. Gave the cold place a bit of warm character. They giggled as they listened to the room across the hall already break out into an argument who-slept-where, they sympathised for the girl who struggled to say goodbye to her family and watched the two boys move in down the hall, y/n’s jaw dropping upon recognising the familiar head of curls.

Luke and Dylan were long-time friends, they’d met back in the USA Hockey Development Camp when they were around fifteen and felt the pressure of new beginnings lift off their shoulders when they’d found out they were roommates. It was the best thing ever for them, setting up their room as their den, a blue rug, two plush folding chairs with the essentials: speaker, mini fridge, fan and a TV perched on top of one of the desk’s shelves. They’d spent most of their time rearranging their room to create maximum space, bickering like a married couple about the little details like no shoes on the rug and which way the desks should face. He and y/n hadn’t texted until later that night, Luke thrilled over her being just down the hall but y/n indifferent to it. Once upon a time, she would have been bouncing off the walls but now, it didn’t matter that much at all.

In the first few weeks of university, you start making friends, join clubs and attend everything you can and go out when you want to with no one telling you when to be home. Y/n met a group of girls when she and Bella attended a social, Luke made friends through hockey. Both ended up back together when the two groups mixed by coincidence one night at some party they’d found and it was Dylan who brought it up.

Y/n and her friends had been standing to the side in the living room of the dimly lit house, red solo cups held to chests and shuffling further away from the speaker at the other end of the room. Dylan weaved through the crowd, Luke, the three other guys, Mark, Ethan and Mackie not far behind him. She had been tipsy and grabbed Luke’s arm, Dylan immediately stopping to group with the girls.

“Hey, Lu! Haven’t seen you in a while.” She yelled over the music, Luke standing close to her while Ethan, Mackie and Mark joined the little bundle.

“Hey, y/n/n! Good to see you here.” He replied, dipping down closer to her ear.

Dylan’s eyes widened with his grin, pointing his drink between the two, “Oh shit! You know each other?”

“Yeah, we grew up together.” She smiled. Something inside Luke almost died that night. Something inside Luke also lit ablaze.

“You’re y/n?! Hughesy talks about you all the time!” Dylan nudged Luke and Luke rolled his eyes, he would always have someone in his life who’d share his secrets, obviously.

Y/n hadn’t added to the conversation after that and the group fell into a casual chatter, getting to know each other, that sort of thing. Luke felt the world bite him in the ass, that wedge he’d shoved between them now forced back and he felt like he was at square one all over again.

That same night, on their way back to the dorms, Luke had made the clearest statement yet without opening his mouth. Ethan had been talking with her most of the party and since Luke knew her best, wanted advice. But when Ethan asked him about her number and favourite flowers, the youngest Hughes’ eyes could not have shot a dirtier look. Of course, the boys laughed, partially due to the alcohol and partially due to how real Luke seemed. Ethan flinched back, half-laughing out of nerves more than anything but that was the moment the boys realised something was going on. And they would not let Luke live it down.

Luke couldn’t bear his reflection sometimes. He had to face a coward and under the surgical white light of his and Dylan’s bathroom, where every feature and crevice of everything he hated just stuck out to laugh at him. Not physically, but all the memories of days he'd spent hyping himself up, ready to ask her out flashed in front of his eyes and he couldn’t stop the images of seeing his younger self utterly disappointed in him. He gripped the sink tight, knuckles turning white as he hung his head in shame, his eyes burning hot as they glassed over, a knot in his chest between angry and distraught igniting his tear ducts. He and y/n were part of two different groups with two different schedules, hockey was demanding, she would be with her crowd and when he thought he could finally have her without prying eyes, she was slipping further from his reach. But he wouldn’t lose her a second time. He wasn’t ready to surrender almost eight years of pining, he’d try just one last time.

It was exciting, it was new, it was refreshing. Weeks of classes, weeks of making new friends and weeks of finally gaining and learning independence. Things were going well for once and she even had her first date as a college student. Tony was a guy she met at a party, he didn’t resemble Luke at all and had approached her with smooth talking but lacked the character Luke held. She wasn’t sure about that, a cardboard personality but that was why she had agreed to go on a date with him, to learn.

She’d knocked on Luke’s dorm on her way through, pushing him into his room abruptly and fixing her hair, Bella was out, and she was in dire need of a second opinion, and despite how the universe played out, Luke was still her most trusted and oldest friend. His eyes widened slightly, once again she’d quite literally taken his breath away with how gorgeous she looked all dolled up.

“Do I look okay?” she asked, panic in her voice.

“Uh, yeah.” He fumbled out, like he’d forgotten how to speak entirely.

“That’s all? Oh God, I look bad, don’t I?”

“What? No, you look good, I’m just confused. You going out?” he felt his cheeks warm at his sudden confession, why was it easier to admit that now and not back then?

“I’m going on a date, Lu. I’m freaking out, what if he doesn’t like me? What if I say the wrong thing or say something unfunny?-”

Luke placed his hands on her shoulders, eyes meeting hers and her voice faded out. For a split second she questioned if going on the date was the right choice, but she caught herself, not letting the comfort of his thumbs rubbing her shoulders distract her. “-There isn’t a reason why he wouldn’t like you, chill. You will be fine, and you are funny, if he doesn’t find you funny then he’s boring as fuck. Who is this guy anyway? Where’s he taking you?”

“Thanks,” she relaxed with a smile, he always could make her feel better. “And are we really doing this again? His name’s Tony and I am meeting him at a bar near campus.”

“Okay, you want me to walk you? Which bar-” but before Luke could get any further, she’d looked at the time and rushed out. He watched her power-walk down the hall before shutting his door roughly, hissing swears through his teeth. Perfect, just perfect, Luke’s love life was just going so perfect. Whoever this ‘Tony’ was, he despised him with every fibre in his being.

Dylan opened the bathroom door a crack, peeping out as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping the whole time. He didn’t grin like usual, his raised an eyebrow as Luke ran his hands down his face and threw himself onto one of the comfy chairs like a ragdoll.

“You wanna talk about it? Fill me in here?” he asked, stepping into the room.

As Luke opened his mouth, someone knocked three times on the door. Dylan answered, revealing Mark, Mackie and Ethan kitted out for the gym. Ushering them in, they stood in front of Luke, like a council waiting for him.

“Hughesy's pissed,” Dylan told the guys, “Luke, we’re here dude, let it out, brother. What’s the deal with you and y/n. You gave Eddy the evils and now you’re slamming doors and swearing your ass off when she goes on a date.”

Luke paused, thought. It wasn’t high school anymore; they were all adults. They weren’t going to tell everyone, they weren’t going to throw it back at him, tease him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit it out loud, he already felt like a loser as it was. They were his friends, his brothers.

“I like y/n, and I have since we were kids. And I’m pissed off because I’m not the guy she’s going on a date with. Okay?” Luke groaned, the guys breaking into menacing grins and nudging each other’s arms.

“Dude, you could have just said something. Come on, Hughesy, we got you.” Mark laughed, grabbing Luke by the arm and pulling him from the chair. They say the friends you make in university are some of the best friends you’ll ever have, and that was the day Luke realised that. If anyone wanted him to be happy, it was them. He wasn’t on his own anymore, he wouldn’t be in an empty house all the time, he wouldn’t have to arrive home and hear the absence of his family. His family were with him all the time now.

Seven o’clock. Seven-thirty. Eight o’clock and Tony wasn’t coming. Cars passed, customers entered and exited, the neon lights flickered on and hummed in the dark. The world just passed by. Y/n had never felt more humbled in her life, more embarrassed. To think that he had an interest in her was too ambitious. How could someone do that? Just leave someone outside the bar for an hour with no text or apology. She sat on the curb with her knees to her chest, mascara running down her cheeks waiting for the miracle that he showed his face, and it was an innocent delay. Maybe he got caught up? Maybe he was late from somewhere? Why was she waiting, making excuses for him? But she still waited until the evening faded into the night. She waited on that curb, drained of all feeling, limbs heavy and even her stomach felt void of anything, she didn’t feel like walking back to her dorm, it may as well have been a walk of shame while everyone laughed at how hopeful she had been. No matter what she did, who it was, she was always waiting.

The Yost rink took hockey seriously, team rooms for everything. Gym, common, kitchen, locker room, showers, everything for aspiring professional NHL stars. The guys had started their fixed routine advised by the coaches, an intense gym routine, yes, but anything for hockey. Luke had taken a break from weights, wiping his face with his towel and taking a breather when he’d overheard the conversation, stopped dead in his tracks as the words almost echoed around the room. He didn’t want to have to look at the guy, but did he really have to play on the same team as him too? The worst part was it wasn’t just Luke hearing the conversation, Dylan and Mackie had paused their music to listen in, eyes switching between each other and at Luke, whose jaw clenched tight, and gaze couldn’t have been sharper.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on that date?” Tony’s friend asked, leaning against the treadmill Tony jogged on.

“Huh? With who?”

“Y’know, the chick from the party? The one who wore that USA Hockey sweatshirt on move-in day? Wonder whose dick she sucked for that.” His friend continued, “Man, she was cute.”

Luke’s blood boiled and his breathing deepened. He bit his tongue; it took everything in him to not bite into both their throats. She didn’t have to suck his dick to get the sweatshirt, he gave it to her before that, because he cared.

“Oh yeah, forgot about that. She’s probably still waiting for me. Leave now and you might catch her.”

Luke huffed, turning on his heel and storming out the gym, scrambling in his pocket for his phone. Tony and his friend snapped their heads to his sudden exit, catching the eyes of Dylan and Mackie who shook their heads in disappointment before turning back to what they were doing. Tony had no idea he had an enemy until then.

He burst out the gym doors into the hallway, pacing up and down with his fingers tangled in his hair, phone pressed to his ear but every attempt going to voicemail. He gave up texting, he could send a hundred texts, and she wouldn’t see them anyway, her phone was always on silent but with enough hope, she may see him call.

Goosebumps rose along y/n’s arms, the autumn breeze catching up to her and perhaps she should have worn a jacket after all. She thought about getting up and heading back to her dorm, but the energy to do so had been sucked from her, limbs feeling heavy, and heart shattered. The longer she’d sat there, the more she realised she wasn’t upset about Tony, it was being stood up. He really did not want to see her that badly after all. Watching the same customers walk out the bar that she watched walk in, she pulled her phone out, lockscreen filled with Luke’s contact and five missed calls. What was so important that he had to call now? Why was she suddenly so popular with him again? Just as she scoffed and went to slide her phone into her back pocket, his name flashed again, for the sixth call. Her thumb hovered over the accept button, biting her lip with nerves crawling in her stomach.

“Why weren’t you picking up? Where are you?” His voice was panicked, and she could hear how fast his breathing was through the speaker.

“Sorry, was too busy sucking off Ohio State’s hockey team.” Her voice clipped, running her nail over her jeans, tears welling in her eyes and reactivating her mascara, if there was any still left on her lashes.

“Haha, so funny.” He laughed sarcastically, “Where are you?”

“Why do you care suddenly? You’ll probably just laugh in my face anyway.”

“Fucking God, y/n/n. Where are you?”

She flinched slightly at his raised voice, jolting her phone from her ear before replying with a sulky pout, “Diablo’s, but I’ll probably come back soon.”

He hung up, stuffing his phone back into his pocket and bolting out Yost without thinking about anything else. The only thought was getting y/n back safely before the worst happened. What was she thinking? She should've started walking the second Tony failed to arrive, before it was dark. His jogging gradually shifted into a run, Diablo’s wasn’t more than fifteen minutes away from campus, and he was aware that he looked a little crazy running with the bare minimum of usual running gear but that wasn’t the issue. He would have never stood her up like that, he should have walked her to the bar in the first place and waited until he arrived. He should’ve, he should’ve but he didn’t. He’d been harbouring his feelings for so long, yet he couldn’t even provide something as minimal as a walk, but he wouldn’t let her sit outside a bar because of some shitty guy.

Y/n stretched her legs in front of her, eyes locked on her shoes as her ears tuned the world out, letting it pass by slowly before she thought about getting up. She knew exactly what she was doing. Fallen into yet another trap set her heart, she was waiting for Luke. Again. If it weren’t for the familiar maize and navy trainers appearing in front of her, she would’ve punished herself for even considering that Luke may have cared about her in the slightest. Slowly, she tilted her chin up: the gym shorts, the compression shirt, the flushed cheeks and unruly curls from the wind. What was once a heavy anvil on her shoulders ascended, taking the blues out from her body and replacing them with that spark. That electric spark that made her limbs all tingly with life and energy. Luke’s eyes softened at her, although his fears had been wiped, she was okay, but Tony made her cry. That time and effort she’d put in had ran down her cheeks and if he wasn’t so fuelled with captivation, he would’ve lost his temper. But she was his serenity, always had been.

“You came.” She squeaked, doe eyes peering up at him lovingly.

“Of course I did.” Luke panted, taking her by the hands and pulling her to her feet. He didn’t let go for a while, neither did she. His hands were warm, and she remembered how safe they always made her feel, how he’d always have his arm draped over the back of her seat during the summer, how she felt like the only girl in the world when their eyes met. “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

It wasn’t a long walk back, but neither was it romantic. Luke had his hands in his pockets and y/n’s in hers but the distance between them couldn’t have been closer, like two magnets once again, hauling back into each other. When they had taken the fifteen-minute walk back to their dorm block, he walked with her all the way until they stood outside her door and only they could somehow make it awkward.

They gave each other a small nod, as if to give a silent goodbye until y/n span on her heel, her arms winding around his torso against her better judgement. He blinked twice and froze, he couldn’t remember the last time she’d hugged him so tight, she fit like a glove, and he’d forgotten how much he felt like he belonged somewhere, with someone when in her arms. He melted into her, arms wrapping around her shoulders and resting his lips to the top of her hair. The violent urge to kiss her, only a peck but he knew that if he kissed her once, it’d lead to more. It always did.

Pulling away, she tilted her head up at him, hands holding the sides of his shirt while his glid to the tops of her shoulders. The silence thick, eyes searching for something, rolling tapes of lost memories they’d tried to forget: the treehouse, the boat, every second they even considered that they had a chance. Luke’s hands cupped her jaw, thumbs caressing over her cheekbones as he licked his lips. Her grip tightened, mouth parting and leaning onto her tiptoes while he dipped down, breaths tying together, noses bumping. He said he wouldn’t do it, she said she didn’t want to do it but in the end all they ever ended up doing was intertwining back into each other. Their lips ghosted, eyelashes fluttering against their cheeks until lips grazed in the slightest.

The reality of the situation crashed down upon her heavily, like getting caught in a hailstorm. She was a strong soldier, she could resist. Everything would circle back like it always did. They would kiss, things would be fine and then he’d disappear. If it can happen once, it can happen again, and again and again until one of them stopped the chase. Luke would just hurt her again; she would just look for guys to fill the hole in her heart he made when he would leave, and the self-destruction had to stop at some point. Her eyes snapped open, and she nudged him back lightly, “No. I-I can’t do this, Lu.”

Luke’s world darkened, a hollow sorrow washing through him as he let her push him away. Pathetically, he looked at her, a pleading guilt jabbing him in the stomach as his hands yearned to reach out for her. They hung by his sides instead and she inhaled deeply, shakily.

“I don't get it. One minute I’m everything to you and the next it’s like I don’t exist…you keep coming back at random times like nothing’s happened, at times when I think that you don’t want me anymore…it’s just so- so confusing! I feel like I’m always waiting on you to make up your mind, Luke.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, the defeat rising inside her. “You like me and then you don’t and I can’t keep playing cat and mouse all the time. Thank you for picking me up and looking out for me, but until you’ve figured out what you want, please leave me be.”

Like that, she was gone. Turned away and retreated to her dorm, leaving him standing like a lost puppy in the hallway. He didn’t want to cry, not there at least but how he’d managed to make things worse, he couldn’t say. All he knew is that she was right, and that was the part that hit him the hardest. He knew his answer, he knew he did want her and was going to give them one last chance, but she didn’t know that. From her perspective, he was just getting close to running away, hoping she’d chase him back but now she wasn’t. The next time they’d meet would either be the last of everything they built, or the start of something new.

When y/n stepped into her dorm looking like she’d been through several horrendous break-ups and four bushes backwards, Bella jolted up from her bed, scrambling out her covers. Y/n told her everything. Everything from her mess with Luke to Tony ditching her. The good, the bad and the ugly about the whole story and while Bella was pissed about the latter, even she could see Luke in a battle of his own.

“Have you ever considered that Luke’s…y’know…scared?” Bella asked, leaning against the bathroom door frame, eyes meeting y/n’s in the mirror as she scrubbed the mascara from her face.

As if she couldn’t have made the ordeal any messier than it was, she feared she just had out of her own borderline selfishness. She hadn’t considered his side of the story. Ever.

One intensely lit house with LED light strips covering the walls, pulsing and flashing changing colours in beat with the music blaring through the speakers, two girls weaved their way through a sea of bodies into the kitchen, five boys hovering in the living room, making conversation with sophomores in the frat.

Their first frat party as freshmen and the nerves were skyrocketing. The only reason y/n and Bella went was because Dylan had invited y/n, and she begged Bella to tag along since it would be a fun experience and so she didn’t have to go alone. So far, so good. They’d lost count of how many drinks they’d poured, shots taken, people spoken to, they were just girls.

The boys were on a mission. Well, Luke was, the boys were just orchestrating events and giving Luke multiple pep-talks about it being ‘now or never’. They were right, of course. Luke had just over a week of no contact, a week for staring at his reflection in the mirror, lying in bed at night staring at the ceiling, thinking, planning, anticipating and now it would all stop.

Ethan lined up his shot, ping pong ball loosely held between his fingers, and he released, biting his lip as the ball bounced into the opposing team’s cup. The boys cheered, throwing each other into fist bumps and bro-hugs, a few girls applauding around them. Y/n and Bella stood within that surrounding crowd, Mark wiggling them to the front as if they were VIPs, part of their group. When Luke’s turn came around, she noticed the fan club he’d gained, pretty girls giggling and whispering between each other, cheering when Luke’s shot landed in the cup. She ran her tongue over her top teeth, a lethal glare on the girls as they tried to loop their arms around Luke’s, but her muscles relaxed seeing Dylan and Mackie stand beside him, ushering the girls back.

Bella nudged her, leaning over to murmur in her ear, “Something tells me he’s made up his mind.”

Y/n opened her mouth, but Mark stumbled over his feet in front of them, asking if they fancied another drink (of course they did) and taking both their wrists gently with a goofy grin on his face, leading them through the people, brushing past a couple guys in the doorway whose eyes followed them towards the back corner of the kitchen, where the rest of the guys had managed to claim. Mark was sweet, baby faced and a ball of sunshine with contagious energy, ensuring they were in the circle securely. He ushered y/n between himself and Luke, Bella on the other side with Dylan and Mackie but no matter how tucked away she was in the boys, the looming gaze of someone else clawed at her.

Ten minutes passed, the group still in a deep conversation amongst themselves and she peered back over her shoulder again, the - presumably older guy, maybe a senior - still watching her every move like a hawk, leaning into his friend and pointing at her with smirks. There’s nothing more terrifying in a woman’s life than knowing you’re being watched because being watched means there’s a further plan. If she had known she was being watched at the carnival, she could have moved somewhere else but now, she did know she was being watched and her legs paralysed, staying where she was would keep her safe. But she wanted to run, run home, run to her bed, run to her dorm where she couldn’t be found, and security cameras lined the halls. The only security blanket keeping her heart from palpitating was Mark and Luke beside her, yet the guy didn’t seem bothered by that at all.

There were too many people to run, the kitchen too crowded to slip away without getting caught by him but any longer being stared down by the guy and tears may have fallen, making the whole situation worse. Until she stepped to the side, bumping into a familiar arm. An arm that snaked around her torso and hand settled on her hip, tucking her into his side while he casually continued his conversation with Dylan. He held her close so naturally as if embedded into his autopilot, an instinct. Excitement bubbled in her stomach, exploding in her chest when Luke kissed her hair, watching the guy from across the room disappear from his peripheral vision. The guy may have been watching y/n, but Luke had been watching the guy the entire time, flashbacks from the carnival haunting him. Even if she were to shove him away, the least he could do was keep her safe from the start this time. Y/n didn’t shove him away, she leant into him like putty melding to his form, if she was with him, all the nerves disintegrated.

“No, that’s what I’m saying!” Ethan’s voice raised above, turning from Mark as he turned to the rest of the group, “Okay, is anyone else down for shots? I have this spinner game.”

In a group agreement, Ethan pulled his phone out, loading up said spinner game and showing his screen. The spinner had different shots on a wheel, from tequila to whiskey to rum to vodka to body shots, the aim to spin and take whatever the arrow landed on. Ethan spun first, resulting in his fate being sealed by whatever whiskey they found lying around the counters. The shot burned unpleasantly down his throat, but anything for a good time. Mackie spun next, taking a dance with tequila and if he had learnt something that night, it was that him and tequila were not fated to be lovers. Both Dylan and Bella took their vodka shots with their arms intertwined with each other. Luke took his turn, unbothered by what his result was until the arrow landed on a body shot. He shook his head smiling, the guys allowing him to choose his partner.

Y/n tugged on his t-shirt, gesturing her head towards the island counter behind Mark and Ethan. The group grinned, a concoction of ‘oooh’ and ‘yeah’ filling the corner as she hoisted herself onto the marble, Luke standing between her legs and receiving his tequila shot from Dylan. She tugged the strap of her tank top over her shoulder slightly, giving Luke enough room to sprinkle the line of salt on the crook of her neck while Mark returned with a slice of lime. Luke’s eyes met hers, giving her a look of reassurance, a kind look asking her if she was all right. She licked her lips, that familiar coquettish look blazing back at him just like in the treehouse last summer. Tequila burned down his throat, tongue licking the salt from her neck, scenarios of slow and wet kisses across the skin, his teeth sinking into her tearing through her imagination, y/n struggling to keep quiet but when his mouth had found her sweet spot like that, she wanted nothing more than for him to devour her then and there.

He couldn’t have cared less about the salt, his face belonged buried in her neck and if he could rewind the clock just to repeat his actions then he would have. His hands steadied by her sides, heat flushing to his neck and the lime he was supposed to take next may as well have never existed. The opportunity was there, he could finally show her his decision, how he felt and what he wanted. The audience around them didn’t matter, to him, it was just him and y/n in some random frat’s kitchen, a simple body shot doing God’s work but Ethan rigging the game earning the MVP award for the night. He emerged from her neck, parting his lips slightly and falling weak to her and he was done with keeping her waiting.

Pulling the lime from her lips, he tossed it aside, both hands cupping her jaw, the world stopping entirely when their lips met hastily. He kissed her like every time before, heavy and with meaning, like it screamed a thousand different tequila flavoured ways to convey his feelings. Her hands delicately placed themselves over his, keeping him close, keeping him in and pressed into her, shockwaves over her body and she melted into him with parting lips. Their friends cheered and hooted, clinking their shot glasses together but it fell deaf upon Luke and y/n, their tongues tangled in a bruising, breathless kiss until they had to pull away for air. His lips pulled into a grin, thumbs soothing over her cheeks as her eyes slowly widened with a smile spreading across her face.

Luke dipped closer to her ear, hands falling to her hips and murmured, “It’s always been you.”

“Let’s go somewhere quieter-” she turned her head towards him, lips close to his ear, but Dylan slapped Luke’s back and yelled something about their room being off limits for the night as he passed, Bella dragging him through the kitchen.

Luke’s eyebrows raised upon initially entering y/n’s room, a homely feeling embracing him when she switched the fairy lights on, and they ditched their shoes next to the door. Y/n waved him over to her bed, her back against the headboard and he followed, squeezing next to her, arm wrapping around her shoulders and tucking her into his chest. They knew they owed each other a talk, their sides of the story, the rise and the fall. Luke needed to explain, and she needed to confess, the longer they pretended like it wasn’t eating them alive the thicker that wedge between them became.

“I didn’t like Cameron at all, I only went out with him to make you jealous. I thought you’d get protective…” she said, Luke humming in acknowledgement, “I just wanted that little confirmation that I mattered.”

“Yeah, it worked. But you always mattered, s’why I’ve been trying all this time to ask you out.” He mumbled, his voice seductively low, rumbling through his chest.

“Then what were you gonna say at the end of summer, because I know it wasn’t supposed to be about the beach.”

Luke inhaled deeply, his hand snaking to her waist and settling on her hip, “I was gonna ask you on a date to the arcade we loved as kids…but then I freaked out and got scared again…”

“Why were you scared, Lu? What was there to be scared of?” She couldn’t get the pieces to click, and Luke grew frustrated, admitting things was not an easy job.

“Y/n, I’ve loved you my entire life, everything was to be scared of. I thought you didn’t like kissing me, then you went on a date with what's-his-face, then Cameron and somewhere between there I don’t know, I thought it was over for me, that we were just friends. I thought I’d lost you after all those years of trying.” He rambled, the pent-up words falling from his mouth, but he didn’t sound annoyed, not once. If anything, the weight that latched itself onto Luke’s shoulders lifted the more he rambled.

She had been right; she hadn’t thought about his perspective on everything. He’d done nothing but put her first, hold her hand, kiss her, accompany her, rescue her, be the boyfriend she never had, and she threw him to the side for some guy as if he never mattered. Then wondered why he was so far away. Perhaps she would’ve reacted the same, after all, seeing someone you love with another isn’t a burden easy to bear. Guilt choked her hard, he knew all along what he wanted, and she’d just made it difficult to confess. Really shitty but she was part of the problem Luke battled.

“You never lost me, Lu,” with glossy eyes and a delicate touch to his jaw, she turned his head to face her, “we’ve been close for as long as I can remember.”

“That’s why I was scared. I can’t just be friends with you and last summer we weren’t just friends, y/n. Last summer meant everything to me and I really hoped you’d be my girl and well, I fucked that up.” His eyes flickered to her lips, he should have felt bad as tears welled in her eyes, but he finally, with the liquid courage from earlier, could get the words out how he wanted.

Her lip quivered, hand cupping the nape of his neck and her thumb leaving feathery touches over his jaw, a tear breaking through and slipping down her cheek, “Me too. Is there a chance…I can still be your girlfriend?”

“You think I kissed you for shits and giggles?” He leaned in, half on his own and half with the prompt of her pulling him closer, pressing their lips together tentatively, a warmth of familiarity blooming through them like flowers in their lungs. But those flowers weren’t choking them anymore, they weaved between their ribcages and bones like a garden of bliss and beauty, pollinating their hearts with desire.

He licked across her bottom lip, tongue finding hers in a languid rhythm while his free hand wrapped around her thigh, pulling her over to straddle his lap. Y/n moaned into the kiss, relaxing under his hands gliding over every inch of her waist and back, pressing her body into his with lips disconnecting with strings of saliva between them. He smothered her neck in electrifying butterfly kisses, from her ear down to the crook of her neck to that sweet spot he’d found earlier, nipping at the skin until her fingers laced in his curls, tugging and drawing a deep, raw groan from his chest.

Luke’s hands, hot and calloused, snuck under her top, slowly following the natural curve of her spine and waist, the fabric rising the further he explored, thumbs teasing her underside of her breasts along the lace of her bra. Lace. The concept of y/n wearing lace underwear sent shivers down his spine, heat to his dick and his hips bucked up as if a reflex, but it wasn’t the first time he’d imagined it. A high-pitched whimper escaped her lips, little sparks flushing over her skin the further her top seemed to hike up her body until Luke bunched the fabric at her chest, pulling it over her head and tossing it to the end of her bed, his warm lips attacking her collarbones with little nips disguised by kisses before sucking pink blossoms along her skin to her tits, his large hands cupping and kneading.

“No fair,” her fingers tugged at the back of his t-shirt, clumsily pulling it up his back. He let out a low chuckle into her skin before sitting straight, discarding the clothing over his head and setting his hands on her waist. She’d seen him hundreds of times before, but this was different, this was private. “So fucking pretty, Lu. Just wanna…”

“Just wanna what?” he purred, leaning back into the headboard and adjusting his hips up against her, his jeans failing to hide his solid cock bumping her crotch. “If you’re gonna talk dirty to me, you gotta use your words, pretty girl. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

She gasped, pussy fluttering at the friction and her dreamy gaze brought his cocky smirk back to his lips. Luke’s hands gripped her hips tighter, guiding them to roll over his dick once more, twice more, until her nails dug into his shoulders for stability, inner core burning like fire with every brush against her clit, panties sticking to her folds in ways that disgraced her dignity. It felt so good, she felt good, just dry humping alone had her jaw slacking and little pants of air slipping through her lips all while Luke tilted his head back, grinning ear to ear with his eyes closed, cock throbbing painfully. He wouldn’t have cared if he came right then and there, in his boxers that he would sure have to wear in the morning.

She took his hands off her hips, gliding them up her body until they reached her back, his fingers meeting the clasp of her bra as she slid the straps over her shoulders, a sultry yet so encouraging look smeared across her face. He struggled slightly with the clasp, but her hands cupping his face rid of the embarrassment before it had even hit, the underwear falling from her body and discarded to the floor. Luke licked his lips, her hands finding their way to his and placing them over her tits, an invitation to explore how he pleased. His ears tinted pink again, eyes unable to leave the view of his hands timidly groping her chest and every thought he’d been having up until that moment blanked. Soft, so soft and squishy, God he could do that forever, sleep on them until the end of time. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, her back arching into him and y/n let out an airy whimper, tilting her head back.

“So fuckin’ pretty, y/n,” he hummed, one hand lying flat on her back as he dipped down, pressing wet kisses to her tit, taking the peak between his lips and swirling his tongue leisurely around her nipple. His other hand wrapped around her other breast, groping and squishing it, pinching the nipple between his fingers until her airy whimpers increased into lewd cries of his name, a whirling warmth in her throbbing cunt. He released her - now wet - tit, breathing heavily with disbelief. He’d just sucked his childhood crush, long-time friend’s tit, in her room and she was really half naked on his lap, definitely feeling how hard he was against her pussy, and he loved every second of this animalistic yearning coursing through him.

Y/n’s hands trailed down his chest, over every dip and definition of his muscles until they fumbled with his belt, mind becoming hazy at the memory of the way she looked at him the last time she’d taken him in her mouth, the pleasant challenge of getting his tip to hit the back of her throat, his whimpering and begging replaying in her ears. Sliding backwards down his legs, she barely got her mouth anywhere near his cock before his fingers wrapped around her neck, pressing firmly on the sides and pulling her back up to his eye level, her heart pulsing in her ears with the condescending look on his face. He slotted his mouth on hers to find her tongue again, saliva pooling at the corner of their lips and they didn’t hate it. She shouldn’t have enjoyed the compression as much as she did, but his hands were so much bigger on her body, like he could crush her and her eyes threatened to roll to the back of her head, a strained moan gasping out.

“Please,” she whined between kisses, “taste so good, so big, need you.”

“Nuh-uh, it’s my turn.” He looked down at her before releasing her throat, winding an arm around her and flipping her onto her back underneath him. He painted her body with gentle kisses, from the valley of her breasts, down her stomach to the top of her shorts, smoothly unbuttoning them and pulling the zip down with his teeth, “Been thinkin’ about how you taste. Can I?”

He peered up at her through his eyelashes, watching y/n prop herself onto her elbows and lick her lips. She paused, the silence comfortable as he waited for her consent, “Yeah, please…this is just…never done this before.”

Luke kissed her stomach before sitting onto his knees, giving her a warm, reassuring smile before hooking his fingers around the waist of her shorts, “Neither. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

She nodded, smiling, lifting her hips and letting him slide the clothing down her legs and ditching them somewhere on the floor. He straddled back over her, running his hands over her bare legs before dipping down to place a hot kiss on her clothed clit, sparks skimming over his body by how sopping her panties were.

She whimpered quietly, watching him begin to lower himself before she placed her foot onto his shoulder, pushing him back onto his knees, head lulling into her shoulder with a desperate tint in her eyes, “Jeans, off.”

The corner of his lips tugged upwards as he slid off the bed, kicking his jeans and socks off and crawling back over her, settling between her legs again. His fingers re-hooked around her waistband, gliding her panties down her legs leaving tingles like feathers along the skin in their wake before she removed her legs from them one by one. He threw of leg over his shoulders, laying on his stomach and left slow kisses along her inner thigh, nipping at the skin to pull a squeal from her and sucking over the spot until a purple blotch marked. One hand lay splayed over her lower stomach, his other holding her other leg slightly apart, enough to catch a view of her glistening folds and give him room to spread them open with his thumb.

“Fuck, gonna need you to use your words here, pretty girl.” His voice was gruff, breath hitting her sensitivity, and she lulled her head back, readjusting herself on her elbows because there was no way she would miss watching him devour her. His thumb circled her clit dubiously, eyes peeking up at her and even though the sensation didn’t hit just right yet, having any sort of attention to a virgin clit still sent pleasure to her head.

“Little firmer, little faster-oh!” she explained, Luke following her instructions as she spoke until the sensation hit her like a brick, jolting through her, jaw falling slack, “Like that, Lu, shit.”

He grinned, running his other thumb through her folds, spreading the slick before taking his thumb into his mouth, eyes locked into hers, licking and relishing in the way she tasted and humming into the heaven that consumed him. Sinking lower into her mattress, he drew his hand away from her clit, hand pressing down on her stomach and other wrapping her thigh around his shoulder, tongue flicking at her bundle of nerves, small kisses, nipping, sucking until she raked her fingers through his curls, pushing him into her cunt. He ran his tongue through her folds, lapping at the pussy juices without a care about how loud he was being, nose bumping into her clit, her jaw falling agape and helpless mewls slipped through her lips as she bucked her hips up pathetically. He could have eaten her out all day, his new favourite place to hide that graced him with the most beautiful, pornographic noises from his favourite person. He couldn’t help himself, there was too much ecstasy intoxicating him that he barely noticed himself rutting his cock into the mattress the hungrier he dipped into her.

He pulled back momentarily, lips vibrating against her cunt that had her wines drawn-out and fingers tugging at his curls in a way that tore guttural groans from him, “Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy, all fuckin’ mine.”

He dove back in, hands pinning her to the bed and plunging his tongue into her, moaning against her folds so harsh they reverberated through her body, making every hair stand on end. He lifted his head up, middle finger tracing through her folds and sliding inside her easily, a wave of fire washing over her, and his ring finger entered alongside, Luke pumping them in precise and careful motions while watching the way her face contorted with pleasure.

“That’s it, good girl,” he cooed, his name falling from her mouth like a song. He curled his fingers, realising he’d hit the right spot when her breath hitched and whimpered out, “so loud f’me, that’s it, taking my fingers so well.”

“There, right there, Luke! Don’t stop!”

His fingers thrusted in and out of her with a rhythm, cherishing the warmth and completely obsessed how she stretched out for him, biting his lip and petting her g-spot as she squirmed, his hand on her stomach keeping her still. He drew his fingers out, taking them into his mouth, eyes almost fluttering closed at the taste until he dove straight back into her pussy, messily letting his tongue work its magic with his nose hitting her clit with each dip.

“Lu! Luke, please Luke,” she sobbed out desperately, free hand gripping the bedsheets. She couldn’t believe he’d never gone down on a woman before, he ate her like a starved man, so many pleasures triggering at once, her body and mind completely short-circuited, and she was left with filthy whines and incoherent sentences. “Gonna cum, let me cum, please-”

Her words dissipated into the air, eyes rolling back as the brutality of his tongue lapped and assaulted mercilessly, arousal coating his chin as he attempted to pull her impossibly closer. He’d never thought he’d be so pussydrunk on someone before, especially going in with only the knowledge his friends had given him after many late-night conversations in random car parks of fast-food restaurants. The coil in her stomach tightened, eyes squeezing shut and she was so close to that final release until cold air fanned her pussy. Eyes snapping open, she whipped her head forward to see Luke staring at her with wild eyes, arousal dripping from his chin and her fingers slipped from his hair as he sat on his knees, her legs falling and wrapping around his hips as he wiped his face with his hand, licking the excess from his fingers.

“Why’d you stop? I was so close.” She whined, but trailed off the further he tugged his boxers off, cock springing free, and he hovered over her, dipping down to kiss her softly, trailing from her lips, along her cheek to the shell of her ear.

“Want you to cum on my cock,” he purred, latching his teeth onto her collarbone, sucking until he’d left his mark, teasing her cunt by running his tip through her folds until her arms wrapped around his back, nails digging into the flexed muscles.

“Fuck, need you inside me, Lu,” she said in a small voice, unable to take the teasing anymore with a throbbing pussy and desperate need to be filled up, “m’on the pill, please, fuck me.”

“Ssh, I got you,” he murmured, inching his cock in painfully slow but the last thing he wanted was to hurt her. Luke groaned into her shoulder, every vein, every nerve caressing her warm walls the further she swallowed his size. God, she felt so perfect, suited for him and for a moment he thought she’d struggle to take him until something about imagining the bulge in her stomach as she tried to take him made his cock twitch. Once he bottomed out, their lips met for a long kiss, her tongue darting into his mouth and muffling her moans as she adjusted to his size, core burning at how he stuffed her full and she craved more.

Y/n’s nails massaged his scalp, tugging gently, “You can move,” she whispered.

He steadied his biceps either side of her head, rocking his hips back and forth languidly like she was made of glass until the little high-pitched whimpers sank into his skin, spurring him to increase his pace, feeling her tits bounce against his chest with every push in. Sweat formed on his forehead, curls beginning to stick as he huffed hot air into the crook of her neck.

“So tight, y/n, feel so fuckin’ good,” his lips laced her neck in sloppy kisses before sitting on his knees, hands on her hips in a vice grip as he drilled into her, gradually thrusting harder and faster the more his eyes locked on the bulge in her lower stomach. His splayed hand over it, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest, “so fuckin’ tight n’ look at that.”

“Feels s’good!” she cried, “Oh- yes, Lu, yes.”

Her nails dug into the sheets, fisting them as Luke snapped his hips, euphoria erratically zapping him as he watched the way his cock bulged and dipped with his thrusting, her walls clenching around him. She wailed out an erotic moan, mind fogging and the only sense working in her system being the way she could feel his cock pulse inside her, dragging along her walls and stuffing her full like he was meant to.

“You feel me, babe? Feel how fuckin’ well your pretty pussy takes me?” A carnal desire controlled him like a puppet, the deeper he slammed his dick into her, the louder the slapping of skins and he leaned back down over her, feeling her arms struggle to embrace his much larger body and nails clawing angry marks into his skin as if marking her territory. He could get used it, no one else could make him feel the way she did. No one could make him want to fuck her with every drop of love and affection he had in him other than y/n. He wasn’t driving into her because he was horny, he wanted to be closer, feel purpose and comfort with being vulnerable and exposed and it just happened to be the most pervertedly enthralling experience of his life.

“L-Lu! M’gonna c..cum.” she panted, letting drawn-out, wanton moans bounce off her dorm room walls the deeper he plunged his cock into her, “So big- let me cum, please.”

“Me too, pretty, me too.” He planted a kiss to her forehead, ignoring the salty sweat coating his tastebuds, he couldn’t have cared less, it wasn’t like he wasn’t drenched in sticky sweat too.

She began to fall limp, her grip on him loosening as her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the coil in her stomach unable to get any tighter and on its last legs. She didn’t want the high to end, the volume of the world starting to cut to white noise and vision blurry, Luke’s stuttering thrusts tearing an orgasm through her while he fucked her through his own, white, creamy release circling the base of his cock as his rutting slowed to a stop. He collapsed onto her chest, buring his face into her neck and panting falling in sync with hers.

He pulled out, wiping the leaking cum from her thighs with his finger and taking in the last juices before nestling into her breasts. His eyes fell heavy when her fingers carded through his curls and with the little energy he had left, he kissed her cheek, “You did so well for me, such a good girl. Pretty fuckin’ noises just f’me.”

They lay in silence to muster up their energy, breathing patterns in sync, y/n tracing patterns over his back and Luke periodically leaving chaste kisses on her collarbone. The world couldn’t have been more perfect, even if their skins stuck together grossly, even if they had to sleep in cum-stained sheets for the night, he planned to help with cleaning those in the morning anyway. Y/n’s heart didn’t race with him anymore, it slowed with serenity of finally having a person, finally being able to breathe around him. There was truly no greater feeling than the tranquillity of devotion blooming through two lovers.

Y/n tapped his back lightly, indicating that she needed to get up. He weakly crawled off, helping her by the hand and following her to her bathroom. They didn’t bother with privacy while she peed, they’d just had sex, what was there to hide now? What Luke did do, was wet a cloth y/n had pointed to him and do his best do wipe up any excess release off the mattress, highly aware that most if it would have dried by that point.

“Lu?” she called out quietly, poking her head from the bathroom. He turned his head, calmly, “You showering now or in the morning?”

Something so simple, so domestic had his heart melting inside his chest, “I’ll go after you.”

She smiled, disappearing back into the bathroom. He picked up his clothes, folding them and placing them onto her desk chair. He folded her clothes next, hanging them on the back of her chair and pulling her pyjamas out from under her pillow, where she always put pyjamas, no matter where she was. Luke’s mind slowly functioned like normal again, the high of sex wearing down yet still giddy in his system. After years of pining, failing, chasing, crying, they finally fell into place. Was it worth it? Yeah, maybe. Was there an easier way? Absolutely, but he was younger then, scared and stupid. It didn’t matter anymore, he had his girl, and he loved her more than anything.

Y/n stirred, sleepy eyes opening to a weight on her chest, a grounding weight with long, unruly curls brushing against her lips ever so slightly, one palm cupped over her breast with his ear pressed to the other. Luke’s other arm managed to wind itself around her waist, trapped between the curve of her back and the mattress, one of her hands gently stroking through his hair and the other tracing the red scratch marks along his bare back. His breathing heavy but his face so peaceful and she smiled to herself. No, she didn’t think he’d run off before she’d woken up but she had entered university thinking it wouldn’t be him in her bed at all, but she was elated that it was. There wasn’t a better sight to see at eight in the morning.

Luke’s eyes fluttered open, groaning deeply at his hair being played with and he nuzzled into her chest. He rasped, morning voice deep and husky, “Morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning, pretty boy.” She smiled, pushing hair off his forehead. She wanted to wake up like that every day, tangled with Luke, him being the first person she saw, listened to. Even if he was much larger than she was, the pressure of him laying on her body was comforting, domestic even.

He shuffled around, removing his arm from around her waist, letting the blood flow back through it before propping himself onto his elbows. His eyes scanned her features, her sleepy eyes, tousled hair, the red bites on her collarbones and his lips pulled into a beatific and lazy grin.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked, his smile transferred to her infectiously and she cupped his cheek.

“Thinkin’ about how much I love you, s’all.”

Y/n’s chest warmed, fireworks exploding at her loverboy gazing at her with awe glazed over his eyes, the words falling onto her ears feeling right, bright and fresh like the first time the sun shines in the spring and all the new life begins.

“I love you too,” she kissed his forehead, interrupted by his stomach rumbling, “breakfast?”

He threw back the duvet, scrambling off her and sighing at his clothes he folded on the chair, y/n shuffling around behind him before handing him his USA Hockey sweatshirt and a pair of shorts he’d left at her’s over the summer. He slipped his phone from his jeans pocket, how it had managed to stay tucked in there was beyond his knowledge and how it still had twenty-percent of battery was also a question for the deities above.

Luke almost dropped his phone when two arms wrapped around his torso from behind, his cheeks burning from smiling and his stomach fluttering, “The guys wanna debrief in the dining hall.”

“Mmm’kay, but you know they’re gonna ask where we went last night, right? What do we say?” she peppered his back with kisses until he spun around, her arms still looped around his torso but now he could take her face into his hands.

“As if they’d remember, they’d be lucky to remember anything after doing shots.” He laughed, planting a kiss to her hair.

Luke had been right. The boys and Bella all sat at one of the tables, coffees and bowls of cereals and plates of toast being poked at with hands cradling heads, hoods pulled over. Luke and y/n joined them, their own breakfast in front of them and slightly perkier than their friends.

“You guys look rough, long night?” Luke quipped, shoving cereal into his mouth. He didn’t feel too bad, but by the time he’d kissed y/n on the counter he’d sobered up.

“Bro don’t even go there,” Mark grumbled, his face pale, “the last thing I remember is Ethan asking to do shots and beyond that is blank. Woke up on the floor in last night’s clothes.”

“How the fuck are you okay, man? You were on beer and tequila!” Dylan complained, hoodie pulled high up his neck and drawstrings pulled tight, his hair dishevelled still.

“No, no, there’s a more important question,” Mackie waved his spoon around at the group, giving Bella an encouraging side-eye, who kicked Ethan under the table.

“Ow, shit-” he hissed, but eventually catching the others drift. Y/n gulped, her breathing becoming shaky, and Luke’s hand found her knee, thumb caressing it softly as all eyes fell to the pair. What was she supposed to say now, anxiety fizzled in her stomach and Luke’s chest tightened. No, they weren’t ashamed but it’s not something you outwardly announce to people you’ve known just over a month, “Legend has it that there’s some deep lore going on here.”

Y/n exhaled, her breathing finding it’s pace again and Luke felt like he’d been freed of all his bounds. That…was not what they were expecting at all. They looked at each other uncertainly, shrugging before turning back to the others.

“Yeah, come on, do tell. If we’re gonna be friends, we gotta know the backstory of this whole thing we got roped into. We got time.” Mark leaned closer into the group, they all leaned closer as if they were about to hear the greatest secret of all time.

They both sighed, Luke speaking up first, “Well, it all started when we were five-”

The retelling began, everyone invested in their cat and mouse game that demonstrated how naive and fragile the world can be. The rumble of the dining hall silenced out in their ears, and while one chapter closed for good, university would open another, but this time, they’d live it together where they’d be on the same page instead of skipping sections or tearing parts out. Luke got his girl and y/n got her romance, and neither would be stuck waiting on each other anymore.

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osarina · 16 days ago

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ᡣ𐭩 WERE WE BETTER UNKNOWN?

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: your story with dazai comes to a close... but is it really the end?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. oh my god i have so much to say, i will put it all at the end. but i am so annoyed because the heart in the title looks wonky as hell—for some reason it looks fine on desktop but on mobile it’s fucked ip :’) comments & reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. mentions of past suicide attempts (dazai). non-sexual nudity/intimacy. reader has 1 scar that dazai points out.

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai dreams of a vast frozen lake.

Is he dreaming? He’s not sure. It’s cold, he shouldn’t be cold in dreams, right?

He lets out a shaky breath, and he can see the cool air fan around him. He shivers, hands running up and down his arms to try to warm himself up, but it’s futile—the snow that flutters from the sky is sharp against his skin and the air is bitterly cold, but the wind is oddly still. Eerily still. His shoes crunch against the snowy bank as he draws a bit closer to the edge of the lake, trying to figure out where he is.

“... are we going to…”

Dazai startles at the vaguely familiar whispery voice, eyes wide and searching as he looks around trying to pinpoint who had spoken, but there’s no one in sight. He can hardly see

Hell, he thinks dizzily, is he in hell?

Dazai’s fascination with literature began with his fascination with death. It started as a child—morbid and odd as it might’ve been, he was bored with life. He supposes that it’s part of the reason why his siblings didn’t like him, besides his ability, of course. He always had questions that people couldn’t answer—what happens after someone dies? They go to heaven, honey, his mother would reply. How do you know that? We just do. But how? What if we don’t? What if we just die? Stop asking so many creepy questions, Osamu, his sister would snap at him, curling into his mother’s side. But what-

He would keep asking until his sister got visibly upset and his mother had to take her out of the room. He never really understood why—they were legitimate questions—but his mother’s evasion of the topic and his siblings’ aversion did not deter his curiosity. In fact, when the first of his cousins died at the hands of one of his others, it spiked his curiosity. He almost found himself jealous that they would have the answers to the questions that have been plaguing him for years.

His questions of self-worth and his place here on earth didn’t come until he was a bit older, but he supposes at some point they probably merged together. His own doubts about himself and his lack of normalcy compared to other people led to his general fascination with death slowly turning into fascination about his own death. He found it quite ironic, and maybe a bit disheartening—he can’t even die correctly—that of all of the many members of his family, the one obsessed with death was the one that survived the longest, in spite of actively striving for eternal rest.

His fascination with death was put to an abrupt halt by Odasaku’s arrival in his life. Or well, that’s not exactly right. His fascination with his own death was put to a halt—Odasaku humored all of his questions, even if some of his answers were absurd and nonsensical, but when Dazai tried to spin the conversation back to himself, Odasaku would put his foot down.

Dazai only tried to kill himself once while he was living with him—it was around when Odasaku first took him in, and Dazai didn’t think the man would care all too much if he was gone. Ango was the one who found him in the bathroom, funny enough it was his first time meeting the other man, but when he woke up in the hospital, Dazai decided he never wanted to see that haunted expression on Odasaku’s face ever again.

It was around then when Odasaku started telling him about his book, and he helped redirect Dazai’s unhealthy fascination with death to a different outlet: literature. The Divine Comedy, the Aeneid, the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice—it was Odasaku who introduced him to them all. He enjoyed reading other peoples’ interpretation of the afterlife; he and Odasaku would have full blown debates over which interpretation was nearest to truth.

Dazai isn’t particularly convinced there is an afterlife at all, but he always thought that if there was one, it might look most like Dante Alighieri’s vision.

Like this.

“... can’t just stop, he’ll never let it be…”

This voice isn’t unfamiliar. Dazai’s head snaps up, eyes wide and searching as he tries to seek you out. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from all around him—the wind carries it, he can’t tell where you are and the icy air makes it hard for him to keep his eyes open to try to track you down. The wind is strange though; it stops blowing all around him, and instead begins billowing inward toward the center of the lake.

A foreboding feeling suddenly settles over Dazai.

Lake Cocytus—if this is what Dazai thinks it is, then it’s meant to represent the Ninth Circle. Treachery. A little ironic, maybe, considering loyalty is what got Dazai killed—your loyalty to the Port Mafia.

Is he dead? He realizes suddenly that he very well might be, not quite as pleased with the idea as he might’ve been in the months before he met you. He feels… unfulfilled almost. He never finished Odasaku’s book. He didn’t even manage to get his degree. He felt what it was like to be loved for a few months, but it wasn’t enough. He’d wanted more. He wanted a life with you.

He still wants a life with you, he thinks miserably. Even after everything that happened, he still wants it.

He must not be dead, he thinks absently, kicking at the snow on the banks of the lake before slowly treading out toward the center of it. If he was dead and really in the Ninth Circle of Hell, then he’d be stuck in the lake with the rest of the betrayers. Although, Dazai thinks if he really was going to hell, it wouldn’t be this circle—he doesn’t think he’s ever really betrayed anyone to this degree.

Or maybe he did, his thoughts take another dejected turn. Would his ‘betrayal’ to you count? It’s not like he actively tried to deceive you, so he thinks he should be given some leeway. But maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, if he’s here because he deceived you, then you would certainly be here for betraying him—he wouldn’t mind being stuck in hell if you were there with him. You both could be buried in the ice together, eternally frozen and suffering for betraying each other.

It’s kind of romantic, if you really think about it.

Something bubbles in his chest—maybe a laugh, or maybe a sob, he can’t tell, he thinks maybe he’s a bit hysterical.

It must just be a dream, he thinks again for some minimal solace. Or maybe a warning, maybe he’s somewhere caught in-between and God is striking down his hammer, warning him this is where he’s going to end up if he doesn’t change his ways like the message of the Divine Comedy itself.

The thought makes him laugh.

He sobers up quickly though as he starts his trek across the lake, thinking that maybe if he got to the other side, or the center, he’d wake up. He thinks you would find this funny—one of your first conversations with him had been about The Divine Comedy, and he spent many nights at dinner roping you into conversation about it, and convincing you to read some of the other books and poems that Odasaku had introduced him to. You-

“... one life or hundreds, that’s what he said…”

Dazai nearly slips on the ice when he hears your voice again, looking around as if you would just magically appear around him. You don’t, but it does leave Dazai a little disheartened hearing you repeat the words that Mori had said to convince you to kill him. He sighs as he keeps his gaze trained ahead, careful to not look down at the ice lest he find himself looking at something he would rather not.

The outskirts of the water were the traitors to kin—Dazai remembers that well. The first time he read the poem, he realized that this is where the majority of his cousins and older brothers would be. They spent almost two years killing each other for their grandfather’s inheritance; Dazai went from having seven siblings and almost two dozen cousins to three siblings and a handful of cousins by the time of the coup.

Traitors to country in the next section—Dazai thinks a bit gleefully that Mori would end up there. The Port Mafia isn’t exactly a city or country, but it’s still an entity, and Mori certainly betrayed it when he killed Dazai’s grandfather in his own bed, no matter what the reason for it might be.

Traitors to guests in the next section—this gives Dazai a bit of pause, he doesn’t know if he knows anyone that would fit in that section. Ui, maybe? Inviting him to work with his journalism house only to give him up to the Guild. Maybe Mori again, Dazai thinks, highly amused, because Dazai was a guest to you, and therefore, the Port Mafia, when everything happened.

And the last section—traitors to benefactors. He can’t avoid looking at them; they’re the only ones above the surface of the lake, grotesque sculptures of ice that decorate the surface of the center of the lake. His steps slow as he walks through them all, a heavy feeling settling over him as his gaze focuses on the oddly familiar sculpture in the very center of the lake.

Is that-

“There’s only one way this ends.”

Dazai’s breath catches sharply. He slips on the ice as he rushes forward, eyes widening and hands flying forward to catch himself, but his stomach lurches painfully and before his hands can hit the ground-

Dazai sits up with a ragged gasp, eyes wild and nails digging into the fabric of the soft couch he’s laying on. His head is aching and he feels sluggish; he’s still reeling from what he’d just woken up from, but his heart rate is starting to calm down.

Just a dream, he confirms, but now he’s more preoccupied with trying to figure out where the hell he is and why he isn’t dead, because the last thing he remembers is you lifting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. The room he’s in is small—there’s no windows, there’s a tiny kitchen on the left side of the room, and on the other side-

“Everyone out.”

Dazai’s gaze settles on you. You’re standing near the far wall—you haven’t changed from what you were wearing at the conference room with the other Port Mafia executives, and Dazai can see Ace’s blood still crusted around your finger nails and splattered on your shirt. Your gaze is focused on him, an unreadable expression on your face, and Dazai is so tunnel visioned on you that he hardly notices that there are a handful of other people in the room: your three subordinates, Nakahara Chuuya, Albatross and one other who had been at the fight against the Guild.

They don’t argue with you, most of them file out of the room without a word, only Albatross and Chuuya linger. The ginger gives you a long look before saying, “We’ll buy some more time. Just… figure out if this is really what you want to do, okay?”

You finally look away from him at Chuuya’s words, cringing and averting your gaze to the ground. You say quietly, “It doesn’t matter what I want. It has to be done.”

Chuuya sighs but nods, motioning for Albatross to leave with him—and then the two of you are left alone. You don’t approach him. Ironically, you look like the one akin to a cornered animal as if you hadn’t been the one to shoot him. If anyone should feel like a cornered animal right now, it should be him.

Instinctively, he lifts his hand to his forehead, frowning at the bandages wrapped around the top of his head. He looks back up at you curiously, but you grimaced and looked away as soon as he touched his forehead, so he can’t catch your eye.

He has a million questions he wants to ask. What happened? Why didn’t the bullet kill me? Why didn’t you kill me? Did you believe me? Do you believe me? Are we okay?

Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer to the last question, so he settles with: “Where are we?”

Though you’d stiffened as soon as his lips parted to speak, you relax when you hear the question he asked.

“A safe house in Sakae,” you say quietly. Dazai starts to sit up but his vision swims so he has to stop and rest back down against the arm of the couch, blinking furiously. “You should take it easy… You’re probably going to feel a bit off for a couple of hours.”

Dazai is about to ask you what exactly happened, but the words die on his lips when you finally draw closer to him. You sit down on the couch next to where he’s laying, your body brushes his and Dazai feels warm. The remnants of the frigid cold of his dream vanishes as soon as the warmth of your body grazes his—he knows that there are many things that need to be addressed, but he would be content to avoid those topics and bask in your comfort for as long as he can.

His eyes slide shut as you reach up to cup his cheek. He doesn’t even bother reopening them when he feels you lift your other hand to remove the bandages from around the top of his head—he thinks maybe he could almost doze back off. It’s only when you let out a soft sigh and fasten them back on does he finally bother to open his eyes again.

“I don’t have enough bandages on me already?” he asks, his voice is light and the smile on his lips is teasing as he tries to lighten the mood a little, but it doesn’t work.

You don’t respond to his comment. You look down, and the small smile on your lips doesn’t meet your eyes, so his falls off his face as he stares up at you carefully and finally asks the much dreaded question that would lead to even more dreaded questions:

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“We need to go,” Chuuya says, hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. You don’t budge from where you’re standing, staring at where Dazai had fallen back over the edge. It was a short drop with mud softening the fall, he would be okay—if everything went according to plan, that is. Otherwise, the bullet you just shot at him killed him anyway, so the fall is inconsequential. “Come on. We can’t stay here. We have to go.”

“How do-”

“Not here,” Chuuya hisses. “Come on.”

“Chuuya-” you breathe out, voice wavering over his name. You can’t bring yourself to move even as Chuuya tries to drag you away. “Chuuya, I need to kn-”

Need to know if this worked. Need to know if he was able to stop the bullet. Need to know if you actually just killed the boy you’re in love with.

“Not here,” Chuuya replies, voice harsh, cutting you off before you can say anything more incriminating.

This time, he doesn’t wait for you to follow him—he yanks you along with him, not even bothering to steady you when you stumble. You know you should snap yourself out of this, you know Mori has people trailing you to ensure you follow through with Dazai’s execution, but you’re haunted by the expression on his face when you pulled the trigger.

He accepted it.

You had the gun to his head. You asked him to forgive you. He said he did, and he accepted that he was about to die at your hands. A part of you is eager to convince yourself that maybe he saw through your plan, that he realized you weren’t going to kill him, but that look in his eyes…

He didn’t know, and he accepted it anyway.

Your stomach churns. The ragged breath you take in cuts off abruptly as you gag over it—you saw the blood, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t know if Dazai’s nullification ability prevented Chuuya from using his own ability to slow the bullet before it killed him. You don’t know if he fell backward because he was shot or because the high dosage sedative that you swiped from Mori’s office set in as quickly as it was supposed to. You don’t even know if Chuuya had been able to inject it in him with his ability. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t you dare throw up on me,” Chuuya mutters as he opens the car door and ushers you inside.

Instead of sitting in the front with Albatross, he sits in the back with you, sharing a sharp look with Albatross before the other man finally pulls away from the ports. He still doesn’t say anything else—he knows better. This is one of the Port Mafia’s cars, tapped and actively being transmitted to one of Kouyou’s subordinates who will report to her and Mori anything that seems off, and you need to buy as much time as you possibly can before Mori realizes Dazai isn’t dead.

Because Dazai isn’t dead. He can’t be dead.

It worked. It all worked.

It had to have.

Just as you expect, your phone rings as soon as the car starts moving. Mori has eyes on you—he was waiting for you to finish with the execution before calling. You’re certain that he’s going to send someone to check the body now; he doesn’t trust you to finish the job, not when something as fickle and unpredictable as love is involved.

Klaus will have to be quick—you don’t even know if he was able to find a lookalike to kill so he could swap out the body. You only were able to give him a twenty, maybe thirty, minute heads up. Dazai is plain looking, yes, and the mud he dropped in should do some work at concealing his identity, but if Mori’s shadow sends him a picture to confirm the kill, the slim amount of time you hope to have bought with your fake out will be halved.

You stare down at the phone and let it ring once, twice, and finally on the third ring, you lift the phone to your ear and accept the call, waiting for Mori to speak.

“Has it been done?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice steady even if your fingers are trembling around the phone. “Do you need me back at headquarters?”

“No, I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you. You should get some rest. I have a meeting with Tolstoy in a bit anyway. I’ll meet with you tomorrow after I have tea with Elise-chan so you can debrief me on the meetings with the Guild,” Mori says easily, his tone is light and airy, and it makes you angry, because how dare he sound so flippant after what he just expected you to do. “... I’m sorry things had to end this way, dear. I’m proud of you. You did well.”

“I know,” you say tightly in response before hanging up and putting the phone back down in your lap.

Chuuya watches you carefully, but he doesn’t say anything, and you stare ahead at the back of the driver’s seat. It’s a twenty-five minute drive from the ports in Naka to Sakae—for better or for worse, it’s going to be a quiet one. For better because you think you might start crying if you have to speak, and for worse because now all you’re plagued with is your own thoughts and the image of Dazai’s face before you shot him.

You didn’t shoot him. Not really.

But you did, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t even know if Chuuya knows if he was able to stop it. There was a splatter of blood. You saw that, and there shouldn’t have been blood if this worked, so the worst case scenario looms over you heavily. But you won’t know until you get to the safe house—until you hear from Klaus. Your breath hitches over a sob you’re forced to swallow; your chest burns and tightens uncomfortable.

You had to do it, this was the only option. Anything else and there was no shot he wouldn’t have been killed. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he would be killed. You wouldn’t be able to protect him from Mori otherwise—he would’ve put a hit out on him, and Dazai would have all of the most dangerous assassins in the underworld out for him trying to get the bounty. You can’t protect him from that. You needed to buy time. You needed to buy time so you could-

You don’t finish the thought.

You don’t think you’ve come to terms with what has to be done if you want to protect Dazai. A part of you doesn’t even know if you’ll be able to follow through with it, but you’ve already set yourself down the path of no return and you’ve dragged Chuuya down it along with you. Either you follow through, or the three of you are going to be on the run for the rest of your lives.

Shit.

Your gaze tracks back down to your phone. Still nothing from Klaus—nothing from Akutagawa either. The silence is too loud, each second that passes has you aching with a pain that feels like knives dragging against your bones. You just need to know, you need to know that he’s okay, that you didn’t-

You rest your forehead against the window when nausea builds back up in your stomach. It’s cool, and a welcome reprieve from the heaviness weighing down on you, but the moment your eyes slide shut, you’re faced with Dazai again and no amount of deep breathing and grounding techniques can stop the way your heart rate sky-rockets, breath becoming quick and shallow.

You see him. You see him, and he’s looking up at you, dark eyes wide and adoring as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him, and his lips part to say something but before he can, you see something thick and red trickling down his face over his lips, and suddenly something is weighing cold and heavy in your hand but you can’t bring yourself to look down at it, but you can’t drag your eyes from his face. Can’t hide yourself from the way his warm eyes are suddenly wide and glassy, void of all of the emotions that you’d just-

Your arm hurts—sharp and painful and so sudden that you’re dragged from the images haunting you. Your gaze cuts over to Chuuya, who’s giving you a concerned look. You realize he must’ve shifted over a bit, brushed his arm against yours to use his ability to jolt you out of your spiraling thoughts. When he realizes that you’re back in the present, he gives you a pointed look and then directs his gaze outside.

You’re almost there. How much time had passed?

Why hasn’t Klaus or Akutagawa reached out to you?

What is going on?

Albatross doesn’t stop in front of the safe house—there are too many cameras in the street and all of the Port Mafia’s cars are tracked. Instead, he takes a left on the next street because it’s one of the few without a red light camera and a blind spot on the corner. His gaze flickers up to the rearview mirror and he pointedly raises the volume of his shitty music a few decibels louder to cover the noise of the car doors opening and closing as you and Chuuya slip out when he stops at the red light.

You leave your phone in the car and you’re careful to avoid the camera near the bakery on the corner as you follow Chuuya around to the alley that leads to the back entrance of the safe house. It’s not a Port Mafia safe house—it was Itou’s. This was where he stayed in the few months during the Dragon’s Head Conflict where he was on his own, after he left Strain but before you recruited him to the Port Mafia. It was well hidden and well protected, you hadn’t been able to track him down here until he brought you here—he made sure that it was a blind spot in the Port Mafia’s ever-watchful eye over Yokohama, and you made sure to keep it that way once he was gone.

It’s only once the steel door is shut behind you that you can finally speak, gaze focusing on Chuuya desperately as you wait for him to tell you if he was able to do it or if Dazai’s ability…

“Did you hear from Klaus or Akutagawa?” he asks quietly, and that’s enough of an answer.

He doesn’t know.

You feel sick—your stomach lurches and you don’t know if you start to stumble toward the bathroom or the couch or straight to the floor, but it doesn’t matter because Chuuya is darting forward to grab you and guide you over to the couch.

“Chuuya, if I-” you start to say, your words are raspy and you can’t even bring yourself to finish them. “If I-”

“Don’t,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “Don’t bother going there yet. Wait for Klaus and Akutagawa.”

“But-”

“Stop,” he insists. “All you’re going to do is torture yourself.”

Isn’t that what you deserve? You want to say to him, nails digging into the palm of your hand so deep that it draws blood. Chuuya catches what you’re doing and immediately moves to unfurl your hands. Everything you’ve done. You killed Dazai’s family. His siblings. His cousins. You ruined his life, and then after everything, it wasn’t enough. You ruined his life and then you took-

“Hey, stop,” Chuuya interrupts your thoughts, clearly realizing what path they’re going down. You don’t realize your breath is ragged again until he grabs your chin and twists your head to force you to look at him. “I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t do this right now, we need to plan. We don’t have time, and when Klaus and Akutagawa get here with him, we need to know what we’re doing. You need to snap out of it.”

You don’t respond to him—your lashes flutter and you see Dazai again, you see blood, you see empty eyes, you see the gun in your hand, and you feel something warm and wet trickling over your cheeks. Chuuya spits out curses to himself and wipes away the tears streaming down your face. He’s gentle now, the rough grip on your chin disappears and is replaced with his hand cradling the back of your head as he pulls you closer to him. He presses your ear to his chest, hoping that the steady thrum of his heart is enough to ground you.

“Where the fuck are they?” he spits out more to himself than to you. His breath hitches and you can hear the stammering of his heart, and you know that he’s nervous, but he’s trying to hide it for your sake. “I need you here. What we just did-fuck-”

You try to snap out of it—you do, but every time you blink you see him. You see what you did. You knew this would happen from the very beginning, you knew it, and everyone warned you, but you’re selfish. You’ve always been so selfish.

You don’t know how much time passes. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. It all blurs, it all feels like eternity, but eventually, the door to the safe house slams open, and only a handful of people know about it.

Your gaze snaps up, and you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Klaus steps into the room with a familiar figure slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Both of them are covered in various substances that you think you would rather not know what they are, but you can see the steady rise and fall of Dazai’s back. You rise to your feet abruptly and Chuuya lets out a relieved breath, shoulders slumping.

Klaus immediately points an accusing finger at you. “I had to hunt down a civilian, kill him, crawl through shit and trash with a dead body to swap it out for your boy, I had to carry him across half of the city, and I couldn’t even channel Mephisto because he nullifies him. You better not complain about any messes I make for the next six months,” Klaus demands, and then points wildly back toward a very clean Akutagawa, who casts an unimpressed look his way. “And he didn’t even help me. He stood there and watched.”

“I was ensuring that no one saw what we were doing,” Akutagawa replies primly. “Even more important than your job, considering if someone saw it would all be for naught. You should be thanking me.”

Klaus’s face goes red with anger as he whips around to face him and roars, “More important? Thank you?!”

You laugh. It’s so startling that all of the anger washes away from Klaus’s face and the goading expression on Akutagawa’s disappears. Or you think you laugh—you think you might be crying again too. Both boys look aghast by the sight of it, looking at each other as if waiting for the other to do something to make you stop.

Eventually, Klaus steps forward and unsurely tries to pass Dazai’s unconscious body over to you as if to try to make you feel better by shoving him in your arms. Chuuya slaps him hard over the back of the head causing him to yelp.

“Put him on the couch, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you passing him over to her like he’s a fucking stuffed animal?” Chuuya snaps, giving him a plainly judgemental look before resting his hand on your shoulder.

Klaus looks disgruntled, but he does as Chuuya asks, laying Dazai down on the couch where you and Chuuya had just been sitting. You drop to your knees next to him, and the room is oddly silent as you look down at him. You don’t feel their gazes on you, so you assume they’re giving you privacy as best they can.

He looks… peaceful. You could almost imagine that you were coming home to him napping on your couch after he spent the whole night playing some stupid video game in your living room. You try to imagine that’s what this is, but the bloody indent in his forehead prevents you.

It almost broke through his skull.

He almost died.

You almost killed him.

You feel a bit sick as your fingers trace up to the wound on his forehead. It’s still bleeding, but his forehead is clean compared to the grime that covers the rest of his body. Klaus and Akutagawa must’ve had the brain to stop and clean the wound before it could get infected—that’s probably what took them so long.

You feel someone come to your side, glancing up to see Akutagawa hovering next to you with bandages in hand. He passes them over to you silently before quickly walking away. You let out a soft breath as you unwind the bandages, gently lifting his head so you can wrap them around his forehead. Immediately, they’re staining red—you grimace and look away.

The silence hanging over the room only lasts so long.

“What’s next?” Klaus asks quietly. “This won’t work for long. What’s the plan?”

Your gaze lowers as you rest your hand against Dazai’s cheek, memorizing his face as best as you can. The heaviness in your chest returns, and along with it, the damning reminder of your reality.

“I have to kill Mori.”

Dazai suddenly understands his dream.

“It’s the only option,” you say quietly when Dazai’s expression immediately twists at your words. Your eyes look so heavy and your expression is so crestfallen that it makes Dazai ache. His fingers twitch to reach out for you but you shift away, shaking your head. “It’s the only option, Osamu. It has to be done.”

“But-”

“He tried to have me kill you,” you snap, and he almost rolls his eyes because he doesn’t need reminding of that. He’s abundantly aware of the fact that he almost died at your hands because of Mori. He refrains if only barely. “Why do you care about what happens to him?”

“He’s your father,” Dazai says, watching as you go stiff. He knows he might’ve just made a mistake saying that, but he doesn’t even know if you fully understand the gravity of all of this or if you’re just running off heightened emotions right now. “I don’t care about him, he can go fuck off and die for all I care. I care about you-“

“He’s not my father,” you spit out, voice tight, “and maybe you shouldn’t care about me.”

Oh, here it comes, Dazai thinks dreadfully. That was the opening you needed to bring up the subject Dazai desperately wanted to avoid. He has made a fatal mistake. He should’ve just nodded along and agreed to your plan.

“You’re right he’s not your father,” Dazai immediately agrees to appease you and try to avoid the imminent conversation. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey, do you have food here? I’m so hungry all of a sudden, wow, do you hear my stomach-”

You sigh, looking away. Your eyes are suddenly very tired and Dazai’s words falter on his tongue as his gaze settles on you. His fingers twitch to reach out for your hand but you draw them back into your lap. Dazai’s gaze drops at the blatant rejection, but as soon as you notice, you reach back out to intertwine your fingers with his. He feels placated, but only a little, because he still has a tight feeling in his chest that he can’t push away. A looming fear that something is going to go terribly wrong.

“Can we please talk about this?” you finally ask quietly, and even though Dazai does want to say no, he simply cannot bring himself to.

So, instead, he nods, and braces himself for what he knows is bound to be a terrible conversation. He waits for you to say something—you look like you want to, but he thinks that maybe you’re struggling just as much as him at opening the conversation.

This isn’t going to go well, he realizes again, swallowing thickly.

“Come on,” you finally say, rising to your feet. You hold out your hand to him and Dazai stares at it for a moment, confused. “Let’s get you cleaned up, you smell disgusting.”

“I wonder why,” Dazai mutters, and he means for it to come out as a joke, but when the small smile on your lips falters, he realizes it probably came out much too bitter so he quickly grabs your hand instead, letting you help him to his feet. He tries to get you to smile again by giving you a soft one of his own, but now the expression on your face is heavy and conflicted. “Are you gonna take a bath with me?”

“You should probably rinse off before we get into the bath,” you say dryly, thumb running along the back of his hand before you let go of it. “Otherwise we’ll just be sitting in shit water.”

Dazai almost gags. “Don’t remind me what I’m covered in right now,” he pleads. “Where is the shower?”

The light returns to your eyes, a smile flickers to your lips, and Dazai considers it a win even if he is covered in shit and god knows what else. He glances back down to where he’d been laying and winces when he sees the stains. His eyes flicker back up to you and he cringes when he sees the displeased expression on your face.

“I’ll make Atsushi and Akutagawa clean it,” you say more to yourself than to him, shaking your head and motioning for him to follow. “Bonding exercise.”

Dazai raises his eyebrows, unsure if the couch is even salvageable, and almost lets a comment slip about it considering you were so quick to throw out his couch to replace it, but he refrains when a sad expression crosses your face when you think he’s not looking. He frowns, looking around a bit more scrutinizing now.

This place looks nothing like your apartment.

Your apartment is… plain. Minimalistic. The most you have decorating it is a handful of paintings on the wall and a couple of antiques displayed on dressers. Other than that, you have your furniture, your television, and that’s just about it. Dazai had joked once about it feeling like a hotel room, and promptly stole your credit card to buy things to decorate with—gaudy Christmas lights even though it’s not Christmas, a couple of fake pumpkins to line against your wall and a plastic skeleton to pin up near the window. He even bought an inflatable snowman to put in the middle of the room, but it hasn’t come yet. You rolled your eyes every time you came back from work to see some new, seasonally inappropriate decoration in your apartment, but he could tell the more things he added to your apartment, the happier you seemed to be.

This place was actually decorated. Pictures and trinkets set up on the dressers, all of the furniture matched and the walls were a warm burgundy instead of the off-putting, psych ward white of your apartment. You said this was a safe house, but it seems more like a home than your actual one.

“What is this place?” he asks again, because it’s something more than a safe-house, he just doesn’t know what.

“I told you,” you frown. “A safe house.”

Dazai’s lips curl down in response but he doesn’t press, gaze flickering over to one of the side tables against the wall, trying to figure out who exactly is in the pictures on it, but as he strains his eyes to focus on it, pain ricochets through his head and he has to abandon the mission. Disappointed, he follows you into the back bedroom and realizes he’ll just have to figure it out later.

He almost stops in his tracks in the doorway when he sees that the bedroom is just as homely as the rest of the safe house. It’s weird—the same burgundy walls, dark mahogany furniture, there’s what looks to be a handmade quilt draped over the foot of the bed. It’s just so unlike you that it almost has Dazai reeling.

You give him an odd look when you see the twisted expression on his face, but motion toward another door. “The bathroom is in there—go rinse off and run the bath, I’ll be in there in a minute, I’m going to grab a change of clothes for you.”

“Mkay,” Dazai agrees, a jump in his step as he rushes over to the bathroom.

He only pauses for a second to take in his surroundings when he gets in there—he’s not as surprised now by the style. Less modern, more rustic, just like the rest of the house; it’s more like something he’d expect to see in one of those American holiday movies. He leans over the tub to run the hot water before pulling off his clothes. He squints as he starts to unwind his bandages, looking into the shower and realizing that the only soap in there is an unopened bar soap, and a men’s shampoo and conditioner set.

A bit suspicious now, he glances at the door leading to the bedroom before kneeling down in front of the cabinets beneath the sink. With one hand, he unwinds the bandages around his legs, and with the other, he reaches out to open the cabinet so he can snoop. Just as he expected: men’s deodorant, a spare baking soda and peroxide toothpaste that he knows you hate, and a handful of different colognes. There’s one bag off to the side and Dazai reaches for it, peeking in and finding your typical bath soaps and hair care.

Whose place is this? He wonders, pausing for half a second before taking out your soaps and bringing them into the shower with him. It’s not Chuuya’s—Dazai knows that because he hasn’t seen a single tacky hat yet, but then whose?

He’s quick to clean himself off, eager to be with you and still a bit anxious that you might disappear when he’s not looking. The water runs brown as it rinses over him, but it feels nice—Dazai realizes that this is his first shower since he got kidnapped by the Guild, and a part of him wants to bask in it. He wants to wash off all of the unfamiliar touches and the dirt and the blood, but more than that, he wants to surround himself with you instead. Which means he has to hurry out of here and drag you into the tub with him.

He thinks maybe he should be biding his time. He has a lot to think about before he actually talks to you—he’s hardly even had a chance to process everything that happened—but still, he finds himself rushing to scrub himself. It couldn’t have been more than ten, fifteen minutes before he’s stumbling out of the shower and grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. He almost expects you to be waiting in the bathroom for him, but you’re not, so he frowns and creaks the door back open to look for you.

Your name is on his lips as he steps back into the bedroom, but he falters when he sees you standing in the same place he left you: right outside a closet, except now the door is open and there’s a sweatshirt in your hands. The expression on your face is destroyed, and Dazai isn’t exactly sure what to say, luckily, he doesn’t need to because you hear the door open and turn toward him.

Whatever you’re about to say dies on your lips as your eyes trail over his body.

Another fatal mistake.

Dazai instantly realizes that he has never taken off his bandages in front of you before—that night at the beach house, he thought you were going to ask him to take them off, but you didn’t. He was glad for it, because he wasn’t sure if he was ready, and after that… Well, everything went downhill after that.

Dazai suddenly wants to flee. He becomes acutely aware of all of the scars on his body plainly in view. The warm, dim lighting becomes spotlights shining down on him, highlighting all of the flaws that he’s feared your reaction to. He waits for your face to twist—or, he knows you, you probably wouldn’t have such a visible reaction, so he focuses on your eyes instead.

But they only curve up along with your lips, a fondness in them that he doesn’t expect. You place the clothes down on the bed and approach him, his breath catches when your hands rest on his hips right above the towel. The skin-on-skin makes his chest ache—he’s missed you so much, he hadn’t even realized how hard it had been to breathe without you until he was back with you again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes out loud, lashes fluttering when your thumbs circle over his hip bones, right over a jagged scar that cuts across his lower abdomen—the product of an unfortunate encounter in Suribachi.

“I missed you too,” you say softly. Your eyes trace over his face like you’re trying to memorize each little detail—usually he feels uncomfortable when under a scrutinizing gaze, he never wants someone to look too closely at him in fear of what they might find, but he feels warm beneath yours. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure exactly what you’re apologizing for; it could be anything from almost killing him to letting him into your life at all. He’s not yet ready for this conversation to start, he hasn’t even gathered his thoughts yet, so instead he glances pointedly back toward the bathroom. You let out a soft breath—he can’t tell if it’s irritation or you’re just tired, it might be both, but you do motion for him to go in and he can hear you following him.

The water is still steaming as he lets the towel drop to the ground and sinks into it. His muscles instantly relax, eyes sliding shut as he rests against the back of the tub, letting out a soft sigh. For a moment, he can almost forget everything that’s happened, his head falls to the side to focus on you as you undress, folding your clothes and placing them on the side table. He blinks when you pull off your dress shirt, gaze zeroing in on a scar marring your upper back. It’s small, circular—a bullet wound, maybe? It doesn’t go through to your chest though, he would’ve noticed that.

“How did you get that?” he asks curiously, belatedly realizing he probably has no right to ask about scars considering his body is riddled with them and he’d probably evade most attempts at your prying if you asked.

“Hm?” you ask quietly, looking over your shoulder at him as you finish undressing.

The words falter on Dazai’s lips as his gaze roves over your body. You’re beautiful, he thinks again, a bit more dreamily this time. You’re beautiful, and he’s missed you so much, and he just wants all of this to be over so he can go back to lounging in your apartment and spending your money all day. It’s only when you raise your eyebrows that he clears his throat and nods his chin to your back.

“The scar on your back,” he explains. “How did you get it?”

“Oh,” you realize, making your way over to the tub and tapping his shoulder, motioning for him to shift forward. You slip into the water behind him, circling your arms around his waist and Dazai’s chest feels warm and full as he rests back against you, eyes sliding shut. “An assassination attempt when I was eighteen. I was… reckless, saw it coming and… Well, luckily, the Flags had been in the area. Iceman figured out what was happening and they got there quick enough to stabilize me and get me to Mori.”

Dazai’s throat swells at the implication of what you’d said, trying to distract himself with the feeling of your fingers tracing across his abdomen. He notes softly, “You’re never reckless.”

Your fingers pause in the absent patterns you’re tracing on him, and Dazai wonders if it’s a sore topic, about to retract his words. Before he can, you let out a soft breath and drop your forehead down on his shoulder, arms tightening around him.

“This was Itou’s house. All of the stuff in here, it’s his family’s—stuff he was able to salvage after they were killed. He tried to keep the house like how his mother used to keep it as a way to memorialize her,” you say quietly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he recognizes the name of your old partner. “We were enemies when we first met, y’know? It was during the big conflict six years ago. He was part of one of the foreign organizations. I ended up recruiting him, but he spent a few months on his own here. He was careful to keep it a blind spot to the Port Mafia even after he joined up, I always thought he was paranoid about it, but he was quite insistent that there was no need for people to know about it.”

“Makes sense,” Dazai says dryly. “I wouldn’t want Mori knowing where I’m living either.”

It’s an off-handed quip, but you still stiffen and again, Dazai fumbles to say something else because he clearly upset you. He starts to add, “I-”

“I killed him,” you finally say, voice weak and airy. Your arms loosen around him, but his hands drop to cover yours, holding them in place. “I killed him, Osamu.”

“I thought you said he died on a mission,” Dazai murmurs, hand tightening around yours when he feels the way your fingers are trembling.

“I… Itou was born into this life. Was born into a Yakuza-family based in Tokyo, trained since he was old enough to walk how to use his ability… how to kill. The Yakuza syndicate his family was the head of was wiped out by the Sun and Steel when he was eight… nine, maybe. His mother was able to get him and bring him back to Australia—that’s where she was from. It’s how he ended up with Strain,” you explain, and the water suddenly feels a bit cold—what happened to Itou’s family sounds a lot like what happened to Dazai’s. From the way you pause, you wonder if you realize the same thing. You quickly change the subject, “He tried getting me out of the Mafia.”

“What?” Dazai asks, surprised. He shifts to physically look at you, catching the wistful expression on your face. “You wanted to leave the Mafia.”

The wistful expression shifts into something much more conflicted.

“I didn’t-” you start to say before cutting yourself off. “I don’t know. I think maybe a part of me might’ve wanted to. I was… curious. He was sneaky—he was always such a sneaky bastard. He tried to ease me into it, show me what a different life was like. Called them training exercises, wanted me to blend in with kids my age.”

He remembers you telling him this at the beach house, but he listens anyway because now you do sound wistful. His eyes slide shut as you hold him tightly, pressing your lips to his shoulder blade before resting your chin on top of it.

“His gift to me for my eighteenth birthday was an acceptance letter to university. He pulled some strings. It was for YNU, actually, funny enough,” you say softly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he turns to look at you again; there’s a small, sad smile on your lips and when he turns, you take the chance to steal a kiss from him. “Imagine, we could’ve been first years together.”

Dazai doesn’t dare to respond. His hand tightens around yours—if it’s painful, you don’t let it show. Odasaku dragged him to orientation, and he imagines meeting you there. You’re good at socializing—charming—Dazai can be too when he wants, but he definitely did not want to during orientation. He mostly sulked away and waited for it to be over so he could go back home. He imagines that you’d be in the same group with him, and although he’d probably ignore you the first few times you tried to talk to him, he’d eventually give in. Dazai is weak to pretty women, especially when that pretty woman is you.

Or maybe, you’d meet during a shared class. You would probably be a poli-sci major, but he’s taken classes in the field for requirements. He hated them, thought they were boring, but he probably would’ve enjoyed it much more if he had you to admire all two hours of the class. And maybe-

“I was curious,” you repeat, voice tighter. There’s more of an edge to it now, and Dazai realizes that this story is about to take a turn. “I… I wanted to try it. I told Mori.”

Dazai’s eyes widen and he sits up straight. The water sloshes around him as he physically turns around to face you. He asks, but can’t finish, “Did he…”

“He said it was a great idea,” you say tightly. “He encouraged it. I accepted the spot, and a week before orientation, Itou died on a mission that we got bad intel for. My whole team, they died to make sure I got out alive. Mori denied having any involvement, said he wouldn’t risk an ability user as powerful as Itou, but I know. I know he had a hand in it. I’ve always known it. The government had been after Itou for years—they said he was a national security threat. A couple of weeks later, we suddenly have the skilled business permit that Mori’s been trying to get for months. It was a trade-off. I know it. Two birds, one stone. The skilled business permit and my full focus back on the Mafia for Itou’s life.”

Dazai’s lips part to say something—anything—but he can’t. Your eyes are misty, and the foreboding feeling that’s been haunting him since he woke up intensifies. You shake your head, blinking back tears.

“I never should’ve brought you into this world, Osamu.”

Dazai needs to think now. He needs to figure out how exactly he’s going to go about this, whether he should be soft and demure, appealing to your heart, or if he should be more forceful, triggering your guilt.

He goes with the latter.

“Well it’s too late for that,” Dazai says, keeping his voice steady until he knows how you’re going to react to it. When you instantly shake your head again, his voice hardens. “It’s too late, I’m already in it. You can’t just get rid of me. Take accountability.”

“You don’t think I have?” you question dryly, looking away from him. But he needs you to look at him for this to be effective, so he reaches out to grab your hand, dragging your attention back toward him. “I killed your family, Osamu.”

“She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arms and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Her name was Akane. Bunji and Touma were her brothers.

They were Dazai’s brothers. Dazai’s sister. The stuffed bear was called Coco, and Akane would clutch it and cry whenever Dazai started talking about things like death. She was scared of dying; more than that, scared of the people she loved dying. She cried for weeks when their grandmother passed, and got angry at Dazai when he didn’t even cry at the funeral. Dazai used to share a bedroom with her and Touma, but he hated her nightlight—it was purple and it was always right in Dazai’s eyes when he laid down. He convinced his mother to force Bunji to swap rooms with him, so Dazai had his own room on the second floor of his grandfather’s estate.

“You were a kid too,” Dazai rasps out the same thing he said at the beach house, but it comes out a bit weaker this time knowing exactly who the people you killed were. “You were fourteen. You-”

“I played a role in tracking your mother down,” you continue. Dazai’s breath catches as his fingers loosen around yours. “It was my punishment for not making sure all of the grandchildren were… eliminated. I was the one that was tracking her down, and I was the one that was going to interrogate her for your whereabouts when I found her.”

“Stop,” Dazai says quietly, voice wavering.

“No,” you reply firmly. “No. You need to understand this-”

“I do,” Dazai insists, voice cracking. “I do understand-”

“You don’t, Dazai,” you raise your voice and Dazai cringes back. You sigh and soften your voice, but the damage has been done, Dazai’s fight or flight instincts have been triggered. This conversation is not going to end in his favor, so he needs to run before he gets hurt, but he can’t because you have him stuck in the bath with you. You reach out again to take his hands in yours, fingers absently running along the scars on his wrists. “You don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so quick to join me in here. You haven’t even had time to process it.”

“Yes, I have,” Dazai whispers weakly. “I have.”

“I ruined your life, Osamu,” you say quietly. “Everything bad that’s ever happened to you started with me.”

“That’s not true,” Dazai argues, nails biting into your skin as he clings to you. “My life sucked before everything really went to shit. The first time I tried to kill myself, I was eleven. You saved my life. I was going to kill myself that night we met at the bar. You saved me.”

“Osamu-”

“You’re not listening to me,” Dazai interrupts, voice taking a more manic edge as he shakes his head. He can talk himself out of any situation—why is he failing now when it matters most? “You’re not listening. You saved me. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you breathe out, but the words don’t settle his nerves because they’re heavy and full of sorrow, and the tears that had been pooling in your eyes finally start to spill over.

“Then why does this still feel like a goodbye?” he begs, breath shallow as he searches your face for an answer.

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He finds his answer in your eyes. He always does. You look at him again with that desperate, longing expression, like you’re trying to memorize the details of his face even though you know it’s futile.

This is a goodbye.

Dazai hasn’t spoken to you once since your conversation in the bath.

Chuuya, your subordinates, and the Flags are back now, and Dazai is sulking in the bedroom watching one of his dumb reality shows. You can hardly focus on the conversation at hand because of it, and you know the others are starting to get irritated by your distraction considering the stakes at play right now. If one thing goes wrong, all of your lives would be forfeit. They’re risking everything by helping you right now, and you can't even bother to give them your full attention.

“Out,” Piano Man suddenly says. Your gaze snaps toward him, as does all of the others’ in the room. When nobody immediately moves, he raises his eyebrows and continues dryly, “Are you all hard of hearing? I said get out.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Albatross demands. “Her boy’s in the bedroom. This place is small-”

“Go crowd in the closet for all I care. Get out,” Piano Man says dismissively. Still, no one moves until his gaze sharpens and they realize he’s being entirely serious. You shift to leave with them until his eyes land on you. “Not you.”

You feel like a child about to be scolded, which is ridiculous because you’re a mafioso, and though Piano Man is technically the same rank as you, he’s not really. He can’t scold you, but you shift awkwardly on your feet and share a concerned look with Chuuya anyway as they all wander out of the safe house and into the small hallway outside.

Once the two of you are alone, you finally glance back at Piano Man, who’s watching you carefully. After a few moments he says, “I take it you told him the plan?”

“I did,” you reply quietly.

“He didn’t take it well?” Piano Man questions.

“You know the answer to that,” you say a bit more dryly before shaking your head. “Would you have taken it well?”

“Of course not, I’d be livid,” Piano Man says immediately, making you cringe. “Does this mean we’re changing the plan?”

“No,” you tell him. “We can’t. This is the only option.”

“I know,” Piano Man says with a thin smile. “So stop sulking and get your head in the game so we don’t all die trying to perform a coup.”

You’re startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice, but you suppose you shouldn’t be. Piano Man has always been capricious, going from his whimsical moods to more cold and ruthless ones within a matter of seconds. You can hardly meet his eyes now, looking down at the ground to avoid them.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask after a few moments.

You don’t have to look at Piano Man to see the way he raises his eyebrows judgmentally. “Excuse me?”

“I was going to kill you earlier. I held a gun to your head. Why are you helping me?” you press, the words weighing heavily on you as you remember the way he met your eyes when you lifted the muzzle of your gun to his temple.

Piano Man has the audacity to look amused. “When I first recruited Lippmann, I tried to drown him in the harbor because I got paranoid he sold me out to the feds after a mission went wrong. It happens—the next time it does, I’m going to be pulling my own gun out though. So, don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t apologize often, even when you know you’re entirely in the wrong. Mori has taught you only to apologize when it serves you, otherwise you should never make an admission of guilt or liability. So it’s not surprising when Piano Man’s eyebrows shoot upward, but his expression softens after a moment. He reaches out to pat your head.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he murmurs, “but we need you at the top of your game if this is going to work.”

“I know,” you reply. “... I know.”

“Good,” he says, patting the top of your head yet again before sighing. “Let me go get them and we’ll get back to planning, okay?”

“Mkay.”

You lean back against the wall as you look down at the table Lippmann set up for planning. The Flags, your subordinates, Kajii Motojiro—they’re non-factors in the planned coup. The Flags will support it, your subordinates will support you, and all Kajii cares about is his experiments. Paul Verlaine is not quite as secure, but Chuuya is confident that he’ll support whatever Chuuya goes along with.

The issue lies in Kouyou and the Black Lizards.

You already feel a headache come on just at the thought, lifting your hands to your head and rubbing your eyes as you knock the back of your head against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. Kouyou and Hirotsu won’t support the coup, you know it. They’re both loyal to Mori—both victims of the previous boss who found refuge in Mori when he took over. They’ll fight for him, and you know better than anyone that during a forceful transition of power, all dissidents must be removed, especially ones that hold significant power and influence.

But it’s Kouyou and Hirotsu. Kouyou, who was the one to teach you how to do your makeup properly, who bought you your first kimono to match her own. Hirotsu, who was always quick to execute anyone that openly disrespected you, who took you to a movie on your fifteenth birthday when Mori was busy dealing with the power transition so you didn’t spend it alone. The thought makes you sick—they were family, and maybe Hirotsu could be convinced. He’s loyal to Mori, yes, but more than that, he’s loyal to the Port Mafia. If you can manufacture a legitimate reason for the coup…

You sigh as you glance down the hall where Dazai is hiding in the bedroom, startled when your gaze catches his familiar brown. He’s seemingly just as surprised that you caught him spying, immediately slamming the bedroom door shut to retreat back into the safety of the room. Your lips curl up into a small smile, which is quickly washed away when your subordinates, the Flags and Chuuya all file back into the room.

“I’ll talk to Ane-san,” Chuuya finally says, reigniting the conversation. “I’ll make her see reason.”

“There’s no time for talking, Chuuya,” Piano Man tells him. “This all has to be done within hours. If we let word get out about what we’re doing… The coup is risky, and a civil war would be the end of this city.”

Frustration flashes across Chuuya’s face. “I’m not budging on this,” he says, voice tight with thinly restrained anger. “Either you give me the chance to talk to her, or I’ll withdraw my support.”

“Chuuya,” you sigh tiredly, wanting nothing more than to just sit down.

“No,” Chuuya interrupts you. “I won’t actively stand against you, but I won’t stand with you if you don’t give me the chance to talk to her.”

“Fine,” you finally say even though you know it’s a mistake. It’s asking for trouble. Piano Man gives you a sharp, disapproving look, but you shake your head. “It’s fine. She won’t be keeping her executive position.”

Chuuya’s face twists. “But-”

“No.” This time you interrupt him, holding up your hand. “I’m not budging on this. If you want the chance to talk to her and convince her this is the best route, I’ll give you it, but you need to meet me halfway. She’s not retaining her executive position.”

Chuuya looks unhappy, but after a few moments, he nods. “Fine.”

“I can’t risk it, Chuuya,” you tell him quietly. “I need people who I trust in the inner circle. I can’t trust her after what just happened.”

“I get it,” Chuuya says. “I just don’t like it.”

“That leaves three executive seats we need to fill.” Piano Man lets out a heavy sigh as he sits on the edge of the table, tilting his head back in exhaustion. “Your’s, Ace’s, and Kouyou-san’s. Do you even have three more people who you trust?”

Klaus and Akutagawa, you think to yourself, but neither of them are executive material. Your gaze drifts over to Albatross, Iceman, and Doc, each of them pointedly looks away, none of them want the open seats. Lippmann can’t take it, not with what you have planned for him. So, who else-

“Verlaine?” Chuuya offers. “He’s got a ton of experience with the European organizations—we’ll probably need it considering Dostoevsky’s involvement with the Guild, and this Book that’s apparently somewhere in the city. If it gets out to the public, we’ll have organizations swarming just like during the Dragon’s Head.”

You don’t like the idea of Verlaine being an executive, and you don’t think Piano Man does either considering his unfortunate first meeting with the man, but Chuuya raises good points. You have your own experience with the European underworld, but it’s nothing like what Verlaine has.

“Okay,” you agree, “and the other two?”

The Black Lizards are its own command unit that answers directly to the Boss. They don’t have a seat at the table because it’s not their field. Their field is war, not politics… but what other options are there? The people you trust are far and few in-between, you can probably count them on one hand.

“What about Tolstoy?” a familiar voice asks quietly from down the hallway. You look up immediately, gaze focusing on where Dazai is standing in the door of the bedroom, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t like the attention of everyone on him, so he keeps his eyes trained fully on you. “Mishima?”

“They’re not part of the Port Mafia,” Chuuya dismisses, “they don’t get seats.”

“But what if they were?” Dazai presses, shuffling forward. He hardly spares Chuuya a glance before looking at you again. “The transition of power is going to be shaky, you need to strengthen your position in other ways, otherwise…”

“You think we should merge with the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel,” Piano Man realizes, sitting up straighter as he considers Dazai’s proposition. “Doesn’t that risk destabilizing us even more though?”

He looks at you for an answer, but your gaze is focused on Dazai. He’s not even gone yet, but you already miss him desperately; all you want is to be with him, but it’s just not possible. You can’t have him and run the Port Mafia at the same time; he will die because of his affiliation with you, just like he almost did when the Guild captured him. It wouldn’t matter how safe you tried to keep him, one mistake and he would die. And that will lead to every decision you make being centered around him, not what’s best for the Port Mafia and that will lead to its inevitable ruin.

“No, Osamu’s right,” you say, and Dazai preens at the praise, but then quickly deflates again. You want to reach out for him, but you refrain. “Not a merger. An acquisition. The Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel are already pretty much extensions of the Port Mafia, we would only be formalizing it. I trust Tolstoy and Mishima—I pretty much built the Three Deaths into what it is today myself. We’d give the Port Mafia an official foothold in Russia, more sway over everything that happens in Tokyo. It’s a good plan. Great one, even.”

“Will they even agree to it?” Chuuya asks doubtfully. “Go from being fully autonomous to answering to us.”

“They pretty much already do just answer to us,” Albatross mutters.

“They’ll agree to it,” you tell him quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Tolstoy won’t be hard to convince. He, Chekhov and Gorky are all good friends of yours, you helped them build the Three Deaths, you helped them win territory battles against the Pale Flame and the Red Chamber. All it would take a few words of convincing for them to agree to it. Mishima might be more difficult, but all you have to do is convince his daughters, and they hang off your every word.

There might be some dissent from the Sun and Steel executives, but even then, you think it would be minimal at worst. It’s a good plan. Having Tolstoy and Mishima sitting at the executive table would lend you some much needed support during the transition, and with the Port Mafia subsuming the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel, it would provide a major deterrence against any foreign movements from Cao Xueqin or Yi Sang.

“What about Hirotsu and the Black Lizards?” Akutagawa asks, shifting awkwardly when all eyes turn to him. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and you know it’s because he actually cares about what your answer might be. Akutagawa likes to pretend that he doesn’t care about anyone, but you know he has a soft spot for the unit that took Gin in so easily.

“We can’t afford to lose the Black Lizards,” Iceman notes as he lights another cigarette. “Especially if we’re bringing in other organizations. We don't want our own people to feel like they’re being lost in the mix, y’know?”

“I’ll handle Hirotsu,” you finally say. “It’ll be fine. I just need to figure out how to frame this. Needs to be framed in a way that makes him feel like this was the best, and only, course of action for the Mafia. He’s loyal to Mori only to the extent that he’s good for the Port Mafia. I’ll figure it out. Leave that to me.”

“Ace’s subordinates?” Albatross prompts. “They been handled? We can’t have them knowing about him. Can’t have anyone knowing about him.”

“Dead,” Akutagawa says. “I killed them.”

“Security cameras? CCTV? Any record of this kid being affiliated with us?”

“Wiped,” Klaus answers flippantly. “We’ve gone through it every day since they met. Weren’t allowed to sleep ‘til made sure everything from the day was wiped. There’s no physical record of him ever being around us.”

“Okay, so we get this settled, and then we wait on Repin for the rest of us, right?” Albatross asks. Dazai cringes at the mention of Repin, and you look away from him, unable to watch the pain that crosses his face.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “It all needs to happen within no more than a couple days otherwise we risk the wrong people finding out so…”

“So we should get started,” Chuuya sighs, pushing himself off the wall. He squeezes your wrist as he passes by you, walking in the direction of the door. “We’ll give you guys some time. I’ll let you know how things go with Ane-san.”

You nod, eyes following him as he leaves. The others follow, filing out of the room until it’s only you and Dazai left again. You turn to look at him, so many words on your lips but incapable of pushing a single one out. Instead, you reach out to cup his face between your hands, running your thumbs across his cheekbones. His lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he whispers, brown eyes heavy and glassy as he looks down at you. “We can figure something else out. I know we can. Just give me some time, I just need a little time, I’ll figure something out.”

“We don’t have time,” you say, voice cracking over the words. “I love you, Osamu.”

Dazai pulls away, shaking his head. He wipes quickly at his eyes before looking at you again. You expect what he says, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I won’t forgive you. Not for this. Not ever. I can’t.”

“I know.”

SIX WEEKS LATER

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting this invitation,” a familiar voice hums as the door to your box opens. You don’t turn to look at him, keeping your gaze trained down on the performance taking place below. “Not from you, and not after everything that’s happened.”

“No?” you ask absently. “It’s unlike you to not expect something, Dostoevsky. Less like you to admit it.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects as he comes to stand next to you. He’s close enough to you that you can feel his body brushing yours. You finally turn your head to look at him—his lips are curved up into a deceptively soft smile, violet eyes glittering with a type of mischief that you know is dangerous. “We are well enough acquainted to be on a first name basis, no?”

“Dostoevsky,” you repeat pointedly, looking back down at the show as the first act reaches its climax. Of all of the shows you’ve seen, Tosca is still your favorite. This rendition here at the New National Theatre isn’t quite as good as the one at La Scala, but you’re enjoying it well enough.

Dostoevsky lets out a huff of laughter, you don’t turn to look at him when you feel him reach out to touch you. His fingers trace along the maroon scarf hanging loosely over your shoulders. You barely withhold a shiver when you feel his knuckles skim your neck—rumor has it, skin-on-skin contact alone with Dostoevsky is enough to kill. You don’t die, but it’s enough to beckon your attention back to him.

“Red is your color,” he murmurs, looking down at you through his lashes. “You look beautiful.”

“It isn’t yours,” you reply quickly, glancing down at the red tie tied neatly around his neck. “Neither is flattery.”

Dostoevsky does laugh this time—it’s soft and short, pretty like a bell. Unbefitting of him, just like the color red and false flattery.

“It isn’t?” he asks, keeping his voice deceptively playful. “I wore it for you. Since you invited me, I thought it appropriate that we match. I heard of your success in Yokohama. I should congratulate you on your new promotion. Or perhaps extend my condolences for the death of your father? Are condolences still proper when you were the one to drive the knife into his back?”

It’s a dig, an attempt to get under your skin and throw you off before getting into the meat of the conversation. You can feel his eyes on you, the soft playfulness gone and replaced by a sharpness that has you on edge.

“You said it yourself. One life or thousands.”

“It was a bullet to the head,” you correct idly—the words taste like poison on your tongue, but you’re careful to not let it show on your face. “Condolences are unnecessary. He was not my father.”

“It’s okay, dear, this was how it was always meant to be.”

“Hm,” Dostoevsky hums, amused. “I was quite pleased when I found out about the coup. I wasn’t expecting it.”

He wants to add something else but he decides against it. He’s very calculating with his words, he always has been, but he is especially now. You know that each word he speaks is chosen for a specific purpose, and it’s hard, even for you, to break down each one as he speaks it to understand why he says it so you can choose your own words carefully in return. Fyodor Dostoevsky is the only man capable of consistently beating you in exchanges of words, and that is concerning.

It’s why you invited him here—you need an idea of what he’s planning while you solidify your newfound position.

“It seems you struggle to expect many things I do,” you note. “I should add it to my resume. I doubt many people are capable of repeatedly surprising Fyodor Dostoevsky.”

“It is true,” he agrees with an airy laugh. “You are a… difficult opponent. I will admit it.”

“Is that so?”

Dostoevsky makes a soft noise of agreement, lashes fluttering as he glances over at you once before he looks back down at the show taking place down on the stage.

“You are not guided strictly by logic,” he muses. “It's there, of course, you are very intelligent but it’s laced with so many emotions. It is difficult for me to determine your course of action because I can never predict when you will lead with emotion, and when with logic. And even then, there are grades to it. I could account for dozens of plans of action and miss the one you take because you are just a bit less emotional than I anticipated… I did not predict that you would go for Zelda Fitzgerald, it was quite bold—there was a high risk for failure. You make things… much more interesting. I enjoy it.”

“You would find something like that enjoyable,” you say sarcastically, taking a sip of your champagne. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Dostoevsky.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects again with a light smile.

“Dostoevsky.”

“Heh,” he laughs quietly. “I will… wait for things to settle before making another move here in Yokohama. I’m curious to see how all of the chips fall on their own. You’re in for quite the storm with that bill that just passed through the Diet, aren’t you?”

You don’t respond. You got the answer you needed, so there’s no reason for you to keep entertaining his snide comments; you’ll just watch the show in peace. You’ll have the bit of time you need to get things settled before Dostoevsky makes his next play. Though the man is a compulsive liar and you have no reason to trust him, Dostoevsky has never lied so blatantly to your face, so you’ll take him at his word until you have reason to believe otherwise.

Dostoevsky takes your silence as an opportunity to continue talking, naturally.

“I did have a question for though,” he says, a bit too thrilled by the prospect of your answer. You don’t like the way his eyes are lit up, and you especially don’t like the smile on his lips. “Entertain me?”

You raise your eyebrows pointedly, waiting for him to ask it.

“I heard rumors that the reason behind your sudden decision to overthrow your father was more… intimate than most believe,” Dostoevsky murmurs, leaning like he’s sharing in some schoolgirl gossip with an old friend. Your brows furrow as you process his words. “You must tell me what boy has managed to steal your heart. He must be something special. Not even I was capable of that, I’m almost jealous.”

You look at him now, gaze sharp but confused as your eyes trail over him before focusing back on his face. He seems surprised by your reaction, tilting his head to the side and studying you carefully.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

to be continued in ... the land is inhospitable (but are we?) [est. release: early feb]

WOWWWWWW GUYS WE FUCKING FINISHED CIVZAI .... or well, ;) civzai1. some notes:

i promised a happy ending, i know ... but i promised it for civzai in general, and they DO have a happy ending ... just not yet. pls dont bully me ill cry i'm so proud of this. i didn't lie.

i always intended on there being two parts to this series because i feel like time apart is essential in the pmreader universe. when dazai defected in canon universe, and now with her taking over as boss and wiping her memories of him. the first part was always gonna be the guild arc, the second arc is gonna be my rendition of the hunting dogs and the decay of the angel

this is the ONLY universe where pmreader becomes port mafia boss ;) i actually had it noted that there was only one universe on the background page in wykyk once i started writing wasteland, baby but no one caught it ;) i was wondering if anyone would put two and two together

i actually went back and retconned chapter 1 to have them talking about the divine comedy instead of petrarch because of the first scene in this chapter. i thought it would be neat coming full circle with the themes of betrayal and death, + the hozier song this chapter is based on is about the 9th circle in the divine comedy. so everything just tied together too neatly for me to not add it.

;) just remember now with repin involved, reader's narration is now entirely unreliable. we don't know what's truth and manufactured by repin.

i was actually really tempted to base civzai2 off of a mother mother album just because hayloft II fits what's going to be the first half of it SO fucking well, but i had to go with mitski because the whole album literally captures the vibes of the second series perfectly

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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