#My brain was like here's a hockey au for you

[fraddit]

I dreamed that I was a professional hockey player and that my hockey nickname was "the hammer" and during home games, they would play bits of MC Hammer's Can't Touch This whenever I did cool hockey things. Also I had gray hair in a sexy butch cut, but importantly, even in my dream, I still couldn't get it to lay right half the time because of all my cowlicks.

[scuderiahoney]

Oscar Piastri x reader // in motion part 3

hockey au part 3: a walk in near the park, a surprising team photo, and the semester comes to a close. 6.2k words

warnings: mentions of sports injury, mentions of bullying, alcohol, academic stress, final exams

Oscar has spent a lot of his life on the move. He moved to the US from Australia for high school at a pretty young age, just to try and play hockey. Looking back, it sounds crazy. What’s even crazier is that it actually worked. He’d play for club teams and in leagues and travel absolutely anywhere if it gave him time on the ice. And then he ended up on a college team and stayed put for two years, and honestly, it felt strange.

Over that time, he got good at putting things in boxes. Keeping life organized. Not so much in a sense of clutter and things having a place- his room is a mess, there’s laundry to be done, and his hockey locker is a disaster- but more so in his head. His friendships and relationships get categorized, information filed away, grouped together. Not by importance or value, but by… context. Hockey friends in one box. Family in another. People like coaches and managers and executives in a third. Moving somewhere new always shakes the boxes up.

By late November, though, Oscar’s feeling a little bit more comfortable in his own skin. He’s found his place in the team, he has weekly lunches with teammates, and he’s even made some friends outside of hockey. His old coach, Mark, says that’s a big piece of it. That it’s good to have something other than sport, just in case it all falls apart, or it doesn’t work out. People to fall back on who aren’t just there for hockey.

Oscar wants to say that his teammates would still be friends with him even if he stopped playing, for some reason, but the truth is that he’s been burned by other overly ambitious hockey kids way too often to truly believe it. That’s half the reason he’s on the Timberwolves now, why he left his old school and team behind. Things feel better here. Lando has an old friend who used to play hockey who still hangs around the house sometimes- Max, the other Max. (Oscar doesn’t call him that to his face.) So maybe Lando at least wouldn’t ditch him if he quit.

And then there’s you, too. Oscar’s not quite sure when you went from being an enigma he struggled to place into one of his carefully organized boxes in his head to, well, this.

You’re sitting across from him at the dining table in his house, one finger tracing the words in the textbook in front of you. You have a TimTam in your other hand-you seem to have developed a fondness for them, the same way that Oscar seems to have developed a fondness for you. The late afternoon sun is shining into the room through the sliding glass door and onto you. Oscar shakes his head to try to clear it.

As he does, you groan and drop your face into the textbook with a solid thud- he winces. “I hate physics.”

He holds back a laugh, because he knows you genuinely are frustrated. “Does slamming your face on the words help?”

You shrug. “Maybe, if I just sit here like this, the knowledge will seep into my brain.”

He hums. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“Right, because you know everything,” you mumble. “Genius man.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes away from the table. “Come on. Time for a break.”

“I don’t need a break, I need to learn…” you sigh and turn your head, pressing your cheek to the book and looking at him with one eye. “What are we studying again?”

Oscar fixes you with a disapproving look and heads towards the front door. He knows you’ll follow. By the time he makes it to the entryway, you’re hot on his heels, watching curiously as he pulls his shoes on.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

“We’re going on a walk,” he says. “Brain break.”

You shrug and nod, reaching for your own shoes as he pulls on a jacket. He tries not to laugh as you struggle to pull them on without untying them. You’re always stubborn like that, it seems. It’s almost painfully endearing. You stand up straight once you have the shoes on and look at him expectantly.

“Where’s your jacket?” He asks.

You shrug and shove your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. Or is it Charles’ hoodie? Oscar swears he’d seen him wearing it just yesterday.

“I didn’t wear one,” you say. Oscar raises his brows, and you roll your eyes. “There’s not even snow on the ground, Piastri.”

“It’s almost December, Bunny” he says flatly, and reaches for another one of his jackets hanging on the hook near the door.

He hands it to you, and stands there, waiting, until you grumble and pull it on. You wear the other guys’ clothing all the time, but he swears you look almost flustered at the offer. Huh. He’s trying desperately to pretend he’s not flustered over it, honestly. Something about you in his clothing makes him blush. He’d felt the same way about the hoodie you’d borrowed at the party.

“You’re just Australian,” you say, nudging your foot against his as if to usher him out the door. “You’re a baby about the cold.”

He doesn’t have much of a comeback to that, so he steps outside, and you follow right along with him. He walks down the steps and takes off down the sidewalk, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. You might be right- he’s a bit of a baby when it comes to cold temperatures- but his breath curls into mist in front of his face and yours does the same, so it really is chilly. The sun paints everything golden- the windows on the buildings, the dead leaves that still cling to a couple trees. Your elbow bumps against his as the two of you walk. He tries to ignore the spark that shoots up his spine at the feeling. You're chatting away about something, someone in one of your classes who’s been annoying you lately. He's found he likes to listen to you talk.

When he turns to take the path through the park next to the athletics building, you stop in your tracks. He turns back, figuring you’ve seen something, but you’re just staring into the park, and at the large building behind it. He frowns.

“Everything alright?” He asks, quietly.

You nod. “I just. D’you think maybe we could walk to that cafe near here? I could really go for a chai latte.”

He nods- a drink does sound good. “Yeah, sure. D’you wanna walk through the park on the way? Won’t be much of a detour.”

The park is nice. It’s one of Oscar’s favorite places on campus. There’s grass and trees and a path that winds around the university’s baseball and soccer fields. But you’re staring at it with a much different feeling, if the look on your face tells him anything.

You shake your head. “No, let’s just…”

You don’t finish your sentence. Instead, you take off down the sidewalk, heading away from the park. He’s left to follow in your footsteps, suddenly feeling like he really knows nothing about you at all.

…..

When Oscar thinks of home, now, he thinks of this. Not Australia, or the house, or even his family, really. He thinks of a jersey, a stick in his hand, and the scrape of his skates against the ice. Hockey, for all its cheering fans and yelling opponents and background music, is a strangely quiet sport. Maybe he’s just gotten good at blocking out the noise.

They’re warming up on the ice. He has warm up traditions, now, something he hasn’t had with teammates in years- he and Lando slap each other on the shoulders, and he and George always skate a lap together. It’s not anything huge or elaborate, but it means he’s part of the team, and that’s enough.

Max skates up to him, just at the end of warmup. He nudges his shoulder against Oscar’s through the padding. “Good?”

Oscar had a rough week in practice. It was the kind that would’ve had him benched for a month on his last team. Seb’s been nothing but supportive- constructive criticism was offered, sure, but he’s still on the ice today, so he figures that’s a good sign. He nods and turns to Max. His eyes flicker up into the stands. He shouldn’t know this, but he does- your seat is above Max’s head from this angle, up in the second section, front row. You’re wearing a jersey, probably Lando’s number if he had to guess, and sharing popcorn with Alex’s girlfriend, Lily. He smiles.

“Yeah. Good.” He nods.

Max nods in return, then skates away. Oscar follows.

When he scores later, and ties the game one to one, he looks to the same spot in the stands. Lando hits him on the back, hard, a bit too enthusiastic. You’re standing in front of your seat, arms around Lily, yelling, and he grins. He can’t help it. The smile doesn’t drop from his face for the rest of the game. The rink, the ice, and his teammates may feel like home, but the way you cheer for him feels awfully close to it, too.

At the party afterwards, you pour two shots of tequila and hand one to him. He takes it with a smile, grimaces at the taste, and laughs when you cough. He pats you on the back sympathetically, and when you take his hand two seconds later and drag him towards the beer pong table, he follows happily.

…..

December creeps up on Oscar, and with it, so does final exam week. Suddenly, it’s just… there, bearing down on him. He’s not exactly nervous about most of his exams- he’s prepared well, and though he’d never say it out loud, he’s pretty good at testing. But no matter how well he studies or how much he’s paid attention in class, exams still aren’t exactly fun.

He sees you a lot in the week leading up to it. You’re often in the kitchen, eating snacks with Max, or in the living room, quizzing Charles on vocab, or in Lando’s room taking a nap between classes. You’re stressed. He can tell. He does his best to help in any way he can- when he goes to the store, he picks up your favorite snacks and leaves them on the counter. He helps you study for the physics exam. When he finds you asleep on the couch in his living room on Saturday night, he carefully lays a blanket over you and turns off the lamp. He hopes some of it helps, just a little bit.

The next afternoon, Oscar stands in the lobby of the athletic training building. He and Max had headed over for the afternoon to do a workout together, more to get their minds off exams than anything else. Now he’s in the lobby, waiting for his team captain, and he’s staring. Laser focused. He's making a whole lot of connections all at once. The wheels are turning in his brain, and he’s sure if anyone’s watching him, he looks crazy. He jumps when someone slaps a hand against his shoulder. It’s Max.

“Hey,” his team captain says, shaking him slightly. “You look lost.”

Oscar frowns and turns back to the photo in front of him. Women’s Soccer, a team photo, from what would’ve been his freshman year at his previous school. He’d been looking at the photos while he waited- the lobby is lined with them, and some of them are actually pretty funny. Some of the faces in this one are familiar, people he’s seen in the gym off and on. One, however, had caught his eye.

“Is that who I think it is?” He asks, pointing at the left side of the picture in the third row.

When he turns back to Max, his face has changed. The teasing look is gone, replaced by something solemn and hard set. Max nods and tugs at his shoulder.

“Wait,” Oscar says, trying to stay planted while Max tries to drag him away. “But she-“

Max crosses his arms over his chest and studies Oscar, brows furrowed. “I know. It’s not my story to tell, yeah?”

Oscar nods dumbly. Max nods in response. Then he nods his head towards the door, as if he’s directing Oscar to follow him. He does, because he’s not sure what else to do, and he’s not going to get any more information from the photo. He knows what he saw, anyways. You, standing there with the whole team, in uniform, your name listed below the photo with the rest of your teammates.

If there’s one thing the Timberwolves do better than hockey, it’s soccer. The women’s team has been national champions multiple times. A spot on that team isn’t something someone gives up willingly. But you’re not on the team, not anymore. When Lando asked if you wanted to go to the gym with them, you’d replied that you “wouldn’t be caught dead at the athletic training building.” And you’d avoided the athletic park like the plague.

Max turns to him as they walk out of the building, and the confusion must still be evident on his face, because Max swears under his breath in some other language. Oscar’s too lost in thought to even wonder what language it is, exactly.

“Look, just-“ Max pinches the bridge of his nose. “Trust me, she’ll talk about it when she wants to.”

“Okay,” Oscar nods. “But, like, is she… okay?”

Max gives him a sad smile. “Yeah.”

Oscar hears the silent part in his head. She is now.

They walk home together in near silence. Oscar doesn’t know what to say. He’s sure Max doesn’t, either. When they get to the house, Alex is coming down the front steps, the door still open behind him. Oscar sees your boots in the entryway, your coat hanging on the hook. Alex ruffles his hair as he walks past, and Oscar ducks before he turns to Max.

“Don’t tell her?” He asks, and Max looks sheepish, like that was the exact thing he was about to do. “I mean. If you think she needs to know I saw it, then… sure. But I don’t want her to feel pressured to talk to me about it.”

Max wrinkles his nose and nods. “Okay. For now.”

Oscar nods. They’re in agreement, then. He walks in through the front door and he can hear you and Lando in the kitchen, singing along to whatever song is playing from the speaker. It’s family dinner night. Oscar tries to put the thoughts of you in a soccer team portrait out of his head.

He sits next to you at dinner as you pick at your food. It’s one of your favorite meals, but your appetite seems low. It has him feeling concerned. Max, on your other side, nudges you. Oscar watches the two of you have a quiet conversation and wishes he knew what you were feeling. You finally take a couple bites, and he tries not to show how relieved he is about it.

One by one, everyone wanders off to study and get ready for the week ahead. You stay sitting at the table, though. Oscar clears some plates and comes back to find you, a couple TimTams in hand. You take them with a soft smile.

“You alright?” He asks, quietly.

You nod. “Stressed.”

Oscar nods. “Anything I can do to help?”

You twist your mouth. “Probably not. I should really just go home.”

You don’t make any moves to get up. He sighs and sits down next to you. You drum your fingers on the worn wooden tabletop and set the cookies down next to your plate. You’re chewing on your lower lip, and you close your eyes and let out a breath through your nose.

“It’s like… my brain just won’t stop going,” you say. “Like everything I’ve read is just tumbling around in there and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“Objects in motion tend to stay in motion,” Oscar says, and you groan.

“Do not use physics metaphors on me right now,” you say, and when he starts laughing, you dissolve into giggles, too. “Gross.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly when you turn to look at him. “Why don’t I make some tea, and we can put it in travel mugs, and I’ll walk you home?”

A soft smile slips across your face. “That sounds really nice.”

He makes the tea exactly how both of you like it, pours it into the mugs, and ushers you towards the front door. You stop in the living room to say goodbye to Lando, who ruffles your hair, and Max, who holds onto your arm and says something to you, so quietly that you’re the only one who’ll hear it. Then Oscar heads outside, and you follow. It’s slightly dark, and chilly, but you’ve brought a jacket this time. You wrap both hands around the mug as you walk, a habit of yours that Oscar finds awfully endearing. The streetlights glow bright above your heads.

The walk is mostly silent. He reaches the entrance to the park, and on reflex again, he slows and turns to head down the path. You stop in your tracks and let out a pained little noise. Oscar’s stomach rolls. In the distance, the soccer field is lit up bright with floodlights. Something must’ve happened, to keep you from playing. You’d been good enough to be on the team. Something had changed. He turns and takes a step to continue down the sidewalk, but you stay planted there, staring. He pauses, holding his breath. It’s just the two of you, under the streetlamps, feet on the sidewalk.

“I used to play soccer,” you say, quietly, and his pulse jumps.

She’ll tell you when she’s ready. He hadn’t expected it to be so soon. He bites his lip and shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket. You’re still staring out over the park, so he turns to stare, too. He feels you lean your shoulder against his, like you’re looking for support, and he leans into it, just to show he’s there.

“I got signed to play as a senior in high school,” you explain. “And, not to brag, but I was really good. Went through summer training camp and made friends with my teammates and got here and… then I fell just the right way at practice, or the wrong way, I guess,” you say, grimacing. “Fucked up my knee. I had to have surgery, twice, and even then, they pretty much told me I was done. That it would never heal right.”

Oscar’s heart sinks. His chest feels tight. He thinks of you, on the couch in the living room when he woke up feeling off and asked you to go on a run, how you’d said you’d messed up your knee. He thinks of Max and the concerned way he always watches you climb the stairs in the stands at the rink. He thinks of you, younger, like the picture in the athletics building, on the field, in pain. He feels sick to his stomach.

“And my teammates… they didn’t know how to act, I think. They didn’t know how to help, so they just didn’t try. So, suddenly I was no longer a soccer player, and I was alone, and…” you sigh. Oscar turns to face you, and he thinks there are tears in your eyes. “And then I met Lando, and the rest of the team, and the rest is history. But… there are some things that still get to me. The field… it holds a lot of bad memories, you know? And when I’m stressed like this it all comes flooding back.”

He nods. You’re not looking at him, even as he watches a tear roll down your cheek. He wants to reach out and wipe it away, but he wonders if that would be a step too far. He pulls his hands from his pockets. You swipe a hand against your cheeks and clear the tears, and then let your own hands hang at your sides. He takes a steadying breath, steels himself, and links his fingers with yours- casually, lightly, gently holding on. You squeeze his hand in reply- a thank you, he thinks. He does the same in return.

“Did Max tell you why I left my old school?” He asks, quietly.

“No,” you answer, voice low and tentative. “Max doesn’t tell people stuff like that.”

He shrugs, though he supposes that makes sense- he’d refused to tell Oscar what had happened to you. Max seems loyal like that. Oscar rolls a pebble beneath his shoe and listens to your breathing to remind himself you’re still there. He wants you to know this. Wants to share. Wants you to know he understands, at least a little bit.

“I got scouted by them my senior year,” he starts, closing his eyes. Like this, he’s almost right back in it. “And I was really excited. And then I got there and… the guys on the team were awful. I didn’t get any playing time, and they’d all been friends since they were kids, and I felt like such an outsider.” He kicks the pebble down the path lightly. “By the time my sophomore year rolled around, I hated it. I hated hockey. I’d spent my whole life doing nothing but that but I dreaded every practice. I was…”

He huffs. Squeezes his eyes shut tighter. He can feel the hits from his own teammates at practice. Can feel that same empty, lonely feeling sitting at the end of the bench. He can taste the blood in his mouth when he tried to stand up for himself and the team captain shoved him and the coach did nothing.

“It was fucked,” he says. He hates the way his voice wobbles. “So I quit. I walked out. I was done with hockey. I couldn’t even go near the rink for months.”

“But you’re here now,” you say, quietly.

He nods sharply. “I had this old coach- his name’s Mark. Showed up on his doorstep and told him the whole thing. He and Seb used to be teammates. So he got me a tryout. I refused, at first. And then Seb sent Max to come talk to me.”

He remembers that, clear as day, too. Max, bright and smiling, at his dorm room door. He knew who Max was, he had looked up to him for years. Max had walked in, planted himself on the floor in the room, and hadn’t left until Oscar changed his mind.

“I spent the summer training back home. Found my love for it again,” he explains. “But it wasn’t easy. I think I’m still working on it, sometimes.”

You hum next to him. You squeeze his hand again. His breath hitches. Your skin is warm against his. It makes his chest ache. He hadn’t known who he was without his sport. He thinks maybe you know that feeling better than anyone else.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” he says into the night air. “And I know you must’ve heard it a billion times, and that I don’t really understand what it’s like to have it taken away like that. But…”

“But you get it,” you say, voice rough around the edges. “The lonely feeling.”

He nods and swallows against the lump in his throat. “And thank you. For making things less lonely here.”

“I’m sorry if I was too much,” you answer.

He just shakes his head. “I’m sorry I was so… stuck.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, before you squeeze his hand again. “Come on, let’s go on a walk.”

You knit your fingers with his, properly, and Oscar expects you to start down the sidewalk again. You don’t. Instead, your feet carry you down the path through the park. He understands now, that this place must hold awful memories. Reminders of what was supposed to be, what was taken away. You’re trusting him with this. It sits heavy on his shoulders.

He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask more questions. When you walk past the soccer field, he turns to sneak a glance at your face. There’s sadness in your eyes, but a smile on your lips. There’s a strength, there, too, that he finds starkly beautiful. You hold onto him tightly, and together, you make it through the park, all the way to your apartment.

He leaves you at the door with a quiet goodnight and a promise to see each other the next day for the regular study session. The exam is on Tuesday, so it’ll be his last excuse to spend time with you like that. He walks home in silence, through the park, and tries not to stare at the soccer goal. That night, he dreams of soccer fields and hockey rinks and you.

…..

When Oscar gets home just before your normal study time the next day, there’s music pouring out of the front door before he even opens it. It’s louder once he does. The house seems mostly empty, but someone is either having a very good or very bad day. He wavers in the doorway, wondering if he should call you. He’s still there when you walk in behind him, bumping into his shoulder. He turns to look at you, eyes wide. Yours are even wider.

“I don’t think we can study here,” he says, frowning.

You shake your head. “We can go to my place.”

So he packs up his things into his backpack, avoiding whatever is going on in Charles’ room that has him causing permanent damage to his eardrums. Then the two of you take off down the street, towards your apartment. He slows only slightly at the turn for the park, waiting to see what you’ll do. You turn down the path through the park and loop your arm in his. He looks away in the hopes that you don’t see the smile that creeps across his face.

Your apartment is, honestly, exactly how he’d always pictured it. It’s soft and cozy and colorful. There’s a well loved, overstuffed couch in the living room, a little table in the kitchen, and so much stuff on the walls. Music posters, photos blown up big, and… collages. Some in frames, some tacked up with tape, scattered across the place. Perfect mixtures of magazine cutouts and pieces of paper and he swears he even spots a dried flower on one.

“Wow,” he says, studying the one that hangs over the couch. “These are so cool.”

You’re in the kitchen, grabbing a snack, and you turn over your shoulder. “Oh. Thanks. I made a lot of them when I was injured. I had nothing better to do, yknow?”

He sees a chunk of an x-ray in the corner of the piece, and his heart twists. You walk up next to him, shoulder to shoulder. When he looks at you, you’re smiling softly. He likes that look on your face. He wants to keep it there, and suddenly he dreads studying physics because he knows how stressed you’re going to be.

“We’ll have to make some sometime,” you say, nudging your elbow against his. “There’s a billion hockey magazines in a closet at your house.”

“I don’t have an artistic bone in my body,” he says.

You laugh. “That’s the fun of collages. You don’t have to.”

He settles in on one end of the couch, and you settle into the other. The soft light of the lamp in the living room makes it feel warm, the same way your hand in his had felt the day before. He tries so, so hard to focus on physics. It’s just… he’s in your apartment, and you’re there, knees curled to your chest, brow furrowed in concentration, and… something about this feels so soft.

He clears his throat, opens his textbook, and flips to the review questions. “Alright. Ready?”

The two of you study for hours. Oscar doesn’t know when it happens, but at some point you move closer, so you can look off the same textbook. Physics terms and formulas and theories rattle around in his brain, all wrapped up with thoughts of you. The sun goes down, and the windows to the outside grow dark. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay right here.

“My brain is full,” you mumble, between a yawn.

You drop your head against his shoulder, and his heart pounds in his chest. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, he knows it. You’re just tired, that’s all.

He nods in agreement. “Mine too. I can go home. We should get a good night’s sleep.”

You nod against his shoulder and then make no move to pull away. “In a minute,” you say. “Your arm is comfy.”

Butterflies- actual, real life butterflies, he swears it- swirl in his stomach. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s seen you fall asleep on Charles’ shoulder during movie nights, watched you curl up on Max’s bed and take a nap while everyone around you talked. He’s just another friend, another shoulder to lean on. This doesn’t mean anything, and besides, it shouldn’t mean anything, so why is his stomach swirling with butterflies, and why does his face feel hot?

When you finally pull away and help him pack up his things, he hopes you can’t tell how he’s feeling. You walk him to the door and wait for him to put on his shoes and jacket. It’s just so you can lock it behind him, he knows. But then you reach up and smooth the hair from his forehead and laugh, and his chest aches fiercely, and god, he could kiss you- not even really kiss you, just on the forehead or the cheek would do. He says goodnight instead and steps out into the hallway, then makes his feet carry him down the stairs and out to the sidewalk.

He walks past the soccer field and finds himself hoping that maybe you felt it too.

He gets up early the next morning and finds Max in the kitchen with coffee ready to go. He grabs two travel mugs- his, and yours. Max raises an eyebrow as he spreads cream cheese on a bagel. Oscar does the same in response.

“You were out late last night,” Max says, eyeing him.

He doesn’t bother asking how Max knows when he got back. He feels like it’s written plainly all over his face. He can feel the weight of you against his shoulder. Can feel your hand brushing his hair from his face. Can feel how much he wants to lean in. Max must see it.

“I was studying,” he says, carefully.

“With Bunny,” Max suggests, and Oscar nods. “But not here.”

“No, we got here and Charles was blasting music,” Oscar explains. “So we went to her place.”

“He failed an exam,” Max says, face scrunched up. “Well. He assumes he did. You know Charles.”

Oscar nods. Max is staring at him as he pours hot coffee into mugs. He’s not sure what the team captain is looking for, but he hopes he doesn’t find it.

“She told you,” he says, quietly, and Oscar looks up from the mugs, nearly spilling coffee all over.

He clears his throat. “Yeah.”

Max nods and finally turns back to his bagel. “Good.”

That’s that, then. He puts the lids on the coffee, and Max sends him out the door with two bagels- one for him, one for you. He almost feels like he’s passed some sort of test when Max gives him a sharp nod as he turns to leave, but he’s not sure which test it would even be.

He finds you in the lobby before the exam, hands off the coffee and the bagel and tells you he knows you’re going to do well. You smile brightly at him, and he swears it lights up the whole building.

“We’ve got this,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “And if we don’t, we’ll retake it together.”

He nods in agreement. The two of you sit on a bench and eat your bagels and drink your coffee. Oscar wishes he could attribute the warmth in his belly to the drink, but he’s pretty sure it has more to do with the way you smile up at him and the weight of your shoulder against his. Either way, it sends him into the exam with a good feeling, and that’s really all he can ask for.

…..

Oscar finds himself feeling sad when the holiday break rolls around this year. It’s a weird feeling. For years, he’s looked forward to December for this reason. The exams are over, he gets time off from school, a chance to go home or have his family visit, and a break from everything. He realizes, as he’s staring up at the ceiling, listening to Lando lugging a suitcase around, that he’s going to miss his friends when they leave for the break. It’s been two years since the last time he called his teammates friends.

He drags himself out of bed and into the hallway, because if Lando’s leaving, he wants to say goodbye. And sure enough, there he is, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants and taking an enormous suitcase down the stairs one step at a time. Oscar spots you on the ground floor, watching in amusement, and he waves at you.

“Morning, Oscar,” you call out. “Ready for the break?”

He scrubs a hand through his hair and shrugs. “Yeah.”

You raise your brows. “That was convincing,” you say, sarcasm dripping from your lips.

He bites back a laugh, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of having called him out. “It’ll be nice to see my family. Just weird to have everyone gone, yknow?”

Lando, who’s made it down three stairs, turns to look at him. “Aw, he’s gonna miss us!” He coos, and Oscar feels his face go red.

Before he can jump to his own defense or try to come up with something to tease Lando about, you speak up from the bottom of the steps.

“Yeah, and we’re gonna miss him, Lando,” you say, shaking your head. “Jesus. Oscar, would you just shove him and the giant suitcase down the steps?”

Oscar’s trying not to dwell on you saying you’ll miss him, too. It shouldn’t affect him nearly as much as it does right now. It makes his stomach twist. He keeps the smile plastered on his face and forces a laugh, and Lando glares at him as menacingly as Lando can glare at anyone. He brushes off the feeling and grabs the side handle of Lando’s suitcase, then helps him lug it down the stairs. Lando shoots him a smile to replace the glare as they get it to the bottom floor. Then he pats him on the shoulder and ruffles his hair. Oscar winces.

“Bye, Piastri,” he says, grinning. “Have a good break.”

He pulls the giant suitcase towards the front door. You stay standing there, even as Lando steps outside and sighs at the sight of the front steps. Oscar steps off the staircase and lands near you, arms swinging at his sides.

“You’re staying here all break, right?” You ask.

He nods. “My family will be here Monday, though.”

“Nice,” you say, smiling wide. “Well. I bought more TimTams and Vegemite, so they should feel right at home.”

Warmth bubbles up in Oscar’s chest. “Thanks.”

You nod. The two of you stand there for a few seconds, and he wonders if you’re holding your breath, too. You shift back and forth on your feet, and then before he knows it, you’re against his chest, arms around him. He barely has time to hug you back before you pull away, and that’s the only bad part about it. He would hold you forever, if he could, he thinks. And honestly, that’s terrifying.

You pull away, and he hopes you don’t notice how red his cheeks are. “Bye, Oscar,” you say, almost shyly.

“Bye, Bunny,” he says back.

Lando calls your name from the front door, and you scurry off. He sighs. He swears he can still smell your shampoo, and then hates himself for knowing what your shampoo even smells like. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and turns back towards the stairs, ready to head back to his room, crawl back into bed, and go back to sleep. He jumps in shock when he finds Alex and George standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing.

“That was interesting, wasn’t it, Alex,” George says.

“Quite interesting, I’d say,” Alex nods, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

Oscar rolls his eyes and takes the stairs two at a time. “You guys are creepy.”

They both just laugh as Oscar pushes past them and into his room. He shuts the door behind him, flops down onto the bed face first, and closes his eyes. Outside, he hears Logan’s car start up- the guy really needs to get the thing fixed, it’s loud as hell, but at least it still runs. He closes his eyes and reminds himself that it’ll only be a few weeks until you’re back in town. Then he wonders when having you around became so important to him. He rolls over, buries his face in the pillow, and goes to sleep.

notes: a lil osc pov!! thank you for reading! check out the winter break blurb, or find part 4 here!

tags: to be added or removed just let me know!! crossed out names were unable to be tagged- if it’s yours, shoot me a message!

main taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5

series taglist: @sourskywalker @ivyvlair @gwginnyweasley @annispamz @bearlul @aresriiots @ggaslyp1 @verstoppenheimer @black-fireproofs @smilinlemon @arieslost @floralkoi @vicurious28 @likedbygaslyy @rorabelle15 @bwormie @treatallwithkindness @fandomnerd11 @adhxmoony @sakuramxchii @insunia @mindflay3r @talking-raw @coolmathgames2 @assholeinatrenchcoat @saachiep81 @venusacrossthestars @v1naco @anthonylockwoodandco111 @whalebursoot-main @ellen3101 @k-pevensie28 @ninifee1802 @avg-golden-retriever @pleasecallmeunhinged @andruuu28 @aceofswordsandarrows @dreamsarebig @secretunnels @ginsengi @yayahnaise @f1petra @lovecarsgoingvroom

[oneforthemunny]

break the ice |hockey!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: a scheduling mishap leads you and eddie to meet. or how you and hockey!eddie's story begins lol.

contains: eddie au. fluff. that's it. happy one year!

The hiss of the puck gliding over the ice, skittering into the goal, skates whizzing to a stop. It was comforting to Eddie. He’d never really known what people meant when they’d say “get in the zone” growing up, until he started playing again, playing for real this time. It was easy to focus on the sounds, silence your brain by tricking it to listen to the claps of the stick on the ice, the pop of the puck soaring, the- 

“Skidamarink a dink, a dink. Skidamarink a doo.” 

A clean miss, startled by the sudden blaring of music from behind him. Skates wobbling, knees locking into place. Eddie turned, squinting towards the other end of the rink. 

“Hey, hey!” Eddie skated, shouting over the music- horrendous at that, what was this song? 

“Excuse me,” You looked up, adjusting the volume on your boom box. “Hey, uh, sorry this is a closed practice.” Eddie skated to you, hockey stick waving exaggeratedly behind him. 

“Yeah it is.” You nodded, head tilting to the side slightly. “Are you… here to drop off?” 

“What? No, no, I-” Eddie paused, brows furrowed at you lightly. “I- this is my practice.” 

“Your practice?” You repeated, pointing at the ice below you. 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re here for the Snowflakes?” 

“No, I play for-” Eddie shakes his head, hand running over his face. “Snowflakes? What-” 

“-The three to four year old class?” You press, brow raised, face contorted in what Eddie could only assume was your best judgment masking, though by the scrunch in your nose, it wasn’t working very well. “For ice skating lessons?” 

“Lessons? Sweetheart, c’mon, does it look like I need lessons?” Eddie grins, smug and sweet. His heart skips when you bite back a smile, lips twitching. “I’m- I rent out the time to practice.” 

“Oh,” You frown slightly. “I, uh, I did too.” 

“You know what, let me- let me just go ask Max.” Eddie flashes you a dazzling smile. “I’ll get it sorted out.” 

“You’re both right.” Max droned behind the desk, flipping through a magazine lazily. “Both of you have the slot for today.”

“What? Why-Why would Bobby book up both spots?” Eddie frowned. “That makes no fuckin’ sense. I’m here every Thursday-” 

Max huffed, snatching the scheduling paper off the back wall, slapping it on the desk. “Eddie Munson. Five to six-thirty. Left.” Her blue eyes raised in boredom. “That means, you’re on the left side.” 

“Left? This is- That’s fuckin’ ridiculous, Max, c’mon-” 

“-It’s Bobby.” Max rolled her eyes. “He’s trying to double book, make more money during the dead season. I don’t know what to tell you.” 

“So I have to practice with a bunch of fuckin’ kids running around?” Eddie huffs. “How the hell am I gonna do that? Huh? Do you hear the shit they’re playing in there?” Eddie throws a hand out towards the rink. “I’m already about to lose my mind.” 

“So get some ear plugs, Eddie, I don’t know.” Max huffed, throwing her hands up. “You know I can’t refund you, so either leave, or suck it up. I honestly don’t care, Munson, up to you.” 

Eddie’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek, rolling furiously. Bunch of kids skating all around him, screaming and shit, he’d never get anything done. 

Still, Eddie’s eyes wandered back to you. In your matching tracksuit, a powdery blue that seemed to shine even under the fluorescents of the rink. He supposed there could be worse people to share the ice with. He faced Tommy Raider again next season, and he’d rather be with a bunch of screaming toddlers anyday over him anyday. 

Besides, the kids weren’t so bad. The occasional screech or laughter when you’d have them do something silly. It was cute, honestly, Eddie decided, seeing these little kids wobble around on skates while you cooed enthusiastically at them. 

“Ok, my little flurries,” You grinned, cheeks aching from the amount of feigned enthusiasm you had to muster. “Next week we’re going to really work on our glide.” You pushed off dramatically, soaring a few spaces then stopping. 

It was so exaggerated, over the top and made the kids giggle; Eddie was sure he was in love. 

“So be sure to be practicing holding your arms way, way out!” You extended your arms, beaming at the few who mimicked you. “And I’ll see you all next week!” 

Eddie had spent the majority of the time practicing what he’d say to you, how he’d ask you out. A classic chat up line always worked at the bar, always helped him score. Still, his knees wobbled, tight and a little unsure as he skated over to you. 

You were waving goodbye to a student, stepping off to the bleachers to undo your own skates. “Hey,” Eddie’s voice cracked, wobbly and unsure in his throat, teeth clenching in a grimace.

You looked up, a tiny half smile in greeting. “Hi. Hope we didn’t bother you too much.” 

“What? No. No, no, no. No, you didn’t-” Eddie took a breath, heart hammering in his chest, ringing in his ears. “It was… Yeah, that was really fun to watch actually. The, uh, seeing the kids in their skates and shit. You’re-You’re really good with them, and, uh…” The fuck is that Munson? The fuck are you doing? Eddie’s mind raced, furiously. 

“Thanks.” You grinned, a wicked little smile that had Eddie’s cheeks flushing. He hadn’t felt like this in years. Felt like he was back in middle school, swooning any time Connie Donohue would swish her hair over her shoulder, letting it land on his desk and brush his hand. 

“They’re a fun age. Super sweet. Not like the asshole eight year olds.” Your finger curled under the untied laces, shimmying them loose. 

“Oh? Eight year olds, they're the asshole group?” Eddie grinned, leaning against the rink’s surface. He hoped you couldn’t tell how he was flexing, muscles protruding under the tight, black material of his shirt. 

“Total assholes. I had them last year, and that’s why I switched-” 

“-Excuse me?” A tiny squeak of a voice came from behind you. You turned, expecting one of your kids who had forgotten a mitten or jacket. 

“Are-Are you Eddie Munson?” The small boy with wide eyes gaped at Eddie. 

Eddie flushed, swallowing, eyes flickering to you. Your brows creasing, looking at the tiny boy then back at Eddie. “Yeah, yeah that’s me.” Eddie forced a smile, gripping the rink as he stepped onto the bleachers, settling on the ones across from you. 

“What’s your name, little man?” Eddie grinned. 

“Samuel.” The boy grinned, a little shyly. 

“Samuel, that’s a cool name. How old are you?” 

“Eight.” The boy beamed. 

Eddie’s eyes cut over to yours, lips twisting, fighting back a grin. You blushed, turning away from his glances, cheeks burning with heat you hoped he didn’t see. “Eight? That’s a… that’s a cool age, right?” 

“Right.” Samuel nodded. “I-I watch you all the time with my dad and my mom.” Samuel babbled in true kid fashion. “You’re my favorite hockey player.” 

“Me? No way, c’mon.” Eddie shook his head playfully. 

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re from Hawkins too.” Samuel nodded, matter of factly. “They said that on-on the TV one time when I was watching.” 

“Yeah, that’s right.” Eddie nodded. “Used to practice here when I was your age.” He nodded over towards the rink behind him. 

“We went one time to a game, and… and you lost a tooth!” Samuel giggled in true, eight year old asshole form. “The other guy knocked it out when-when you were fighting!” 

Eddie laughed, a howling of a cackle that bounced off the walls of the rink, over the hum of the electricity and heat in the stands.

You watched carefully, interest piqued. You knew he was good, you’d watched him practice, it was obvious he had skill. And the name did sound familiar, plastered across headlines and the local news, one of Hawkins’ very own made it big. 

Eddie signed Samuel’s jersey, left him scampering back to his awaiting parents with a triumphant grin. “What are the odds of that?” Eddie beamed, grinning ear to ear when he looked over at you. 

You laughed, knotting your own skates together, reaching for your snow boots. “I, uh, I didn’t realize you-you played for the… Played hockey.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugged, inked hand running down his arm. You tried not to stare. “It’s alright, really. Not bad benefits, but work hours are a little crazy.” 

“Yeah?” You laughed lightly. “I would say so. Pretty demanding.” 

“Oh yeah. And you lose a tooth or two sometimes.” Eddie’s eyes cut to yours playfully, a dimpled grin that had your heart shooting with heat. 

“Yikes.” You sucked in a breath dramatically. “That seems brutal.” 

“You ever been?” Eddie asked, untying his own skates, letting the blade rest on the cement barrier in front of him. 

“To… what? A game?” 

“Yeah.” 

“No.” You shook your head. “Not, like, a real hockey game. Not… Not one of yours.” Your knee bounced nervously, a little unsure even in your own answer. 

“You should come.” Eddie shrugged cooly, hoping you couldn’t see the way his hands shook with adrenaline. “Come to the opener in a few weeks. I’ll get you tickets.” 

“What?” You laughed lightly. “You- No, you don’t even know my name, and you’re gonna get me tickets? Yeah, right.” You rolled your eyes at him. 

“Well, I was hoping I could get your name, maybe your number too.” Eddie’s lips pursed lightly. “Get to know you before the game. Can give you those tickets next time I see you. What do you think? You free Friday night? Saturday?” 

You blushed, looking down at your boots, fiddling with the laces to avoid his gaze. “Saturday. I don’t have to work.” You looked back at him. 

“Saturday it is.” Eddie beamed. 

You scrawled your name and number on the torn corner piece of the schedule. Eddie had snatched it and a pen from behind the desk, ignoring Max’s huffs of annoyance. He’d clutched it the whole way home, paper a little soft from the dampness of his sweaty hands. The tiny slip of paper was taped to his landline, staying there long after Eddie had memorized the number. In your pretty, loopy handwriting for Eddie to see each time he called you. 

[starlightkun]

➠ word count: 22.0k ➠ warnings: cursing, mentions of drinking (there’s a frat party), everything i know about hockey is from internet research for this fic i’m sorry for any inaccuracies i tried ➠ genre: fluff, gets quite suggestive (a heavy makeout scene/near sex scene) but no actual smut, college au, hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), halloween-themed at the beginning, sungchan’s not a frat boy but he’s like... a frat boy by association ➠ extra info: the ages/relative ages of the members in here are whatever i want them to be, don’t read into it too much. this is a very usamerican take on a college au btw. also i call kunhang ‘hendery’ in here like it’s his government name for a one-line gag bc i think i’m hilarious the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines and thoughts/experiences as a chronically ill person are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines and chronic illness, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds ➠ author’s note: hi so this has been a wip for like a year lol. this one long predates sungchan’s deneofication (and subsequent re-debut in riize), hockey player sungchan just lives in my brain rent free ok. anyway, i hope you like ➠ series masterlist

“You agreed to go to a frat party?” Chenle’s eyes were bugging out of his head as he sat across a high top in the dining hall from you. “Do you remember what happened last time, Y/N?”

“Hard to forget,” you snorted.

“And yet it seems you did, somehow, lost in dreamboat Jung Sungchan’s eyes.”

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 24

“Now shoo!” Dr. Son waved the small group of you out of his dimly lit office.

It was Phantasmagorical Phriday, a time-honored tradition going back to your freshman year of university. Dr. Son had been intrigued by the four freshmen who were somehow in his third-year class on Gothic Fiction and actually seemed to “get it.” His “Phantasma Phour” as you dubbed yourselves (a nickname that got quickly worn out, persisting only as the title of your groupchat):

Wong Hendery, who ended up in the class accidentally due to an error on his academic advisor’s part (she had gotten him mixed up with a Wong Henry, a junior Literature major who actually needed to take Dr. Son’s class) and he subsequently changed majors at least three times to your knowledge, so you were genuinely surprised he was graduating on time—he finally settled on Communications;

Jung Sungchan, at the time a promising young rookie hockey player who had now blossomed into your school’s reliable team captain—Biology major, being an athlete meant he could pre-register for classes and he picked Dr. Son’s at random to fulfill a gen ed Literature credit;

Zhong Chenle, an honorary member of both Nu Chi Tau, one of the biggest frats on campus, and the hockey team, as somehow 95% of his social circle were Nu Chi brothers and/or hockey players despite Chenle being neither himself, your best friend and also sometimes you swear a demon sent straight from hell to kill you—Literature major, who bullied you into taking the class; and

You, Chenle’s best friend who used to hate anything and everything Gothic fiction that got bullied into taking it anyway and now adored the genre more than any other—Literature major, who took the last spot in the class on registration day.

Dr. Son would invite you all to monthly extracurricular workshops in his office that built up to this: Phantasmagorical Phriday, a writing competition to see which of the four of you could write the best gothic short story. The stories were actually submitted the prior week, but it was the Friday before Halloween that was dubbed the Phriday in question. The four of you were invited to his office that night after classes (and Sungchan’s hockey practice) to review your pieces: how he thought everyone had improved from last year, discuss the writing process, and to finish off the night, Dr. Son would announce his top two stories. Those in the top two had the chance to send him a persuasive letter about why they should win. They had to be sent to him that night because the next morning, your professor would email the top two individually with the results.

Since this was your last Phantasmagorical Phriday, Dr. Son pretended not to see when Hendery brought out four celebratory White Claws for you all. You still had your warm, unopened, orange-flavored seltzer in your hand as the small group of you left the Literature, Writing, and Foreign Languages building together.

“I still can’t believe you couldn’t find anything classier for our last Phantasmagorical Phriday, Hendery.” You shook your head. “Ever heard of champagne? Literally any wine?”

“So you’re not gonna shotgun that, Y/N, is what I’m hearing?” Hendery teased as you all stopped under the light post right outside the building.

“Is that a challenge or what, Wong?” You scoffed, handing it back to him. “But no, I’m good.”

Sungchan thankfully cut in and changed the topic of conversation, “So are you going to start writing your letter of reconsideration, Y/N?”

This year’s top two were you and Sungchan, the member of the Phantasma Phour you spoke to the least. Outside of the monthly “workshops” (which at this point with your differing majors were just get-togethers of questionable academic value), you never saw him. You obviously saw Chenle all the time, and despite the fact that you considered him a bit obnoxious, you were sort of friends with Hendery, joining him for lunch if you happened to see him at the student union or at the coffee shop on campus. Sungchan was perfectly nice and all, you just found that you never really talked to him like the other two.

You looked down at your watch, taking a quick inhale when you saw the time. You’d stayed in Dr. Son’s office a lot later than you’d realized.

“Oh, no,” you casually waved off Sungchan’s question, readjusting your tote bag on your shoulder. “I’ve got something more pressing right now. Anyway, see you guys. It was a good four years, I’m glad we got to do this.”

Lifting your hand in a wave of finality to the three men, you departed.

“She’s really not going to submit a letter?” Sungchan asked, still watching after you as your figure faded away in the distance.

“Nope,” Chenle shook his head, reaching for the spare White Claw in Hendery’s hand. “Y/N never does.”

“You didn’t know that?” Hendery questioned the hockey player, holding the drink away from Chenle.

“Why not?”

“She’s not in it to win really.” Chenle lunged for the can as Hendery jerked it away at the last second. “Just wants to make stuff.”

“So she was lying about doing something?”

Hendery and Chenle were now running circles around Sungchan in their game of keep-away with the seltzer.

“No.”

“What do you—” Sungchan sighed, yanking the drink from Hendery’s grasp and holding it high above his own head, well out of either of their reaches. “Hey!”

Now with their attention, the hockey captain kept his arm straight up as he returned to his question, “What are you talking about, Chenle?”

“Y/N does have something pressing right now. If I tell you where she’s probably going will you give me the White Claw?” Chenle bargained.

“You’d exchange your best friend’s location for an orange White Claw? Not even watermelon?” Hendery asked incredulously.

“It’s Sungchan, someone we’ve known for like four years, not some creep off the street who’s going to wear her skin.”

“No, Chenle, you don’t have to tell me that,” Sungchan shook his head, offering the can out for either one to take.

The Literature major was able to snatch it first, jumping up in celebration, “Suck an egg, Hendery!”

“I wouldn’t—” Sungchan’s words were too late though, as Chenle had already popped the tab, and the overly-shaken seltzer exploded all over all three of them.

“Zhong Chenle, I’m going to strangle you, you little weasel!”

“Ah! Sungchan, save me!”

“I would, except you got fucking orange White Claw in my eyes and I’m fucking blind now! Goddamn!”

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 25

Rolling over in bed the next morning, you let out a big sigh and buried your face in your pillow, fully intent on going back to sleep. Saturday morning. No school, no work. Just you, your bed, and some much-needed sleep.

Then, the obnoxious blaring of your phone came from your nightstand. You groaned, reaching blindly for the object, and barely opening one eye just enough to snooze it. Damn, you really had slept in, to be woken up by your first medication alarm. Well, you weren’t going to die if you took your morning doses fifteen minutes later than normal. You were about to stuff your phone under your pillow when you briefly caught sight of your lockscreen after the alarm disappeared.

Text notification from Jung Sungchan?

Flopping onto your back and bringing your phone with you, you squinted against the harsh light of your screen to make sure you were reading that right. Yep, Sungchan had definitely texted you a few hours ago, separate from the Phantasma Phour chat. At almost 7:00 a.m., too. What the hell?

Curiosity won out over a need to sleep for fourteen more minutes, and you opened the notification.

[jung sungchan: Congrats, Y/N!]

You stared blankly at the text, your groggy mind desperately grasping around for any sort of context as to why Jung Sungchan would be texting you that at 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday. Then it struck you like lightning, and you let out an audible “Oh, duh!” as you remembered where you both were last night. Phantasmagorical Phriday. The writing contest. You and Sungchan were the top two. Dr. Son must have sent the email out already, and apparently you had won.

Normally, you wouldn’t check your school email on the weekend until Sunday night, unless you were waiting to hear back from a specific professor—and the Sunday night check was just to see if any of your Monday classes were cancelled. Lord knows you definitely wouldn’t have checked it at seven in the morning on a Saturday. You let out a snort of disbelief as you reread the timestamp on the text. But still, it was nice of him. A good show of sportsmanship, as one would expect from the hockey captain.

You quickly checked your own student email, and did in fact see an email from Dr. Son at the very top with the subject ‘PHINAL PHANTASMAGORICAL PHRIDAY RESULTS.’

‘Y/N and Sungchan:

Thank you again for your submissions. I enjoyed working with everyone these four years.

The winner this year is Y/N. Good job.

Dr. Son.’

An amused smile crept across your face at your professor’s usual blunt email style. But this was also some of the nicest feedback he’d given your writing, even when you had won Phantasmagorical Phriday in the past, or in classes that you’d taken from him over the years. Something about it truly did feel... final.

And so with an odd bittersweetness, you drafted an equally short and blunt email back to your professor.

‘Dr. Son:

Thank you for taking us on these past four years. I will never forget the experience.

Y/L/N Y/N.’

Then finally, you went back to the original reason that you were even doing this.

[you: thanks, sungchan!]

Then, your alarm went off again, making you jump out of your skin. Well, time for your morning meds.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 27

A tall figure was nearing the corner table you had claimed in one of the campus coffee shops the following Monday afternoon, and you looked up from your laptop screen, a little surprised at who it was. Jung Sungchan was standing at the end of your table, black flannel over a graphic t-shirt and dark wash jeans, one backpack strap slung over his shoulder. He had an iced coffee in one hand.

You paused the movie playing on your laptop, taking out both your headphones as you looked up at him inquisitively, “Uh hi, Sungchan.”

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Are you here to study or something?”

“Mm.” He couldn’t seem to meet your eyes. “Not really. Just grabbing a coffee and saw you. Do you mind if I sit with you for a bit?”

“Oh, sure. I’m waiting out the storm to leave,” you gestured to the near-constant downpour that had started right after you’d arrived over two hours ago. Noticing that some of Sungchan’s hair and shoulders were damp, you added, “The storm you apparently got caught in without an umbrella.”

“Oh, yeah,” he ran a hand through his hair to push some of it away from where it had been falling into his eyes.

“I don’t mind having some company while I wait.”

To your surprise, instead of sitting across from you, Sungchan plopped himself onto the same bench that you were on, one leg slung over either side so he could face you directly.

You picked up the mug in front of you, your second cup of your drink of choice. You’d gotten a refill after it became clear that the rain wasn’t letting up any time soon. Sungchan was already a third of the way done with his iced coffee as you blew over your hot drink before taking a small sip. He glanced up at you, and you felt like you were going to choke on the uncomfortable silence. So you took a gamble. Turning in your seat to face him as well, you hiked a knee up onto the bench, bringing your mug with you.

“Do you want to ask me something, Sungchan?”

The hockey player startled, having to catch himself from nearly choking on his coffee. Seems like you were right. Sungchan finally stopped sucking down his drink, setting it down on the table and wiping his palms on the knees of his jeans. “I heard that you never sent in a letter to Dr. Son. Any year you were a top two.”

“Oh, yeah, nah.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t seem worth it,” you shrugged.

“What?”

“Every year I participated I wanted my work to stand on its own two legs. After the death of the author, that’s all that’s left, right? The work. It has to speak for itself.”

“Oh,” Sungchan nodded, then squinted his eyes, confusion entirely overtaking his features. “Wait, what?”

“Sorry, I don’t know how much Lit Theory you’ve done. Probably not a lot as a Bio major, huh? Death of the author is both literal and metaphorical. Removing what the author meant to do or say with a text from how you actually interpret the text as the reader. It’s a lot easier when they’re actually dead, but the abstract concept is practiced when they’re alive too. It’s… seeing the text as separate from authorial intent. Mind you, it’s only one tool in a literary critic’s arsenal, but I liked it for our Gothic fiction class. All the authors we read in that class, they’d been gone for a while, we had no way to know what they really meant when they wrote all that stuff. And it didn’t really matter for our purposes. All we did have was what they wrote, and that was enough for me. So the same should be enough for whoever reads the stuff I write. Even if it’s just Dr. Son.”

“Huh.”

“Though I guess I just explained myself a little, oops,” you laughed at yourself, taking another sip from your steaming mug. “I’m getting less and less mysterious by the second, aren't I?”

“Chenle made it sound like you didn’t care about winning,” Sungchan asked, cheek in hand.

You arched an eyebrow at this. “You asked Chenle about me?”

“W-Well you left so fast after we saw Dr. Son, and you two are you know...”

“Oh he’s my best friend,” you clarified for perhaps the ten-thousandth time in your life. “And while others may use any litany of swears for him and Hendery calls him a little weasel, I prefer ‘actual demon sent from Hell to kill me.’”

“What?” Sungchan’s eyes widened.

“He pushes me out of my comfort zone. In a good way, most of the time.”

“Got it. Then what do you do for him? If he’s your yang…”

“I’m entertainment?” You snorted, taking another sip of your drink. After setting it back down, you answered more sincerely, “I’m kidding. Sometimes it feels like that but I did ask him one time a couple years ago, when he was tipsy enough that I believed the words coming out of his mouth but not so drunk that it was unintelligible. ‘A safe place.’ And since then… I can see it in us. That’s my yin to him.”

He smiled softly at you. “That’s... really nice.”

“Sorry, what were you asking me before that?”

“Oh, uh— Chenle said you really didn’t care about winning Dr. Son’s contest, you just wanted to make stuff? That’s why you didn’t submit a letter.”

“Generally, sure. Winning would’ve been great, but I didn’t write what I thought Dr. Son wanted. I took all of his feedback with a grain of salt. Took stuff that I liked from him, took stuff I liked from other profs I had. Mixed and matched to make something that was mine.” You pressed your lips together, then leaned forward like you were about to tell him a secret, “I didn’t live for Phantasmagorical Phriday, Sungchan. You do know that, right?”

“Wow,” he blinked, seeming a bit disoriented. “I’ve never really thought about… you like that.”

“Well to be fair to you, you only ever knew me there and in Dr. Son’s class. Makes it hard not to think of me only through that lens. All you know about me is that I presumably like Gothic fiction and I’m a Lit major, right?”

“Right.”

“So what do you think I was doing here before you showed up?”

“…Reading Edgar Allan Poe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, turning your laptop screen to show the paused movie to him, “I was watching Pacific Rim.”

His jaw literally dropped, and you felt the need to save him at least a little. Grabbing a book from your bag, you held it up, “I did come here initially to finish reading this new mystery novel I just got, but then the storm came and I had nothing else to do after I was done with the book.”

“But still… you’re so…”

“I have interests outside the one class we took together?”

“Smart,” he finished, an absolutely adorable expression of wonder across his face.

You weren’t expecting that, surprised giggles bubbling up out of you as you felt yourself growing warm under his awestruck gaze.

“Anyway, your turn,” you tapped his knee with your book before putting it back in your bag.

“For what?”

“To expand my horizons of you. All I know about you is that you’re the hockey captain, and a Bio major who took a gothic fiction class one time like three years ago. Show me you’re a multifaceted individual, too.”

“Uhm, that’s about it.”

“Oh come on, Sungchan.”

“No really, if I’m not on the ice, I’m in class; if I’m not in class, I’m with my team; and if I’m not with my team, I’m studying.”

“You’re here, right now,” you pointed out. “Last I checked I’m not on your hockey team, and we’re not studying. You have to do one thing that’s not for school or hockey. My thing was just watching Pacific Rim this one time, remember?”

“Alright…” he paused to think, fingers tapping along his thighs. “I used to play the piano.”

“Past tense, but I’ll accept it. When did you stop?”

“High school? Around when piano lessons and hockey practice started conflicting.”

“And you chose hockey?” You asked, hoping it didn’t sound judgmental. You really were just curious, trying to understand him.

“Actually, the choice was made for me.” He held his right hand out in front of you, and it was then that you saw his pinky finger was unnaturally crooked as he pointed to the digit. “I broke it in a game without even realizing it. Bruises and stiffness sometimes are normal so me and my parents didn’t know anything was up until weeks later when I was fucking up all the notes at my piano lessons because it still hurt. By the time I finally saw a doctor and got a splint on it, it set up wrong. All dexterity for piano out the window. Hockey on the other hand… guys have done a lot more with a lot less.”

You couldn’t help but curiously run a gentle fingertip over the crook in his pinky. “Does it hurt at all? Now?”

“Not really.” He went to bend and flex the fingers of his right hand, and you saw how the fifth finger didn’t curl up as much as the others. “It’s just a lot stiffer. Doesn’t bother me all that much.”

He brought his left hand up and wiggled the fingers on that hand. “Besides, I’m a lefty anyway.”

“So—apologies if this sounds like a stupid question to you, I don’t know anything about hockey—are there like, different hockey sticks for left-handed and right-handed players?”

Sungchan immediately broke into snickers, and you set down your mug to cross your arms over your chest indignantly.

“Hey, I didn’t laugh at you for not knowing what death of the author was—”

“I wasn’t making fun of you, I’m sorry,” he covered his mouth. “That was just… too cute. Uhm yes, there are lefty and righty sticks.”

You had to bite down your bottom lip to not smile at him calling you cute, and instead keep up your ruse of being offended. “I feel patronized.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” There was still a hint of a giggle in his tone, and you felt your self-righteous façade slip away as he continued, “You should come to a game, then, if you really want to broaden your horizons. The season just started. First home game is this Thursday, actually. 7:00 p.m. and students get free admission with your student ID.”

“Thursday?”

“Fridays are for basketball, Saturdays are for football.”

“Oh. Right.”

“You don’t go to those games either, do you?”

“Oh no, did I make it obvious?” You asked sarcastically.

“A bit,” Sungchan jested back.

Outside the window visible past Sungchan, the rain had let up a few minutes ago, and you briefly glanced over at your laptop for the time. Shit, your next alarm was going to be going off soon. If you left now, you should be home at roughly the right time for your next dose.

Clicking your tongue, you started packing up your things, “Well, looks like the rain’s finally let up enough to allow me safe passage. That’s my cue.”

“Oh.” The hockey player with you looked over his shoulder at the newly sunny day outside before turning back to watch you put your things away.

“Are you heading out too?” You nodded to his empty cup.

“I’ve uh, got some homework to do.”

“Guess this is where we part ways then.”

“Um, you didn’t say if you were going. To the game.”

You tucked your chin to your chest to hide your smitten smile as you put your laptop in your bag. Typically just asking for the details would’ve been taken for a yes, but Sungchan wanted extra confirmation. This boy wasn’t good for your heart, truly.

Turning back to him, you gave him a firm and nearly business-like nod. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

A bright grin lit up his features. “Okay! Great! Uhm, feel free to bring some friends, I know just sitting in the stands by yourself might be lonely.”

“I’ll see if I can drag somebody else out. It’ll be a tall order, though. Literature majors, you know, we prefer our Shakesperean poetry readings.”

“Oh, well—”

“I’m kidding,” you laughed and stood then, slinging your tote onto your shoulder. “Honestly, have you seen Chenle at a rager? Boy can drink twice his body weight I swear. He shouldn’t, but he can.”

Before you could reach for your cup and saucer to buss your place, the hockey captain spoke up, “I’ll take care of your mug, don’t worry.”

“Oh, thanks, Sungchan! I’ll see you Thursday then.”

“Bye…” Sungchan trailed off, watching the door long after it had closed behind you.

He didn’t actually have any homework to do, and scrolled on his phone for a few minutes to make sure you were out of the area before leaving himself. He grabbed his long-empty plastic cup and your mug. His went in the trash, and as he went to put yours up with the other dishes and trays, his eyes were caught by the iridescent glitters left behind on the rim by your lip gloss.

[you: hey what are you doing thursday at 7:00?]

[chenle: depends on what weird poetry reading you’re trying to drag me to]

[you: not this time. Sungchan’s hockey game?]

[chenle: you want to go to a sporting event?? why????]

[you: i told him i’d go please don’t make me go by myself]

[chenle: did you offer to go or did he ask you to come?]

[you: he asked me to? i guess?]

[chenle: haha yeah fuck no i’m not going with you]

[you: why not????????]

[chenle: a guy invited you to one of his games? yeah no way am i coming with you]

[you: what difference does that make? you’re seriously going to make me go to a hockey game by myself?]

[chenle: i don’t know how to tell you this gently so: he wants to fuck you]

[you: bro???]

[chenle: especially hockey? caveman brain is activated, he wants to show off how big and strong he is for you over the other males]

[you: damn can’t believe i just blinked and woke up in 200 BC]

[chenle: i’m warning you, only go if you’re ready for the consequences. i.e., that]

[you: so you’re not coming with me]

[chenle: no <3]

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30

Your chronically early self had gotten there as soon as the doors opened to spectators in order to scope out the perfect spot for yourself. Somewhere not too close to any speakers, where you could still see what was going on, hopefully somewhere Sungchan could maybe see you, but you could make a quick escape if need be. A lot of parameters, hence the need to be early. That meant that you got to watch the visiting team warm up first, and now your school’s team was warming up before the game. Finally the stands started filling up, and you had to do a double-take at the newest figure entering.

“Zhong Chenle, you lying little bitch!” You cursed out your best friend who was approaching you.

He immediately went to defend himself as he plopped down beside you, “Look, I told you I wasn’t going with you, not that I wasn’t going at all. Come on, Lit major.”

He finished off with a solid knock on your head, which didn’t hurt all that much through the beanie you were wearing, but you still slapped his arm away with a glare.

“Are you sure you want to live until graduation day? I can’t tell sometimes.”

“Half the team are Nu Chi guys,” Chenle explained his being there, then waved at one of the players skating by, 23, who gave a salute back. “Jeno.”

“Oh.” You belatedly waved too, but your friend had already turned back to warming up.

Chenle then gave you the run-down on all your friends and acquaintances’ numbers as he spotted them.

“Goalie. Sicheng, 7.” He just blocked a shot from a familiar number, 23. “Already told you, 23 is Jeno. Right wing.”

“Does he always suck?”

“Here’s Ten, number 10. Right defense. He’s never told me which came first, his nickname or his jersey number.”

Sicheng blocked Ten’s shot.

“2 is Mark, center.” His went in.

“66, Donghyuck, center alternate.” His also went in.

“24, that’s Yangyang, left wing—and a miss!”

“This doesn’t bode well that so many of our players apparently kind of suck.” You muttered to yourself, well aware that Chenle was no longer listening to you.

Finally, the tallest of the team was skating up to take a shot. “And there’s your guy, Y/N. Number 27, Jung Sungchan, left defense, captain, your dreamboat—”

“If you don’t shut up—”

“Oh! All net!”

“Isn’t that a basketball—”

“Hey, you got your earplugs, right?”

“Yep, same ones for concerts,” you confirmed, reaching into your purse for them. You hadn’t been able to take your full tote bag into the school sporting event, so you had to condense the essentials into your smaller purse.

“Good, because uh, it’ll get loud.”

“I figured.”

“Yeah, remember how half the team are Nu Chi guys?”

Your eyes widened in realization, “Oh god.”

“Here they come!”

Whipping around to face the same direction he was looking, you saw a horde of about ten to fifteen guys storming the rink, practically shaking the audience section. They were all donned in blue and orange, your university’s colors, various hockey or Nu Chi merch and paraphernalia, and you would’ve absolutely bet money that at least three of them had Nu, Chi, and Tau symbols painted across each of their chests under their shirts. Chenle leapt up to greet them all, the volume of the area immediately rising tenfold at least.

You recognized most of the Nu Chi frat brothers, they were mutual friends or acquaintances of yours through Chenle over the years, and there were even some familiar graduated faces. Lee Taeyong was the first to pick up on your presence, squeezing past Jisung—a new pledge that had glommed onto Chenle in particular—to plop down behind your seat.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Taeyong asked you with a tilted head. “Not exactly a good place for you, is it?”

Taeyong was frat president for your first two years of college and his last two. You had an absolute disaster at a Nu Chi party in your freshman year that he was witness to. Ever since then, when you would see him in passing at other lowkey (or as lowkey as frat functions could get) Nu Chi events that Chenle took you to during those two years, you always got the distinct impression that he was keeping an eye on you during them.

“Could be asking you the same thing, Taeyong,” you countered, fully turning around in your seat to chat with the man. “Didn’t you graduate two years ago? You don’t have anything better to do on a Thursday night? Like your taxes or something?”

“Us old-timers who peaked in college like to come back and re-live our glory days vicariously for the first home game,” he entertained your jibe, making you giggle. “And somebody’s got to be these kids’ DD. They always go at it too hard after the first game. Win or lose.”

Johnny, another graduated Nu Chi brother, spoke up then, eyes laser-focused on you, “So Chenle’s finally dragged you out to a game, Y/N?”

You immediately looked at your friend with wide eyes, knowing what the answer was, and exactly what reaction said answer would garner. Chenle, on the other hand, seemed all too thrilled to join in, turning to face you with his hands on his hips and a knowing smirk on his face.

“Oh no, I didn’t bring Y/N. She actually didn’t know I was coming at all. I found her here all on her own,” he announced to all the guys, who were hanging on to every word he said. If literally anything else were happening, you might’ve laughed at how they were all wrapped around his finger.

“No offense, but you don’t really seem like you’re interested in hockey,” Jungwoo, a junior who you’d shared a couple literature classes with, said curiously.

You sighed, giving Chenle a frank look before admitting, “Jung Sungchan invited me.”

They exploded with various hoots, hollers, whoops, and whistles.

With a shake of your head, you turned back around to look back at the players on the ice, knowing full well that there was nothing you could do alleviate—or even really participate in—the absolute chaos that was happening behind you.

Eventually, the game started. Taeyong, who had moved to sit on your other side from Chenle, quietly explained the basics of what was going on to you: positions, plays, scoring, why the referee made certain calls. Chenle was caught between cheering along with the other Nu Chi guys and rattling off hyper-specific stats on individual players to you, so you were truly grateful to have Taeyong giving you your “hockey for dummies” tips and tidbits throughout.

You kept your eyes on number 27, as Chenle had pointed him out to you earlier. The gear made it somewhat difficult for you to really recognize any distinguishing features about Sungchan himself except maybe his height, made even greater by the skates he was wearing. But as much as the intellectual side of you might’ve hated to admit it, there was definitely some part of you that very much enjoyed watching him play; that got some kind of thrill every time somebody tried to check him and he didn’t budge—or when he checked somebody and they most definitely did budge.

Before you knew it, all three periods were over, and you were jumping to your feet along with the others, cheering wildly. Your school won by a landslide.

“Oh, they’re going to get plastered,” Taeyong murmured from beside you fondly.

All of you had been in the cheering section milled around in the ice rink lobby waiting for the team to get out of the locker room.

“That was fun,” you declared to Chenle as the two of you stood off to the side from the larger group of loud Nu Chi brothers.

“Yeah, you didn’t seem like you were listening to a word I said.”

“Because you were telling me sports stats, Chenle, I’m surprised my brain didn’t start bleeding out of my ears.”

“Well I’m surprised your nose wasn’t bleeding watching your dreamboat Jung Sungchan beat up all those other guys,” Chenle teased. “200 BC called, they want their cavewoman back—”

You lunged at him, managing to get an arm around his throat in the beginnings of a questionably friendly chokehold, “I’m going to kill you, you little—”

“No murder in the rink!” Came the chastising voice of Johnny Suh from afar, and you reluctantly let him go.

The players started streaming out of the locker room soon after, and you nervously scanned the crowd for Sungchan. Chenle was easily dragged into the chaos of everyone celebrating, leaving you standing off to the side waiting.

Finally, you spotted him. Sungchan was wearing a simple pair of black sweatpants and black hoodie with your school’s name embroidered across the front, his hair a bit mussed up. He was deep in conversation with Sicheng, brow furrowed. The goalie’s features were similarly serious as they gestured to each other. You stayed put, not wanting to interrupt. Taeyong had mentioned that Sicheng was sort of like a co-captain, you guessed they might be doing something important.

Then you’d suddenly made eye contact with Sicheng, who was facing you. He gave you a casual head nod, and said something to Sungchan you couldn’t quite make out. The captain whipped around, a bright smile coming to his face as soon as his eyes landed on you. You lifted your hand to give him a small wave and smile back.

Sungchan quickly ended his conversation with Sicheng, making his way over to where you were standing by a wall.

“Hey, Y/N,” he was still smiling down at you, his eyes practically glittering even in the harsh fluorescents of the lobby. “So you really made it out.”

“I said I would.” You fidgeted with the straps of your bag.

“And…?”

You tilted your head, “And?”

“What did you think? You know, are your horizons super broad now or something?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. His phrasing was funny, but also remembering how he played and was now giving you his undivided attention admittedly made your chest flutter.

“It was good, yeah. I had fun,” you confirmed. “You uhm, you played really good. I think.”

“Thanks,” Sungchan scratched at the back of his neck, and you swore the tips of his ears were pink, but that could’ve just been the cold. “Did you drive yourself?”

“Walked, my apartment is close.”

“Uh, so, we all go out to a bar after games usually. It’s kind of a sleazy dive bar, and I know it’s a Thursday, but I’d really like for you to come. I’ll buy you a dr—”

“I’m really sorry, Sungchan, but I can’t. I’d love to, but…” You trailed off, wracking your brain for some concise way to explain why he couldn’t buy you a drink.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” Sungchan assured you, and you winced at the way the hopeful smile fell from his face.

An awkward silence descended over the two of you. You were chewing on your bottom lip, desperately trying to think of something to say to gloss over your rejecting his offer. You didn’t want to end the conversation on such a sour note, nor did you want to leave him just yet either. Stealing a glance at the clock above you on the wall, however, you knew that you’d need to be going soon anyway.

The hockey player was the one who ended up breaking the silence, “Can I walk you home? It’s late for you to be out by yourself.”

A relieved smile overtook your features, and you hoped he could see the sincerity in it, “Sure, thank you. Let me let Chenle know he’s relieved of his man-shaped friend duties for the night, and we can go.”

You got on your tiptoes to look around for your friend, finally spotting him in a headlock by Jeno, with Yangyang giving him a noogie. They all seemed to be laughing, so it didn’t look too much like bullying that you felt the need to intervene.

“You know, I’ll just text him, actually,” you chuckled, bringing out your phone to do just that.

“Man-shaped friend duties?” Sungchan questioned as the automatic doors parted for the two of you.

“His words, not mine,” you snorted. “But you know, making sure a woman doesn’t walk places by herself at night, that kind of stuff. Having a man just with her makes her safer, as fucked up as that is. Chenle corrected it to be man-shaped since he’s not the manly protective type.”

“I see.”

“But it looks like you’re on man-shaped friend duties for tonight, Sungchan.”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you wanted to stuff them back in. Friend. God, that was absolutely not what was happening here and you knew it. Chenle’s previous texts flashed across your mind. You obviously knew why Sungchan would’ve wanted to invite you to his game, and you said yes purposefully. Friend. Foot, meet mouth.

Sungchan blinked down at you, but seemed to take it in stride, “Of course, Y/N. Anytime you need a man-shaped person at your side, just call me up. I’ll bring my hockey stick.”

He patted his gear bag that was slung over his shoulder, making you giggle.

“I’ll keep you on speed dial, then.”

It was a short walk to your apartment, and you and Sungchan mostly talked about the game. You asked him a couple questions that Taeyong hadn’t covered during it— which Chenle might’ve, except you had tuned him out. And as you came to a stop at your front door, you didn’t yet fish your keys from your bag.

“How often do you have away games?” You asked.

“They’re usually about half,” Sungchan shrugged. “It’s a bit annoying missing classes, and the bus is kind of rank on the trip back.”

“Ew…” You wrinkled your nose.

“But they’re always a lot of fun.”

“So, uhm, when’s your next home game?”

His face brightened as he seemed to realize what exactly you were asking, “Next week. Same time.”

“Okay, cool.” You bit your lip.

“Cool,” he echoed.

You looked up at Sungchan, catching his eyes for a heart stopping moment. Both of you were standing on your welcome mat, he was close enough that you could catch a faint whiff of the detergent from his clothes—a college athlete with freshly washed clothes? You might already be in love—and watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. You had the urge to grab him by the front of his hoodie and yank him—

A garish, blaring ringing going off interrupted your split-second pros and cons weighing that had been going on. Sungchan startled at the noise, reminding you very much of a baby moose in the moment. You groaned as you reached into your bag for your phone.

“Oh my god, stop it,” you hissed under your breath as you snoozed the alarm that was going off on there. Once it was quiet, you looked back up at the man with you sheepishly, “Sorry about that.”

He joked, “Curfew?”

You laughed lightly, “No, just a reminder for something I have to do after I get home. It’s fine.”

“Well, before you go do that, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Nu Chi and the team are hosting a joint Halloween party this year, and I’d really like it if I could see you there.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow, people will probably start showing up after like ten, eleven. It’s at the Nu Chi house, theirs is bigger than ours.”

“Fascinating phrasing,” you snickered.

“I know this is last minute, so I get if you have other plans or something.”

“I… can probably swing by for a bit, yeah,” you nodded.

“Great!” Sungchan beamed. “Oh, it is a costume party, by the way.”

“Costume?” You arched a brow. “What’ll you being going as? And please don’t say hockey player.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Definitely not… that would be lame…”

“You were planning on going as a hockey player, weren’t you?”

“Me and Mark have been putting all our spare time into planning this thing, I haven’t had any time to think about a costume.”

“Well you’ve given me 24-hour notice for a costume, so this is your 24-hour notice for one too. When I find you at the Nu Chi house tomorrow, I do not want to see a hockey jersey, Jung Sungchan. Any sports player is off-limits, understand?” You poked his chest with finality.

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded in assent.

Just then, your alarm went off again, and this time you jumped out of your skin. Apparently, another 5 minutes had elapsed. With a sigh, you reached into your bag for your keys.

“I should let you go do that thing,” Sungchan chuckled. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Sungchan,” you unlocked your front door. “See you tomorrow.”

Sitting at your kitchen table a couple minutes later, you were looking down at the vitals displayed on the screen of your blood pressure cuff.

“Jung Sungchan…” you muttered to yourself as you added the reading to your digital record, noting how the line graph jumped up with the new data.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 31

“You agreed to go to a frat party?” Chenle’s eyes were bugging out of his head as he sat across a high top in the dining hall from you. You two were grabbing a quick lunch between classes, and doing an obligatory catch-up on how your short but sweet walk with Sungchan went last night. “Do you remember what happened last time, Y/N?”

“Hard to forget,” you snorted.

“And yet it seems you did, somehow, lost in dreamboat Jung Sungchan’s eyes.”

You threw a fry from his plate at him, “It wasn’t like that!”

He ducked, letting it sail by his head and hit the wall behind him.

“Then what was it like?”

“It was more like a big puppy that I couldn’t say no to and—”

You were cut off by loud gagging noises from your friend, and went to kick him under the table, but missed and hit his chair leg instead. He still got the message, quieting down to let you continue.

“I told him I’d be able to just pop in for a bit. I’ll be in and out before it’ll get too bad.”

“Famous last words...”

“Hold on, LeLe,” you grabbed your friend’s arm to stop him on the sidewalk in front of the Nu Chi Tau frat house.

Taking another look into your tote bag, you made sure once again that you had everything you could possibly need tonight. Medications, snacks, water bottle, ear plugs, the usual. After closing the snaps on the bag, you nervously fidgeted with the hem of your costume. Generic witch, it was the last thing the costume store had in your size that wasn’t garishly scary. You understood well and good how college Halloween parties worked: you had to look hot, not terrifying. Not to mention that those horror show costumes were also much pricier than your “Sexy Witch” one.

“You look cute, Y/N,” Chenle reassured you, readjusting your witch hat for you. “Jung Sungchan won’t know what hit him.”

Chenle, on the other hand, was an almost scarily realistic zombie. If you hadn’t spent an ungodly amount of time hanging out on his bathroom counter this afternoon watching him apply the SFX makeup himself, you would’ve thought he had hired a professional makeup artist to do it. He’d always gone ham on Halloween since you two were kids, ever since he figured out how to make a Transformers costume out of cardboard boxes in primary school. You usually participated in partner costumes with him, but you really didn’t want him to make you a gross-looking zombie tonight.

“Thanks.” You gave him as confident a smile as you could muster.

Resecuring your grip on your go bag, you started up the walkway to the house with your friend.

You had been able to faintly hear the thumping bass of the music from outside, but once inside, you were almost immediately hit by a wall of music. Just inside the front door you were faced with a mass of people in bright costumes, flashing lights, corny Halloween decorations of cobwebs, spiders, ghosts, and pumpkins all over the walls.

Chenle looked over at you expectantly, “Y/N?”

“I couldn’t find my concert earplugs, only my noise canceling. I won’t be able to hear anybody unless they’re shouting at me if I put those in,” you replied, having to raise your voice to make sure he heard you. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” He sighed and grabbed your elbow. “Come on, let’s find a quieter spot in the house then.”

You gave him a thumbs up and bright grin, already feeling your ears acclimate to the loudness. You could totally do this. It was one night, and you were just going to see Sungchan for a bit then go. Pop in then back out, just like you said.

You didn’t have to wait long to spot Sungchan. Chenle had barely tugged you into the next room over from the small foyer when a familiar head was visible over the crowd, his bright smile focused on you.

“Hey, Y/N!” Sungchan grinned down at you. He was dressed in a suit and tie, what you were guessing was probably his only set, and his hair was parted to one side, styled off of his face. The tie had already been loosened, and the tuck of his dress shirt wasn’t so crisp.

“Hi, Sungchan,” you smiled up at him, amazed that you could hear anything over both the music and now your heart beating so loudly in your ears.

“So you did find a costume.”

“Oh, yeah,” you messed with the hem of your skirt. “Last one at the shop.”

“You look great.” He was still beaming down at you, and you could feel your skin growing warmer. “I’m really glad you could make it.”

“Thanks. Uhm, so what are you? Funeral director?”

“What? No, I’m—” His sentence stopped in its tracks as he looked down at the front of his suit jacket. He started patting his empty breast pocket, then other jacket pockets, then pants pockets, then looked around on the floor. “Fuck.”

“What?” You looked around under your feet, but weren’t able to see anything other than the usual party debris. “Did you lose something?”

Sungchan looked back up at you, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I was about to say that I’m Mulder from the X-Files. But I’ve apparently lost my fake FBI badge. So it looks like I’m a funeral director now.”

You giggled. “Maybe you can be Mulder when he retires and buys a funeral home.”

“Yeah, the perfect costume. Won’t take too long to explain to anybody, they’ll get it immediately,” he laughed.

“Hey, I’m just glad you didn’t wear a jersey.”

“I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

“Oh, have you seen Chenle’s makeup by the—” But when you turned around to gesture to your friend, you found that he had disappeared, leaving you and the hockey captain all alone.

“Chenle?” Sungchan asked with a tilted head. “I didn’t even realize he was here yet.”

You shook your head fondly at your friend’s antics. Well, you’d have to thank him later.

“He must have gone to get a drink or something. Either way, it seems I’ve been abandoned.”

“Well, you can come hang out with me and some of the guys, if you want?” He offered.

“Yeah, I’d really like that,” you nodded, readjusting your bag to make sure it was pulled in tight to your body.

Sungchan led you through the frat house with a hand on the small of your back, and you snuck a glance up at him when he went to greet someone who had called his name as you passed by. He kept you tucked into his side as he slowed to give the guy a friendly slap on the shoulder. As soon as Sungchan had stopped to say hello, two more people appeared seemingly from nowhere, eagerly greeting him as well. You faintly recognized one, Jisung, a new Nu Chi pledge. He’d been at the hockey game you went to, and always found Chenle at Nu Chi events that you tagged along to. You looked up at Sungchan’s animated, handsome face again as he continued talking.

“This is Y/N.” Sungchan’s voice suddenly pulled you into the conversation. You snapped your focus down from his face to the other three that were in front of you, and realized that they all definitely knew that you’d been staring.

“Oh, hi.” You gave the three boys a nervous smile.

“Y/N, this is Jisung, Shotaro, and Renjun. Jisung and Shotaro are Nu Chi pledges, Renjun’s a sophomore brother, and he’s—you’re a Literature major, right, Renjun?”

“Yes.” One of them nodded.

“Renjun’s a Literature major too, Y/N,” Sungchan finished the introduction.

“Cool, cool,” you nodded. It had been Shotaro that called Sungchan over in the first place, you were pretty sure.

“Anyway, thanks for the offer, guys, but I already promised Hyuck I would, so we’ve got to go.”

Sungchan ushered you away to the tune of a chorus of disappointed groans from the three boys, and you wracked your brain to see if you could recall hearing any sort of proposition from them. But nope, between the loud music and your prior lack of attention to the conversation, you had nothing.

“What did they want?” You gave up and finally asked Sungchan.

“Beer pong. Hope you don’t mind that I declined. I’ve already had a couple and am not looking to get wasted quite yet.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” you shook your head. Thank god you didn’t have to deal with that yet. “Not really my thing anyway. Terrible hand-eye coordination.”

Sungchan seemed about to say something when someone walked by you with an exceptionally pungent cologne. The whiff shot directly to your head like a bullet, the sharp pain making you wince and hiss. It took everything in you not to cover your nose like Edward Cullen and instead shift to breathing through your mouth for a few moments.

“Y/N? You okay?” Sungchan’s voice was clearly concerned.

The sharp pain was gone just a couple moments after it had registered, and you opened your eyes up again, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, don’t know what that was.”

“Okay, good.” He squeezed your shoulder before dropping his hand back down to your back and continuing your trek through the Nu Chi house.

You and Sungchan finally made it to a room adjacent to the main living room, where there were a couple of beat-up old couches and lots of Nu Chi Tau paraphernalia. The bass of the music playing in the next room over would occasionally make the picture frames and plaques on the walls rattle, and you could hear every word of the songs crystal clear, even though the room that you were in was packed to the brim with partygoers as well. Sungchan stopped you at a group of people gathered around one of the couches, tapping the shoulders of two of them who had their backs to you. Donghyuck and Hendery turned around, immediately parting to make room for the both of you in the group upon seeing you.

Almost everyone in the group was familiar to you either as friends or acquaintances. Your social circle was big thanks to Chenle, who was friends with practically the entire hockey team and Nu Chi house, despite being a member of neither. But now you didn’t have your best friend at your side, just Sungchan and your tote bag, both of which you were keeping close to you.

“Oh shit, Y/N!” Hendery grinned, pulling you into a one-armed hug of greeting. “Damn, it really is you!”

“Yeah, I’m a witch, not a ghost, Hendery,” you retorted jokingly. He was dressed as Prince Eric, if you weren’t mistaken.

“Well, when Sungchan said you were coming, some of us were a bit... skeptical.”

Someone dressed as Venom cut in from Hendery’s other side sharply, “No, I believe you said ‘never in a million fucking years, loverboy.’”

The rest of the group erupted in tipsy snickers and ‘ooh’s, and you felt Sungchan jostle a little as someone had presumably given him a teasing shove.

“Alright, guys. You can cut it out now,” Sungchan spoke over them authoritatively. He then looked down to you, features softening. “Sorry. Anyway, this is Donghyuck, he’s on the team and in Nu Chi—”

He pointed to the boy right next to him, wearing a very classic vampire costume splattered with a little bit of fake blood or fruit punch (you couldn’t tell in the poor lighting), and you wondered if he had also gone to a Halloween store last-minute like you. You knew him both from the game, and from a couple times you’d seen him with Chenle outside of frat or hockey events.

“Mark, frat president and he’s on the hockey team—” He was next to Donghyuck, dressed as Spiderman. You were already familiar with Mark, both from the game, and a group project in a class last year. You wondered if Mark remembered that.

“Ten, hockey and Nu Chi—” Ten was reclined on the couch, a top hat that had presumably been on his head earlier now resting on his propped up knee. Between that and his eyepatch, he clearly was dressed as some character that you couldn’t identify in the moment. You knew Ten outside of hockey, the frat, or even Chenle. He was a Lit major, so you had shared classes and study groups over the years. He raised a friendly hand in greeting.

“Sicheng, my co-captain and he’s in Nu Chi, too—” He was on the couch with Ten, sequestered to one corner as his teammate was taking up most of the space with his legs. Sicheng was dressed up as an angel, fake wings, little halo, and all. And you knew Sicheng through Ten, they’d been roommates since freshman year and could often be found together around campus. He gave you a nod of familiarity.

“Dejun, Nu Chi—” Sungchan had finally reached the man who was dressed as Venom.

“And you of course, unfortunately, know Hendery, Nu Chi.”

“Oh, boo, Sungchan,” Hendery stuck his tongue out at the captain.

You smiled and nodded a little bit at everyone else, but you were finding it hard to concentrate with the music in the background. Did it really need to be that loud?

“Y/N?” The sound of your name snapped your focus up, and you looked around for the source.

A few of the guys had gone back to their own conversations. Sungchan was looking down at you, head tilted inquisitively. Presumably he had been to the one to say your name.

“Oh, sorry,” you tried to give a nonchalant chuckle, but it was getting harder and harder to even articulate yourself with all the stimulation. “The music...”

“Oh!” Sungchan perked up at this. “Do you want to go dance?”

He was offering a hand out to you, and you stared down at it, mouth opening and closing as your brain felt like it was moving through sludge. You quite literally could not process what that string of words actually meant for a good second, and then it took even longer for you to even tie together the right way for you to respond. Cognitive fatigue. Oh this was not good. You squeezed your eyes shut, then open.

You again gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’m- I’m kind of light-headed right now. Could you get me something to drink?”

His features immediately turned concerned. “Of course. Do you need to sit down or a ride h—”

“Can you just get me a drink?” Your brain was stuck in a perpetual loop now that it had locked onto one task. It took all of your energy just to regulate your tone enough to keep your voice (hopefully) as sweet as possible, despite the fact that you had cut him off.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” He squeezed your upper arm reassuringly before taking off.

Your eyes were fixated on the spot where he had just been, your vision seeming to continuously zoom in and past your head. Squeezing your eyes shut once more, you took a deep breath through your mouth to try to recenter yourself. But it didn’t help any. Your head felt like a balloon that someone was overinflating, and you knew exactly what was coming next. You swallowed thickly, taking a second to look through the crowd. Nope, you couldn’t wait for Sungchan. Not like you could even verbalize much of anything right now. You had to go take your medication.

So you hurried into the crowd, clutching your tote bag to your chest like your life depended on it—which it really did. Mumbling ‘excuse me’s to everyone you shouldered, bumped into, or stepped on the toes of, you finally made it to a door that you were pretty sure was a bathroom. You tried the handle first, and when it gave in, you still knocked as you opened it, just in case. It was miraculously empty. Maybe there really was a God. Then, the balloon started to deflate, the pressure in your head inverted, becoming a harsh, squeezing pain instead. Nope, nope, definitely not a God. Or at least not a benevolent one.

You locked the door behind you with clumsy fingers and shuffled over to the sink. The countertop was in good enough condition for you to toss your bag up there and start rooting around through it. Bottle after bottle after bottle, then you finally secured the right two. You shook out a pill from one, then a pill from the other. The lights above the mirror were becoming more insufferable by the second. You cracked open the fresh bottle of water you had stored in your bag too, and knocked both pills back in one big gulp.

Tossing the water back into your bag, you could fucking finally flip the switch and turn the lights in the bathroom off. After feeling your way along the wall, you eventually found the bathtub, and sat yourself down. The music was somewhat muffled in here, and you figured this was going to be the darkest room in the whole Nu Chi house. Right now, your plan was to wait in here for your medication to kick in and hopefully stop this migraine before it really got going. Then you could make your great escape, and send Sungchan some bullshit apology text later. After tossing your witch hat to the ground vaguely beside your bag, you gently rested your head against the cool tile of the shower with a sigh. Chenle was right, you shouldn’t have come. Cynically, you thought that you should have timed it. See how long you lasted before you got a migraine. You’d be surprised if that was even 15 minutes.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Sungchan returned to the group with your requested drink in hand and another for himself, frowning when he immediately noticed your absence. “Hey, where’d Y/N go?”

“Oh, shit, uh…” Mark looked around with a baffled look on his face. “No clue dude, she was just here a second ago.”

“I’m going to go find her. Here.” He shoved both drinks into Hendery’s hands.

“Sungchan, come on, take a hint, man,” Donghyuck sighed, patting the taller boy’s shoulder sympathetically.

“What?”

“She asked you to get her something to drink and then slipped away when nobody was looking.”

“Y/N’s not like that.”

“And denial’s a river in Egypt.”

“No, she hasn’t been feeling well all night. I think. I’m going to go look for her.”

“So you’re admitting that you make her physically ill.”

“Dude, you’re just asking to get your shit rocked, you know that, right?” Ten warned him.

“Hey, I’m standing up for women—”

Mark cut him off, “Hyuck, you’re on your own if Sungchan decides to fuck your shit up. I don’t care if you’re my little, I’m not—”

“Oh, wahhh, my big strong big won’t protect me.”

“Christ, I swear he’s only had like four shots and a couple…”

His friends’ voices quickly faded into the din of the party as Sungchan pushed through the crowd. He couldn’t spot you, but found maybe the next best thing.

“Hey, Chenle.” He grabbed him by the elbow, turning him away from the arm wrestling competition between Jeno and Yangyang that he was spectating. Or, he at least hoped this was Chenle, it was a bit hard to tell with the zombie makeup.

“Hey, Romeo!” Chenle greeted him jovially, punching him in the shoulder over-zealously. Okay, definitely him.

“Have you seen Y/N? In the past like, five minutes or so?”

“You lost her?” The zombie asked angrily, cheerful mood immediately soured.

“Uh, yes? Sorry?”

“No, I’m not pissed at you,” he shook his head at Sungchan’s apology. “You go check the bathrooms, I’ll look outside. Don’t bother calling her, she’s not going to pick up.”

“What’s—”

But Chenle was already gone.

You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting in there for, but you could feel some of the overstimulation from the party beginning to slide off of you. Which could be either a good or bad thing. Cognitive fatigue was usually a prodrome and postdrome for you. Regaining some clarity could either mean that your medication was working and the migraine was going away, or you were about to enter the proper migraine phase. The fact that the pain hadn’t gone away was worrying. But at least it was dark, and relatively quiet. Oh, quiet... you could put in your earplugs now too.

Just as you had gone to grab for your bag, there was a knock at the bathroom door. You froze. Shit.

“Occupied!” You yelled out hesitantly to them, wincing at the loudness of your own voice. Okay, ow.

The person knocked again, harder.

“Seriously! Busy in here! Puking my brains out!” You yelled even louder, hoping they got the fucking idea this time. There was no way you wanted to have to actually get up and deal with a drunk partygoer that needed to piss and/or puke.

“Y/N? That you?” A familiar voice came through the door. “It’s Sungchan, can I come in?”

“Oh, sure, hold on.” You clambered out of the tub as carefully as you could in the dim lighting coming from under the door.

Against your better judgment, you turned one set of lights on in the bathroom, then cracked the bathroom door open. Sungchan was in fact on the other side, and you stepped back to let him in. He looked around the bathroom, worry on his face.

You shut the door behind him, saying sheepishly, “So, I was lying about the puking my brains out.”

“But you don’t look okay.” He peered down at your face as you were still wincing against the bright lights. “You didn’t drink anything tonight, what’s wrong?”

You went to sit on the side of the tub, feeling a pain in your eyes now. You gestured to the light switch. “Can you turn that light off?”

“Uh, okay…” He obliged, and the room was dim once again.

Your eyes adjusted quickly, and you could still see the general outline of everything in the room. Sitting back in the tub, you pulled your knees to your chest. Well, no chance for your great escape now. Sungchan climbed into the dry tub with you, facing you. He didn’t fit great in the small space, all gangly limbs, and your knees bumped into each other. But he sat there with you quietly.

“I’ve got a migraine coming on, I had to get somewhere quiet and dark and take my meds.” You told him bluntly, opting to just take the plunge. Not like you could even attempt flowery language at the moment anyway. Sure, some of your speech capabilities were coming back now that there was less sensory input, but you weren’t going to be doing any soliloquies tonight.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sungchan said quietly. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, no. I actually- I actually don’t want to be alone right now, if that’s okay?” You surprised yourself with your answer.

“Yeah, of course.” He said reassuringly. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“I might not have drank but you did. I’ll be okay here, for the most part. I’m the one who came knowing that I get sound-induced migraines.”

“Wait, really?”

“Mm, yeah,” you pinched the bridge of your nose to alleviate some of the tension there for a moment. “Remember when I said Chenle pushes me out of my comfort zone in a good way most of the time?”

“Right.”

“One of the times it wasn’t... good was when he got an invite to Nu Chi’s Halloween party our freshman year, dragged me with him. And he always means the best when he does stuff like that. I hadn’t made any new friends at college, meanwhile he had a bunch, including some of the pledges at Nu Chi.”

“How he got the invite.”

“Exactly.” You needed to take a pause, resting your head against the cool tile again. After a few deep breaths, you pushed on in the story. “Anyway, we’d been there for a couple hours when the loudness and the music and everything finally got to me and I got a migraine. I had my go bag on me, and went to what I thought was an empty corner of the house to take my meds. But a couple other people saw me knocking back pills and wanted some. My head was hurting like a bitch, and they were trying to grab them from me and anyway, I spilled a bunch of them all over the floor, drenched myself with my water and their beer, and elbowed a dude and gave him a bloody nose.”

“Holy shit,” Sungchan breathed out.

You opened and closed your jaw a couple times to try to relax the muscles and joints there. “I couldn’t even open my eyes because my head hurt so bad. Chenle told me later I was screaming and Taeyong wanted to call an ambulance until Chenle ran up and explained what was happening. They put me, Chenle, and Jeno—turns out that’s whose nose I broke—in Taeyong’s room in the house for the rest of the night. Neither Chenle nor I were in any shape to drive ourselves home.”

“Wait is that how you met Jeno?”

“Yeah, and it turns out he wasn’t one of the ones trying to take my pills, he was trying to break up me and the people who were. Collateral damage.” You recounted it regrettably.

“When Jeno found out I’d invited you, he told me he’d keep his room clear in case we needed it. I thought he was just being a dick.” Sungchan sounded like he was having an epiphany. “Y/N, do you think you’ll be okay to move up a floor?”

The bass was thudding through the door, and you knew that if you stayed here when you transitioned into the throes of however bad this migraine fully got, you’d regret it. Grabbing your earplugs from your bag and putting them in, you gave him a thumbs-up and attempted a smile, but you knew it came out like more of a wince.

Sungchan kept you between him and the wall as you moved through the Nu Chi house, casting as much of a shadow against the garishly flashing lights as possible. Even through your earplugs, the music was raucous, people were practically screaming at each other, and you gripped one hand around his arm and the other onto his suit jacket to keep yourself balanced and to not lose him. When you got to the stairs, he fully wrapped an arm around your shoulders to jerk you out of the way of a drunk Nu Chi member stumbling his way down, and kept it there the rest of the way up. The noise was squeezing around your head like a vice, and you shut your eyes tight at the top of the stairs for a moment in an attempt to clear your head.

Sungchan’s voice was right beside your ear, muffled through the earplugs, “We’re almost there, Y/N, I’m sorry, come on.”

You were vaguely aware of the man with you feeling around on the top of a doorway before jiggling a doorhandle, and finally you were in a blissfully dark and quiet-ish room. Your head definitely hurt more than before, and you practically collapsed onto the bed.

“He was kind enough to stuff all his dirty clothes in the closet,” Sungchan muttered.

You managed a strangled chuckle at that, dropping your go bag onto the floor beside the bed. A moment of silence passed, and you could hear Sungchan awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet at the doorway.

“Sungchan,” you said his name, then patted the empty half of the bed beside you. “You can sit. I know Jeno doesn’t have any other furniture in here besides the bed and his PlayStation.”

“He probably only has a bedframe because it came with the room.”

You snickered, but were cut off by the squeezing pain turning to a sharp, stabbing pain behind your left eye, “Oh fuck!”

“Y/N?!” Sungchan was right beside you, and you felt the bed dip as he sat down beside you.

“Sorry, sorry, it feels like I’m getting an icepick lobotomy! Jesus!” You hissed, cupping a hand over your left eye as if that were actually going to do anything. “It’s normal, I’m fine. Relatively.”

“Okay…”

Still clutching your eye, you rolled onto your side and brought your knees up towards your chest. You blindly fumbled towards the head of the bed, and felt a pillow being pressed into your hand.

“Thanks,” you muttered, tucking it under your head.

“Do you want to lay under the covers?” Sungchan whispered.

“Do they smell like Jeno’s washed them in the past week?”

He laughed breathily at that, “Miraculously they do. I think he was planning on getting laid.”

“He gave up getting his dick wet for me. Jeno’s a real one,” you mumbled, feeling the covers that you were laying on top of being pulled out from under you.

Sungchan gently brought the sheet up to your shoulder, then a blanket too. The stabbing pain behind your eye was still there, and your stomach filled with dread as you acknowledged that your acute medication wasn’t going to be working this time. This was going to be a full-blown migraine, and who knew how many hours it would last.

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything else you need? Water?”

“No. Just uh, let me know when two hours have passed, I can take another dose of my meds that aren’t fucking working then.”

“Oh. Will do.”

You opened and closed your jaw, letting out a distinct groan. Another few minutes passed. Or, you think it was a few minutes, you couldn’t really check your phone for the time.

“Sungchan.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to stay. I’m sure the party is a lot more fun.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“…No.”

“I want to stay. I’m not going to have any fun out there knowing that you’re in all in this pain all alone in here.”

You squinted your right eye open, and had to crane your neck to look up at where Sungchan was sitting against the headboard. He had taken his suit jacket and shoes off at some point, now just in a rumpled dress shirt, loosened tie, slacks, and socks. He held your eye contact steadily, head tilted slightly and a frown across his handsome features.

Reaching your unoccupied hand up towards him, he watched it with confusion.

“What do you need? Your bag?”

“No.” You grabbed his hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“Oh.” An adorably radiant grin was on his face now instead.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1

Sungchan knew you’d finally fallen asleep when you stopped muttering swears and curses under your breath, the pained expression fell from your face, and your hand that was holding his went limp. He could still hear the party going strong outside of Jeno’s bedroom, and a glance at his phone told him it was just after one in the morning. He had no want to rejoin his friends, to leave you.

He took his tie all the way off, thinking to himself that if you were feeling better, you might have joked that he looked like Mulder the off-duty funeral director. And he would’ve laughed and watched the cute way the corners of your mouth quirked up when you said something that you thought was funny. He set the tie down with his shoes on the floor beside the bed.

Careful to stay on top of the covers that you were sleeping under, Sungchan shifted until he was laying down too, pillow tucked under his head, facing you on his side, hand still holding yours.

Like usual, you didn’t remember falling asleep, but you did remember shutting your eyes tight and wishing really hard for your head to stop hurting so bad. Or to die. Whichever the Universe felt like granting. And judging by the fact that you were now waking up without a migraine, it seemed like the former.

The first thing you were aware of before you even opened your eyes was that you felt like shit. Sure, your head didn’t hurt anymore, but jeez the morning after wasn’t much better. Tired, achy, and your brain felt like TV static.

The second thing that you were aware of, after opening your eyes, was Jung Sungchan just a few inches from your face. He was still asleep, soft bursts of air passing from his lips and mussing up strands of hair that were falling into his eyes. You didn’t quite have enough in you to coo over his bedhead, but you could give half of a fond smile as you pushed yourself into a sitting position, running a sleepy hand over one side of your face.

Only one of your earplugs was still in your ears, and you looked around the bedsheets for the other one. After securing it, you scooted over to the edge of the bed to put the plugs back into your carrying case before rolling back over and pulling the blankets over you again. You deserved this, honestly. Sleeping in late, a comfy bed, warm blankets, a cute boy next to you, nothing to—

Your happy thoughts were ripped away by the sound of a loud alarm. You shot up, scrambling towards your tote bag to grab your phone from the depths of it and turn your goddamn alarm off before it woke Sungchan up.

“Mm?”

Too late.

Sheepishly, you looked over at him, “Sorry…”

“‘S okay,” he mumbled, flopping onto his back and rubbing a hand over his face. “How’s your head?”

“Better. A lot better, thanks.”

“Good, good.” He yawned, “Morning, by the way.”

“Good morning.”

His eyes were closed as he laid there, a hand resting on his chest, and you weren’t sure if he had fallen back asleep.

“…Sungchan?”

“Hm?”

Taking his inquisitive tone as a sign that you could keep talking, you said, “Uhm, that was the first time I’ve had anybody around for one my migraines in a while. I’m sorry if it was… well, I don’t know. What was it like for you?”

He opened his eyes, rolling onto his side to face you and tucking a hand under his cheek, “Oh, uh, I mean, I wasn’t quite worried, since you seemed like you knew exactly what was happening, you know? But still, I… I was wishing there was more I could do. It was weird knowing that you were in pain but not being able to see where it hurt.”

“I should’ve figured that might be upsetting. Sorry about all that.”

“No, Y/N, it's okay. I get it, you just wanted someone with you when you were hurting.”

“Yeah, yeah, I did,” you nodded, curling one of your hands into a fist in your lap, digging your nails into your palm in an attempt to not cry at how easily he saw right into you.

“I was more than happy to sit with you.”

“I’ve had these stupid migraines for years now. Tried every treatment in the book, been on every regiment. And my friends and family, they don’t treat me like I’m made of glass or anything, which I’m grateful for. Everyone in my life knows I’m a pro at it all: I’ve got my go bag, all my meds, my alarms, I’ve been going to doctors’ appointments, testing, everything for years. But like... they still hurt. The migraines still fucking hurt.” Your voice cracked over the word, and your nails dug in deeper. “And I just… think they forget that part sometimes? I don’t know, I guess they hear the word ‘migraine’ thousands of times over the years it sort of loses its meaning. They kind of forget what one actually is. But it hurts Sungchan, my head just hurts for hours or even days, sometimes so bad I throw up from the pain. I can’t do anything but lay in bed in the dark and cry. Last night’s wasn’t that bad but still… thank you. I needed for it to all be real to somebody.”

Sungchan pushed up into a sitting position, and through your watery vision you could see that his brows were furrowed. You followed where his gaze was locked, and watched as he gently unfurled your fingers. You used the thumb of your other hand to rub at the divots that your nails had left in your skin.

“The migraines are why I’ve been all weird, by the way.” You added, trying to ignore the strain in your voice.

“What?”

“When you wanted to buy me a drink after the game. One of my migraine medications that I take, I can’t drink alcohol on it. It just felt like a weird and long explanation to have to give in the moment. And when you asked if I wanted to dance with you last night, the music would’ve made the migraine come on quicker than it did, but explaining it to you then, again it felt like it would’ve ruined the moment even more.”

“Oh… don’t worry about it.”

There was still one big thing you hadn’t smoothed over. But it looks like you’re on man-shaped friend duties tonight, Sungchan. Stupid, stupid.

Pushing through the discomfort prickling at your skin, you asked, “Sungchan, do you want to go on a date?”

“A…” He looked you dead in the eyes for a moment, mouth parted, and blinked once, twice before he was absolutely beaming at you. “Yeah, yes, I do.”

“Okay.” You couldn’t help but giggle, nerves buzzing through you as your chest was airy and you were lightheaded for two reasons now, “Okay, good.”

“Is it bad for me to say that I’m relieved? That you have migraines? Well, not that you have them, because obviously they hurt, but like, that this is what it was? I seriously thought I was being stupid, like mixed signals or something. Like, you came to my game but then you didn’t want to go to the bar.” He ticked the instances off on the fingers of one hand.

“Medication,” you nodded.

“Right. Then you let me walk you home after, but you called me your friend.”

“That was just plain stupidity,” you admitted with a groan at having to relive that moment again.

“And you said yes to coming to the party, but then you didn’t want to dance with me,” Sungchan had now run out of fingers and dropped his hand back down to the bed.

“The music...”

“And when you disappeared, I thought you left because you didn’t like me. I just… felt like I was going crazy.”

“It’s not awful of you to be relieved about this. I’m sorry, Sungchan. Migraines aren’t conducive to romance, apparently.”

“Oh, bullshit.” He pushed back immediately. “They’re just not conducive to drinking and loud parties. That’s not romance.”

“Alright, fair. I’m wont to agree with you.”

“And you need to stop apologizing for your migraines. It’s not like you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Well, I did come to a loud ass party knowing I’d probably get a sound-induced migraine.”

“Okay, aside from that— which, I’m very flattered by and will never ever ask you to do anything like this ever again.”

“Okay.”

Suddenly the door handle rattled, then there was a banging on the door. “Hey! Are you two done in there?” Jeno yelled through the wood. “You better not be having post-headache sex on my bed!”

“Seems like he didn’t get laid last night,” Sungchan muttered.

“If he keeps up that pounding I’m going to get a rebound headache and he’s going to wake the entire house, please let him in,” you groaned.

The boy with you quickly moved to do so, unlocking the door and throwing it open to whisper aggressively, “Jeno! Shut the fuck up! People are still sleeping!”

“Oh. You’re dressed.”

You rolled your eyes at your friend, “I don’t know what you think a migraine is like, but getting my back blown out is pretty far down on my to-do list for immediately after.”

“How are you feeling?” Jeno was nice enough to ask as he rooted through his closet.

“Like shit. While you guys nurse actual hangovers today, I get to nurse a migraine hangover. Same awful morning after without the fun night before.”

“That sucks.” He secured a rumpled shirt and inside out pair of sweatpants. “I told Chenle you were crashing here last night, by the way. He didn’t just abandon you for shits and giggles.”

“Oh, thanks. He was sober enough to drive?”

“Mark had a Breathalyzer and everything.”

“Wow…”

“Now I recommend you two get the fuck out before everyone else wakes up and sees you sneaking out together.”

“Right,” Sungchan nodded, sitting on the edge of Jeno’s bed and pulling his shoes on.

You quickly gathered your shoes, phone, witch hat, and go bag before giving Jeno a short goodbye and following Sungchan out. The Nu Chi house was thankfully quiet as everyone was still asleep in their own rooms, save for the partygoers and brothers who had passed out on the couches in the living rooms. Once you were on the front porch, the two of you dared to speak again.

“I’ll drive you home, Y/N,” Sungchan offered.

“Mhm, thanks,” you squinted against the bright sunlight, reaching into your bag for the spare pair of sunglasses you kept in there.

He gestured to your bag. “So what all do you have in there?”

“Everything but the kitchen sink.” You sighed, finally securing your sunglasses and putting them on. They did help, but you knew there was no way you were going to avoid a rebound headache today. Realizing that Sungchan might actually have been genuinely asking and wasn’t just trying to be polite, you decided to give him a sincere answer as well. “Uh, my meds, my blood pressure cuff, earplugs, sunglasses, some snacks, other miscellaneous non-migraine related stuff like an umbrella.”

“Blood pressure cuff?” He stopped in front of a sedan parked on the street, and opened the passenger door for you.

Even through your unpleasant migraine hangover, you couldn’t help the giddy smile that crossed your lips at the gesture.

Once the both of you were in the car, you explained, “One of my medications affects my blood pressure. I have to check it every few hours, or whenever I feel kind of funny. That’s partially what the snacks are for too.”

“Really?” He started the car and pulled out into the street.

“Most of my meds I need to take with food, so keeping snacks on me makes it easy. The sweet ones are in case my blood sugar drops though.”

“Blood sugar too?”

“A different medication affects my appetite, secondary effect is on my blood sugar. Fun fact, it’s the same one that keeps me from drinking alcohol. Anyway, if you’re ever craving something sweet, I keep gummies and stuff on me usually.”

Sungchan let out a deep breath. “Wow…”

“Oh and water.” You perked up as you realized you’d forgotten something, and reached in for said item. “I've got my water bottle. I need water to take my meds, obviously, but I also need to drink water to make sure I don’t get kidney stones from my medication.”

The car had stopped at a stoplight, and he looked over at you in disbelief. “What the fuck.”

“Hey, it’s this or be entirely unable to participate in society.” You explained. “I used to get five or six migraines a week, with really bad or mild headaches constantly in between. I couldn’t do anything, they were disabling. Clearly, they still are now when I do get them, but I only get one or two a month.”

“I can’t imagine— I… yeah…” He trailed off as the light turned green, a deep frown etching itself on his features as he clearly was trying to imagine what a huge shift in his life that would be. And was having a hard time doing so.

“People without chronic illnesses usually can’t, until they get one,” you shrugged. “I know I couldn’t imagine it either. Then I got my first migraine. Then my second, and my third. I think the ‘chronic illness’ part really hit for me when I had to order my first sharps disposal bin for the monthly injections I take.”

“You’re…”

“Do not say that I’m so strong or any live laugh love type shit right now.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “No, no, not what I was going to say. I was just thinking… you’re really cool.”

“I just info-dumped about my migraines, medication, medication side effects, and treatment to you for ten minutes straight and that’s the conclusion you came to?” You asked in disbelief as he pulled into your apartment complex, and it dawned on you just how long you had been talking about yourself for. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been that detailed with someone other than your neurologist or your mom about your condition and treatment.

Sungchan put his car in park to turn and look you in the eye. “I’m looking at the bigger picture here: You’re a Lit major, you like Gothic fiction, you’re good at writing, you’re smart and know things like death of the author and stuff, you like Pacific Rim, you’ve come to one of my games, you’re funny, and you just info-dumped to me about something personal for ten minutes. So yes, I think you’re cool. Actually, cool might be an understatement.”

“Jung Sungchan, you…” Your cheeks were hurting with how wide you were grinning. Whether it was the migraine hangover or truly from how warm and happy his words made you, you couldn’t formulate a proper response, “Congrats, I’m speechless.”

“I think that's good?” He laughed again. “Anyway, you told Jeno earlier that you felt like shit, so I won’t hold you up anymore. Rest well today, Y/N.”

“Thanks. You too, Sungchan.” You wrapped your hand around the door handle but stopped just short of actually opening it. “Oh, and uhm, I don’t know if this too eager or whatever, but I’m free tomorrow.”

His face lit up with recognition at what you were implying. “Me too. But are you going to be okay? Like, recovered?”

“Yeah, I’ve got all day today to sleep it off.”

“Okay.” He grinned.

“Okay.” You repeated. “Text me?”

“Yes, yes. I will.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

And with that, you got out of his car, making sure to take your go bag that had been on your lap for the whole drive.

Halfway to your front door, you turned around to give Sungchan a final wave goodbye, and he waved back through the windshield. Once you’d finally disappeared into your apartment, he looked over at his now empty passenger seat. Well, not completely empty, he realized. Your witch hat was on the floor of the passenger side, you’d forgotten to grab it on your way out. He picked it up, gently setting it on the seat beside him. He’d just give it back to you when he saw you again for your date tomorrow.

“A date,” Sungchan sighed happily, feeling his chest swell and nearly burst with joy. “A date, a date, a date.”

Putting his car in reverse, he looked through the rear window as he muttered, “Suck an egg, Donghyuck. Man-shaped friend, my ass.”

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 2

Sungchan picked you up at 7:00 p.m. on the dot for your first date. You made sure to take your nighttime meds early and silence your alarms so there was nothing to bother you that night. Migraines notwithstanding, of course. You still had to bring your go bag just in case you needed anything acute, but you didn’t think twice about leaving the majority of it in the car, tucking just a couple individually packaged tablets into your pocket before accepting Sungchan’s hand that he offered to you after opening your car door for you.

Walking into the movie theater with him after he bought your tickets, you were about to start off in the direction that the usher had pointed you when your date stopped you.

“You want anything from concessions?” He nodded towards the long line of other couples, families, and groups of friends.

“I’m not big on overpriced popcorn,” you shook your head with a smile. “Thanks though, Sungchan.”

“You sure you don’t want a soda or candy? How’s your, you know, blood sugar?”

It was then that your polite smile morphed into a genuine, touched one, and you squeezed his hand that you were holding. “I’m doing good, promise. I made sure I ate before. But thank you, seriously. You’re really sweet.”

“Okay, but let me know if you need anything.”

“Sungchan, can I tell you something?” You ducked your head in towards him conspiratorially.

“Yeah, of course.”

You gently shook one side of your jacket, and a muffled rattling sound came from within it. “I snuck a bag of Skittles in,” you whispered to him.

He chuckled as you dropped your jacket back down and smoothed over the inside pocket inconspicuously. “Two steps ahead of me.”

“I just didn’t want to ruin our date if I got low.”

“It’s very thoughtful, thanks.”

“So are you!” You tried to reassure him.

The two of you entered where your movie would be showing, and picked your seats. The previews had already started, so you had to drop your voices to whispers.

“But you’re going to be good with the bright light, and the sounds?” Sungchan double-checked with you.

You nodded insistently. “You’re the one who made me compile a list of stuff that I could do, remember?”

“I know, but you also came to that party knowing that it was like 100% guaranteed to give you a migraine. So I think I’ve earned some skepticism.”

“Okay, fine. You got me there,” you sighed. “But I get nothing out of suggesting things that will give me migraines other than cutting our time together short. Which I don’t want to do.”

Sungchan shifted in his seat, and when you looked over at him, you could see a small, bashful smile on his face. “Good. Glad we got that cleared up.”

The previews finally ended, and the entire theater quieted down, including you two. You settled in to watch the movie, scooting closer to your date, looping your arm under his, and resting your head on his shoulder. He hesitantly leaned his head against the top of yours.

As you left the theater hand-in-hand with Sungchan, you two were deep in discussion about the movie, and in the back of your mind, you realized with a panic that you had far too much that you wanted to say that wouldn’t fit into the short ride back to your apartment. Not to mention that you didn’t want your night with him to be over yet.

“Hey.” You called for his attention as he opened up the passenger door for you, stopping before you got in the car.

“Hey.” He offered you a lopsided grin, still holding the door open with one hand and now caging you between him and the open car door.

If the parking lot wasn’t literally swarming with other movie theater patrons, you swore you would’ve grabbed him and kissed him stupid right there and then. But a family of five walked by at that moment, so you swallowed down the itch.

“We should go somewhere,” you suggested, trying to sound equal parts nonchalant and hopeful. Which was a weird combination, you knew, but you didn’t want to come across as too desperate. Again, a ridiculous sentiment, but it was engrained in you with social conditioning or whatever.

“We just went somewhere,” he pointed out knowingly, and you swore that was a smirk that you spotted on his face in the shadowy lighting afforded by the parking lot streetlamps.

“We should go somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, despite how desperate you felt on the inside to just be around him right now. “Somewhere. Are you hungry?”

“Are you?”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line. “Well—”

Finally, he smiled, nodded towards the car, and said, “I know somewhere. Get in.”

Sungchan closed the car door after you before walking around to get into the driver’s side. He didn’t offer you any information or clues as to your new destination as he left the movie theater parking lot. The hockey captain drove with one hand casually holding the bottom of the steering wheel, the other tapping out the rhythm of whatever song was playing over his speakers onto his thigh. You dragged your eyes from his fingers to the passing scenery.

Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a good date. Even the last date you’d been on was a distant memory. Lunch with some CompSci major your freshman year, a blind date set up by a mutual acquaintance. He just talked over you the whole time. You didn’t deign to go on a second date with him. It wasn’t that your migraines made it impossible to date—they hadn’t even come up at the date with the CompSci major (mostly because he didn’t give you the opportunity to say much of anything)—but you knew that it was always going to be something to get out of way. Either up front or at some point down the line. And it was exhausting enough for you to have to completely restructure your life around them, how could you really ask some stranger who barely knew you—or didn’t at all—to consider doing the same? It felt like it just made your dating pool even narrower, an added standard that you didn’t even get to pick.

But with Sungchan, it had happened in the worst way possible, you disappeared on him because you were having a migraine, without even having told him anything about them. And not only was he more than chill about it, he stayed with you through your entire full-blown migraine. Listened to you explain every ailment, medication, and medication complication that you have, and just tucked all that information away to keep track of your wellbeing. Taken it all in stride and made it look easy. And that was before your first date. It almost made you angry. Not at Sungchan, but at the fact that other people had ever made you feel like an inconvenience.

The car slowing to a stop knocked you from your thoughts, and you didn’t even realize that you had been silent for the entire trip. Sungchan didn’t seem to mind, though, as he hadn’t tried to start a conversation either. He put the car in park as you looked around, trying to gauge where exactly you were.

“Are we… on campus?” You turned to him with an eyebrow raised.

He was already out of the car, though, jogging around to get your door. As he opened it for you, he tilted his head innocently, “What was that?”

You stepped out, taking in your surroundings. “Are we at a campus parking garage?”

“Specifically, the top floor of Evergreen Parking Garage,” Sungchan clarified, rolling the passenger window down.

Evergreen Parking Garage was a commuter-only parking facility, meaning that this level was empty this late at night. It was also located at the furthest reaches of the north block of campus, which bordered a nature preserve, meaning that while on one side was your university campus, the other side was entirely evergreen trees. Hence the name.

Sungchan had parked on the side that faced the nature preserve, and as you turned to question your date as to why exactly he’d taken you to campus, you were instead greeted by the sight of him hunched over to lean into the open passenger window, seemingly messing around with the audio controls of the still-running car.

You tilted your head to one side, then the other as you just watched him struggle for a moment before finally speaking up. “What uh… What are you doing, Sungchan?”

He banged his head on the frame of the window as he went to stand back up. “Fuck! Ow…”

Covering your hand to muffle your giggles, you waited patiently for him to turn around and answer you.

Still clutching his head, he said with a sheepish smile, “Just give me a sec, sorry. Technical difficulties.”

And with that, he opened the door to properly sit in the passenger seat, futzing with his phone and the car radio. Finally, there was music playing from the speakers as opposed to the radio station ads, and he turned the volume up before getting back out of the car and shutting the door. With both the driver and passenger windows rolled down, you could hear the song clearly.

“I was originally going to try to take you to this lookout, but there were other cars there, so I had to keep driving by it and oh my god why did I tell you that—” He scratched the back of his head nervously. “Anyway, since we didn’t get to dance at the party…”

Sungchan offered his hand out to you, and you set yours atop it. The upbeat song that had been playing finished just then, switching to a much slower, softer one. You stepped in closer, smiling up at him as you looped your free arm around his neck. His other hand settled on your hip, and he slowly started leading you in an uncertain sway of sorts.

You let out an airy chuckle, “Was this really the kind of dancing you had in mind for a frat party?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” He questioned.

“Would you believe me if I said that I believed you?”

“No.”

You snickered. “Smart man.”

“But this is good, too. Better, even.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, there’s not a bunch of other drunk, sweaty, loud people everywhere knocking into us. I don’t have to worry about somebody spilling beer on me, or other guys looking at you, or the DJ picking something bad. Or you getting a migraine.” Sungchan slotted his fingers with yours. “I just get to think about you.”

You rested your head on his chest, eyes zoning out on your linked hands. It was his right hand, so his pinky finger couldn’t quite fold down along with the others. “Yeah. I like this, too,” you agreed softly.

A cool breeze gently blew across your cheek that wasn’t resting on Sungchan’s chest, and you were glad for the warmth of him pressed against your front. Your feet awkwardly bumped into each other, making you chuckle, and he apologized with a nervous laugh.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I haven’t exactly taken any ballroom dancing classes. Have you?”

“Well...”

You jerked your head back to look him in the face. “You have?”

“You know how Greek life has those formals every year?”

“You’re not in a frat...”

“No, I’m not. But freshman year, Nu Chi had pitched in for this dance teacher and— God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Sungchan said regretfully, tilting his head back to look up in embarrassment.

“Sungchan, come on!” You pleaded.

“Hendery swore me to secrecy...”

“Well now you have to tell me!”

“Hendery’s date couldn’t make it to one of the lessons, so he asked me to fill in for her...”

Your jaw dropped with delight, “Was his date an Amazon? How did that work? He couldn’t have possibly dipped you! Or twirled you!”

“She was taller than him, to be fair,” he admitted. “Nothing that couldn’t be adjusted for with some thick soles, but, you know...”

“You’re such a good friend, Sungchan,” you said through a couple of giggles, imagining the two of them attempting the aforementioned twirls and dips.

He dropped his head, shaking it. “Right, thanks.”

“So I guess I should be leading then, hm?” You teased, your feet bumping his again in that moment.

“I feel like you’d lead us over the edge of this parking deck, Y/N,” he joked.

Before you could make a retort, he stepped back from you to gently twirl you around by the hand, and a cross between a surprised yelp and a laugh tumbled from your mouth. As he brought you back into his chest, you could barely think over the joyful buzzing in your head that resonated out to every square inch of your body.

“Okay, okay, I guess you can lead,” you surrendered, looping your arm back around his neck again.

After some time, the songs had picked up tempo again, but you and Sungchan were long past actually dancing to them. You were more so just holding each other, leisurely swaying, and from here you got to listen to the sounds of his breathing. He’d taken to rubbing absentminded circles into your hip with his thumb, and the fingers of your arm that was around his neck had dipped below the material of his collar, resting on his bare skin.

“Sungchan?” You murmured.

“Yes?” He responded, his voice rumbling right under your ear.

“Thank you for not making me do this in front of a bunch of other cars at the other lookout.”

He let out a couple quiet laughs, his chest shaking with each. “You’re welcome. I figured all of the teens making out in their cars also didn’t want to watch us do this either.”

You mock gasped, pretending to sound scandalized, “You were going to take me to a lover’s lookout? On the first date? Jung Sungchan…”

“Who are you, my grandma? Nobody calls it that anymore.” He pinched your side. “And only because it’s actually got a great view over the city and—”

“I’m kidding, Sungchan.” You pinched him back, lightly, on the nape of the neck. “Besides, I wouldn’t have been opposed to a trip to a lover’s lookout with you anyway…”

You heard the breath hitch in his throat, then Sungchan swallowed and inhaled through his nose, before he finally spoke, “Really?”

His grip on your hip tightened, sending a bolt of electricity along your skin out from the contact point. You brought your head out of his chest and used your arm around his neck to draw him in even closer.

“Really,” you echoed, blatantly staring at his lips now that they were centimeters away from yours. “And it looks like we’ve got our own right here.”

Then Sungchan was using his hold on your hip to push you back step by step until your back was against the side of his car. Your own arm around his neck kept him anchored to you as he stood hovering over you, blotting out any light that would’ve come from the light post above you. Your noses were almost touching, your breaths mingling in the negligible space between your mouths. You were looking at Sungchan’s eyes now, usually a warm, deep brown, now all inky blackness in the dark of night, and staring down at your own mouth. Your tongue instinctually darted out to wet your lips, and that seemed to be the final straw.

His mouth on yours was desperate, but not desperate to get laid, like your previous lover’s lookout banter might imply. Like he was just desperate for you. He stole kiss after kiss from your lips, but never forced his tongue into your mouth, nor moved his hands anywhere else. Despite leaning more and more of his weight forward onto you, utterly pinning you to the car, he kept his bruising grip on your hip and never let go of your hand.

You parted your mouth with a bedraggled gasp of his name, and he finally took this as an invite to slip his tongue into the mix. You shifted to rest the hand that was laced with his above your head, on the roof of the sedan, giving his hand a squeeze. He squeezed your hand back.

Turning your head and breaking the kiss, you hoped he’d get the idea as you continued laying there half-spread out under him. He did, thankfully, kissing from the corner of your mouth across your cheek and down your jaw and neck.

“Sung…chan…” You breathed out his name, stroking the back of his head with your free hand as his lips latched onto a spot at the base of your neck.

Trailing your hand down further, you snuck it up under the hem of his shirt, feeling over the expanse of his chest and stomach. Oh fuck yeah, hockey players. You pulled the article of clothing up towards his head insistently, and he detached from your neck for the two of you to jointly strip him of it. Oh fuck yeah, hockey players. You truly didn’t know if he looked or felt better, but you couldn’t ogle him for long, because he was back on top of you as soon as he’d thrown the shirt into the front seat via the open passenger window beside you. His lips were so warm on yours, his skin even hotter under your touch now as you unabashedly felt up every inch of it and the muscles underneath.

But soon that wasn’t enough either, and you were fumbling at his pants button. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating down into your own chest, as his hand snapped around your wrist.

“Ahh…” He hissed regretfully.

“What?” You looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I can’t get my dick out in public.”

You glanced at the car behind you, with its tinted windows, then back at Sungchan. He met your eyes, then shrugged. “That’ll work.”

It was a mad scramble to get the door to the backseat open, so much so that you accidentally smacked Sungchan in the leg with said door. After lots of apologies through giggles, both of you were in the backseat with the doors closed and locked. Sungchan had the task of awkwardly reaching forward over the console to roll the windows back up first, during which you made a couple observations about his backseat, which you hadn’t seen much of before. His practice bag for hockey was back here—which was different than his gear bag, as you’d already been told. The gear bag actually had his equipment that he needed to play with like mouth guards, sticks, and all of that, while his practice bag had more personal stuff like changes of clothes or hygiene products. You figured his gear bag was either in the trunk or at the rink, as he didn’t always need to carry it back and forth with him. But other than the practice bag and a couple of reusable grocery bags on the floor, the backseat was pretty clean. You were genuinely impressed, especially because he made it sound like he tended to chauffeur a lot of his teammates/roommates around frequently.

Sungchan eventually reentered the backseat fully, focusing a content, closed-lip smile on you. You’d taken it upon yourself to lay down on the seat, your knees propped up by your feet. He settled in to kneel on the same cushion as your feet, but just rested an arm on your knees and his chin atop that forearm to gaze down at you, still smiling.

“What? What’s that smile for?” You asked, starting to feel a bit self-conscious.

“Nothing, I just—” He reached both his hands out towards you, fingers spread, and you got the idea, linking yours with them. “I hope you don’t get the wrong idea. I want this to be a real thing, Y/N. Like, I don’t just want to sleep with you. I don’t even do this kind of stuff—car sex on the first date in a campus parking garage?—literally ever. I’m just kinda crazy about you. I know for most people usually it’s the opposite; you know, they save it for later for really important people. They try to make it special, but I know it’ll be special just because it’s you.”

“Sungchan... I’ve never done something like this either,” you admitted, squeezing both of his hands tight. “I think I’m just kinda crazy about you too.”

“Okay. Cool.” He beamed at you, and you felt your insides turn to mush in that moment. You didn’t think they’d ever un-mush again.

“Now can you please take my clothes off before I spontaneously combust?”

“Fuck. Yeah.” He nodded, immediately turning serious as his brow furrowed and he leaned forward to lock his lips with yours again, propping himself up with one hand to hover above you.

You let your knees fall apart to give him room to settle in between your legs. He pulled at your jacket first, and you sat up to help yank it off, dropping it to the floor with his practice bag. With you no longer laying down, he could use two hands to get the next part, your top. His fingertips skimmed along your skin as he grabbed the hem. You broke the kiss so he could start pulling the clothing up your body—

A loud knock against the driver’s side window quite literally made you scream, and Sungchan jerked up and hit his head once again, this time on the roof of the car. You tugged your shirt back down to cover you, ducking to lay flat on the seat as Sungchan looked at you with panic in his eyes.

Another knock came at the window, this time accompanied by a man’s voice, “Campus security! Roll the window down or I’m going to ask you to turn the car off and step out!”

“Just a second!” Sungchan yelled back, a noticeable crack in his voice. He had a difficult time maneuvering his lanky body over the console fully into the driver’s seat again.

“Now!” The man called out again. “Three! Two!”

Sungchan didn’t have time to put on his shirt before ‘one,’ and he rushed to roll the window down. A flashlight was immediately shone into the car, and you didn’t doubt your own visibility to the security officer. You were remaining laying down for your own mental wellbeing at this point. You didn’t think that you could deal with looking this man in the eye right now.

You didn’t know if it was wisdom or embarrassment that kept your date from saying anything, but he thankfully didn’t speak until spoken to, not offering up any incriminating information. After five entire seconds of silence, the officer let out an audible sigh.

“No overnight parking in this garage,” he said, his tone making it very clear that he knew that was not what was going on. “I’ll be back in five minutes and if you’re still here, you’re getting a ticket.”

“Yes, sir,” Sungchan replied.

“I’m sure that the captain of our hockey team wouldn’t want to get put on probation at the beginning of the season.”

“N-No, sir.” His voice cracked again.

The security officer grunted, but said nothing more. You heard Sungchan roll the window back up, then the sound of another car driving away. Slowly, Sungchan turned around to look at you over the console with wide, horrified eyes.

“He knew who I was…” He whispered. “That was the most terrifying 45 seconds of my life.”

“You’re famous, Sungchan,” you teased, sitting up in the backseat now that the coast was clear.

“Yeah, and fame has got so many perks so far.”

“Almost got into your first scandal already.” You clicked your tongue disapprovingly. “Caught with a girl in your backseat. What will the fans say?”

“Considering my fans are all frat bros, probably something along the lines of wolf whistles and incoherent, congratulatory lewd jeering.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, able to picture that perfectly considering you’d already gotten a taste at the first home game you’d gone to. “Sounds about right.”

“Anyway, I should take you home before that guy comes back.”

“Good idea.” You slipped your jacket back on.

“Are you going to come up here or am I your chauffeur?”

“I suppose I’ll sit up there with you,” you sighed, opening the backseat to get out and into the front normally since there was no security man around.

Back in the passenger seat, you handed Sungchan’s shirt back to him, “Here, have some decency. You’re the captain of the hockey team, you know.”

“I’m sorry, who was going to spontaneously combust if we didn’t get naked in the next 0.2 seconds?” He scoffed, pulling his top back on.

“I don’t recall.”

“Sure.”

“And who’s still hard in their jeans right now?”

“Don’t remind me, I have to drive like this,” he groaned, taking the car out of park with a shake of his head.

As Sungchan drove with one hand, the other reached over to take yours, lacing his fingers together with yours.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 6

Just a few days later, and you were at the rink again, eagerly watching the hockey game in front of you. Chenle was beside you, continuing his constant sports commentary on every play that happened. You still mostly tuned it out, but you were pretty sure you at least understood most of the basic rules that Taeyong had explained to you before. You kept your eyes on Sungchan, cheering him on along with the other various Nu Chi brothers around you and other fans in the stands. It wasn’t as full of a house as it had been for the first home game, but you were perfectly content to have a slightly quieter environment.

Sungchan happened to skate by your section as everyone was resetting their positions, giving you a wave through the clear barrier. You gave him a slightly bashful but nevertheless bright grin as you waved back.

“So are you two like... dating now?” Hendery asked from your other side, leaned forward with both of his elbows on his knees as he watched the game. He looked back at you over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin, though, one that made you roll your eyes.

“I don’t know. We’ve been on a date. I mean, there was the Halloween party, but I got a migraine so I don’t think that really counts, so— I don’t have to explain myself to you!” You scowled at him, shoving him away by his shoulder.

He laughed as he let himself get jostled around in his seat from the push, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just curious. Unlike your bestie over there, I think you two are adorable.”

“What?” You looked over at Chenle, who Hendery had pointed at.

Chenle had apparently been listening enough to be able to jump in to defend himself. “It’s not what it sounds like. I think you two are great, promise.”

You turned back to your other friend. “Then what the hell are you talking about, Hendery?”

“He just doesn’t want to lose,” the Nu Chi member explained. “I pegged Sungchan’s huge crush on you on day 1 of Dr. Son’s class. Once the Phanta Phour stuff started, I knew that boy had no chance. Chenle just didn’t think you’d ever... hold on, how’d he put it... be into uh, ‘Neanderthal frat-bro-in-law types.’”

“I was maybe a bit tipsy...” Chenle added in.

“So you made a bet on if Sungchan and I would get together? In four whole years?” You looked from left to right between them.

“Loser has to buy winner a 12-pack,” Hendery confirmed with that same grin. “When Phantasmagorical Phriday ended this year, I really thought I’d lost. But then you turned up at the game last week and I figured Sungchan just might score himself a buzzer beater.”

“You two need to get better hobbies,” you declared with a snort.

“This so counts as sudden-death OT, but whatever,” Chenle scoffed under his breath.

You smacked him across the chest. “And don’t call my dating life ‘sudden death’ either.”

“Hey.” He said softly, grabbing your arm, and you turned your head to meet his gaze. “I really was worried about you going to the Halloween party with your head. I swear.”

“I know, LeLe,” you nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “You did some great wingmanning once we got there.”

The brief flash of sincerity you got from your best friend was over as quick as it had come, as you heard the crash of helmets on the ice, and both your focuses were drawn back to the game. Two players had collided into each other and the clear barrier right in front of your faces. You grimaced sympathetically as you tried to identify the player from your team. 23— Jeno, ah, he’d be alright. And you were right, he took off almost immediately as the other guy was left behind still dazed.

At the end of the game, with the buzz of another win in your veins and the anticipation of seeing Sungchan thrumming along your skin, you bounced on your heels as you waited in the lobby. You weren't paying attention to the ecstatic, dramatic recollections that Chenle and the Nu Chi brothers were giving of specific plays around you, your gaze entirely focused on the locker room exit.

The very first player to leave was Sungchan, his eyes already scanning the crowd. Without a second thought, you darted over to him, ignoring the couple of whoops and whistles you two got from your friends.

Sungchan beamed down at you as he went to pull you into a hug, and you were immediately enveloped in the smell of the freshly washed clothes that you’d caught last time. This time, though, there was the distinct, crisp smell of ice rink ice under it as well, reminding you of when you’d go ice skating with friends.

“Hey,” you smiled up at him as he let you go, but didn’t step back very far. “You played really good again. I’m pretty sure. A bit more sure than I was last time.”

He was still grinning, looking down at the floor then back up at you before he responded, “Thank you. And I don’t really expect you to become a hockey pro or anything if all that doesn’t interest you. As long as you don’t expect me to remember what death of the author is.”

“This was only my second game, have some faith in me!” You cried out indignantly. “And no, I don’t expect you to become a full-blown literary critic either.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologized through a couple of poorly suppressed giggles. “I do believe in you. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to learn boring sports stuff for me.”

“I do want to be able to follow the basics of a game without Chenle or Taeyong annotating it for me, at least.”

“Oh, yeah, you can definitely do that. Might need to come to a few more games, though...”

You nodded giddily. “Just let me know when the home games are and I’m there.”

“Yo!” A voice had called from the gaggle of guys heading towards the exit. You didn’t even realize that the rest of the team had left the locker room in the time that you’d been talking to Sungchan.

While you couldn’t tell who had gotten your attention, it was Donghyuck that asked, “Are you two coming or are you just going to keep making moony eyes at each other all night?”

“Yeah, Sungchan, you’re our ride!” Yangyang yelled out from somewhere.

“DD!” Jeno cheered.

“I’ll drive you two,” Mark offered with a shake of his head.

“Shotgun!” The two of them immediately dibs-ed in unison.

“Sorry, bitches, I’m his little,” Donghyuck declared. “That means eternal dibs on shotgun in Mark’s car.”

The frat president scoffed, “You only give a shit about that when it directly benefits you.”

“You guys go ahead,” Sungchan cut into their bickering. “We’re right behind you.”

After they had all filed out, he looked back down at you, a nervous smile worming across his face. “Sorry about that...”

“It’s okay,” you said. “So... you ready to go?”

The two of you had already discussed going to the after-game celebrations with the team before this. Sungchan texted you last night to check in and make sure you’d be okay with going from the loud game to a noisy bar/pool hall with a bunch of frat guys after. You’d assured him that you’d be okay as long as you sat away from any music speakers at the bar, and he’d in turn made you promise to tell him if you needed to leave early.

However, he now halted you as you were slowly turning towards the exit. “Wait, I want to try this again.”

With a sneaking suspicion of what he was about to do, you assured him, “Sungchan, you don’t have to—”

“Let me do this. Please.” He gave you those same eyes that had convinced you to go to a frat party in the first place, and you were squaring your shoulders back to face him, giving him a firm nod.

“Okay. Go for it.”

He asked casually, “So, did you drive yourself?”

You had to hold back a laugh, covering your mouth to straighten your face before replying coyly, “Oh, me? I walked. My apartment is close.”

“So, the team all goes out to this bar after home games. It’s a pretty sleazy dive bar, and I know it’s a Thursday night, but I’d really like for you to come with me. I’ll buy you a... soda.”

“I would love to come, Sungchan,” you giggled, adjusting your purse strap.

“Awesome,” he grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

As you walked up to the passenger side of his car with him, you suddenly realized something. “Wait, did you have your car last time, too?”

“Maybe?” He rubbed the back of his neck, reaching for the door handle to open it for you.

“Then why did you walk me home?”

“To spend more time with you?”

You stole a quick kiss before ducking into the passenger seat.

Squished into one side of a booth with Sungchan’s arm around you, you chatted happily with Chenle, Ten, and Sicheng, who were sitting opposite from you. The team and cheer section were spread out between a couple booths and tables near each other, a few of them up playing pool too. You sipped on your soda between discussions about tonight’s game, upcoming games, classes, or whatever else struck you all. Currently, you were locked in a conversation with Ten about the most recent assigned reading in a class that you two shared together this semester.

“I thought that scene had a lot of great allusions back to the earlier one with her mother and the pie baking,” you gushed.

“Really?” Ten tilted his head curiously. “I was seeing it more as a continuation of the cannibalism-sex-love metaphor, since they were eating figs, you know.”

You nodded knowingly. “That’s true. Everything’s about sex—”

“Except sex.” You two finished quoting your professor in unison.

“And then with figs, there’s the Bible interpretation, of course,” you continued.

“Always the Bible.”

“We can never escape what John Milton did for Christian fanfiction, truly.”

“But I do like the pie scene connection the more that I think about it, actually.” Ten knocked back the rest of his cocktail. “And, tying her mother into the cannibalism metaphor could be a fascinating angle, too.”

Your eyes widened as you were practically vibrating your seat with excitement now. “Yeah, her earliest memory being of food, parental love, and harm...”

“Anyway, I need a refill.” Your friend shook his glass of ice with a smile. “Be back. Good chat as always, Y/N.”

Chenle and Sicheng scooted out of the booth to let Ten out, the former heading off towards the restrooms while the co-captain followed his roommate to the bar, leaving just you and Sungchan. You continued musing over the new connections you’d just made in the text as you turned your gaze back over to Sungchan beside you. He was already looking at you, a fond half-smile on his face.

“Hi.” He said quietly.

“Hi,” you replied, just as quiet.

Sungchan took a swig of his drink, then eyed yours. “You haven’t drunk any water since we get here.”

He’d been sure to not only order your promised soda of choice, but also water, and as you now looked over at your two cups, you could tell that the water had not been touched at all while the soda was practically empty.

“Oh uh, I guess I haven’t.”

“Drink some.” He pushed it towards you insistently. “Can’t have you getting kidney stones on my watch.”

“Okay, okay.” You acquiesced easily, switching your straw over to that glass and chugging a quarter of it in one go. “Better?”

“Much.” He nodded in satisfaction. “So what were you and Ten saying about pies and sex or whatever? Sex isn’t about sex?”

“Oh, it’s just something one of our professors says a lot. ‘Everything is about sex except sex.’ For lit analysis. In literature, pretty much everything is about sex. Or can be. You can turn like, anything in a piece of text into an innuendo or euphemism if you wanted to. Except for sex. Like, if a sex scene is included in a piece of literature, it’s not actually about the sex that’s being depicted. The sex is meant to represent something else. Like politics, or social structures, or whatever other themes are present in the work. Unless you’re just reading porn. But even then, there’s artistic merit to erotica, and plenty to be learned about the social structures at the time it was written, too.”

Sungchan hadn’t blinked the entire time you’d been rambling on, and upon you finally stopping, blinked in rapid succession as he seemed to come to from a daze. “Wow. Uh, interesting. Filing that away with death of the author.”

“Sungchan...” You leaned in to whisper, placing a hand on the inside of his thigh, just above his knee. His leg jumped, knocking his knee into the tabletop. Your hand had narrowly avoided being smashed too, saved only by its position curled around his leg instead of directly on top. You didn’t move it up or down now though, simply tapping your index finger against the loose material of his sweatpants as you giggled. “What are you thinking about?”

He cleared his throat a couple of times. “How you still have three-quarters of that glass of water left to drink.”

You laughed, slumping to relax into his side and pulling your hand back up to a more casual position on top of his leg. With your other hand, you grabbed your water. “Alright, fine.”

Not too long after your water had been drained, Sungchan was driving you home. Some of your other friends had taken off as well, and you didn't put up too much of a protest when he offered. As your familiar building came into view, you suddenly remembered something.

“Oh, visitor’s parking is over there. Sorry, forgot to mention before.” You pointed to a few parking spots painted with yellow lines instead of white, further away from the apartment entrances than the resident parking. “They’re a bit picky. Chenle got towed after like, five minutes one time.”

“Got it. Thanks.” Sungchan smoothly turned the wheel to pull into one of the open visitor’s spots.

Your reason for showing it to him was two-fold. One, to let him know you hoped he’d be coming over more often, so he’d need that information for future reference. And two, for perhaps less innocent ulterior motives tonight. Truly, your apartment complex only towed people after dark. Overnight visitors. Chenle’s five-minute tow had been a fluke.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said with no prompting, and you had to hold in a sigh of relief.

Instead, you gave him a genuine smile. “Thanks, Sungchan.”

“I don’t think I thanked you for coming tonight. To the game.” He slowly meandered up the sidewalk with you, hand holding yours.

“Thanks for inviting me again. I had a lot of fun.” You squeezed his hand.

Your front door loomed in the not-so-distant distance.

“Uh, are you busy this weekend?” He rushed to ask. “I have Saturday morning practice, at 7:30, but it’s over at 9:00, and after that I’m free.”

So that’s why he had texted you at seven in the morning to congratulate you on winning Phantasmagorical Phriday.

“No, I’m not busy. I’d love to do something, just pick from the list I sent you. Surprise me, hm?”

“Will do.”

You were finally on your front welcome mat, and watched his face fall as he seemed to be drawing a blank about how else to prolong your night. But you had an idea.

You didn’t let an alarm or anything else possibly have the chance to interrupt you, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his mouth down to yours. He stumbled forward at you suddenly yanking him off-balance, catching himself with one hand on your front door and the other on your doorframe. Then, he dropped a hand to the small of your back, drawing you in even closer as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

Disconnected just enough to murmur against his lips, you asked, “Do you want to come in?”

“Please?” He replied with a nearly sheepish chuckle.

“So polite,” you quipped.

You gave him one more peck before turning around to unlock your door and drag him in by the arm.

➠ sequel | series masterlist | blog masterlist

[toasttt11]

Do you happen to have any blog recommendations?

YESS!! i have way to many recommendations!

@faithshouseofchaos one of the first blogs i ever read on here! amazing f1 and hockey stories, does a lot of supernatural in her stories!!

@bedsyandco her au’s are so goooooood and she has amazing ideas i swear she always is coming up with something new!

@sunflower-lilac42 love love love love all of her stories and au’s! definitely one of my favorites to reads!!

@luke-hughes43 one of my favorite blogs ever!! i adore her stella and luke au! and bella and ethan au! jsut read everything she has posted!

@sc0tters amazingggg au’s and stores, i swear she gets me so attached to her characters! literally love everything on this page!

@sweetestdesire the sweetest writer ever!! either writing the sweetest or really smutty stories, definitely recommend!

@chelawrites one of my favorites as well! i love her formula one stories!

@hischier-papaya i adore her blog, she’s an absolutely amazing writer and has such an incredible brain i swear she is always coming up with new ideas!

@hockybish one of my favorite writers for au’s! i absolutely adore her au’s and i love all of the characters so much!

@prettyboywoll Ahh one of my favorite writers! makes amazing au’s and if you ever wondered what it’s like to have a certain hockey player be your boyfriend she’s written many for many players!!

@burreaux-drys i loveeee her works but her au’s with ethan and rutger and one with trevor and jamie, they are so good!

@wintfleur i adore her au for stella hughes!! stella is written so well and she’s so sweet! writes for hockey and formula one!

@generalllimaginesss love everything she has written!! has so many au’s/series that are so well written!

@uglyducklingofthe2000s one of my absolute favorite formula one writers! writes for so many of the drivers!

@whatsaninterestingplacethisis definitely an amazing writer and i alway enjoy reading the stories!!!

@equallyshaw such an amazing writer, always writing the softest or the sadest stuff i swear!! really great au’s!

@quintinh43 i’ve adored reading eveything she’s posted and is an amazing writer!

@diorsluv her series i swear is such a funny and enjoyable read, i die laughing everytime i read her work!

@corrodedcoffins-blog one of my favorites again!!! but really an amazing blog and has some very fun au’s that i recommend!

@chewingcyanide some of my favorites stories are on this blog! i definitely suggest her jack series, it’s amazing and a roller coaster of an emotions

@angelicsoka love love love everything on this blog! such amazing work that i’ve read on the blog!!!!

@babydollmarauders one of my favorite writers to read! absolutely amazing stories and au’s, also a major plus she is a major john and jack stan :)

@thatintrovertedwriter i swear luke hughes number one fan, so if you want anything luke please go to her :) but like all of her stories and au’s are incredible so read them all!

@starry-hughes one of my favorite blogs! really has a incredible writing styles and i always enjoying reading anything from her!

@slafkovskys really writes incredible pieces! my favorite is always the angel x hughes bros so like definitely read that and all of her other au’s and works!

@sunkissed-zegras i adore reading anything from the blog, just adore everything i’ve read from her!

@fiapartridge i love everything on this blog too! but her au’s are amazing and she has a macklin au!!!!!

@thewintersoldierdisaster i love that she writes for some hockey players that aren’t always on this app a lot!!

@goldielia i adore her will au!! like you need to read it immediately!

@luke-hughes43 love everything from her! i love her au’s and ami am obsessed with nico and blake

@theemporium i LOVE this blog so much! formula one and hockey content, has written some of my favorites!

@drewsbuzzcut writes some amazing works especially her series!! i love dallas and nick!

@mclarengremlin definitely check out his golden son series! it’s amazing and i’ve definitely reread it so many times!

@lennysfridge you want a hockey au go to her page! i swear i’ve binged read all of her au’s many times!

@valluvsu i loved her top gun stories!! and i just love her whole blog!

@eleutherafairy she has written some of my favorite hughes stories ever!!!! definitely check out her blog :)

@itsnotgray i love love love her blog!!!!! definitely one of my favorites and i adore her fantilli sister au!!!

is this enough recommendations? let me know love!

[darkeralmond]

Luca smut… that’s the request, you pick the plot lmao

TYSM FOR THE REQUEST!! i am so obsessed with never have i ever so i just had to do this scene

Study Session

Luca Fantilli x fem! Reader

song: company - justin bieber

synopsis: y/n is luca’s tutor, and you’ve not been showing up to the past couple tutoring sessions. you and luca get in a huge argument and now you guys aren’t talking. he then crawls into your window and things get crazy

warnings: 18+, smut, p in v, she/her pronouns, luca calling u “good girl”, high school au!

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is based off that one scene with paxton and devi from never have i ever when he crawls into her window and kisses her. literally my favorite scene ever. i’m in love with him and luca. ALSO THE EDITS TO COMPANY WITH LUCA LIVE IN MY HEAD RENT FREE

masterlist | request info

For the past couple days, Luca has been mad at you. The thing about Luca is that he was all beauty, no brains. He relied on his hockey abilities to score himself into college. He broke his arm while playing in a game which left him with a season ending injury.

Now he relied on your tutoring to help him get the grades for college. Even then, he couldn’t seem to pay attention when it came to that kind of stuff.

When Luca came up to confront you about you flaking on your guys’ tutoring sessions, it broke out into a huge public argument in the hall. In the heat of the moment, you screamed at him which you regretted deeply.

“Maybe, you should start studying on your own,” you yelled. “If you wanna be a good student, then be a good student! I can't hold your hand forever!” Like that, you stormed away. That single statement ruined that entire relationship you built up with him.

It looked like he took your advice however. He started getting A’s on his projects all without your help. You felt happy to watch him succeed independently, but it made you feel uncomfortable to know that maybe he never needed you after all.

You were laying on your bed while listening to music. You felt your phone buzz against your stomach which startled you. You had your phone on ‘do not disturb’ mode since you wanted some alone time without any distractions. You checked the notification and saw it was Luca texting you. You furrowed your eyebrows and read the text.

Luca

Wyd

Me

Nothing

Luca

Can u let me in?

There was then a knock at your window. Your breath got caught in your throat as you shot your head up. You saw Luca outside your window while the rain poured down on him. You quickly threw your phone to the side along with your headphones and got out of your bed.

You rushed over to the window and unlocked it. “Luca?” you whispered. “You’re in my house?”

“Yeah,” Luca said as he looked around your bedroom. “I guess so.” He looked back at you with a smile on his face. His hair was soaking wet, his clothes were drenched, and he was in your bedroom. You blinked a couple times as silence filled the air around you two. “Look, I just wanted to thank you for pushing me to be a better student. It felt good to finally do something well in school.”

He had never been hotter. He shot you a look with his bedroom eyes, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to wrap your head around everything currently happening. “So…” you started, “Are you here to study or…?”

That was a great question, why was he here to begin with? Was he here to study for an exam? Was he here to apologize for the argument? Was he here… for you?

He simply shook his head and muttered, “No.” You continued staring at him as he stepped closer to you. He brought his hand up to the side of your face and tucked some strands of hair behind your ear.

His touch made your body tense due to the shock. He glanced down at your lips before meeting your eyes once again. He closed the space between the two of you and kissed you.

You kissed back, your eyes fluttering close as you placed your hands on his chest. Your heart pounded faster than usual as his tongue brushed against yours. Your body was humming. You melted in his embrace and let your fingers trace patterns into his wet shirt.

This was the best feeling you ever experienced in your life. Every fiber of your body was telling you to stay right there, kissing him. You figured he was here to just study or anything else, just not this.

You pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Y/N,” he husked. Your eyebrows raised as you anticipated what he would say next. “I need you.” He needed you? This stunned you even more. “Can I please treat you like you’re mine tonight?”

The way he said those words sent a thrill through you and ignited a fire inside of you. Without saying a word, you nodded your head as you stepped back toward your bed. You sat down on the mattress and looked up at him. The dim lighting created shadows across his face which made him look angelic.

With a smirk on his face, he sat next to you on the bed and pulled you close. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist and peppered kisses on your neck.

His hands trailed from your hips to up underneath your shirt. A small gasp escaped your lips as his cold hands came into contact with your warm skin. His mouth returned to yours, his hands cupping your breasts that were still covered by your bra.

You let a small moan slip as the kiss went on and on, deepening. It almost hurt how much you craved his touch and how badly you wanted him. The only reason he didn’t get a reaction out of you is because you were trying to keep calm, but it seemed he could sense your desire and knew what he was doing to you.

You tugged off your shirt and tossed it to the floor. Luca leaned back a bit and gazed at your body. The moonlight hits your skin perfectly making it shine and glisten. He ran his thumb along the curve of your waist, his fingertips grazing across your hip bone.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered as he threw off his own shirt. All of this was happening while your parents were downstairs. You felt nervous that they could hear you right now, or that they would hear you soon.

You turned your body to face him. He stared back with hooded eyes. The moonlight illuminated his handsome features in an ethereal light. Your breathing quickened with every passing second.

He teased at the strap of your shorts which was his signal for you to take them off. You did exactly that and revealed your matching pair of panties.

Luca groaned as his colored eyes examined your exposed body. You both stopped moving as he stared up at you. “Are you on the pill?” he asked softly.

Holy shit. He wanted to actually have sex with you. It was such an abrupt realization. It took you a minute to process. “Of course, I am,” you replied with a sigh.

He nodded his head, his eyes trailing down your body. “Okay, good.” He looked back into your eyes before messing with the buckle of his belt. “Take them off,” he said as he shot a glance down at your panties.

You slowly slid them off just like he said to. He nodded his head with a smirk spread on his face. “Good girl,” he rasped. “Now lay down.”

He got up from his spot on the bed which left you more room to lay. Once you settled down, he stood in front of you with a mischievous grin. He took off his boxers revealing his large erection. “Fuck,” you muttered as your eyes widened.

He ignored your comment and grabbed your waist. He pulled you closer to him before aligning himself with your entrance. You looked up at the ceiling, your breaths shallow and quick.

You felt nervous. What if you ended up getting pregnant? What if you sounded weird when you moaned? What if you got caught? Your thoughts were interrupted by him inserting himself inside of you.

Your breath hitched as your back slightly arched. His movements were gentle. He pulled out of you a little before thrusting back in with one powerful motion. Your back arched again, but you relaxed as you realized what it was like. He began to move in and out of you at a steady pace, filling you completely. You felt so full and comfortable, it felt amazing.

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply as you allowed him to take care of you, to take care of you for once. Quiet moans slipped from your parted lips as he thrusted into you.

He was slow and gentle, obviously treating you like you were delicate. You could even hear him groan out of pleasure. You bit your bottom lip as you looked up at him. His eyes met yours, both of you were panting. It felt good. You weren’t complaining, in fact, you loved it.

Luca began to speed up his movement as you both came together. He moaned as he held you tighter. “Fuck, Y/N. I’m gonna cum,” he groaned as he kept a steady pace.

He pumped in time with his thrusts. As he climaxed, you moaned as you came too. Once you finished, you laid there as he pulled out. You heard a loud noise coming from downstairs as you both tried to catch your breath after that unraveled in under one hour.

“Uh,” you said as you sprung up. “You need to leave, now!” You then heard your mom yelled out your name from downstairs. “Uh, coming!” you shouted back as you got up. You threw on your pajamas as Luca threw on his clothes.

“That was fun,” he smirked. “I should come over for more than just study sessions.”

You would’ve been flustered by that comment, but you were too worried about not getting caught. “Yeah, yeah! Go!” You threw your shirt on and watched as he threw on his own.

He winked as he hopped out of your window and looked back. “One more kiss?” he asked.

You sighed, “Yeah.” You placed a long, lingering kiss on his lips before pulling away. “Now leave!”

He chuckled, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smiled softly as you shut the window and quickly rushed out of your room. You just had sex with Luca Fantilli. Holy, shit. He did need you!

[lunaroserites]

Art and Ice - New Perceptions

Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Characters: Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Loki, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, a lot of the avengers cast is mentioned.

Summery: This kinda a filler chapter, some cute fluffy moments between Bucky and Doodle happen.

This might a 2 or 3 parter (it's gonna be more because cannot help myself). College AU, our boy Bucky is on the hockey team, and reader is an art major (because I love that trope and couldn't help myself)

Warnings: Not beta'd! All mistakes are my own. Friends fluff, swearing, mentions of college students being college students. Bit of friendly harmless flirting between friends. Bucky is a playboy. Flirting. Mentions of not eating or drinking for a hours (ADHD Brain)

Word Court: 3539

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! ❤️

Please do not repost, translate or otherwise copy my work elsewhere, without my express permission, thank you! Lunaroserites on tumblr and ao3

Catch up here: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

It wasn’t a surprise that your college finished out the regular season on top. Your college was known across the country for its sports programs. 

It didn’t surprise you when Bucky showed up with a bright cocky smile the day after the last away game. “Ooooh Doodle!” He said in a sing-song voice. 

You looked over your shoulder setting the paint brush down, raising an eyebrow at him, “yeeees Bucky?” You matched his tone perfectly. With all the away games you haven’t seen him since the weekend, you have made some decent progress on the painting of him. You were giddy to show him what you completed in his absence. 

“Guess who scored a date with Mandy, the head cheerleader?” He was beaming. Your heart sank momentarily, your facial expression dropping slightly before you composed yourself and gave him your best dazzling smile. 

“I’m not sure Buck, I’ve always been terrible at guessing games,” you murmured, trying to hide the discontent in your voice as you looked back at the canvas to compose yourself. He didn’t seem to pick up on your change in mood. 

“Ah come on Doodle, I’ll give you a hint. He’s charming, on the hockey team and incredibly sexy,” he sounded so cock sure. 

You turned to face him and tapped the end of the brush on your lip, feigning that you were deep in thought and then a bright smile split across your face. 

“Oh! I know who it is,” you said excitedly. “Sam!” You faked enthusiasm before turning back to the painting but not before catching his face drop for a moment. 

“Pfft, he’s about as charming as an out of tune piano,” Bucky deflected. “Come on Doodle, it’s easy.” 

“They’re easy huh?” You mused. “So must be you then,” you said flatly without missing a beat. He laughed awkwardly behind you. 

“Uh, yeah it’s me,” his cocksure attitude was gone and he sounded a little deflated. 

“That’s nice Buck, have fun,” you said quietly. 

“It’s not until tomorrow night,” he said, “I wanted to come hang out with you tonight,” your heart clenched and you bit your knuckle to stop the pang of hurt that threatened to crush you, you didn’t trust your voice at the moment so you just nodded. 

“How much of the painting have you done?” He asked quickly, changing the topic. You were grateful. “Last time I saw it you just had some base colours on.” 

You had the puck almost done, you were painting as if the puck was being shot at the person viewing it. Slightly different from your original idea, but you liked how it was turning out. Bucky was now standing next to you and you could smell the deep woody and amber tones of his cologne. He always smelled good, even after playing a game or practice. It was something you appreciated about him, Thor would smell like a locker room after practice. It was awful. 

You quickly focused back on the canvas and not how much you wanted to stick your nose into the crook of Bucky’s throat and inhale the heady scent he wore. This little crush was getting out of hand, you needed to squash it quickly. 

“That looks amazing, Doodle,” Bucky said in awe as he looked at the painting. “How do you make it seem so real?” 

“Practice, and a little luck,” you said with a shrug. Bucky moved out of the way when you picked the brush up and started to work on it again. “The inspiration was also a big help,” you looked over your shoulder at him and winked. He gave you a dazzling smile back. “What are you doing today?” He had pulled some books and notes out on the table and was staring down at them. 

“I’m studying for my astronomy final,” he said, his tongue caught between his teeth. His arm crossed over his chest and the other hand held his chin as he looked down at his notes. 

“Mind if I put some music on?” He hummed and you clicked the play button and let the music wash over you. You got to work, getting lost in the music and the brush strokes. 

The soft notes of Work Song by Hozier played soothingly over the speaker and you hummed softly along to the song and swayed gently back and forth. You jumped when you felt Bucky’s hand cup your shoulder and slide down your arm clasping your hand in his. 

“Can’t have a pretty thing like you dancing by herself,” he said softly. He pulled you to him and started to sway you two gently to the beat. Your heart was racing a million miles a minute, your cheeks were a bright shade of red as you hid your face against his firm chest. 

He moved you two effortlessly, he guided you in a small sway. He was smiling down at the top of your head as you leaned your cheek to his chest. His hand held the small of your back gently to him. 

You couldn’t believe this was happening, he was dancing with you randomly. It was completely out of the blue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to complain. He was firm and warm under your touch. He held like you were as fragile as blown glass, his touch feather light and respectful. You usually hated dancing but something about this moment felt right. 

As the song came to close and Bucky took a step back from you, you started to miss the contact as quickly as you lost it. He was smiling down at you and kissed you knuckles of the hand he had been holding at the time. “Thank you for the dance m’lady,” he tipped his chin and gave you a devilish smile. You couldn’t find words to express who you felt at the moment. 

“Thank you kind sir,” you stuttered back. He laughed his beautiful rich as chocolate laugh and made his way back to his studying and you went back to your painting feeling lighter than before. The pit in your stomach growing deeper, you could still feel his warm hand on your waist and the way he held you so carefully.

“Loki I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you whined as you draped over his lap dramatically. You had texted him “code red” before you left the art studio, Bucky had offered to drop you off at your apartment but you declined like you usually did. Code red meaning ‘I need you please come get me.’ Which he did without hesitation. 

“Darling you’re being a little dramatic,” he ran his fingers through your hair trying to sooth your nerves. 

“Loki, I’m not being dramatic. We had this whole conversation about just being friends and spending time together without him waiting to get me in bed,” you exclaimed. 

“Which he probably still does,” Loki added, you glared at him. 

“Not the point, how can that conversation mean anything if I can’t even hold myself to it,” you said in an exasperated tone. “Loki, he danced with me, out of the blue. Just took my hand and danced with me,” you peaked up at Loki who was running his long fingers through your hair, he had an unreadable expression. “Who does that nowadays, it’s something my grandpa would do with nana.” 

“Little brother,” Hela’s sing-song voice called as she poked her head into the room. “Oh hello sweetling! I didn’t know you were visiting,” she smiled at you. You had always liked Helena, she was always nice to you. She gave Loki and Thor shit when we were teens and they were acting like typical teenage boys, insensitive and immature. She looked you over, draped over Loki’s lap, your arm thrown over your eyes. You looked miserable, she entered the room further and sat down on the edge of Loki’s bed and gently touched your shoulder. 

“What’s the matter sweetling,” she asked soothingly. 

“Nothing Hela, stupid feelings and a crush a stupid boy,” you whined. She laughed at that. 

“Men tend to be like that, this is why I like women,” she chuckled. “Seriously sweetling, it can’t be that bad, who is it?” She asked softly. Her eyes drifted to Loki for a moment and he made a face. 

“Bucky Barnes,” you groaned. Hela’s eyes widened and she groaned. 

“You’re telling me you’re upset over that overgrown toddler on skates?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, you looked at her, god she was so pretty. You nodded and sighed heavily. 

“I know, I know. He’s just so.... Ugh.” Loki chuckled and Hela glared at him. She grabbed your hand and rubbed her thumb over your knuckles soothingly. 

“You know a couple years back he tried asking me out. I rejected him. He called me a stuck up bitch,” she said, you raised your arm off your eyes and looked at her. “He wouldn’t even let me tell him I had no interest in men, especially younger men.” You nodded and that was what Loki meant when he was rude to Hela. “He later saw me with Val on a date. He felt like an idiot and apologised for how he acted.” 

“He did?” Loki asked, he sounded surprised. Hela nodded. 

“He learned his lesson. Learned a few things too. From my understanding he’s not as pushy as he used to be,” Hela added. “Shame what happened with his girlfriend and her sudden departure to Alaska. He was apparently a lot different when she was here. She broke his heart. It doesn’t excuse his behaviour but it definitely gives perspective.” 

“You know Nat mentioned that he had a long term relationship that suddenly ended,” you said back, thinking back. 

“Val knew her better than I ever did, she apparently just packed up and left. No explanation, not warning. She was just gone. Barnes was devastated,” Hela said thoughtfully. 

“Huh, well that definitely adds perspective,” you agreed. 

“It doesn’t excuse his behaviour though,” Loki reiterated. You and Hela nodded in agreement. 

“What should I do?” You asked Loki after Hela left. He sighed and looked down at you, eyes swimming with uncertainty. 

“I’m not sure darling, if you told him what do you think would happen?” Loki asked softly. 

“He would probably pick up on trying to sleep with me again,” you groaned. 

You ended up spending the night at Loki’s house with him, falling asleep on his bed. 

“You know, it's a good thing you don’t share a bed with anyone,” Loki shoved you away from the centre of the bed. “You’re a fucking bed hog,” you couldn’t help but laugh at his groggy disgruntled voice. 

“Apologies Loki,” you laughed as he huffed. 

“Bull shit,” he exclaimed while standing up and going into his ensuite bathroom. You stood and leaned against the door frame while Loki pulled a brush through his hair and did his skin care routine. “Do you want me to bring you home so you can change and stuff? 

“I would appreciate it,” you smiled at him. 

“Morning Wands,” you called as you came through the front door, Loki right behind you, he grabbed your coat and hung it up as you pulled it off. 

“In here,” she called out as the toaster popped. You and Loki walked into the kitchen together. “Morning Loki,” she gave him a dazzling smile, which he returned. 

“I’m making cinnamon toast and eggs, hungry?” She asked. 

“I’d love some, I’m going to grab a quick shower and change.” 

“Princessa!” Peitro wrapped you in a hug tightly as he walked behind you and snagged a piece of toast off your plate. 

“Get your own,” you batted his hand away. 

“But I want yours,” he teased. You heard Wanda and Loki chuckle at you both. 

“I have a plate for you too, stop stealing hers,” Wanda ushered him over. 

“What plans do you have today?” Wanda asked as she sat down next to you. You looked to Loki, it was his turn to plan the Saturday plans. 

“The new book I’ve been waiting on is finally here so we have to stop by the bookstore in town,” Loki said, “then I think we’ll drive up the coast, we need pictures for our photography class.” You smiled at him, so thoughtful. “Then maybe some dinner and a stroll through the park,” he finished. 

“God Loki you’re making me look like a terrible boyfriend,” Pietro whined, you snorted into your juice and leaned back laughing loudly. 

“Maybe you should take notes,” Loki teased. You and Wanda were laughing together. Loki was an incredibly thoughtful friend. That’s why you adored him so much. But that’s where it ended. You two were the best of friends and that was where the line was drawn  and there was never a need to cross it. It took time for people to understand your friendship and the boundaries you two had in place. 

“Sounds like a fun day,” Wanda said thoughtfully. 

“What about you Wands? Vis is still abroad isn’t he?” She nodded at your question. 

“I’m going to practise with Pietro, it’s a nice day to be out in the sun,” she answered. “Vis gets back next week.” 

“I had fun today,” you said softly as you and Loki walked through the park after having supper at a sweet little Mexican restaurant. Loki had his hand on the small of your back guiding you and keeping you close. 

“I did too,” he hummed. You two walked around a little more, taking a seat on a bench to watch the setting sun. You looked out over the green space and saw some couples sitting in the grass relaxing. One couple caught your attention. 

“Is that bucky?” You said quietly, tipping your head in his direction. Loki squinted and nodded. 

Bucky was sitting a little ways away leaning back on his hands. Mandy sat next to him completely ignoring him. Something twisted in your heart as you looked at him looking up at the sky and she was scrolling her phone. Loki rubbed your shoulder soothingly. Drawn back to him you gave Loki a sad smile. 

“She probably just wants to sleep with him,” Loki whispered. You nodded in agreement. 

“He likes space a lot. He’s talking to her and she is not even pretending to listen,” it broke your heart. Soon his date leaned over and they got up from their spot. He trailed behind her as they waltzed across the green space toward Bucky’s truck. You watched him follow after her like some love sick puppy. 

But then for a brief moment his eyes connected with yours. His eyes narrowed in on you and he paused for the briefest moment as he looked at you across the field. You couldn’t place the look in his eyes, but it was something akin to longing, maybe you couldn’t be sure. As soon as it started it ended and Bucky was gone with Mandy into his truck. 

“Darling,” Loki’s smooth voice filled your ears and you looked at him. “You okay?” You nodded and sighed. 

“I think so,” you mumbled while shaking your head to clear it. 

You didn’t see much of Bucky over the next few days, practice and studying seemed to completely take over his days. He would text you little updates, ask how your day was going, remind you to drink and eat snacks. Your phone going off startled you out of the trance you were in. 

It was a FaceTime request from Bucky. You slide the answer button and gaze at him with a quizzical look. “Hello,” you chuckled, propping the phone on the easel. 

“Hey doodle,” his hair was wet and he was shirtless, you tried to not look at his shoulders. “Miss me?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. 

“Like a toothache Bucky,” you mused. Your shirt rode up as you stretched your arm to reach up on the canvas. Your phone left you a perfect anglee for Bucky’s eyes to follow the now revealed skin. You didn’t catch him licking his lips at you. 

“I’m hurt doodle,” he feigned hurt and clutched his hand over his heart being dramatic which made you laugh. There was a sudden knock on the art studio door, you looked over your shoulder and then back at the phone. Bucky was trying really hard to not look suspicious. 

“What did you do?” You asked as you grabbed the phone and opened the door, you looked down and he shrugged. Opening the door you were greeted by a delivery driver. You raised an eyebrow and squinted at him. 

“Delivery for Doodle?” The driver said, he looked completely over the day and didn’t bat an eye at the nickname. 

“I didn’t order,” you looked down at your phone and were met with Bucky’s shit eating grin. “You cheeky bastard,” you accused him. “Thank you,” you took the food and sat down at the table in the art room. 

“Thanks Bucky,” you were touched. He had ordered your favourite, everything completely how you liked it. You had only ever ordered this once in his presence, weeks ago. He remembered. “You even remember the extra sauce,” you could feel tears well up in your eyes from how sweet of a gesture it was. You quickly rubbed the tears away and smiled at him. 

Everyone in your life had been so busy you barely spoke to them, Bucky had been the most consistent person by far. You didn’t blame the others, you had barely kept in touch being swapped with final projects and finals. Everyone was just busy. The fact he took the time to send you food, made your heart soar. 

“I figured we could eat together,” Bucky said as he sat up and positioned the phone so his hands were free and you could see his full torso and face. You almost choked on air seeing him. He was fucking hot, you stoped the that train of thought immediately and looked at his face and not his peaks or squishy tummy. He was a big dude, firm but soft looking. You wanted to run your fingers over his torso. 

“I’d like that,” you were impressed with how composed you sounded in that moment. 

“How’s the projects going?” He asked. You shrugged and sighed. 

“They're going. I’m almost done with three of them and I finished the last one this afternoon,” he nodded. Silence fell over you two again but it wasn’t uncomfortable. That was something you noticed shortly after his visits to art studios became more frequent, silence with him was comfortable and you never felt the innate urge to fill it. “How’s studying?” 

“Good, the practicals will be easy. I hate written exams,” Bucky was a kinesiology major, doing astrology classes for electives. What surprised you early on was that he was actually doing well in classes. It made you question those Reddit comments you read saying he cared little for academics. He wasn’t a valedictorian or anything but he was passing with 3.1 GPA overall. You weren’t surprised when he mentioned he wasn't interested in the arts, and that he only did the two mandatory English classes. 

“You got this,” you said to him with a smile. 

“So do you,” he gave you a dazzling smile back. “I'm sorry I haven’t been coming to visit,” he said quietly. 

“It’s okay, we’re all busy right now. I haven’t seen Nat in 4 days, she was hauled up in the dance studio getting ready for her practicals and the final performance,” you shrugged, the performance arts program did a big show at the end of exams the whole campus was invited to purchase tickets for. The funds raised went toward funding future projects. You had your ticket, and an extra because Loki had bought his and forgot to tell you. 

“She hasn’t been at practice either, Barton has been insufferable,” Bucky said with a mock exasperated sigh. 

“I’m not surprised,” you chuckled and smiled at Bucky, he admired the way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you smile like that. 

“You’re still coming Friday?” Bucky asked. 

“Of course,” you nodded. “Actually I have a question to ask you,” he looked at you attentively and waited. “I have an extra ticket to the performing arts final show after exams, did you want to come with me?” You didn’t build your hopes so high that he would say yes. “If you don…”

“Yeah, love too Doodle,” he cut you off. Your face lights up with a bright smile. 

“Awesome,” you cheered excitedly, you wouldn’t soon forget the beautiful smile that graced his face, you both looked into each other for a moment, smiles morning one another. You didn’t want to look away from him, his eyes snapped from yours at the sound of a crash from another room and some yelling. 

“Dammit Scott,” Bucky groaned and looked at you apologetically. “Gotta go Doodle, I’m going to try and swing by the art room tomorrow.” 

“Bye Bucky,” you waved at him as he waved the call ended. You saT back in the chair for a moment before giving up for the night and packing up to go home.

AN: Thank you all so much for reading! I've have been really enjoying writing this series!

Taglist: @vicmc624, @calwitch, @learisa, @aaqua-tofana, @charmedbysarge, @blackbirdwitch22

Feel free to send me a message if you have a request or would like more, or would like to be added to the tag list!

[sc0tters]

Gone | John Marino

summary: you’ve won your first championship yet he is the only thing on your mind.

request: yes/no

warnings: none.

word count: 1.44k

authors note: you guys truly do not know how excited I have been to bring you guys this celly! I wrote this sort of differently to how I usually do so I’m not sure how I feel about it just yet. I’ve been focusing on my au’s this last week and John just felt like the kind of guy to bring us back the full fics.

This was meant to be everything you wanted.

The achievement you had work towards during your entire career had left you here and whiling you were enjoying the celebrations.

You knew that someone, that he was missing.

So you couldn’t try to enjoy this, even if you wanted to.

Even with your fifth glass is champagne you couldn’t enjoy it.

Lando had picked up on this and was now in full comforting mode “what is wrong with you!” He complained as you continued to dodge his questions “I am just thinking.” You sighed sinking further into your seat.

The bar tv had a hockey game going and you couldn’t help but let your eyes stick to the screen “you miss him?” Lando couldn’t help but smirk.

Your mention of the mystery hockey man in your life ran through the paddock but before you could tell him you loved him he instead found himself getting close with a girl in Jersey.

So you never let the details of your boy get to your friends or teammate “it’s stupid.” You shook your head knowing that Lando would have gotten mad at you for telling him the truth.

Your teammate laughed “look if you are still so hung up on him as you so clearly are then go talk to him.” Lando placed his hand on your back wanting to comfort you.

Seeing John appear on the screen you couldn’t help but smile “and it seems he’s in Vegas.” The Brit smirked sliding you his phone with Uber opened on it.

John had seen your win yesterday as Nico and Jack were watching it. The boys were none the wiser to what had gone on with you and John.

Months of fun whenever you were in the states felt tarnished by the thought of him being with another woman days before he was meant to be picking you up from the airport.

Whilst John wanted to call you, talk to you, and even just see you, it was made sort of hard when you blocked John to try to avoid the embarrassment of what you felt. Nobody knew about it but still you couldn’t shake the poor feelings that you felt from it all.

Lando watched you stare at the screen “are you going to find him or not?” The boy groaned clapping his hands together as he ushered you to move quicker.

You had chickened out and ended up flying to New Jersey two days after when the boys were playing next.

Jack had met you in Montreal where you had been celebrating a win and the man was more than happy to help you out when you called in the favour of getting tickets.

When the time came and you had to stand in the locker area you wanted to throw up “this is stupid” you rubbed your face in your hands as you shook your head deciding to turn around to go home “y/n?” John’s voice had you stopping in your tracks.

His hair had grown and so had his little facial stubble “w-what are you doing here?” Seeing your face on the jumbotron was something that he thought was going to be a clear coincidence, that maybe it was just his brain thinking that you could have come back.

But he didn’t need to dream hard enough because there you were smiling “hey.” You ran your fingers through your hair.

Seeing him made you feel nauseous as your stomach was doing flips “look I need to shower but can you give me like ten minutes?” John took his helmet off as he scanned your face hoping you’d say yes “go ahead.” You nodded watching him walk away.

Even though he was gone for a mere handful of minutes it felt like forever “not that I’m ungrateful to see you or anything but what is a new world champion doing in Jersey?” He leaned against the wall as you two were totally unaware that his teammates were now watching.

Who would have thought that an F1 driver showing up to a game without much of a word would have attracted a crowd?

His bluntness made you laugh “you watched the race?” You felt your cheeks turn warm “every one.” John was never one for hiding the truth.

Seeing you win every week brought him a sense of comfort that he couldn’t quite explain “I came because I-” the flash of a camera cut you both off “could we go somewhere a little more private?” You asked furrowing your eyebrows as you didn’t need your moment confessing your feeing seeing the front page of whatever news sites that they came from.

It could have come from some cheesy romance movie as he pulled you through the building and to his car. To the untrained eye it was a knight in shining armour finding a solution for his girl when in actual fact it was just John.

The same John who spent weeks trying to find a race that didn’t clash with hockey that was now a dangerous task as he only found the confidence to do this in September.

Despite all of the time and silence that had been between you both the only time it truly felt awkward was when you were in his apartment looking at the view that you had once loved.

But as the sound of his footsteps behind you got louder you were pulled from your trance “here.” He mumbled handing you a glass that you wished had something stronger but in the heights of your respective seasons you knew it would only contain water.

John stared at you as you swirled the clear liquid in your glass “you never really told me why you were here.” The hockey player didn’t mean for it to be delivered with the sharpness that came with but it was too late to send you some apologetic glance “I missed you John.” You blurted out watching as his eyes widened.

The media trained side of you went straight to damage control as your adrenaline began to wane letting the nerves come out “I know I shouldn’t because we weren’t anything when you went out with her.” You began to ramble as you didn’t remember the last time you felt this nervous “I was never with her.” John shook his head.

It seemed like at that moment your entire world came crashing down “or at least not like that.” He pursed his lips together as you looked at him like he was crazy.

Part of you wanted to laugh “look John you don’t need to try to protect me because I can handle this.” You shook your head until he raised his hand to stop you “that girl? Was an old friend from Harvard.” The phrase and old friend usually came attached with a whole other meaning yet when it came from him you knew it was the truth.

So there you were feeling like an idiot “she did try to make a move on me but I don’t her I had someone.” That was where you had seen the pictures that made you feel so forgotten.

John grabbed the glass from your hand placing it on the table behind you “I was talking about you.” He mumbled seeing how much he missed the feeling of your eyes on him.

It made your heart pump out of your chest “tell me to stop and I will.” John dropped his head to the point where his lips were hovering above yours.

You let out a soft whimper as your mouth went dry “kiss me Johnny.” You mumbled letting out a soft gasp as his fingers locked into your hair making sure that you couldn’t pull away from the kiss.

The familiar feeling made you both came down as you remembered just how much you needed each other.

As your lips fought his hands ran up your shirt untucking it from your jeans “let me treat you how a champion should be.” The hockey player kissed the shell on your ear as his breath fanned against your neck.

You felt your head drop back “don’t make me beg you John, not tonight.” You pleaded as your eyes screwed shut feeling his lips against your neck “you gotta jump then baby.”

The sheets that hadn’t felt the love that came from a second person being in them for months was finally back that night.

And it didn’t leave until you were expected in Abu Dhabi for the the final race, because this time you two were doing things differently.

You were doing things right.

[circle-with-me]

in this light, you are mine - jolly karlsson x nick ruffilo

collaboration with @deathblacksmoke

pairing: jolly karlsson x nicholas ruffilo

tags/content warning: ⚠️ 18+MDNI!! au of sorts // tattooer nick/non-bad omens band jolly,roommates to lovers, pining, rough oral sex (male receiving), handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, overstimulation, cum eating.

tag list: @concretenoah @malice-ov-mercy @sitkowski @somebodyels3 @baddestomens @cookiesupplier @collective-heartbreak @tearfallpixie @broken0mens @collapsedglasshouses @lma1986 @lacktoesandtoddlerants @meekahy @to-be-written @sammyjoeee @catharsis-in-darkness @unicornfairytail @itsafullmoon @slutfornoahsebastian @cheyyyyr @agravemisstake

word count: 4.2k

sign up for my tag list here

author’s note: this fic has been teased for quite some time now and i appreciate everyone’s patience and support as we’ve shared snippets and hyped it up. working with my bestie @deathblacksmoke has been incredible. i think we’ve created something wonderful and hope to share more with y’all in the future. thank you to our lovely @darksigns-exe for the beta 🩷

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🩷

“Where is it?!” Jolly grumbles, angrily sifting through his clothes hamper for the third time. He has checked his closet, under his bed, his drawers, the laundry room, everywhere for his favorite hoodie but it was nowhere to be found. The hoodie was a bright yellow and navy thing, very hard to miss. It was merchandise from a hockey team in his hometown in Sweden, even if they weren’t that great, it was still comfortable.

He racks his brain thinking of where it could be when he remembers his roommates' propensity to steal his clothes. Normally, Jolly wouldn’t mind sharing. The issue is that Nick takes his possessions without permission. His favorite snacks frequently disappear from the pantry; his shirts are stolen without being returned.

Jolly even found he had used the last bit of his very expensive shampoo when he was in the shower. He became so enraged that he jumped out of the shower in only a towel, covered in soap. The moment he located Nick he began shouting at him in Swedish, pointing the empty shampoo bottle at him. Nick just stood there, red-faced and flustered.

Jolly’s shampoo was left alone after that.

He surmises he’s discovered the culprit of the missing hoodie, instantly stalking down the hallway to Nick’s room. Jolly bursts through the door without knocking, annoyance plastered all over his face. The look swiftly fades as soon as he lays eyes on the younger man.

His roommate was indeed wearing his hoodie and while Jolly expected to be perturbed he instead found himself entranced. It wasn’t the hoodie itself so much but that he was only wearing the hoodie along with some white crew socks. It was so large on him that Jolly wasn’t even sure if he was wearing boxers underneath. He definitely looked, however, unable to take his eyes off how it had ridden up Nick’s thighs in the position he was sitting.

Nick says his name but it’s more of a question – an inquiry as to why Jolly just angrily stomped into his room. Jolly doesn’t answer, however, slowly backing out of the room and walking back to his own. He lies back on his bed huffing, attempting to make sense of what just happened.

They haven’t been roommates for long — maybe six months at the most. Jolly was left alone in the house after his last relationship ended. His band wasn’t big yet, but they went on small tours throughout the year. He didn’t want the house to sit by itself while he was gone so he placed an ad for a roommate.

Nick was the only person who replied that was even remotely suitable to live with. He had a job at a local tattoo shop and a good head on his shoulders. He even liked some of the same music as Jolly. Nick assured him that he was quiet and would barely know he was there, so he took a chance.

Their schedules being what they were, it was rare they saw each other during the day. Nick always stayed late at the shop and Jolly either was out of town or playing local shows late into the night. Both of them slept well into the afternoon if they didn’t have plans and kept to themselves.

One night, Jolly returned home to find Nick cooking, almost every dish in the kitchen was sitting dirty in the sink. Jolly had no idea how it took that many dishes just to make spaghetti, but he overlooked it. He teased Nick about what could possibly possess him to cook a whole meal at two in the morning and he shrugged as he handed Jolly a plate.

“My mama always told me that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Jolly remembers how he had to fight away the butterflies in his stomach that night. The sweet smile Nick gave him didn’t help. The tightness in his throat made it difficult to swallow down the feelings he wasn’t ready to deal with yet.

After that, their late-night kitchen meetings became more frequent. They weren’t always over a huge meal. Most of the time they had stove top ramen or ice cream. Jolly finally felt like he was starting to get to know his roommate more, but the more comfortable they became the more he felt the need to pull away.

Jolly found himself staring at him longer than he should. He’d walk around in nothing but thin pajama pants, his soft belly slightly protruding over the waistband. Often he would catch himself wondering how it would feel to run his hands down the sides of Nick’s torso. Was he ticklish there? What kind of soft pretty noises would he make when he nipped at the flesh by his hip bo-

Jolly shakes his head, clearing the thought out of his brain. Just the memory of his filthy ideas were enough to get him worked up. He pinches the bridge of his nose, willing the stiffening in his pants to go away.

But he does feel something — a giddy sort of nervous energy when he arrives home to find Nick’s car in the driveway, wondering what he’s up to and hoping for another chat in the kitchen. A longing for Nick not to steal his hoodies, but to give them to him to wear when they’re apart. It’s a feeling he wasn’t expecting, hasn’t known quite this well before, but it’s enough.

It’s enough to have him moving back towards Nick’s door, knocking lightly before twisting the doorknob once more.

Nick sits perched comfortably atop his bed with one knee bent up against his chest and the other looped around the front of him. His arms are wrapped around his leg, head gently laid on top of his knee. The black-rimmed glasses he wears are screwed up on his face from the angle but he doesn’t seem phased by it. His black hair is tied into a bun that shakes slightly when he laughs at whatever he’s watching on tv. Jolly can’t seem to muster the strength to look away.

Nick glances over at him, propping his chin on his knee. He speaks but Jolly can’t hear him from all of the blood rushing through his ears. He’s far too preoccupied with the way Nick’s hand is now drifting against his thigh. Jolly swallows harshly, pushing his tongue out to wet his suddenly dry lips.

Nick smirks, patting the space in front of him. Somehow Jolly manages to push himself forward to sit on the bed with him. He opens and closes his mouth a few times to speak but finds he can’t articulate his thoughts. If he’s being honest, he’s unsure if anything going through his mind should be spoken out loud.

Jolly has a hunch that Nick knows what he’s thinking about though. He doesn’t miss the way Nick’s eyes wander, from his eyes, down to his lips and back up again.

Without thinking, Jolly takes Nick’s face in his hands and kisses him firmly on the lips. There’s no discussion, no exchange of words between them, but something about the look on Nick’s face told him it was okay.

Nick fumbles with the bottom of Jolly’s shirt to tug it over his head. Jolly complains to no one in particular about the inconvenience of clothes. Nick smiles against his mouth, nipping hesitantly at Jolly’s bottom lip. He breaks the kiss, to Jolly’s protest, lying back against his pillows in an invitation for him to follow.

Using both hands to spread Nick’s legs, Jolly kneels between them. He taps a finger on Nick’s knee as he contemplates where he wants to start first. He detects a hint of self-doubt on the younger man’s face and rushes to set his mind at ease.

Their lips collide with each other, to his surprise Nick is the first to request access with his tongue and Jolly gladly allows him. He moves his hands to the hem of his hoodie, gliding them up Nick’s thighs. He jumps at the contact and gasps into Jolly’s mouth. He chuckles, continuing his exploration.

Jolly wraps his fingers around his hips squeezing at the flesh. Nick makes another sound akin to a whimper. He squeezes again, another whimper.

“Mmm.. So responsive.” Jolly says, nibbling at Nick’s lower lip. “I haven’t even made it to my favorite parts of you, yet.”

Both hands slide up Nick’s belly, pushing the hoodie up as they move. His muscles twitch when Jolly’s fingers brush at the top of his waistline and he forces himself to hide a smile. Nick is ticklish. The flesh of his stomach is just as soft on his lips as he had imagined. The noises he makes when he sinks his teeth into him are even better.

Nick’s fingers dig into Jolly’s shoulders. Jolly bites down a little harder and he hisses, earning a quiet apology and his tongue soothing the area. Nick rolls his hips but Jolly presses him back down into the mattress.

“Patience, raring,” Jolly says, dragging his tongue over the patch of hair at the bottom of his stomach. “I’m still playing.”

Jolly feels his cock twitching against his chest. It takes every ounce of restraint not to pull him out of his boxers and suck him off. He hasn’t done that in a long time, though. Probably since his mid-twenties. His skills have gone to shit.

Nick interrupts his thoughts when he wiggles beneath him, a demanding whimper commanding his attention. Jolly cocks an eyebrow, waiting for him to use his words.

“Why’d you stop?”

Jolly crawls up his body, their faces now parallel to each other. Their lips graze, and Jolly pulls away playfully when Nick tries to kiss him.

“Sorry, love.” He pins him down with the weight of his hips, grinding Nick’s hard length against his own. “Bit distracted by everything I want to do to you.”

Nick wraps his hand around the back of Jolly’s head and crashes their lips together. The surprised noise he makes at his sudden surge of confidence turns into a strangled moan as Nick pushes his hand into Jolly’s sweatpants, closing his hand around his cock.

The expertise of Nick’s hand working him over has Jolly seeing stars. His touch is just on the right side of too rough. Reluctantly, he pulls Nick’s hand from his pants. Nick makes it clear he’s not pleased, however Jolly never lets go of his wrist—spitting in his palm and returning it, moving his hand for him to spread the saliva over his cock.

He stifles his moans against Nick’s mouth, and he swallows everything Jolly offers him. It doesn’t take long before he’s buried in the crook of his neck, hips desperately jutting into Nick’s fist. He nips at every centimeter of skin he can reach, uttering praises after each one. Nick’s hand moves faster in time with his thrusts, filthy gasps flooding his ears.

His orgasm builds quickly and he wants to succumb so badly, but he pulls Nick’s hand away again. He doesn’t complain this time, a smirk playing on his lips. Jolly sits up to catch his breath, passing a hand through his hair. Nick follows, seizing the opportunity to mark up his stomach.

Jolly can’t resist admiring him as he methodically nibbles his skin and soothes the area with his tongue. His thick eyelashes flutter so prettily as he blinks. The full lips that press against his body are soft, his top lip bearing a perfectly accentuated cupid’s bow.

His nose, Jolly thinks, is his favorite part. It grazes against him and he briefly wonders what it would be like to feel it pressed into his stomach while he’s deep in Nick’s throat. A shiver runs down his spine at the thought and he absentmindedly squeezes the back of Nick’s neck. His eyelashes flutter again; blue eyes moving upward to meet Jolly’s.

“Was starting to think you would never catch the hint,” He mumbles against his stomach, sucking another bruise into the flesh. “I’ve been waiting for a long time for you to make a move.” He slides his hands down Jolly’s sides, flexing his fingers around his hips.

“As you can see, I had to take matters into my own hands,” He pulls away slightly and Jolly’s grip on his neck tightens. It eases when he sees Nick’s fingers dipping into the band of his pants pulling them down enough to release his aching cock. The way that Nick licks his lips at the sight of him is dizzying.

“You mentioned one night how it drove you crazy to see your partners wearing your clothes. So I decided I’d give it a shot.” Nick takes him in hand, collecting the mess that had gathered at his tip. Jolly bucks into his hand and he smirks. “I guess it worked, huh, baby?”

Jolly removes his hand from Nick’s neck and places both hands on his shoulders, his hold now bruising. He’s putty in his hands and Nick knows it. A cocky smile spreads across his face as he slowly jerks him, occasionally placing soft kisses and licks on the head but nothing more.

“N-Nick…” He whines.

“Do you ever think of me?” Jolly groans at the question, his mind racing through all of the times he’s come over his fist thinking about the beautiful boy beneath him. He manages out a pathetic yes, eliciting a quiet laugh from Nick.

“I’ll tell you about a time I thought of you and then you can tell me one, how about that?”

Jolly doesn’t answer, he just stares down at him in anticipation.

“That day you got mad about your shampoo,” Nick giggles. “You came out of the shower dripping wet. Face all red. Yelling at me. So angry.” He wraps his lips around him and Jolly gasps. He pulls away as soon as he feels Jolly start to push into his mouth.

“It was so hot seeing you mad, hearing you yell in Swedish. You were so upset I bet you didn’t even notice how hard I was.” He reaches his hand underneath and massages him, a quiet “fuck” falling from his lips.

“You know, we should really invest in better towels, Jolls.” Nick says, wrapping his tongue around the velvety head. “I could see the outline of your dick through that paper-thin towel you had on. I came so fucking hard touching myself that ni-”

Nick’s sentence is interrupted by Jolly’s thick cock being shoved in his mouth. He waited as long as he could, but when a pretty boy is bragging about touching himself to the thought of his cock — why shouldn’t he give him what he wants?

Nick struggles to adjust to the girth in his mouth. Jolly grips his messy bun, his other hand grabbing his chin. He soothes his jaw, encouraging him to relax. With each thrust into Nick’s mouth, his eyes fill up with tears. The way he looks up at him as he swirls his tongue around him has Jolly feeling feral.

“That’s it, Nicky. Take it all. Cocky boys get their mouths stuffed.”

Muffled gagging noises send vibrations straight through him as he hits the back of his throat. A tear rolls down Nick’s cheek and he’s quick to wipe it away with his thumb, rubbing lightly over the cheekbone as a silent check in. Nick taps his thigh once in reassurance. Jolly smiles and praises him, his fingers twisting into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You wanna know if I ever think about you, huh?” He grunts, rutting into Nick’s mouth. Nick hums in response, eyes fixed on Jolly.

“That night — God, that night you came to my show. We got really drunk afterward. You were bending over the pool table at the bar lining up your shot.”

“Had on those skin tight black jeans, fuck, when you looked back and winked at me. Knew you had caught me.” Jolly swears he can see Nick smiling around him. The glint in his eyes gives away that he remembers exactly what night he’s referring to.

“Couldn’t decide if I wanted to drag you into the bathroom or take you home and shove that pretty face of yours into the mattress.” Jolly pushes Nick’s head down further onto him and he gags. Tears fall freely from his eyes but he makes sure to give Jolly another tap to keep going.

“Instead I just fucked my fist in the shower when we got home. Moaning your name and hoping you couldn’t hear me.”

Nick moans at his confession, swallowing around him. Jolly throws his head back, pulling his hair by the roots. He slows down, drawing himself down his tongue until he pops out of Nick’s mouth. Gasping for air, he immediately grabs Jolly’s shaft to place him between his lips. Jolly laughs, pulling him off of him by his hair.

“Is my pretty boy drunk on my cock?” He breathes. Nick nods almost too eagerly, saliva falling from his open mouth. Jolly licks his lips, dragging them between his teeth. “Do you want me to fuck you like I’ve wanted to all this time? Fuck you in my hoodie and make you mine?”

Nick scrambles up Jolly’s torso to beg against his lips. Jolly lets him plead, plant kiss after kiss against him, relishing in the moment he’s wanted for so long. He gently pushes him back onto the bed, leaving Nick looking bewildered. He discards his sweatpants on the side of the bed, never breaking eye contact.

At the sight of Nick on his back for him, wide-eyed and eager but so very shy, his brain empties. This beautiful boy, putting all his trust in him, so pretty and pliable—he has to give himself a moment to enjoy it, to find his center.

Slowly, he lowers himself to cover Nick’s body with his own. As he kisses him, he savors the way Nick sighs into his mouth, threading his fingers through Jolly’s hair and relaxing further into the mattress.

He suddenly finds himself underdressed, completely bare above a mostly-clothed Nick, and he needs it to change immediately. Nick lets out the prettiest little whine when his boxers are slid down his legs. It’s music to his ears.

“Do you have—” he starts to say, burying his face in Nick’s neck, exasperated. Almost all of his confidence from moments ago has dissipated. It’s been a long time, is the thing. Without putting much thought into it, he couldn’t say when he last did this. He came in here so unprepared. But he has to get inside him. “Do you have lube, Nicky?”

Nick nods urgently. Jolly swears he can feel him vibrating beneath him.

“Bedside table,” he says. “Top drawer.”

He feels out of his element, shaky and unsure as he pours some lube out onto his fingers. He’s not exactly a novice, he has experience, but something about Nick and this entire situation makes him feel like a blushing virgin again. He has to make this good for him. He has to make it perfect so he can have it again.

Lying on his tummy with Nick’s legs slung over his shoulders, it all feels so real. Nick is the one presenting himself, vulnerable and bare for Jolly for the first time, but it’s Jolly who feels on display. It’s Jolly who feels like he has a hell of a lot to prove.

He gets his bearings with an experimental little swipe of his index finger around the tight ring of muscle. Nick moans so sweetly at the first push in, relaxing for him impressively, and Jolly finds his confidence coming back to him.

“Jolls,” Nick whines, already bearing down impatiently on his finger. The squirming has him wondering if he should press a hand to his hip, hold him down, but he decides against it. He’ll let the boy have his fun. “Jolls, please, more. I need it, baby, please.”

Never one to say no to such a pretty boy, especially when he begs like that, so polite, so sweet, he adds another finger. The relaxation, once again, is immediate. Nick accepts him so readily, almost like he was prepared for this but—no, he won’t think about that. Even as he pulls his fingers back out, going back in with a third just to see.

It’s a stretch, but barely. It’s suspiciously easy.

“You’re already open, aren’t you, love?” Jolly asks. Though the angle isn’t perfect to see Nick’s expression, he can see the way Nick lifts his hand and covers his face, so fucking shy. “Taking my fingers so easily, Nicky. You’ve been playing with this pretty little hole, haven’t you?”

God, he wishes he could see his face. He wishes he could have a hand on his soft skin as it heats with embarrassment like he knows it is right now. It’s enough, though, to see the way Nick nods so urgently. He knew it.

“Please, Joakim,” Nick gasps. He’s so desperate for it. Jolly thinks he feels pretty similar. “I need you to fuck me.”

How could he ever say no to that?

For all of the urgency he felt previously, suddenly he finds himself no longer needing to rush. The man who is so beautifully wrapped around him breathes into him like he’s his only source of oxygen. He continues to meet Jolly’s thrusts even as they slow into a languid pace.

The slower Jolly moves inside of him, the more anguished Nick’s whimpers become. He presses his head against the pillow, moaning Joakim repeatedly and he isn’t sure he can go back to hearing him call him Jolly ever again.

He kisses the tears streaming down Nick’s face, whispering quiet praises. Alternating between his neck and clavicle, he leaves soft bites marking his territory. They’re mostly for him. A reminder to himself that this moment is real. For once, he’s not going to open his eyes and it all be a fantasy.

Jolly grabs the headboard for leverage; pushing long and deep strokes into him. His other hand holds onto his waist, pinning him down to keep him in place. He feels Nick squirm beneath him, desperate for more.

“J-Joakim.. Ahh.. Please..”

“Shh. It’s okay, love.” Jolly whispers into his skin. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Nick threads his hands into his hair, pulling him in for a needy, wet kiss. His efforts to plead for more again fail as Jolly grinds deep into him. He feels Nick’s legs tremble around him and he doesn’t mind when they loosen a little. He runs his hand up his thigh, back to his hip, and underneath his hoodie to Nick’s dripping cock.

He cries out, arching his chest into Jolly’s as he begins to jerk him just as slowly as he rocks into him. Nick whimpers something unintelligible, squeezing his eyes shut. Jolly observes him as he falls apart beneath him, never imagining anything or anyone could be this perfect.

“I-I.. F- Oh-oh my god.” Nick stutters, dragging his lips between his teeth.

“I know, baby. It’s a lot isn’t it?”

Jolly’s question is answered when he feels Nick clench around him. He loses his grip on the headboard nearly falling on top of him but manages to recover in time. His resolve breaks, snapping his hips and moving his fist over Nick faster. He gasps then whines and Jolly fucks him harder, desperate for him to make that sound again. Nick’s cock twitches in his hand, and he feels him tighten once again.

“You’re so close, raring. I can feel it. Let go for me, I’ve got you.”

Nick chokes out a sob; white hot ropes of cum pulse over Jolly’s hand and onto Nick’s belly. Nick watches as he works him through it, panting, fingers clutching the sheets. Jolly presses their foreheads together and their eyes meet. Nick pushes his hair out of his face, pressing their lips together. Jolly sighs against his mouth, kissing him harder, lips curling into a smile before he’s gasping and releasing inside of him.

He’s barely caught his breath before he releases his hold on Nick, pushing his semen coated fingers into his mouth. Jolly hums, savoring the flavor - he tastes just as good as he imagined. Nick wraps his hand around his wrist, tugging his hand towards his own mouth. Jolly smirks, allowing him to taste what remained of him. It’s a filthy yet beautifully intimate moment between them, and he can’t look away.

They settle into each other's arms, sinking as far into the mattress as possible. The silence between them is comfortable. He listens as Nick’s pulse slows down; the rise and fall of his chest lulling him into a sense of security. He wants to tell him everything, every single thought and feeling roaming inside of his head. For the moment, he’s perfectly content laying here with his beautiful boy, softening inside of him.

Jolly’s fingers twist around the hoodie strings. It’s almost funny how upset he was such a short while ago. He can’t imagine it belonging to anyone but Nick now.

[babydollmarauders]

Okay, I am here with Frat!Jack thoughts

1.) Baby doll likes hickeys but doesn't like having to bundle up when the weather starts getting warmer coz lil sensory issues with sweating (girl same) so jack comprises with leaving them in her thighs just BARELY covered by her skirt.

2.) Frat!Jack finally pulling his head out his ass and coming back for his girl coz Luke said she was going on a date (she wasn't) to a coffee shop (it was the first time she'd left the house semi presentable in days) with a guy on the basketball team (god fucking forbid) and Jack's brain was just *car crash noises* and he came storming in like "YOU'RE MY WOMAN BE GONE THIEF." except no thief. Just baby doll like 😧

3.) Hockey Frat House is a big party house for the girlies coz the guys drink their respect women juice coz Queen Ellen is feared and beloved

4.) everyone on the devil's (once jack gets head out his ass) expecting the rookie to be a little fratboy shithead chasing puck bunnies except first game Baby doll comes too he's all 😍😍 wife guy but in the not weird way and the team is like. Okay.... Sure.

5.) That icebreaker scene that blew up on Tiktok of the main dude coming to get his girl to come back to bed with him in the middle of a party in just his boxers to cuddle? That. Twice.

6.) Jack being given a Taylor swift style friendship bracelet that's bright pink that says Babydoll on it as a joke but he wears it ALL THE TIME.

7.) Trevor being absolutely scandalised whenever they so much as look at each other. Because obviously.

....I have other au thoughts....

addressing these one by one!!

1. babydoll loves hickeys but no one loves them more than jack! his absolute favorite thing is to mark her up! they definitely compromise by letting him give them to her only in spaces that can be covered by her skirts. jack goes a bit overboard sometimes,, i’m talking upper thighs, hip bones, lower stomach, ass, ALL OVER THAT AREA and babydoll gives him a look like “really?”.

2. i’m a firm believer that babydoll and luke become besties when he gets to umich and jack hates it but loves it at the same time. but it definitely comes in handy during times like that when jack and babydoll are on a break and luke pulls some matchmaking strings to get get them back together.

3. oh for sure! i mean, the guys might be fuckboys, but they’re respectful! most certainly because they know Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t hesitate to yell at them if she heard they were anything but respectful!

4. the devils guys definitely expect some cocky fuckboy frat boy, so when jack arrives and won’t stop mentioning his beautiful girlfriend and talks about how he misses her because she’s still in Michigan for another year? the team is shocked and just like “oh?? okay then…”. there’s definitely still a few teammates that expect him to be sleeping with puck bunnies the first chance he gets, but then at their first team outing at the bar after a winning game, jack is just incredibly drunk and moaning about how he just wants his girl and turning down any other girl who comes up to him.

5. that happens at least twice! just a sleepy and still a bit tipsy jack, wandering down the stairs of the frat in nothing but his boxers, earning quite a few whistles and shouts as he walks straight to babydoll— boy will not take no for an answer, he doesn’t even give her the time to say anything, he just lifts her into his arms and turns back around and straight back to his room. babydoll is just looking at him stunned and goes “jacky, what are you doing?” and he’s all pouty, replying with “you left. i need cuddles.”

6. he definitely receives the bracelet at a sorority party that one of babydoll’s friends put together. all the other guys that got bracelets with their girls names on them threw the bracelets away, but not jack. that bracelet becomes a staple in his wardrobe, only coming off to shower.

7. oh god, babydoll and jack even breathe in the same vicinity and trevor is giving them the most disgusted look, telling them to “get a room.” and “not everyone wants your love disease, some of us don’t wanna see that.” and jack and babydoll are just “?????”

[penaltyboxboxbox]

big fan of both your f1 and hockey stuff but im just now discovering your 829 stuff and im rly obsessed like omg u get it and thank god somebody does! they’ve been hollowing out my brain completely for the last month and i cant even say why

thank you! it is always so funny to me when people bring up 829 because me and my friends collectively suffered from an insane 829 summer where we created the most insane level aus and fanart like i truly dont know what came over us........one day ill share all that work but heres a few random favs

[fiapartridge]

quinn x oona | how they met pt. 1! 🚙🌃✨

author's note: this is like kinda how they met??? like when they first saw each other, but they haven't learned each other's names yet, you know???? anyways hope u enjoy their little universe! send in asks for this au!

Who has a party at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday in the middle of February? Stupid ass people, that’s who, and Oona was ready to blast a hole through the wall that connected her living room to the apartment beside it. Honest to God, the only thing that was stopping her from going full-on Hulk on that piece of thin fiber cement was, well, the landlord and her roommate, Grace Castellan (Gracie to everyone who knows her, and ‘that one talkative white girl’ to everyone who didn’t).

Oona met Gracie in her first year at NYU. They were in their Intro to Theatre Studies class when Gracie talked up the ear of anyone in a 10-mile radius of her, and the only person who didn’t mind and actually enjoyed Gracie’s endless tangent of how blackholes are somehow exactly like the Kardashians’ reality show, was Oona. They sat next to each other for the rest of the semester, and once they graduated college, they decided to move back to their home city of Vancouver, Canada where, coincidentally, they both were from, using this time to audition for roles and hopefully land themselves a part that will guarantee them a ticket to Hollywood, or at least a ticket back to New York (rent is hard to manage there when you’re living off of small commercial roles and hand modeling gigs).

As Oona sat on her living room couch, a snoring Gracie and her long pajama-covered (they have unicorns on them) legs were limp across Oona as she tried to push her tired limbs off and slip towards the door without making a peep. But, much to Oona’s sheer luck (she isn’t a very lucky girl), a peep was made and there Gracie was, sitting up in so much alarm you would think that an intruder just busted through the door and screamed at her to put her hands up.

“I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING! OONA HAS MONEY STORED IN HER UNDERWEAR DRAWER! PLEASE DON’T KILL US!” Gracie screamed, still half-asleep and disoriented.

Oona groaned, lightly slapping Gracie’s cheek. “No one’s here, you psycho. I’m just getting up to go somewhere.”

Gracie peeled her eyes open, brushing her messy hair with the tips of her pink-and-white-painted fingernails. “Where are you going at,” she took a moment to check the Apple watch on her wrist. “2:56 AM?”

Oona walked closer to the door, slipping on a pair of Uggs and tying her hair into a messy bun, pulling out strands to frame her face correctly. “Do you not hear that? They’re louder than your brother was at that time we went to the mall and he was screaming at you to buy him that ugly RC car.”

Gracie shivered. “I’ve gotten a lot of weird looks in my lifetime, but those 40 year old women in the toy aisle of Sears? I still get chills.”

“See? Now I’m going to go over there and make them wish they never even moved here.”

Gracie rolled her eyes. “No way. The last time you said something like that, you ended up being the one apologizing. You’re the biggest pushover I have ever met.”

Oona scoffed. “Am not! I just—”

“Want everyone to like you,” Gracie interrupted. She was right. Gracie was always right when it came to Oona, but Oona would never admit that. She was a people pleaser, but who was that hurting? If she said yes to everything and if she was nice to everyone, then no one was sad and no one got what they didn’t want. Well, except for Oona.

Sighing, she said, “I’m just gonna go talk to them. Maybe they’ll come to their senses.”

Gracie laughed, tilting her head back slightly. “Yeah, right. I saw them on the elevator last week; they’re hockey douchebags to the max.”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They’re having a party at almost 3 AM, if you combined every player on that team, they would probably make up one brain cell, and I can smell the beer from here, but yeah, sure they’re great people.”

“Fine, fine,” Oona huffed. “But I’m still gonna talk to them. Maybe they’ll change,” she smiled, a too optimistic smile for a dire-looking situation. Because who ever heard of a hockey player changing his ways? No one, that’s who.

Opening the door, Oona walked the small five steps over to the neighboring apartment. She knocked once, twice, three times, even. Nothing. The blaring music must’ve drowned out her pounding knocks. Just as she was about to go in for a fourth, the door opened and her body quickly went with it. 

“Woah there,” a voice echoed through her ears, holding her body up as his hands softly gripped her arms. She stumbled back, landing on her two feet and managing to stay vertical despite the embarrassment rushing through her cheeks and the small little voice in her brain telling her to get the hell out of there immediately. 

The man standing in front of her was tall, taller than anyone she knew, and he had short blonde hair and the clearest green eyes she had ever seen. He had an accent that she wasn’t too familiar with. German maybe? Or possibly Swedish? 

“Um, do you live here?” she asked, tapping her nails against the metal frame of the door. And looking beyond the tall Swedish man, she could tell that it wasn’t much of a party, but a hangout. More tall men were lingering in the living room, beers in hand and potato chips spilled on every counter. On the center island in the kitchen lay an abandoned plate of celery and carrots, most likely a tribute to their strict hockey diets that apparently no one was following.

He shook his head.

“Okay,” she talked slowly. “Um, do you know who lives here?”

“Yep.”

Breathing deeply, Oona tapped her fingers a bit harsher against the doorframe, still maintaining a gentle smile on her (now) slightly red face. “Can you bring them here? I need to talk to…whoever it is.”

Nodding, he turned around, cupping his mouth with his large hands and yelling, “Huggy!” before waving him over to where they stood at the entryway.

Huggy? Oona chuckled at the nickname. Who nicknames a ferocious hockey player Huggy?

But as the shorter boy moved through, somehow, still energetic bodies and met the two at the door, Oona felt something crawl around her stomach and make the fading red of her cheeks come back in harsher hues. His hair was a chestnut color and it looked soft and smooth, like you could run your hands through it a million times and it still wouldn’t be enough. He wore a gray hoodie and black jeans, his hands in his pockets as he smiled politely at the blushing girl.

“Can I help you?”

Her mouth ran dry as she licked her lips. She tucked the thin strands of black hair behind her ear and proceeded (or tried to proceed). “It’s 3 AM and I’m trying to sleep,” Oona said, hoping he would take the hint and quiet down a bit.

He scoffed, smirking with his cute lips and his cute hair and his cute gray hoodie that looks so soft you just want to wrap your cold body in it. And it probably smells good, too. It probably smells like his scent in the mornings, woodsy yet fresh like white linen sheets and candles that would make you think he has a woman living with him, but nope. That’s just him. But Oona’s just guessing. Not to make things weird or anything. She’s totally not dreaming about what her handsome neighbor’s hoodie smells like because that would be weird—haha. Totally weird.

He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over themselves, and while he wasn’t as tall as the man that initially opened the door, he made Oona feel just as small. His smile was infectious, but not in a big ‘bring it in, let’s hug way,’ but in a more sultry way. Like you can feel a rollercoaster rumbling in your stomach despite him not saying a single word. 

“Are you?” he asked.

She laughed at that because there was no way that he was serious. It didn’t even sound like a question, God it sounded like…like flirting? But that wasn’t even the bizarre thing, no the bizarre thing was that somehow made Oona 10 times angrier. Why was he flirting with her? Does he think that she’ll just fall into his trap and let it all slide? Does he think that she’s just a stupid girl that he can get to do anything he says? Because that’s not Oona Hashimoto. Not in the slightest. And if he wants to play that game, then fine. 

Let’s play that game.

She stepped closer, her hand landing on his bicep as he stuttered for a moment. Like he was on high alert all of a sudden. His eyes wandered down to her hand, and then he relaxed because she was falling right into the palm of his hand, so he thought. She raised her head, staring him right in his deep green eyes. She pouted a bit, changing her whole demeanor. Because they’re playing the same game here. It’s just a matter of who will crack first.

“Please?” she asked, gazing up at him with brown doe eyes. “I won’t say a word after tonight. Just do this one thing? Please?”

He sighed, straightening up and causing her hand to fall off his bicep. “As much as I’d love to do that,” he grinned. “I don’t want to.”

Her brows furrowed, her doe eyes turning into burning rage, and lips turning from a pout to a pissed off frown. “What do you mean you ‘don’t want to?’”

He shrugged. “Exactly that. Goodnight,” he smiled before placing his hand on the door and slowly shutting it before Oona held it open, scoffing.

“No, you don’t get to be an asshole and then just shut the door on me. All I’m asking is for you to just turn down the music!” 

“Yeah, well it sounds like the person being loud is you,” he pointed. Bending down to Oona’s level, he whispered, “You’re shouting.”

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“Yeah, you said it a couple of times. Can I go now or do you want to keep going?”

Oona crossed her arms, fury burning through her veins as she watched him smile as if he did nothing wrong. As if he was enjoying this. “Go to hell.”

“See ya there, neighbor.”

[nicohischierz]

kidnapping’s and babying: devs!player au

tagging: @ivy-34, @francesfarhadi, @hzstry8, @cixrosie, @itsnotgray, @estapa94, @trevs-swiftie, @heartz4hischif you want to join the taglist let me know!!

saira had been asleep under the care of ellen who couldn’t wait to spend time with the new baby.

this meant that you were able to watch the devils play against the blackhawks. jack thought it was because you missed him and nico thought it was because you loved watching your fiancé play.

both of them were wrong.

you were there to steal connor bedard from the chicago blackhawks.

the young canadian ran to you, enveloping you in his arms.

despite him being at your house that morning he missed you.

“no saira?” he asked, looking around for the little girl.

“not today kiddo. mama hughes is in town and she wanted to look after her so i could come to the game,” you explained.

connor nodded and continued following you around like a lost puppy.

he listened as you gave him advice that he was actually doing really well and the people who said he isn’t are just envious.

connor then listened to you complain about not being able to play any hockey and how you and nico were taking saira to ubs arena for pwhl new york’s home opener.

“do you think i could ask for a trade?” connor asked.

you looked around the corridor before taking connor’s hand and dragging him to the trainers room.

“what’s going on con? i thought you said you were settling in,” you questioned.

connor shrugged. “i don’t know. i mean i love playing hockey but everyone wants me to do so much and i don’t think i can,” he answered, tears brimming his eyes.

you pulled him in for one last hug before he had to go for warm ups. “you are doing amazing con and i’m so proud of you. we’re halfway through the season bud and then you can have the break you need and if you still want a trade then come back and talk to me,”

the younger canadian nodded his head and gave you one last squeeze before making his way to the visitors locker room.

nico had found you before he took the ice and kissed your forehead before noticing the tear stains on your cheek.

“schatzi, are you okay?” your fiancé asked.

you smiled and kissed his lips.

“you go out there and show those guys how the devils do it,��� you advised.

the game went along swimmingly. sure, the hawks scored first but alex had scored in the second and made you happy.

you made your way down from the box when you saw jack heading into the medics room.

“is he okay? did you find a brain?” you asked your trainer.

she laughed and shook her head. “no brain, sorry y/n/n. but he should live,”

you went over and squeezed jack’s cheek. “i guess this means you’re stuck with me and said a for a bit,” you joked.

jack laughed and pulled you in for a hug. “i’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.

“i’m just sorry you won’t be able to play against quinn tomorrow.”

you and jack continued talking when someone else entered the medics room. both of you turned to find the youngest member in the league clutching his jaw.

“oh my gosh connor!” you exclaimed, abandoning jack.

the middle hughes whined when you turned your attention away from him.

“i think he’s got a broken jaw but he’ll have to head back to chicago and get it checked out,” the medic, mckayla, answered.

you nodded and held the ice pack to connor’s jaw.

“do you think i could take him and they wouldn’t notice?” you asked allowed. jack laughed whilst mckayla looked terrified.

“i’m just kidding …” you trailed off, winking at connor.

[letsgetrowdy43]

An Unexpected Surprise ☆—

Here have a Littlest Hughes thought that has been bouncing around in the back of my brain for the past two days :)

Au Masterlist!!

As I've stated before Honey and Quinn had a shotgun wedding when they learned about their unexpected pregnancy.

Now picture this, Honey knows something is off with her body, she just has this gut instinct that something isn't right so she takes a test secretly. The moment the positive sign appears on the little plastic stick her heart is in the pit of her stomach, so many things bouncing around in her head.

They live in a small apartment, where's the baby gonna play? She now needs to look into the Canadian maternity leave policy. What about Quinn and roadies, she's barely got any support without him, how is she gonna do it alone? Are they even ready for this responsibility? She knows Quinn wanted to be a younger dad, but was he willing to do it this early? She's just standing in their bathroom absolutely spiralling.

Quinn hears the gasp that leaves her mouth as she stands quietly in their shared bathroom. Brows furrowed he makes his way into the bathroom to see her frozen in shock with a positive test in her hands, he reaches forward to gently take it from her, his face stuck in a state of worry as he places it back down on the bathroom counter and leaves without saying a word.

Tears start to form in Honey's eyes as Quinn exits the bathroom wordlessly, an unreadable look on his face as he just walks out. So she's stuck there contemplating everything, but unwilling to chase after him, knowing he might need a moment to collect himself. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she re-read the box to ensure she did everything correctly, to make sure it wasn't just a false positive.

Quinn walked back in silently again, but this time he looks a bit more emotional, his hand finding hers and making him look at her. "Sorry, I just needed to grab something," he whispers as she collapses right into his chest, her hands desperately gripping his shirt as he holds her for a second.

"I need to give you something," he mumbled into the crown of her head as she pulled away from him, mascara all over her face as her hands flatten out his shirt that she wrinkled, in his hands was his great-grandmother's engagement ring, an oval-shaped emerald sat on the gold band as he got down on his knee. "Please don't propose to me just cause I'm pregnant," she whispered helplessly as her fingers ran through his messy hair. "I'm not I promise, I had this big elaborate plan put together, our parents would be there, our brothers, it was nice," he shrugged, "but I saw the test, and just felt like I couldn't wait another second without it on your finger, cause we are us, Quinn and Honey, and we are meant to be. You are my forever, and now the mother of my baby, so I just think the world would feel wrong if I waited another minute with this thing just sitting in my hockey bag," he said it like a confession, a shy smile of his face as she wiped her tears.

"Please stand up so I can kiss you, and you can put the ring on me" she mumbled, her hands squeezing his shoulder. "You have to say yes first Hun," a smirk danced on his lips as she rolled her eyes. "Of course, it's a yes," she said sweetly as he slipped the ring onto her finger, standing up and crashing his lips into hers, a hand guiding her face to his as her hands wrapped around his neck.

She pulled away momentarily, "I love you" she mumbled against him, a sickly sweet smile on her face as his face dipped down to kiss her jaw, neck, and then collarbone before pulling away to finally look her in the eyes, "we're getting married," she said, kissing his cheek. "We are gonna be parents" he grinned as his hand on her hip slid to touch her stomach.

-

-

-

[kiwiana-writes]

2023 Writing Round Up

Thanks @welcometololaland and @rmd-writes for the tags! It’s been a weird year; there was definitely a point at which I thought I was done with sharing my writing publicly, but here we are 😂

JANUARY

Brain break 😁

FEBRUARY

We knew we were the fortunate ones [The Last of Us; Bill/Frank; rated E; 2,294 words]

First times are both awkward and exciting, apocalypse or no apocalypse.

MARCH

My mind has been expanded [Schitt’s Creek; David/Patrick; rated T; 422 words]

In which the author David finds out their his spouse has never seen Rocky Horror

Got me an appetite, now I can taste it [Schitt’s Creek; David/Patrick; rated E; 3,002 words]

Kink!verse s05e12: chastity cage for @minerforaheartofgold

APRIL-JUNE

Brain break 😁

JULY

We were supposed to find this [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated M; 3,384 words]

The canon-adjacent soulmarks fic

Honey lips and words so true [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated E; 1,580 words]

A smutty little prompt fill for @rmd-writes

All the city lights on the water [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated T; 500 words]

A series of NYE drabbles as a prompt fill for @hullomoon

Before this all goes grey [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated T; 455 words]

A painfully soft Paris morning prompt fill for @stereopticons

Looking like our bodies might fuse [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated T; 637 words]

Post-canon paparazzi feelings prompt fill for @hullomoon

Just come along, baby, take my hand [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated E; 1,335 words]

The ‘Alex and Henry watch Netflix’s How to Build a Sex Room’ fic @celeritas2997 made me write

Feel your hands in my hair and you whisper my name [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated E; 2,508 words]

The barbershop meet-horny for @celeritas2997

AUGUST

With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest) [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated E; 65,586 words]

Actor AU, Alex and Henry performing in a queer reimagining of Much Ado About Nothing

SEPTEMBER

Bukkake Breaky Heart [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated E; 2,532 words]

Alex has a fantasy. Henry makes it happen.

Empty your heart of its mortal dream [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated G; 3,641 words]

Alex steps inside a fairy circle and Fey Prince Henry appears

The star to every wandering bark [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated T; 3,895 words]

A 5+1 coda set during the epilogue of With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest)

I don’t know if I should go with XX Pro or Valencia [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated T; 2,854 words]

Henry sends a thirst trap to his ex… or does he?

OCTOBER

Kinktober 2023 [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated E; 6,200 words]

31 days, 31 kinky double drabbles

I’ve carried this song in my mind [RWRB; Arthur&Henry, Alex/Henry; rated T; 2,529 words]

Five times Arthur tries to get Alex and Henry together from beyond the grave, and one time two times his intervention isn’t needed.

Handprints in wet cement [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated E; 2,421 words]

Five things Henry learned during his Oxford Slut Phase that he shared with Alex, and one thing they learned together.

NOVEMBER

Puck It [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated E; 9,739 words]

College AU, Alex as a NCAA division I, NHL-drafted hockey player

Kinda think that I might be his type [RWRB; Alex/Henry, Alex&Bea; rated E; 12,864 words]

Alex agrees to be his friend's fake boyfriend for a weekend. He is not prepared for his friend's brother.

A Practical Arrangement [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated E; WIP 1/3 chapters, 6,136 words published, to be finished before the end of the year]

An anachronism stew, royalty-arranged-marriage AU

DECEMBER

All Those Christmas Clichés [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated M; WIP 16/25 chapters, 4,800 words published]

Daily triple drabbles: snapshots of the lead-up to Christmas 2023.

Puck It Real Good [RWRB; Alex/Henry; rated E; 1,793 words]

A smutty interlude set during Puck It

Tagging @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @dumbpeachjuice @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @myheartalivewrites @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @tintagel-or-cockleshells and, as always, anyone who wants to play!

[slafkovskys]

All of this start of the season Jack content is making me feel things!!! All I can think about is him and older Norris reader after the ring toss! What does he plan for the date? How does it go? What is everyone in their lives reactions to it? Does she go to Jersey with him? Jess your writing is so immaculate this AU has infiltrated my brain😂🥰

read part one here :)

as she hears his footsteps descending the steps, she thinks about how she wouldn't be doing this for anyone else, especially not on a first date.

her dress and heels were long abandoned in a guest room, instead exchanged for a pair of jack’s sweatpants and a too big t-shirt from her college days she had left at the hughes brothers’ house at some point during her many trips there over the past few weeks. her hair was now pulled away from her face, the fact that she had moved her wash day for the occasion be damned.

“so,” he lets out a big sigh before quite literally falling onto the l-shaped part of the sofa beside her. she’s got her legs tucked underneath her, a wine glass held tight in one hand, and her head resting on another on the back of the couch. the remote is resting on her thigh and all either of them had to do was press play on the third mighty ducks movie (“it’s better than miracle, jack. not even an argument,” and she quickly learned that jack does whatever she wants, so that was an easy debate to have before he retreated to shower) that had been queued on the screen for the past twenty minutes. instead, jack throws an arm lazily over her legs, gives her that stupid grin of his she’s become obsessed with, and nods, “tell me about y/n.”

“you know about y/n,” she states as though it was a fact, which it was. they weren’t strangers to each other in the slightest, having been somewhat background characters in each other’s lives for the last eight years.

“no, i don’t. i know about the y/n whose posts i see on instagram or whatever updates my mom tells me she’s learned from your mom. that doesn’t count,” his index finger traces the outside seam of the pants she was wearing from her calf, to just above her knee, and back, “i want to know about the y/n in front of me.”

“okay then,” she takes a deep breath, swirling her wine around in her glass before taking a sip, “i was born here in michigan, but moved to germany for a little while when my dad was still playing. before you ask me, no, the only german i can remember is my old address and how to tell them i was lost. when we moved back here, i picked up hockey for a couple of years before deciding to leave it to the boys-”

“you played defense, right?” jack interrupts, staring at her with such an interest.

she hums, “why do you think i always win when me and my brothers fight? i had potential, but it really just wasn’t for me.”

“is that so? because i remember a certain tipsy moment a few weeks ago where you said you quit because you didn’t like the colors of the uniform.”

“that may have been a contributing factor, but i was fourteen and very fashion-conscious. you can’t hold that against me,” she rolls her eyes. she catches sight of the wristbands on his arm and she can’t help but to reach down and tug on them as she resumes her story, “anyway, graduated high school, moved to minnesota for college. go gophers-”

“debatable,” he teases.

“got my degree in communications. thought that i met the love of my life in the backyard of a sigma chi frat house, which we both know how that worked out. moved down to florida, got engaged, called off the engagement, and now i’m back living with my parents. i have lived a life, jack hughes,” she sighs as she finishes off her glass. she didn’t miss the way that his face twitched at the mention of derek and how she just barely ghosted over what had happened. due to the movement, his damp hair had fallen over his eyes and she reached out to push it away, “it’s going to take more than one glass of wine and a first date to get into the good stuff.”

“but i already knew all of that,” he huffs, “tell me something that i don’t already know. tell me about something that makes you happy.”

“recently?” she quirks an eyebrow and he hums, “honestly, you.”

and jack’s world comes to a screeching halt. for as long as he had known her, she wasn’t the type to get sentimental, vulnerable, but over the last two months, he felt that he had seen more versions of her than he knew existed. from the first night she was home, to that plane ride to florida to get her things, to watching her toss her engagement ring into the water right outside his house, it wasn’t enough. he wanted, no he needed more of her. he needed to know every single version of her, every single story, every single emotion that she had to offer him.

her eyes find his and he squeezes her knee, a silent ask. he watches as her throat bobs and just as he goes to crane his neck up to meet her, an alarm sounds. that stupid fucking pizza.

after scouring the entire grocery store, they couldn’t find any pre-breaded chicken for chicken parm and neither of them wanted to bother with doing it themselves. so that’s how they found themselves snatching up a premade pizza with a reduced sticker on the front because its sell-by date was that day and even though jack insisted on getting one that was fresher, she only rolled her eyes and insisted it would taste the same. he, of course, let her sit it in the basket along with the thing of cookies she suddenly had a craving for the second she laid eyes on them. the way her face lit up made it worth the extra work he was going to have to put in later.

despite the insistent beeping from the stove timer, neither of them dared to make a move to go and pull the pizza from the oven. she blinks, “we should probably go and check on it…”

“i think that it can wait for a couple of minutes,” and yeah, it definitely could, because jack was leaning in and so was she. the second their lips meet it’s like nothing either of them had felt before. the build-up, the tension between the two of them over the summer was worth it as they melted into the kiss.

jack’s hand grips onto her thigh while her hand cradles his cheek. it was easy to get lost in each other, lips moving against one another’s like they’d been doing this forever. only when the need for air becomes too great do they pull away panting, still holding onto each other like either would disappear at any given second.

“we really should go check on the pizza,” she insists, swearing she can smell the cheese starting to burn.

he frowns, “can we do more of that later?”

“if you hurry back, you don’t have to wait that long,” she incentivizes and jack is all but scrambling towards the kitchen with the sounds of her laughter following behind him.

yeah, this was definitely something they could get used to.

(they never did hit play on the movie and the pizza didn’t burn, but it didn’t get eaten either. they were too lost in each other to even bother slicing through the crispy dough as it grew colder and colder on the countertop. oh well.)