#Should I even ask how your week has been?

[misaerabl]

Down, Girl

CONTENT: wc…9.7k ✦ toxic reader, loser ellie, oral sex (e!receiving), reader riding ellies face, fingering (both receiving), you eat ellie out in the bathroom, reader is a freak, more commanding, possessive, and is a bitch to everyone, uh you didn’t let her cum, reader guilt tripping ellie. SUMMARY: Ellie has always been yours—pathetic, desperate, following you around like a stray dog hoping for scraps. She worships you, does whatever you say, lets you push her around because she thinks maybe one day, you’ll love her back. You just like the attention. But then something shifts. Ellie starts pulling away, making friends that aren’t you, not always answering when you call. She’s still there, still yours, but she’s hesitating. You can’t have that. So you remind her—she belongs to you.

February 8, Afternoon.

You’re used to having Ellie right where you want her.

It’s almost funny, how easy it is. You press a little, and she bends. You pull, and she follows. Always so eager, always so desperate. It’s adorable, really. The way she watches you like you’re something holy. Like she’s lucky just to be near you.

You lean against her locker, waiting. The hallway is loud, but you don’t hear any of it. You’re too focused on the fact that she’s late. She’s never late.

She shows up two minutes later, looking like she rushed over. “Hey,” she breathes, pushing her hair back, shifting under your gaze.

You tilt your head. “Didn’t see you this morning.”

Ellie scratches the back of her neck. “Yeah, I—uh, I had to finish something.”

Your eyes flick over her, taking in the way she won’t quite meet your gaze. She looks guilty. She should.

You step closer, your voice honeyed but sharp. “You’re not avoiding me, are you?”

Her head snaps up, wide-eyed. “No! No, I just—”

You hum, watching her squirm. Cute. “Good.”

You don’t have to say anything else. Ellie falls in step with you like always. Like she doesn’t even realize you just put a leash back around her neck.

You met Ellie Williams when you were thirteen.

Back then, she was just some scrawny, awkward kid with too many freckles and a closet full of ugly hoodies. The kind of girl who looked like she belonged in the background of a school photo, forgotten as soon as the camera flashed.

You were different. You had a presence—one that people noticed. And Ellie? She noticed you the most.

You don’t remember the exact moment she started following you around. It just happened. One day, she was a classmate. The next, she was yours.

It started small. She’d let you copy her homework, save you a seat at lunch, carry your things without you asking. She never expected anything in return. She just wanted to be close to you.

You liked that.

So you let her in, just enough to keep her hooked. Just enough to make her think she had a chance.

Now, years later, nothing has changed.

Ellie still follows you like a lost dog, still waits for your texts, still lights up when you so much as look at her. You let her sleep in your bed sometimes—when you’re feeling generous. You let her drive you places, take care of you when you’re drunk, clean up your messes.

She doesn’t complain. She never does.

But lately, something feels… off.

She hesitates before answering your texts. She doesn’t wait for you after class like she used to. You caught her sitting with some new people at lunch last week. When you asked about it, she stammered out some excuse, but it didn’t matter. You already knew—she was getting comfortable somewhere else.

You can’t have that.

So now, as you walk beside her, your fingers brush over hers—light, teasing, just enough to make her breath hitch.

“Missed you,” you murmur, voice sweet. “You’ve been distant.”

Ellie swallows hard. “I haven’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to—”

You grip her wrist, stopping her in the middle of the hallway. She looks down at you, startled.

You smile, tilting your head. “Then don’t.”

She nods. Just like that, the hesitation is gone. Just like that, she’s yours again.

Good girl.

Ellie’s house is small, lived-in, the kind of place that smells like old books, laundry detergent, and whatever air freshener her aunt picked up from the store that week. It’s familiar. You’ve been here more times than you can count, curled up on her bed, stealing her hoodies, making yourself at home like you own the place.

You do own it—at least, the parts that matter.

Ellie sits on the floor, back against the couch, guitar balanced on her thigh. Her fingers move over the strings absentmindedly, plucking a tune you don’t recognize. Her head is bowed, auburn hair falling over her face. She looks calm, focused. Content.

She should be looking at you.

You shift slightly, adjusting the little boy in your lap. Luke is Ellie’s half-brother, a quiet kid who took to you the way most people do—easily, naturally, like it’s impossible not to. Right now, he’s holding onto your wrist with his small hands, playing with the bracelets on it as he leans against you.

You hum, brushing a hand through his messy curls. “Ellie,” you say, dragging out her name just a little, letting it settle in the air.

Her fingers falter against the strings. She looks up, eyes flicking to yours immediately, like muscle memory.

“Play something I know,” you say, voice soft. Sweet.

Ellie nods without question, shifting the guitar, adjusting her grip. She starts playing again, and this time, the song is familiar—one she knows you like, one she’s played for you before, late at night when it was just the two of you.

You smile, satisfied.

Luke tugs on your sleeve. “Sing,” he says, tilting his head up at you.

You laugh, ruffling his hair. “I don’t sing, baby.”

He pouts. “Ellie says you do.”

Your gaze snaps to her. She freezes, caught.

You raise a brow, smirking. “You been talking about me, Williams?”

Ellie clears her throat, looking away, ears tinged pink. “Just—just mentioned it.”

Cute.

You lean back against the couch, letting Luke curl against you, your gaze still on Ellie. She keeps playing, but you can tell she’s distracted now, too aware of your eyes on her.

Good.

She was starting to forget her place. But that’s alright—you’ll just have to remind her.

Ellie’s room smells like her. A mix of faintly sweet vanilla and something sharp, like the lemon-scented cleaning spray her mom always insists on using. Her bed is unmade, as usual, a pile of mismatched blankets and clothes scattered around the floor. The space is small, but it’s hers. Her little kingdom.

And right now, it’s just the two of you—her sitting at the edge of the bed, fiddling with her fingers, her knees drawn up to her chest. You sit across from her, lounging in the chair by her desk, legs stretched out, letting your fingers lightly tap the rhythm of a song you’ve been listening to on repeat.

You watch her. You always watch her.

Her hands keep moving, an unconscious twitch, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, her fingers tracing circles on her knee. She looks away from you, a little too quickly, as if she’s trying to avoid your gaze.

You raise an eyebrow. Nervous again, huh?

It’s cute.

"What's going on?" you ask, leaning forward slightly, letting your voice fall soft but sharp, like a thread pulling her closer to you.

Ellie shifts her weight, finally looking up at you, her brown eyes wide. Her lips part like she’s going to say something, but she hesitates, just long enough to make it obvious. You know she’s working up the nerve. You know she’s always working up the nerve when it comes to you.

"Just…thinking," she says, voice quiet, almost sheepish.

You can’t help the smirk that curls on your lips. “Thinking? About what, Ellie?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she bites her lip and continues to fidget, her thumb rubbing over the top of her knuckles in that rhythmic, nervous way you’ve come to recognize. It’s a habit, a tell. One of many.

You wait, letting the silence stretch just enough to make her uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to disappoint you," she says suddenly, the words spilling out before she can stop them.

Your breath catches in your chest, but you don’t let her see it. Instead, you stand up slowly, taking a few steps toward her, watching the way her posture shifts, like she’s waiting for something.

You kneel in front of her, just close enough that she has to meet your eyes. You don’t speak at first. Instead, you reach out and gently touch her hands, making her stop fidgeting.

Her fingers freeze, the muscles in her shoulders stiffening. She still won’t look at you.

“Disappoint me?” you repeat softly, voice low and teasing. You let the words linger, making her feel the weight of them. "You know I don't like when you do that."

Her eyes dart up to meet yours, and for a moment, you see the tiniest flicker of fear in them—like she’s scared of what you might do if she does disappoint you.

You smile, that same sweet, dangerous smile. "You won’t disappoint me, Ellie. You can’t."

Her breath hitches, and for a second, you think she might say something else—something more. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she just lets you pull her hands into yours, squeezing them gently, her heart racing beneath her chest. She’s waiting for you to speak again, to tell her what she needs to do next.

You whisper, “Good girl.”

Her shoulders finally relax, just a little, but her gaze stays locked on yours, like she’s trying to read your mind.

You stand, dragging her with you, pulling her close enough so she can feel the heat of your body against hers. You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning in just slightly, letting your lips brush against her temple.

“You’re mine, Ellie,” you murmur, low and quiet, just for her. “Always have been.”

Ellie doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You both know the truth.

You take a step back, letting her breathe, but you don’t go far. She follows your every movement with her eyes, like she’s afraid to miss something.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you add, just to remind her.

The relief in her eyes is unmistakable. She’s not sure what you want from her, but she knows she’ll give it.

And that’s exactly how you like it.

Ellie is still looking at you like that—like you hung the damn moon, like she’ll do anything to keep you happy, like she wants to be owned.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? She doesn’t fight it. She never has.

You’re still close, her hands limp in yours, like she’s waiting for you to decide what happens next. Always waiting on you.

And maybe—maybe you should remind her why.

You hum softly, tilting your head. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

Ellie swallows, her jaw clenching slightly. She looks down, and you know—you know—she’s trying to gather herself, trying to figure out how to put her thoughts into words.

She never gets the chance.

You lift a hand to her chin, gently tilting her face back up to you. “Ellie.”

Your voice is softer now, coaxing.

She meets your eyes, and for a second, she’s just staring—like she’s trying to memorize you, trying to understand what you want from her.

You let the moment stretch, let the silence settle heavy between you, before you speak again.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

It’s not really a question. You both know the answer.

Ellie’s breath shudders, and she nods.

You tighten your grip on her chin, just slightly. “Words.”

She exhales shakily. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I’m yours.”

A slow smile spreads across your lips.

Good girl.

You don’t give her time to think—you move before she can, leaning in, closing the space between you. You kiss her like she belongs to you, like you need her to understand it.

And fuck—Ellie melts.

She lets out the smallest noise against your lips, her hands gripping at your waist, like she’s afraid you’ll pull away too soon. You don’t. You press in closer, one hand slipping into her hair, tugging just enough to make her whimper.

She’s so easy for you. So desperate.

You deepen the kiss, swallowing the tiny gasps she makes, reveling in the way she’s already pliant, already giving you everything you want without hesitation.

When you finally pull away, Ellie is breathless, flushed, her lips red and swollen. Her eyes stay locked on yours, wide and dazed, like she still hasn’t caught up to what just happened.

You grin, dragging your thumb over her bottom lip. “Still thinking?”

Ellie swallows hard. “Not really.”

You laugh softly, pressing another kiss to her cheek, then to her jaw, just because you can. Because she lets you.

Because she’s yours.

February 9th, Evening. 

The party is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the hum of conversations, the clinking of drinks, the occasional burst of laughter from the kitchen. The air smells like cheap beer and something vaguely sweet—someone must’ve brought those shitty fruit-flavored vape pens everyone’s been obsessed with.

You barely notice any of it.

Abby fucking Anderson is pressed against you, arms wrapped lazily around your waist, her lips brushing against your neck every now and then. She’s warm, solid—her grip firm, like she knows she can have you if she wants. And maybe she can.

You let her hold you. Let her lean in close as you talk to—Sierra? Sidney? Whatever-the-fuck-her-name-is. The host, too busy with the party to care that Abby’s hands are sliding lower, her fingers digging into your hips.

You smirk, amused.

Abby’s been flirting with you all night, making it obvious, shameless. She’s charming, in a way that comes easy��cocky but not overbearing, confident in the way that only someone who’s used to winning can be. The way she looks at you makes it clear she knows she could have you. That if she tried a little harder, pushed just a little more—

And then you see her.

Ellie.

Tucked away in the corner, half-hidden behind the couch, talking to some girl you don’t recognize.

Fidgeting.

Nervous.

Almost… blushing?

Your stomach tightens.

She doesn’t see you watching her, too focused on whatever the girl is saying, nodding along, lips twitching into an awkward little smile.

And suddenly, Abby’s touch doesn’t feel as interesting anymore.

Your jaw clenches, fingers curling slightly at your sides.

Ellie looks—fuck, she looks comfortable. Like she’s not thinking about you. Like she’s not waiting for you to notice her. Like she’s—

No.

You pull away from Abby, ignoring the way she raises an eyebrow at you. Your drink is still in your hand, but you barely register it, your focus narrowing in on Ellie, on the way she shifts her weight from foot to foot, playing with the rings on her fingers, nodding along to whatever the girl is saying.

Like you aren’t even here.

Like she’s forgetting who she belongs to.

That won’t do.

That won’t do at all.

“I’ll be back,” you murmur, already taking a step away.

Abby scoffs, clearly unimpressed. “Where are you even—”

You don’t let her finish. “Relax, Anderson,” you say, turning to glance at her over your shoulder. “Go find someone else to grope.”

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head, but she doesn’t stop you. She knows better than to push when you’ve already lost interest.

Your heels click against the floor as you make your way to Ellie, purposeful, sharp. The girl she’s talking to—Dina, apparently—is still speaking, something animated, something that has Ellie nodding, shifting from foot to foot like she’s actually engaged in the conversation.

How cute.

You don’t even hesitate.

“Oh, there you are,” you drawl, stepping into their space without so much as a second thought. You barely glance at Dina, eyes locked on Ellie. “Didn’t realize you wandered off. Got bored of waiting for me, baby?”

Ellie stiffens, her hand twitching at her side. “I—”

“She doesn’t have to wait for you.”

Dina cuts in, arms crossed, glaring up at you like she actually thinks she has a say in this. You raise an eyebrow, finally sparing her a proper look.

Excuse me?

Ellie shifts beside her, awkward, rubbing the back of her neck.

Dina scoffs. “Do you just—let her talk to you like that?” She turns to Ellie fully, disbelief written all over her face. “Like, seriously? You just let her push you around?”

You tilt your head, watching Ellie, waiting.

She knows what to do.

And of course—your good girl never disappoints.

Ellie scratches her cheek, glancing between the two of you, and then—she shrugs. “It’s not—” She hesitates. “It’s not really like that.”

Dina’s expression darkens, her frown deepening. “It kinda is like that, Ellie.”

Your patience thins.

Your lips curl into something amused, something condescending, as you step just a little closer, tilting your head at Dina like she’s a fucking pest.

“Who even is this skank?”

Ellie flinches. Dina’s expression twists.

You smile.

Ellie clears her throat, glancing at Dina apologetically before mumbling, “Uh—this is Dina. She’s a—uh, she’s a scholar.”

You barely blink. “Cool.” You turn back to Ellie, gaze dark. “We need to talk.”

Ellie swallows hard. “I—”

You grab her wrist, firm, but not rough. Not yet. “Now.”

Ellie hesitates for a moment, but then—then she nods, letting you pull her along without protest.

Good girl.

You don’t even look back at Dina as you lead Ellie down the hall, pushing open the first unlocked door you find—a bathroom, small and dimly lit.

Perfect.

You shove Ellie inside, stepping in after her, closing the door with a sharp click.

She shifts on her feet, rubbing her arm, looking at you like she knows exactly what’s coming.

Smart girl.

You cross your arms, gaze hard. “What the fuck was that?”

Ellie shifts under your gaze, fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie, avoiding eye contact like she’s some fucking schoolgirl getting scolded.

You step closer.

She tenses.

“Since when do you wander off?” you ask, voice sharp. It’s not loud—doesn’t need to be—but it’s firm, edged with something that makes Ellie shrink a little, pressing her back against the sink.

She swallows. “I—I didn’t mean to, I just—”

“You just what?”

She flinches at the bite in your tone.

Your head tilts, arms crossed, waiting.

Ellie exhales, rubbing at her jaw. “I had to use the bathroom,” she mumbles. “And then—uh—Dina was outside, and we just… started talking.”

Your jaw clenches.

She’s never done this before. Never just drifted away from you. Usually, at these parties, she stays put—sits in the corner, waits, watches, like a good girl. Until you decide you’re done with everyone else. Until you tell her it’s time to go.

But this?

This won’t do.

You scoff. “And what, you forgot about me?”

Ellie’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “No! I—I didn’t forget, I was just—”

You take another step, crowding her against the sink.

She shuts up immediately.

Good.

Your fingers lift to her chin, tilting her face up, forcing her to look at you. Her pupils are blown wide, lips parting slightly, breath shaky.

You hum, fingers tracing along her jaw, light, teasing. “You know better, don’t you, baby?”

She nods quickly, eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah,” she breathes.

Your grip tightens just slightly. Not enough to hurt—just enough to remind.

“Say it,” you murmur.

Ellie swallows, cheeks flushed. “I—I know better.”

You smile. “That’s my good girl.”

But she still needs to learn.

Ellie barely has time to react before you push her back, hands firm on her hips, guiding her onto the edge of the sink. Her breath stutters, hands gripping the porcelain as she looks at you—wide-eyed, confused.

“W-What—”

You drop to your knees in front of her.

Ellie freezes.

Her fingers twitch against the sink, chest rising and falling a little too fast, a little too shallow. She swallows hard, staring down at you like she can’t quite process what’s happening.

You tilt your head, running your hands up her thighs, slow, teasing. “You need to learn, don’t you, baby?”

Ellie nods automatically, like it’s instinct.

You smirk. “Then let me teach you.”

Your hands find the edge of her pants, you tug it slightly 

“Take it Off.��� 

She hesitates, eyes flickering between yours, searching—maybe for reassurance, maybe for a way out. As if she doesn’t already know there isn’t one. As if she doesn’t already belong to you.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Your gaze stays firm, unwavering, expectant.

Ellie exhales sharply, hands hovering at the waistband of her jeans, fingers gripping the fabric like she’s still weighing her options. But you both know there’s only one.

Slowly, she complies.

She was wearing some black and grey boxers, you smile as you watch her. “Those come off too, Ellie.” 

Ellie's face burns as she looks down at you, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches for the waistband of her boxers. She hesitates for a moment, before pulling them down her legs and stepping out of them.

Her breath comes in short, nervous bursts as she watches you, wondering what you'll do next. Her thighs are clenched together, as if trying to hide herself, though she knows it's pointless.

“Legs open, baby” 

"Mhm," Ellie moans softly as she spreads her legs wider, gripping the edge of the sink tighter. Her cheeks are stained red, eyes watching you carefully. She's fully exposed now - her bare pussy on display, wetness already gathering at her entrance.

You lean in close, breath ghosting over her skin, With one hand, you gather your hair, twisting it up into a makeshift ponytail. Then, without a word, you reach for Ellie’s wrist, guiding her trembling fingers to take over.

Her breath catches.

She doesn’t need you to say it. She knows exactly what you want.

And she obeys.

Ellie's fingers curl around the base of your ponytail, her grip tentative at first, before tightening as she becomes more confident. She pulls your head forward, guiding your face towards her dripping wet pussy. "Oh god," she whispers, her voice shaking.

You bury your face between Ellie's thighs, your tongue diving straight into her slick folds. She cries out, fingers tightening in your hair as she rocks her hips forward, seeking more contact. Your tongue laps at her clit, swirling around the sensitive bud before sucking it into your mouth.

Ellie's moans grow louder as you expertly work her clit, her hips rolling desperately against your face. Wetness coats your chin as her juices flow freely. One hand grips your hair tighter, while the other covers her mouth to muffle her increasingly shameless noises.

You slip a finger inside her, then another, curling them just right to hit that spot that makes her see stars. Ellie's legs shake as she grinds down onto your hand and mouth, chasing her release. She bites down hard on her lip, trying not to scream as the pleasure builds and builds.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuck..." her words come out as whispers between gasps, her hips moving in small, desperate circles against your face. She can feel her orgasm approaching, her body tensing. Her legs threaten to give out completely as you ravage her. "I'm gonna…”

But then—just as she starts to tremble—you pull away.

Ellie barely has time to react before you wipe the liquid from your mouth with the back of your hand, a slow, deliberate motion that makes her breath hitch. Her hand still lingers in your hair until you slap it away, standing back up like nothing happened.

She just looks at you. Panting. Pleading.

Why the fuck did you stop?

The question is written all over her face—eyes blown wide, lips slightly parted, body still tense, waiting.

You just smile, tilting your head as you run a teasing finger along her flushed cheek.

“Maybe next time,” you murmur, voice dripping with amusement. Then, leaning in just enough for her to feel your breath against her ear—

“When you didn’t piss me off.”

Ellie swallows hard, gripping the edge of the sink like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

Let her stay like that. Let her ache for it.

February 13, Morning

The café is warm, filled with the quiet hum of conversation, the clinking of cups against saucers, the rhythmic tapping of your fingers against your laptop’s keyboard. Outside, the sky is overcast, a dull gray that matches your mood.

You sip your coffee, glancing at the time. Ellie’s late.

She always is.

But eventually, the door chimes, and there she is—messy auburn hair tucked under a beanie, hands stuffed in her pockets, hoodie slightly oversized on her frame. She spots you, and something flickers in her expression, something unreadable, before she makes her way over.

“Hey,” she says, dropping into the seat across from you, rubbing her palms together like she’s cold.

“Hey,” you echo, closing your laptop. She smells like cigarettes and cheap cologne, like she just came from somewhere she doesn’t want you asking about. But you don’t press—yet.

Things feel normal. Like you didn’t have your lips on her five days ago. Like you didn’t have her trembling for you in some grimy bathroom four days ago.

You talk about nothing for a while, easy, effortless. Then, casually, you ask—

“So, what are we doing tomorrow?”

Ellie freezes mid-sip, eyes darting up to yours like she just got caught in a lie she hadn’t even told yet.

You laugh, light, amused. “What? Did you forget?”

She swallows, scratches the back of her neck. “Uh. No. I mean, kinda. I just—”

Your amusement fades. “Spit it out, Ellie.”

She shifts in her seat. “Dina and some of the guys invited me to hang.”

Silence.

You blink, tilting your head. “And you agreed?”

Ellie exhales, looking away. “I figured you’d be on a date or something.”

You stare at her.

A date.

A date.

The sheer audacity makes your jaw clench, fingers tightening around your coffee cup. Since when have you ever done that? Since when have you ever let some guy take you out on Valentine’s instead of spending time with her?

Ellie finally looks back at you, realization dawning in her eyes as she sees the irritation brewing in yours.

“Are you serious?” you ask, voice calm, even, but sharp.

Ellie doesn’t answer. Because she already knows.

Ellie, ever the nervous wreck, tries to salvage it.

“I mean, I—I’ll still come over,” she says quickly. “After. We can hang in the evening.”

You just stare at her.

She’s squirming in her seat, fidgeting with her rings, eyes darting between you and the scratched-up wooden table like she’s waiting for your verdict. Like she knows she fucked up and is just hoping you won’t punish her for it.

You lean back in your chair, arms crossed. Then you scoff, shaking your head. “Wow. Lucky me.”

Ellie flinches, the tips of her ears going red. She doesn’t say anything. Of course she doesn’t.

Because she knows—knows—that whatever you say, she’ll do it. You’re already in her head, buried under her skin, wrapped around her ribs like something vital, something she can’t scrape out no matter how hard she tries.

But that doesn’t mean you’ll let this slide.

Your phone is already in your hand before Ellie can say anything else. You don’t even hesitate. If she’s spending time with other people, then so are you.

You scroll through your messages until you find her name.

Abby Anderson.

She replies within minutes. A smug, easy response

Abby : "Thought you weren’t interested."

You smirk.

You : "Changed my mind."

Ellie shifts in her seat, oblivious, still trying to figure out how much trouble she’s in.

Who the fuck does she think she is?

February 14, Valentines

You stare at yourself in the mirror, tilting your head slightly as you smooth out the fabric of your dress. It hugs your body in all the right ways, accentuating everything that Abby will no doubt appreciate.

Abby wasn’t a bad choice. Smart, jacked, and disgustingly wealthy. You knew this date wouldn’t disappoint. She wouldn’t disappoint.

But as you swipe a final coat of lipstick on, as you spritz perfume over your collarbone, as you slide on your heels—your mind isn’t on Abby at all.

It’s on Ellie.

On the fact that she texted you an hour ago— On my way. —like she wanted you to acknowledge it. Like she expected you to care.

You didn’t even respond. Just left her on read.

Because you wanted her anxious. Wanted her restless the whole day. Wanted her checking her phone every five minutes, heart pounding every time the screen lit up, only to be met with silence. You wanted her thinking about you.

But now, as you grab your bag and slip your phone inside, something bitter creeps into your chest.

She’s out there. With them.

Laughing at something Dina says. Maybe fidgeting, maybe stammering, maybe blushing.

You inhale sharply, roll your shoulders back, shake the thought off. It doesn’t matter.

Tonight will be perfect.

Abby will make sure of it.

…But will you?

The restaurant Abby picked was perfect—fancy but not showy. Dim lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, a bottle of wine already chilling at the table before you even sat down. She had everything planned, down to the smallest details.

She picked you up in an expensive car, a sleek black Audi with leather seats that smelled brand new. The kind of car you knew she could replace in a heartbeat without a second thought. She even stepped out to open the door for you, the perfect gentleman.

You posted pictures on your story—subtle flexes. The perfectly plated steak, the candlelit ambiance, the empty wine glasses. But most of them were of you—Abby had taken them, of course. She had an eye for it. The angle just right, your features highlighted in the soft golden light.

And Abby… Abby was undeniably perfect.

She knew exactly what to say, when to say it. Knew how to touch you in ways that made your skin warm and your heart beat just a little faster. Her lips brushed against your neck at just the right moment, her fingers grazing your knee under the table in just the right way.

Nothing could ruin this.

Nothing.

At least, that’s what you thought.

But when Abby excused herself—standing with that easy confidence, telling you she’d be right back, that she had another present for you—you pulled out your phone. Just to check. Just to see.

And there it was.

A story.

Ellie.

Drinking.

With Dina.

Some ginger-haired bitch sitting on her lap.

Your grip on your phone tightens.

Your jaw clenches.

Everything else—the restaurant, the wine, the warmth of Abby’s touch—fades into the background.

Ellie doesn’t drink. Not unless she’s nervous, or desperate, or being stupid.

And that girl—who the fuck is she? What the fuck is she doing in Ellie’s lap?

Abby’s voice startles you out of your thoughts.

“Miss me?” she teases, placing a small, elegantly wrapped box on the table.

You glance up at her, then back at your phone.

Your mood has already shifted.

And now, you need a drink.

Abby’s hands were firm on your waist, her grip possessive in a way that most girls would melt under. Her lips moved against yours with purpose, her confidence unwavering—like she knew exactly how this was going to go. Like she was sure you were going to let her in.

Your arms were draped over her broad shoulders, fingers lazily playing with the soft strands of her hair as you deepened the kiss. The night had been perfect. She had been perfect. A bouquet of flowers so big it barely fit in your arms, a new pair of designer heels that she had practically forced you to accept, and an expensive necklace that still sat around your throat, cool against your flushed skin.

Abby made it easy. She never made you wait, never made you feel like you had to chase her, never made you question your place.

So why the fuck were you thinking about Ellie?

Her stupid nervous fidgeting. The way her knee bounced when she was anxious. The way her voice cracked sometimes when she tried to talk back. The way she looked up at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

The way she had someone else on her lap.

Your nails dug into Abby’s shoulders, and she let out a small, amused hum against your lips, mistaking your sudden aggression for passion.

“You’re on me tonight, huh?” she teased, smirking as she pulled back slightly, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of your dress.

You should be focused on this. On her. On the way she looked at you like she knew she could have you.

But instead, your phone buzzed.

And you—like a fucking idiot—glanced at the screen over Abby’s shoulder.

Ellie.

“I’m outside. Let me in.”

Your breath hitched.

Abby noticed.

Your fingers tightened in her hair, lips ghosting over hers, but suddenly the air had changed. The control had slipped for just a moment.

And now, you had a choice to make.

You shifted in Abby’s lap, her hands gripping your waist instinctively, like she didn’t want you to move. Her lips were hot against your neck, trailing down, hands sliding over your thighs, her touch deliberate.

Then your phone buzzed again.

You glanced at it, saw the name on the screen, and immediately pushed yourself off Abby, standing up like nothing had happened. She looked up at you, brows furrowed.

"You good?" she asked, voice thick with something unspoken.

"Yeah," you said, brushing your hair back, fixing the straps of your dress like she hadn’t just had her hands all over you. "That was my mom."

Abby’s eyes flickered with something skeptical. "Your mom?"

Your heels clicked against the floor as you stepped out of Abby’s car, your arms full of gifts—flowers, designer shoes, jewelry, all things that screamed that you were wanted. Abby leaned against the doorframe of her car, arms crossed over her broad chest, watching you with an expression that teetered between amusement and frustration.

"You sure you don’t want me to take you upstairs?" she asked, her voice smooth, calculated. She knew what she was doing, giving you one last chance to let her in.

You smiled, soft but firm. "I’ll text you."

She held your gaze for a moment longer, like she was trying to see if you were bullshitting her, but ultimately, she nodded. "Alright," she murmured. One last time, she stepped forward, pulling you in, pressing a kiss to your lips—slow, deliberate. Like a silent reminder that she had been here first tonight.

You let her, even smiled against her lips, before pulling away and wiping the smudged lipstick from her face.

"Goodnight, Abby," you said, voice sweet, final.

You turned on your heel, the weight of her gaze burning into your back as you made your way into the building, clutching the expensive gifts she had given you like they meant something.

But by the time you reached your door, all of it—the necklace, the shoes, the flowers—felt heavy. Unimportant.

Because Ellie was here.

Waiting.

Just like she always did.

You saw her tuck her phone away, her gaze flickering over the gifts in your arms—the bouquet, the neatly wrapped designer bags, the weight of the night still lingering on your skin.

Then, you watched as it clicked.

Ellie’s jaw tightened just slightly. "You were on a date."

It wasn’t a question.

You just hummed, shifting the weight in your arms. She stepped forward, reaching out. "Here, let me take those."

You didn’t argue, handing her the heavy bouquet first. When you leaned in to pass it to her, your perfume mixed with the faint traces of expensive cologne clinging to your skin. Ellie inhaled instinctively.

And there it was.

Familiar, but not yours.

She knew that scent.

Abigail Anderson.

You ignored the way her fingers twitched when she took the bouquet from you, brushing past her as you unlocked the door. "Just leave it on the coffee table," you murmured, voice light, like this was any other night.

She did as you said, but you could feel the weight of her stare the whole time.

You walked into your room, slipping off your heels. Ellie followed, wordlessly taking a seat on your bed as you went to your vanity. You caught her gaze in the mirror—steady, sharp, calculating.

You started getting unready, removing your earrings first.

"Soo..." she finally spoke, her voice low, unreadable. "You were with... Abby?"

You saw the way her hands curled into the sheets at her sides. The way she tried to keep her voice casual.

You smirked.

This was going to be fun.

"Yeah, I figured if I was gonna spend Valentine’s with anyone, it should be her..."

Your voice was smooth, deliberate—each word sharpened just enough to cut. Like Abby was the only one who deserved your time. Like you hadn't even considered spending it with Ellie.

Why should you? It wasn’t your fault she had other plans. She blew you off first. She chose to be at some party, surrounded by people who weren’t you. Chose to let some girl—some nobody—sit on her lap like she belonged there.

Ellie doesn’t say anything at first. You see the way she tenses, fingers curling against the hem of her hoodie. Her knee bounces, jaw clenched like she’s trying to keep herself together, trying to be unaffected. But then she huffs out a breath, all forced nonchalance, and leans back on her palms.

"Right," she mutters, nodding slightly, like she’s convincing herself more than responding to you. "Makes sense. She’s, like... perfect, huh?"

There’s something in her voice that makes you pause—something bitter, something jealous. And it satisfies you.

ou unclip your earrings, dropping them onto the vanity with a soft clink. "Well, yeah," you say simply. "She knows exactly what to do, what to say... how to treat me."

Ellie’s jaw tightens.

You smirk at her reflection in the mirror. That got to her.

"She bought me all this, by the way." You gesture lazily to the designer shoes, the necklace glinting under the light, the massive bouquet sitting on your coffee table. "Really went all out. I mean, not that I’m surprised."

Ellie swallows, looking away. Her fingers fidget in her lap, picking at a loose thread on her hoodie.

"So," she starts, voice quieter now, "you had a good time, then?"

You twist your lip in amusement, watching her through the mirror. "I did."

Ellie nods again, but she doesn’t look convinced. She’s avoiding your gaze now, staring hard at the floor, at the carpet, at anything but you.

Good. Let her wallow in it. Let her sit in the weight of it, in the consequences of her choices.

You turn around, arms crossing over your chest as you lean against the vanity. "Why do you care?" you ask, tilting your head, studying her.

Ellie flinches, just slightly. She lifts her head, and for a second, she looks like she’s going to deny it—going to say something sarcastic, something dismissive. But then her lips press into a thin line, and instead, she lets out a shaky breath.

"I don’t," she lies.

You smile. "Good."

The room was quiet now. Too quiet. The only sound was the soft rustling of fabric as you moved, slipping off your necklace, tossing it onto the nightstand. The weight of the night clung to the air, thick and heavy, pressing down on both of you.

Ellie hadn’t moved from her spot at the edge of your bed, shoulders hunched, fingers tangled together in her lap. She was stiff, tense, like she was forcing herself not to look at you.

And maybe she was.

You were down to just your underwear, skin bare under the warm glow of your bedside lamp. You stood up, moving across the room with slow, deliberate steps, grabbing an oversized shirt from your drawer and tugging it over your head.

When you flopped back onto the bed, right next to where she was sitting, you felt her shift. Barely. Just the tiniest movement, like she was reacting to your closeness without meaning to.

You turned your head, looking at her. She was staring at her hands now, knuckles white where they gripped the edge of your comforter.

You smirked.

"What?" you drawled.

Ellie shook her head. "Nothing."

"Liar."

She exhaled, long and slow, like she was trying to collect herself. Her knee bounced again, her nervous energy filling the space between you.

You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow. "You mad?"

Ellie scoffed, finally looking at you. "Why the fuck would I be mad?"

You hummed, tilting your head. "I don’t know. Maybe ‘cause I spent Valentine’s with someone else?"

Her jaw clenched. There it was again—that flicker of something, jealousy twisting its way across her face before she could shove it down.

You smiled, slow and smug.

"I mean," you continued, drawing out your words, "you were so busy today, after all. Out with Dina, drinking, letting some random girl sit on your lap—"

"She wasn’t—" Ellie groaned, running a hand down her face. "Jesus, are you serious right now?"

You shrugged. "Just calling it like I see it."

Ellie looked at you then, really looked at you, green eyes sharp and searching. The tension between you both was suffocating, crackling like a live wire, like a fire waiting to ignite.

And then—

She reached out, fingers brushing against your thigh, just barely, just enough to make you aware of the heat in her touch.

You inhaled sharply.

Ellie smirked this time, tilting her head as her fingers lingered. "You don’t actually think I give a shit about Abby—do you?"

You laughed. Not loud—just a quiet, amused little chuckle under your breath. Like the thought of Ellie even comparing herself to Abby was so ridiculous, it was funny.

"God," you sighed, shaking your head, still smirking. "You’re so fucking stupid sometimes."

Ellie frowned but didn’t argue.

"Lay down," you told her.

She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure if she should, but then she did—slowly easing onto her back, staring up at the ceiling like it would give her answers.

You turned onto your side, elbow sinking into the mattress, head propped up on your hand as you looked at her. Studied her.

"You really think I would’ve picked her over you?" you murmured, dragging the words out, letting them settle.

Ellie tensed.

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. "Wow. And here I was, thinking you knew me better than that."

She swallowed, her throat bobbing. Her hands fisted the hem of her hoodie, gripping the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

"I mean, I guess I did have a nice time," you continued, voice featherlight, tipping closer to her. "The restaurant was beautiful. Expensive as hell. Abby’s just so... put together, you know?"

Ellie’s jaw clenched.

"And she was so sweet. Got me all these gifts, picked out the prettiest necklace—"

You reached up, dragging your fingers lightly across your collarbone where the necklace should be. You knew she was looking.

"And God, she was so..." You trailed off, exhaling a small, pleased hum. "Perfect."

Ellie inhaled sharply through her nose.

You smirked. Got her.

"But I guess you don’t care, huh?" you added, faux-disappointed. "You were too busy with Dina and your little party. Guess I was just supposed to sit around and wait for you?"

Ellie’s brows pinched. She turned her head toward you, finally meeting your eyes, guilt flickering behind the green.

You just blinked at her, expression unreadable. Waiting.

She swallowed. "I—"

"No, it’s fine." You exhaled through your nose, like you had just made peace with something disappointing. "I mean, if you don’t care, you don’t care. I won’t force you to."

Ellie flinched. "I— That’s not what I—"

You shook your head, shifting onto your back, staring at the ceiling now too. "Forget it, Ellie. Just forget it."

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Ellie stared at you, at the way your face was turned away from her now, at the way you had just shut her out.

She hated it.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Ellie didn’t move, didn’t say anything. You could feel her eyes on you, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know if she was allowed to.

Good. She should feel that way.

You sighed, shaking your head like you were just so disappointed in her. Then, before she could even react, you shifted—climbing over her, straddling her waist, pressing her into the mattress.

Ellie’s breath hitched. Her hands twitched at her sides, like she wanted to grab your hips but knew better.

"God," you murmured, staring down at her, fingers dragging up her chest, curling into the fabric of her hoodie. "You’re such an idiot."

Ellie swallowed hard. "I—"

"You didn’t even think to ask me what I was doing on Valentine's?" you cut her off, tilting your head, voice low and sharp. "Just assumed I’d be off on some date like some desperate little bitch? Like I don’t always spend that day with you?"

Ellie flinched. "No— I—I just thought—"

"Yeah, I know what you thought," you spat. "You thought you could ditch me, spend your night with Dina and whoever the fuck else, and I’d just sit around and wait for you?"

Ellie looked away. "I didn’t mean—"

"Shut up," you hissed.

She did.

You leaned in, your breath ghosting over her lips, your fingers tightening around her hoodie. Her hands clenched into fists against the sheets, body completely tense beneath you.

"I bet you didn’t even care what I was doing," you murmured, voice laced with venom. "Didn’t even think about me while you were at that party, huh?"

Ellie’s breath came out shaky, her eyes flickering up to meet yours. "I did," she whispered.

You scoffed. "Oh yeah? That’s why you had some bitch on your lap, right?"

Ellie squeezed her eyes shut. "That wasn’t—"

"You’re so fucking selfish," you continued, fingers dragging down her chest, over her stomach, stopping just above her belt. "You get to go off, do whatever you want, and I’m just supposed to sit around and be fine with it?"

Ellie was breathing heavier now, chest rising and falling beneath you, her hands twitching against the sheets. She wanted to say something. You could tell.

But she didn’t.

Because you were right.

You tilted your head, your fingers curling around the collar of her hoodie, yanking her attention back to you.

“What happened, Ellie, huh?” Your voice was smooth, dripping like honey but firm, unwavering. "You're mine."

Ellie stayed silent, staring up at you like you were something holy, something dangerous.

"Are you fucking stupid, or did you forget?" You dragged your nails up her jaw, tilting her chin up, making her look at you.

Her lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling like she was struggling to breathe.

She didn’t answer. Of course she didn’t. What could she even say? That she knew she fucked up? That she knew you had every right to be mad? That she hated the thought of you with Abby, hated that you went on a date, hated that you let her kiss you?

Ellie was selfish like that. Always was.

She just kept staring at you, eyes dark, full of something between guilt and desperation.

And you smirked, because of course she wasn’t going to fight you on this.

Then, slowly, you leaned down.

Her breath hitched the second your lips brushed against hers, barely even touching before she was already reacting—lifting her head to chase your mouth, hands twitching like she wanted to grab you but knew she wasn’t allowed to.

You let her suffer for a second, just hovering, letting your breath tease her, watching her fall apart before you even gave her anything.

Then, finally, you kissed her.

Ellie let out this soft, broken sound—something between a whimper and a sigh—like she’d been holding her breath since the moment you climbed on top of her.

She kissed you back instantly, desperate, needy, like she had something to prove, like she was trying to apologize without saying a single word.

But you weren’t gonna make it easy for her.

You pulled back just as quick, barely giving her a second of relief before you were already ripping it away.

Ellie’s lips were parted, her breath uneven, pupils blown as she stared up at you, dazed, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to move or if she had to wait for you to give her permission.

God, she was so fucking easy.

You pulled back completely, watching the way Ellie instinctively followed, like she wanted to chase after you but forced herself to stay put.

Then, without a word, you climbed off her, settling beside her on the bed. You didn’t look at her at first, just leaning back on your hands, legs crossed at the ankles, letting the silence stretch long enough for her to start squirming.

Ellie stayed on her back, still staring at the ceiling, but you could see her hands gripping the sheets, her knuckles going white.

Then you finally spoke.

"You’re gonna make it up to me."

Ellie stiffened. Her head slowly turned to you, eyes flicking over your face, searching for something—anger, maybe, or some kind of mercy—but all you had was that same unreadable smirk.

You tilted your head, watching her. "You do wanna make it up to me, don’t you?"

Ellie nodded instantly, sitting up slightly. "Yeah. Of course."

You smiled, pleased.

"Good," you said, voice smooth, tapping your fingers against your thigh. "Then listen carefully."

Ellie looked wrecked. Like she wanted to say something, like she wanted to explain, but she knew better than to try. Knew better than to test you when you were like this.

"You ruined this day for me, Ellie. You hear me?" Your voice was steady, sharp. "God. You had fun without me? Let some girl sit on your lap that wasn’t me?" You scoffed, shaking your head like the thought alone was disgusting.

Ellie flinched, her fingers gripping the hem of her shirt. "No—"

"And best of all," you interrupted, leaning in, "you came to my door, right when I was gonna let Abby in." You tilted your head, watching the way Ellie’s face froze. You let that sink in before delivering the final blow. "Let her have me."

You were lying, of course. But she didn’t need to know that.

Ellie’s breathing had gone shallow, her whole body stiff, jaw clenched. You could see the jealousy rising in her, the way her hands twitched like she didn’t know what to do with them.

"So," you continued, calm, tilting her chin up with your fingers so she’d look at you, so she’d really understand. "You’re gonna make up for all that. Do you get it?"

Ellie swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, and nodded. "Yeah," she rasped, voice barely above a whisper. "I get it."

She watches as you sit up, lifting your hips to remove your panties. She swallows hard, waiting for you. 

Ellie barely had time to react before you shifted, grabbing onto the headboard as you moved, positioning yourself just above her face.

Her breath hitched, her hands gripping at the sheets like she was waiting for permission—waiting for you to tell her what to do.

"You want to make it up to me, right?" Your voice was teasing, low, but there was no room for argument.

Ellie nodded, her pupils blown wide as she looked up at you, desperate, waiting.

"Then do it."

As you move into position and take off your shirt and bra, straddling her face with your bare pussy hovering just above her mouth, Ellie's heart races. She looks up at you, her hands slowly reach up, grasping your hips gently.

That's your good girl. 

Your hips begin to move, rolling and grinding against Ellie's mouth. She grips your hips tighter, spreading her legs wider beneath you. She sticks her tongue out, catching your clit with the tip. You moan softly, riding her face faster. She hums softly, taking your movements like a champ.

Ellie's fingers dig into your hips possessively as you bounce on her face. Wet noises fill the room - your pussy smacking against her mouth, her sloppy suction sounds. She sticks her tongue deep inside you, making you moan loudly. 

You can feel her nose pressing against your clit with every downward thrust. The angle lets you grind harder against her tongue, chasing your orgasm. She looks up at you with glazed, fuck-drunk eyes, completely devoted to pleasuring you. Just like how it should be.

You loved her like this—obedient, eager, desperate to please. Making you feel better, making you feel good—she fucking should.

She was yours. And after that shit she pulled today, God, it was only right for her to make it up to you.

Her hands gripped your thighs like she was holding on for dear life, her breath hot against your skin, her eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing that mattered. And you were.

“Better make this count, Ellie,” you murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction, threading your fingers into her hair, tugging just enough to make her whimper.

“Because I’m still so fucking mad at you.”

Your movements become more erratic as you near the edge. Ellie's fingers flex against your hips, helping to support you as you ride her face with abandon. She can feel you getting closer, your pussy clenching around her tongue. She doubles her efforts, determined to make you come undone.

You throw your head back, arching your back as you reach the peak. Ellie opens her mouth wider, catching your release as it gushes out. She swallows hungrily, trying to drink every drop as you shudder and tremble above her. "Mmmphhh…”

You slowly come down from your high, your pussy still twitching as the last waves of your orgasm subside. Ellie keeps her mouth pressed against your folds, licking up every bit of your juices. Finally, she pulls away, her lips shiny and glistening.

 "Good girl, but we're not done yet baby” 

She looks up at you, doe eyed. A small amount of your juices drip down her chin. She licks her lips, swallowing the excess. She hummed, her voice soft and submissive, clearly eager to please you further. 

Ellie obediently sits up, pulling her hoodie over her head and tossing it aside. She reveals her breasts. Crawling onto the bed, she positions herself above you, her knees straddling your hips.

She offers her hand to you, palm up. You spit into her palm, and she looks down at the saliva, then back up at you with a confused expression. You guide her fingers towards your center. She slowly inserts her fingers inside you, curling them upwards at your instruction.

As she fingers you, her other hand reaches up to play with her own breasts. She pinches and rolls her nipples between her fingers, a soft moan escaping her lips. Her hips start to rock slightly, grinding against your thigh. She's clearly getting turned on from pleasuring you.

You feel her fingers moving faster, more confidently inside you. She's learning quickly, hitting your spots just right. Her other hand leaves her breast to reach down, spreading your lips open so she can watch her fingers sliding in and out of your wet pussy.

You spread your legs wider, pushing your hips down to meet her fingers. "God yes," you moan softly. She watches your reactions closely, seeing your breasts rise and fall rapidly with your quickened breath. Her fingers curl again, making you buck your hips sharply. "Right there," you gasp.

Pressing hard and rubbing. "Jesus," you moan loudly, your back arching slightly. She sees how wet you're getting, how your body responds to her touch. She adds another finger, stretching you. Your inner thighs tighten, your heels dig into the mattress.

Ellie curls her fingers deeply inside you, her palm pressing firmly against your clit. Your eyes flutter closed, a breathy moan leaving your lips as you grind against her hand shamelessly. "So Beautiful," she whispers in awe, feeling your arousal coating her fingers.

She leans down, her face hovering over your breast. Without breaking eye contact, she sticks out her tongue, circling your nipple teasingly before sucking it into her mouth.

Her fingers move faster, hitting that perfect spot over and over while her palm maintains constant pressure on your clit. Your breasts heave with each laborious breath, legs trembling as another orgasm builds. "Oh fuck..." She notices your approaching climax and curls her fingers even deeper.

Watching your face contort with pleasure, she realizes how good she's become at pleasing you. Your moans get louder, more insistent…

With a choked gasp, you surrender to your climax, your pussy clamping down hard around Ellie's fingers. She continues to stroke you through your orgasm, prolonging every last shudder and twitch. As your release subsides, she slowly withdraws her fingers, bringing them to her mouth to lick clean.

Ellie swallowed, her lips still glossy, her eyes still blown wide as she looked up at you. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, trying to steady herself, but you weren’t going to let her think this was over.

“How was that?” she asked, voice raspier than usual, like she already knew the answer but needed to hear you say it.

You tilted your head, watching her carefully, dragging your fingers along her jaw, down her throat, feeling how she tensed under your touch.

“Better,” you admitted, your voice slow, teasing. Then you leaned in, close enough that your breath tickled her skin before you pulled back again, smirking.

“But don’t think I’ve already forgiven you.”

tag list ! : @reinam00n @macaroni676 @blackdykegirlblogger @monki-nat

[gothghostiie]

the babysitter!reader chronicles shall continue for I am babysitting

cw: fluff, age gap, size difference if you squint, gn!reader

price arranging for you to stay for a bit over 2 weeks, he's on deployment spontaneously and no one he usually asks has time. he really doesnt want to bother you, doesn't wanna overwhelm you with the calm little infant and suddenly staying a whole two weeks and then some at his place. but you're his last option, hes desperate, quite frankly. so he gives you a call and you're absolutely delighted to come over, even if it's on short notice. how could you not go see your favourite baby? so now here you are, around 1 ½ weeks in, all cozy in his home. you're having dinner with the baby when a set of keys jingle in the door.

You loom up, a bit worried, honestly. no one should have a key, john didn't tell you anyone was coming over - and you frankly didn't believe he'd send someone to check up on you out of the blue. you listen close, a set of heavy steps making you perk up, even the baby is silent at the look of concentration on your face. the door closes and a heavy thud follows shortly after - then a loud groan. your face immediately lightens up and so does the baby's, you both recognise the low voice. you shimmy out of your seat, the little one making grabby hands at you, wanting out of their highchair. you quickly lift the baby, settling it onto your side and scrambling towards the front door, both of you giggling softly at the sight of price stretching, old bones cracking. "Look who's there!" you loudly whisper to the infant, who babbles happily. John looks just as happy as them, you can see the resemblance once again (especially in both their chubby cheeks, paired with the smile). he doesnt even bother taking off the fingerless gloves on his dirty hands before grabbing his little one, snuggling them to him as they giggle and squirm.

"there's my favorite sweethearts.." he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to the little head. his voice is rough and raspy, he's been yelling, his lips are chapped and dry, there's dark bags under his eyes - and yet he's still smiling down at both of you. he settles the baby against his side, eyeing you over briefly, his smirk widening. "C'mere." he says gently, lifting his other arm to pull you in close, against the black fleece jacket he's wearing. you hesitate just briefly before hugging him back, heat creeping into your face.

"You're home early." you say softly, relaxing into him a bit as his big hand rubs your back gently, cradling the back of your head to make you lean against his chest.

"mh. got finished earlier than we anticipated." he says briefly, his tone telling you you better not keep poking; so you don't. you stay like this for a few more moments - even if he could've stayed like this for much, much longer. you pull away, straightening your clothes a little as you clear your throat; taking the baby again.

"You gotta be starving. How about you go shower and I'll fix you a plate? Just go sit in the living room when you're done, your show should still be on."

John never wanted to marry anyone more.

[jungwnies]

F1 Grid | valentines day

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerlc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested or not) : spending valentines day with your f1-boyfriend

୨ৎ : genre : romance & fluff ୨ৎ : tws : slight suggestive ୨ৎ : word count : 3927

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : happy valentines day to everyone! <3

ʚ・max verstappen

you weren’t expecting much for valentine’s day. it wasn’t that max didn’t love you—he absolutely did—but he wasn’t exactly the grand romantic gesture type. if anything, you were prepared for the day to come and go without so much as a mention.

that is, until christian horner made an offhand comment about how he was taking geri out for a fancy dinner.

“wait, valentine’s day is today?” max blurted, nearly dropping his red bull can.

lando, sitting beside him, snorted. “oh, mate—you’re so screwed.”

max bolted from his seat, leaving his engineer mid-sentence, and disappeared before anyone could even process what had happened.

you were home, lounging in one of max’s oversized hoodies, when your phone started buzzing with frantic texts from him.

max: are you home? max: never mind, you are. stay there. max: actually, don’t move. i’m coming.

you barely had time to process his sudden urgency before you heard the sound of his car pulling into the driveway at breakneck speed. moments later, he burst through the door, slightly out of breath, hair a little messy, and holding… a grocery store bouquet and a bag from a bakery down the street.

“hey,” he panted, trying to act casual but failing miserably. “happy valentine’s day.”

your eyes flicked to the half-crushed bouquet in his grip and then to the bag, which he handled like it contained the secret to world peace.

“did you forget?” you asked, crossing your arms but already grinning.

“no,” he lied. then, with a sigh, “okay, yes, but only because no one told me.”

you giggled, taking the slightly squished flowers from him. “max, the world has been advertising valentine’s day for weeks.”

“yeah, well, i don’t look at pink and red decorations and think oh, i should do something romantic,” he huffed. “but i fixed it, right?”

you peered into the bakery bag, pulling out a heart-shaped pastry, and smiled. “did you at least try it before buying?”

his face turned sheepish. “i got two. ate one on the way home.”

laughing, you tugged him down onto the couch beside you, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “it’s perfect, max. i don’t need anything fancy—just you.”

his shoulders relaxed as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

“… good. because i really did panic-buy the flowers,” he admitted, making you burst out laughing.

he may have been chaotic, but he was your chaos, and honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

from the moment february began, you knew lewis had something planned.

it started when he casually asked you one night, his voice soft but certain, "will you be my valentine?" as if you could possibly say no.

you laughed, setting your book aside. "you're asking me like we haven't been together for years."

"i know," he grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "but you deserve to be asked properly."

and that was just the beginning.

by the time valentine's day arrived, you barely had to lift a finger.

when you woke up, there was a carefully wrapped box sitting on the edge of the bed, a note resting on top in lewis's elegant handwriting:

"good morning, my love. no need to stress about today. i have taken care of everything. wear this and be ready by seven. i will handle the rest. can't wait to see you. always yours, lewis."

you unfolded the tissue paper inside and found an outfit. the outfit. something effortlessly elegant, tailored to your style but with a touch of his own influence. he knew what would make you feel confident, comfortable, and beautiful.

a warmth bloomed in your chest. he had thought of everything.

when seven o'clock arrived, you stepped out of your room and found lewis waiting, looking devastatingly handsome in a custom suit. his eyes swept over you, appreciation lighting them up instantly.

"you look stunning," he murmured, stepping forward to take your hand.

"you picked it," you teased.

"doesn't make it any less true." he brought your fingers to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss there. "ready?"

"always."

the evening was a dream.

lewis had planned a private dinner at a breathtaking rooftop restaurant, candles flickering around you, soft jazz playing in the background. the menu had been curated just for you. your favorite dishes, a wine he knew you loved, even a dessert he had requested specifically because you once mentioned craving it months ago.

it was not just the grandeur of it all. it was him. the way he leaned in when you spoke, completely present. the way he reached across the table, tracing absentminded circles on the back of your hand. the way his eyes never left you, like he was still in awe after all this time.

"you really went all out, didn't you?" you mused, watching as he poured you another glass of wine.

lewis chuckled, shaking his head. "you deserve it. i wanted today to be perfect for you."

you smiled, heart full. "it already was the moment i woke up."

his fingers intertwined with yours, a soft look in his eyes. "i love you, you know."

"i know." you squeezed his hand. "i love you too, lewis."

and as the night carried on, filled with love, laughter, and little stolen kisses, you knew that no matter how much effort he put into the plans, what truly made the night special was simply him.

ʚ・george russell

george had been unusually secretive the past week.

nothing drastic, just little things. hushed phone calls, a knowing smirk when you asked about plans, and the way he would randomly glance at you with a quiet excitement in his eyes.

"you will see," was all he ever said.

and you did.

on valentine's day, just as the sky began to shift into soft hues of pink and orange, george pulled up to a secluded beach with a playful grin on his face.

"i thought we could do something different," he said, reaching over to squeeze your hand before hopping out of the car.

your eyes drifted over the shoreline, the gentle waves rolling in, and the salty breeze kissing your skin. there was no extravagant setup, no overwhelming display. just the sound of the ocean, the warmth of the setting sun, and george beside you, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

"you planned this?" you asked, smiling as he grabbed a picnic basket from the backseat.

"of course," he said proudly. "i wanted something simple, just us. no distractions, no cameras, no fancy restaurants. just this."

your heart swelled as he led you to a cozy spot where he had set up a blanket in the sand, the basket filled with your favorite snacks and a bottle of wine.

as you sat together, watching the waves roll in, george draped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. "i know it is not much, but i wanted today to be about you and me, not some over-the-top production."

you looked up at him, seeing nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "it is perfect, george."

his lips curved into a soft smile before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "good. because there is nowhere else i would rather be than here with you."

the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the distant sound of the waves lulling you into a peaceful state. at one point, george pulled out his phone and played a song quietly through the speaker, a mellow tune that matched the peaceful ambiance of the beach.

"dance with me?" he asked, holding out his hand.

you let out a small laugh. "there is no music loud enough to dance to."

"we do not need loud music," he said, pulling you up anyway. "just trust me."

and so you did.

you swayed together under the dimming sky, bare feet sinking into the cool sand, his arms wrapped securely around you. it was simple. it was intimate. it was everything you never knew you needed.

as the last bit of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, george whispered, "happy valentine's day, love."

resting your head against his chest, you smiled. "happy valentine's day, george."

and in that moment, with nothing but the sound of the waves and the warmth of his embrace, you knew that this was love in its purest form.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos had always been charming. but tonight, he was on another level.

from the moment he picked you up, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that made him look impossibly handsome, you knew he had something special planned. his smirk was dangerous, the kind that sent warmth through your entire body.

“you look stunning, mi amor,” he murmured, leaning in just a little too close as his lips brushed your cheek. his cologne lingered, warm and intoxicating. “i almost want to skip dinner and keep you all to myself.”

you rolled your eyes, though your heart skipped a beat. “behave.”

“i make no promises,” he teased, leading you to the car.

the restaurant was one of your favorites, a cozy yet elegant spot that carlos had somehow managed to book despite its usual months-long waiting list.

the moment you were seated, he reached across the table, fingers brushing over yours as he gazed at you with that signature, lazy smirk. “i think i am already full just looking at you.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “that was terrible.”

“but did it work?” he asked, lifting your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it slowly, deliberately.

your skin tingled. “maybe a little.”

he grinned. “good.”

throughout dinner, he was extra attentive, making sure you had everything you wanted. his knee brushed against yours under the table, his voice dipped lower whenever he leaned in to whisper something just for you, and his fingers traced light patterns along your wrist whenever he held your hand.

at one point, he tilted his head, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“what?” you asked, smiling.

“nothing,” he murmured, his voice soft but deep. “i just love watching you when you are happy.”

your heart fluttered. “carlos.”

his smirk returned. “what? it is true.” he took a slow sip of his wine, eyes never leaving yours. “besides, i like to remind you how completely, hopelessly in love with you i am.”

your stomach flipped. “you are really pulling out all the stops tonight, huh?”

he leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “only because i know what it does to you.”

your breath hitched. “you are unbelievable.”

he smirked, fingers brushing over yours again. “and yet, you love me anyway.”

you sighed, pretending to be exasperated, but there was no denying the warmth spreading through your chest. “unfortunately.”

carlos chuckled, shaking his head. “i think you mean luckily.”

you looked at him, taking in the way his dark eyes burned with something deeper than just playful flirtation. beneath the teasing, beneath the smooth confidence, there was love. real, undeniable love.

and it was all for you.

as dinner came to an end, he reached for your hand again, tracing slow circles against your palm. “do you want dessert?”

you tilted your head. “are you actually talking about dessert, or is this another one of your lines?”

his lips twitched. “would you be disappointed if it was?”

you shook your head, laughing softly. “no.”

his fingers laced with yours as he brought your hand to his lips once more, voice low and full of promise.

“good.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles had monaco at his fingertips. it was beautiful, luxurious, and full of charm, just like him. but when valentine’s day approached, he surprised you with something unexpected.

“we are going to paris,” he had said casually over breakfast, sipping his coffee like he had not just dropped the most romantic idea possible.

your eyes widened. “paris? you live in monaco, one of the most beautiful places in the world, and you’re taking me to paris?”

he smirked, setting his cup down before leaning in. “everyone knows paris is for lovers, mon amour. and i want to spoil you properly.”

and he did.

the moment you landed, you felt the shift.

paris had its own kind of magic, the kind that wrapped around you like a warm embrace. the air smelled of fresh bread and soft rain, the streets alive with quiet charm. charles took your hand effortlessly, like he was meant to hold it, leading you through the city as if he had been born to love it, just as he had been born to love you.

the morning was slow and sweet, starting with a walk along the seine. he held your hand the entire time, stopping occasionally just to press a kiss to your temple, or to murmur something in french that he knew would make you blush.

“say something else,” you teased, smiling up at him.

he leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “tu es la plus belle chose que j’ai jamais vue.”

you shivered at the way his voice dropped, the way his breath was warm against your skin. “and what does that mean?”

he smirked, tugging you just a little closer. “it means you are the most beautiful thing i have ever seen.”

your heart flipped in your chest. “you are too good at this.”

“i am only good at this because it is you.”

he spent the afternoon showing you his favorite hidden spots. a small café tucked away from the crowds, where he ordered for you effortlessly in french, his accent rolling off his tongue like silk. a bookshop near the notre-dame, where he traced his fingers over the spines of old novels, claiming he was looking for something special to remember this trip by.

“i do not need souvenirs,” he said, slipping his arm around your waist. “you are the only thing i want to remember.”

by the time evening arrived, he had one final surprise.

he took you to the eiffel tower just as the sun was setting, the sky painted in soft pinks and golds. as the lights flickered to life, he turned to you, his hands resting firmly on your waist.

“beautiful,” he murmured.

“the view?” you teased, even though you already knew the answer.

he shook his head slowly. “you.”

your breath caught in your throat as he reached for you, his lips finding yours in a slow, lingering kiss. there was no rush, no urgency. just the feeling of being completely and utterly his, surrounded by the city of love, under the lights of paris.

his hands slid to the small of your back, fingers tracing lazy circles as he deepened the kiss. he pulled away just enough to whisper against your lips, “you taste sweeter than any wine.”

your cheeks warmed, but before you could reply, he kissed you again, this time with just a hint of teasing, just enough to make your heart race.

by the time you arrived at the hotel, paris had already left you breathless.

the suite was stunning, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city, warm candlelight flickering against the walls, and soft rose petals scattered across the bed.

you turned to charles, who was watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. “you really thought of everything.”

his smirk was slow, deliberate. “i always do.”

you stepped closer, hands resting against his chest. “why paris?” you asked, voice soft.

his hands found your waist easily, like he had been waiting for this moment all night. “because it is the most romantic city in the world.” his voice dropped slightly, eyes darkening as he pulled you even closer. “and because i wanted to make sure you never forget tonight.”

your pulse quickened as his fingers traced slow patterns along your lower back, his lips brushing just below your ear.

“i have given you paris,” he murmured, voice warm and deep. “now, i only want to give you me.”

his lips ghosted over your skin, teasing, lingering, waiting.

the night was still young.

ʚ・lando norris

you were this close to losing it.

sitting on your couch, phone in hand, you stared at the screen, thumb hovering over lando’s contact. it was nearly eight in the evening on valentine’s day, and there had been no text, no call, no nothing.

no “happy valentine’s, love.” no “can’t wait to see you.” not even a dumb meme.

you waited all day, giving him the benefit of the doubt. maybe he was busy. maybe he had something planned. maybe he forgot.

your blood simmered at that last thought. oh, if he forgot…

you hit the call button, heart pounding as it rang. once. twice. straight to voicemail.

“oh, hell no.”

you stood up, pacing the living room, preparing the argument in your head. you would start off calm. hey, babe, just wondering if you forgot a certain very important day? then you’d get passive-aggressive. wow, imagine forgetting your girlfriend exists. and if he dared to laugh, you would go full dramatic mode. maybe i should date someone who actually remembers i exist. maybe oscar piastri wouldn’t forget.

but before you could dial again, the doorbell rang.

you blinked, still mid-rant in your head. slowly, you walked over, swinging the door open, fully prepared to go off—

and there he was.

lando stood on your doorstep, slightly out of breath, holding entirely too many things at once. a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a bag of takeout from your favorite restaurant, a small wrapped box, and a guilty, breathless grin on his face.

"hi," he said sheepishly, eyes twinkling.

you crossed your arms, biting back a smile. "you forgot, didn’t you?"

his jaw dropped in mock offense. "never!"

you gave him a pointed look. "then why do you look like you just ran a marathon?"

"because someone’s favorite restaurant takes forever to prepare food," he said, stepping inside as you moved aside. he held up the takeout bag like a trophy. "i have been standing in line for an hour. an hour, babe. do you know how many people are out there trying to get last-minute valentine's dinners? it’s war out there."

you snorted, shaking your head. "you could’ve at least texted me, lando. i was this close to picking a fight with you."

"believe me, i know," he muttered, placing everything down on the table. "i saw the missed call and almost died because i knew you were about to go nuclear on me."

you rolled your eyes as he unwrapped the takeout, the smell filling the room instantly. he grinned at your reaction, knowing full well how much you loved it.

"see?" he said, handing you a pair of chopsticks. "you thought i forgot, but really, i was just out here being the best boyfriend ever."

you raised an eyebrow. "you sure about that?"

he smirked. "mostly."

you shook your head, but when he grabbed a flower from the bouquet and tucked it gently behind your ear, your heart melted just a little.

"you do look really cute when you're mad, though," he added, grinning.

"lando," you warned, but he just laughed, pulling you onto the couch with him.

as you both started eating, he kept sneaking little bites of your food, dodging your half-hearted swats, grinning every time he managed to steal some.

"you're literally eating the same thing," you huffed.

"yeah, but yours tastes better."

"you are insufferable."

"and yet, here you are," he teased, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. "still mad at me?"

you sighed dramatically, resting your head against him. "i mean… i was really looking forward to yelling at you."

he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "i know. next time, i’ll text you, my bad."

"next time?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

he winked. "next time i make you think i forgot."

you gasped, smacking his arm as he burst into laughter, dodging you like an overgrown child.

eventually, you both settled down, tangled together on the couch, sharing food, jokes, and soft kisses in between.

and despite all your earlier frustration, you realized you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

ʚ・oscar piastri

valentine’s day was meant to be easy this year.

no over-the-top plans, no rushing to a fancy restaurant, no stress about whether a reservation would fall through. just you and oscar, a quiet night in, and the simple comfort of being together.

you had both agreed on it weeks ago, sitting in bed one night when he casually asked, “so, what do you wanna do for valentine’s?”

you had shrugged, leaning against him. “something simple. movies, dinner at home, just us.”

his response had been instant. “perfect.”

and now, as you stood in the kitchen, stirring the sauce for dinner while music played softly in the background, you couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

oscar walked in, freshly showered, his hair still damp as he leaned against the counter, watching you with a lazy smile.

“you need help?” he asked, even though you both knew the answer.

“you just want an excuse to mess around,” you teased, throwing him a knowing glance.

he gasped in mock offense. “i would never.”

raising an eyebrow, you pointed at him with the spoon. “like last time, when you ‘helped’ by stealing half the ingredients and eating them before they even made it into the dish?”

he grinned unapologetically. “that was a tactical decision.”

laughing, you turned back to the stove, stirring the sauce as he moved behind you, arms sneaking around your waist. he rested his chin on your shoulder, watching over you like he was actually involved in the process.

“this is nice,” he murmured.

you smiled, leaning back against him. “told you. low-key is the way to go.”

he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before pulling away. “alright, chef, what do i do?”

you handed him a cutting board with some vegetables to chop. “here. real help this time.”

he got to work, surprisingly efficient, only occasionally making faces at the onions like they had personally offended him.

by the time dinner was ready, the two of you set up in the living room, plates in hand, a blanket tossed lazily over your legs. the movie had barely started when you noticed oscar already halfway through his meal, focused but relaxed, like he was completely at home in this moment.

and, really, he was.

the two of you were tangled together on the couch, comfortable in the quiet moments, sneaking bites from each other’s plates, sharing knowing glances when something ridiculous happened in the movie.

at one point, he nudged you. “are you actually watching, or are you just staring at me?”

you smirked, setting your plate down. “maybe both.”

he huffed a laugh, shifting to face you fully. “well, if you’re gonna stare, at least make yourself useful.”

before you could ask what he meant, he pulled you closer, pressing his lips softly against yours. it was slow, unrushed, just like the night itself.

his hand found its way to your cheek, thumb tracing light patterns as he pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“happy valentine’s,” he whispered.

you smiled, brushing your nose against his. “happy valentine’s, oscar.”

he sighed contently, pulling you even closer as the movie played on, forgotten.

and in that moment, you realized that you didn’t need fancy dates or extravagant gestures.

because home wasn’t a place.

it was him.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[siriuslylantsov]

be my valentine

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: in which, spencer asks you out after a hearty but incomplete info dump on the history of valentines day.

tags: fluff! idiots inlove, gn!reader, reader is briefly described as shorter than spencer, teasing!spencer, grumpy!reader, penelope is an angel and i love her so much, reader shitting on valentines day and raising some very valid points.

a/n: based on this request, second fic for the event!! i know its still four days till valentines day but! if i didnt get this done now it would've been late. i rewrote this THREE times... but i rlly like how this version came out! happy reading :)

wc: 2.1k

it's your lunch break and you’re glaring at yet another sappy couple that walks by you. grumbling, you take another bite of your blueberry muffin. spencer laughs from his seat in front of you, amused by how your lip curls into an irritated pout. the two of you had walked to a cafe, a brief reprieve away from the frenzied police department you were stationed at for this week's case. 

“motherfuckers,” you seethe, still chewing your food. “i hate valentine's day.”

he laughs again, his tone sarcastic, “really, i never would’ve guessed.”

your glare shifts to him as you cross your arms. his grin is still there, annoyingly persistent, you hate that it doesn't affect him as much as it should. if you told him this, he would’ve told you that it didn't pack much of a punch. 

you roll your eyes and continue with a heavy scoff, “it's just another fake holiday, you know. like mother's day. created by greeting card companies trying to commercialise a day that shouldn't even exist honestly. every day should be dedicated to showing your loved ones how much you care, not just 24 hours in the middle of february.”

he accepts your cynicism with a smirk, completely accustomed to it. he knows you don’t mean it, not entirely, you just like to rant. “you know valentines day actually goes back about 2000 years. i’m sure greeting card companies weren't around back then,” he corrects, biting his lip in suppression.

your eyes narrow into slits, feeling the faint shift in the air of an incoming info dump. you ignore the way you want to hear what he has to say and take a sip of your coffee instead. you stall to torture him a bit, it's funny how he squirms.

“really,” you drag out, stroking your chin in exaggerated contemplation. you stare at him knowingly, he wants to continue but he's waiting for you to give him the green light. you laugh quietly, mood already improved, “go on.”

spencer visibly brightens, sitting up straighter and hands springing into action. “well, valentine's day has a really fascinating and somewhat convoluted history,” he starts, almost giddily. “the earliest accepted theory can be traced back to the roman festival of lupercalia, which was celebrated from february 13th to 15th. it was a fertility festival dedicated to faunus, the roman god of agriculture, and it included a ritual where men would sacrifice a goat and a dog, then use strips of the goat’s hide to whip women-”

“wait, they used goat skin to whip women?” you interject, eyes widening incredulously.

“yes! they willingly lined up for it too, believing it would make them more fertile,” he explains, far too animated considering the context, but it's okay. you like his enthusiasm. 

you grimace, “weird.”

“right. however, the day of love that we now recognise was brought by st. valentine, though which valentine is unclear—there were at least three martyred saints by that name. the most famous story involves a priest in third-century rome who defied emperor claudius ii's orders by secretly performing marriages for young soldiers,” he pauses to take a breath. you use it to bring your coffee back up to your lips, hiding your smile.

“claudius believed single men made better warriors, so he banned them from marrying,” he clarifies to which you nod. “when valentine was caught, he was executed on february 14th, which is why he’s the namesake of the holiday. some versions of the story even say that he sent a letter to his jailer's daughter signed ‘from your valentine’ which could be the origin of the modern tradition.”

“huh,” you pick your lip in thought, spencer hides the way his eyes dart down to them as you do it. “but that’s still an execution, how did it-”

the shrill tone of your ringtone interrupts you. “mhm, okay,” you respond when you pick up the phone. “we’ll be right there.” 

spencer stares at you expectantly, reaching over to grab your bag. he secures it over his shoulder and stands up. 

“it was jj,” you explain, stuffing the last bits of muffin into your mouth. “wi’ness ‘howed up.”

the food-muffled words make him chuckle and hold out a hand for you to get up. you let him pull you up with a dramatic huff, still holding his hand as you dust crumbs from your lap. you realise it a little too late and let go with a start, frown returning when you realise he isn’t going to let you carry your bag.

the walk back only took about five minutes before but this time's slower pace makes it a longer ordeal. comfortable silence brackets the two of you until it doesn’t when spencer speaks up.

“so, there's actually a lot more to the history of valentine's day. for instance, how the day became one of romance instead of, as you said, one that marked a martyrdom. we could, i don't know, discuss this properly over dinner. or drinks? or ice cream, i know that you like ice cream-”

filler words... he’s nervous. amid his rambling, he doesn't realise that you’ve stopped in your tracks. 

“-we can do whatever you want, i don't mind.” when he looks beside him and doesn't find you, he turns around. he can scarcely read the expression on your face, he usually can. this causes a little bout of concern to bubble up, “what is it?”

“are you asking me out?” your question is immediate, blunt, as a confused crease forms between your eyebrows.

well shit, he was. his lips part as he processes what he just said, he looks a little like a deer in headlights the way he stares back at you. was that too much? are you mad? did you want him to ask you out? what if you say no? he should say something. what if he messes everything up? he can’t-

“spencer,” his name rings out softly, pulling him from his spiral. 

his eyes snap to yours, searching, desperate to read between the lines, to piece together what you’re thinking like he always does—except this time, he can’t. he squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again, “yes.”

he swallows hard and adds, “on a date.”

“i got that,” you murmur, stepping closer to him, and closing the distance that he unintentionally left.

his head dips, voice small. “i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

your head tilts slightly, studying him. “you didn’t.”

the reassurance eases him a little but not enough as the anxiety claws at him while he waits for your answer. your phone sounds again from your pocket, this time a text from morgan. you quickly type out a response–got lost, be there in 2. it's a pathetic excuse, if you focused, the station was in your direct eye line. but you needed to say something. 

“okay.”

he can't help the sign of relief that slips out of him, you giggle at the sound. when he looks at you again, he's unmeasurably happy to see your poorly concealed smile, breaking out in his own matching one. 

“yeah?” he asks sheepishly.

you nod, chewing your bottom lip, “yeah.”

your eyes squint at the corners, a side effect of the same grin that those sappy couples had been sporting, the same one that you’d been complaining about a little while ago. it makes you want to kick yourself, so you do the next best thing. you take hold of spencer's hand and drag yourself back to the pd. spencer shuffles somewhat behind you, trying to keep up with your stride. it doesn't take him long with those long legs of his.

his thumb strokes your knuckles gently–deliberately, you feel–but he pretends it's an unconscious action with the way his eyes are trained ahead. it makes you roll your eyes. when you near, you reluctantly let go of each other, the moment being the last time the two of you are alone for the rest of the day.

-

the team ends up solving the case a few hours later, taking the jet home where a valentines day baking spread is set up in the briefing room. all set up by the resident tech savvy. penelope tells you later that it took a whole week of convincing on her part, insisting that it would be quick and she’d clean up, and that everyone would get home to their own valentine's day plans in no time. 

there are a few heart-shaped helium balloons floating in the corners, and pink streamers in easy to reach places. the room is drastically more inviting, maybe the tones of fuschia and bubblegum have something to do with that. a cake and a bowl of suspiciously dyed punch reside on the table, along with pink plates and cups.

“penelope,” you gasp when you see them.

perfectly curated baskets of chocolate and cookies and associated items for everyone. you pick up the one with your name on it and inside you find: a candle, your favourite candy tied together with a little bow and a letter signed ‘happy valentines day, sweetheart. love, penny xx’. 

oh my god, you could kiss her. 

“it's like christmas,” emily muses from the other end of the table. you hear jj mutter something in agreement. you peek over at spencer, it's probably the hundredth time that you've snuck a glance his way. his eyes were already on you every other time, only now they were accompanied by a pair of red heart-shaped glasses, the clear plastic lenses offering a perfect view of his hazel orbs. the picture makes you laugh to yourself, you can barely hear it echoing from his end. 

-

about 30 minutes later, only the stragglers are left. in better words, the single people. the individuals with partners having rushed off to their own respective plans. you're making small talk with another girl who worked around the office when you feel a light hand on your shoulder, spencer nodding his head toward the elevator to signal your leave. you politely wish her goodbye and walk out with him. 

“cute glasses,” you tease, bumping his shoulder with yours, though the height difference makes it so you're nudging his upper arm. 

“yeah? i might get the lenses medicated, switch them out for my regular ones,” he jokes, his elbow nudging yours gently as he pushes the bridge of the glasses up the slope of his nose instinctively. 

“good idea,” you nod.

“you think?”

“mhm.” 

once again, he beats you to your bag, swiping it from your chair and carrying it along with his own. you meekly toy with the hem of your shirt as the two of you walk to the elevator. 

“so, bummer that neither of us have plans today. it’s so early,” you say, being blatantly obvious with what you're suggesting.

spencer only offers you an indifferent “yeah, bummer” in response, walking in when the doors slide open. when you look at him though, he's anything but indifferent, the corner of his lip pulling up in a crooked smile, irritatingly smug. you don't know where he gets off on being so at ease but the expression on his face makes you scowl as you follow him in. 

he is silent the whole ride down. you become increasingly annoyed, only faltering slightly when his hand reaches down to hold yours. his fingers thread between yours and you not-so subtly curl yours over his, ignoring the way he looks down at you. 

you try not to smile at the domestic picture of the two of you walking out hand in hand. thankfully the basement is empty. he pauses between your cars and mutters a quick “see you monday” before loosening his fingers and turning to walk away.

“spencer,” you groan, almost a whine as you squeeze his hand before he can let go.

he responds immediately, without missing a beat, “yes, angel.”

fuck.

you want to melt but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “would you like to do something tonight?” you grit out begrudgingly.

“i would love to,” he agrees, pulling you closer with your hand. your gaze darts to the two bag straps on his shoulder and you realise he had no intention of letting you go just like that. so you shove him, a little hard that he stumbles a bit. he huffs a laugh and you shake your head dismissively. 

he slowly, tentatively, dips down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. your eyes flutter shut at the contact. 

“how does thai food sound?” he asks, that same bashfulness creeping into his voice that you love so dearly. 

“sounds perfect.”

you share another sweet smile that would probably make you gag from an outside perspective but now it just makes you feel dizzy. he leads you back to his car, muttering something about how he’ll pick yours up tomorrow morning. you want to argue with him but that same dizzy feeling stops you.

you can't help the dreamy sigh that slips out when he connects your hands again over the centre console. thank god for st. valentine, you think.

reblogs and replies are appreciated :) | m.list

divider from @saradika-graphics

[eddiegettingshot]

your prompt for today: pink🩷

When their night out winds down, and they land on Eddie’s doorstep, Buck’s gut begins to prickle with sudden nerves, or maybe anticipation. He really can’t tell the difference. Strange, because he thought he’d been handling being on a first date with his best friend pretty well. After all, it’s a song and dance that’s usually about making a good first impression, and not only did that ship sail years ago, but Buck didn’t even get it right. So dinner just felt like dinner, except for the fact that Eddie kept their feet tucked together beneath the table the whole time.

Granted, there were a few days where Buck kept forgetting anything had changed between them if they weren’t physically together, if Eddie didn’t have a hand on him, like he’d lost all sense of object permanence where Eddie was concerned. What’s startling is that in most ways, nothing has. 

Like this: Eddie turns to him now as he unlocks his front door, brow arched. 

“What, you got somewhere else to be?” he asks.

Buck doesn’t bother asking what Eddie had seen in him, that he’d decided he needed to stake an explicit claim on the rest of Buck’s night (and, with luck, the morning?). It’s not like he’s in the habit of playing things close to the vest, but half the time he doesn’t even need to say a word—not to Eddie. He’d been peeled open long before he knew he had anything to confess.

Easy to imagine: himself, held in the tender cradle of Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s thumbs feeling down his center to find the tenderest spot, pushing deep all at once, prying him apart—through the rind of him, his ribcage, so all his insides, overripe with adoration, come spilling out into Eddie’s palms. That’s how it feels. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“No,” he says, shuffling closer. He’d been hanging back, playing with his car keys in his pocket.  “No, I—I’m coming in.”

“Good.” 

Eddie sounds so openly pleased. Warmth spills through Buck’s spine. He hadn’t considered that he wasn’t alone in this—bracing against some new humming energy, staring too closely at the back of Eddie’s neck—but he watches Eddie’s shoulders soften, right before he lets Buck inside.

Then, once Buck’s on the couch, thinking really intently about how they’re going to occupy it together (it’s been a busy week; they haven’t even seen enough of each other for Buck to have adapted to their new rules of engagement. Can he crawl into Eddie’s lap?), Eddie pauses, says, “Uh, hold on,” and bustles off to the kitchen. 

He returns with a lighter for the candle sitting on the coffee table, which is—new. Buck hadn’t noticed until now. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie light a candle in all the years he’s spent in this house, and now his lip is trapped between his teeth as he does it, avoiding Buck’s eyes all the while.

It hits Buck hard and fast: Eddie is really, really nervous. And trying to be romantic, for Buck. And if he crawled into Eddie’s lap, probably Eddie would laugh, and let him; he’s allowed. And maybe nothing feels different but it’s all changed. That’s what Buck wants, for once. That’s what Eddie wants, judging by his wide dark eyes, flushed cheeks, the flickering candlelight. Sometimes Buck’s slow on the uptake. This time, he might have just been scared. 

“You look nice,” Buck says. 

Kind of bad timing—Eddie’s just in his socks; he’d shed his jacket and the fancy watch Buck’s only seen him break out a couple times; he’d undone the first couple of buttons on his shirt; he must have run his hands through his hair when he was out of sight, since it’s falling halfway down his forehead. Buck should have said something when he picked Eddie up—he’d thought it, then, but he had been so comfortable with Eddie in his passenger seat, he didn’t want to risk making things weird.

Eddie’s laugh is just a soft puff of air. He relaxes. “Thanks,” he says, coming around to sink down beside Buck, turning a knee out so they’re touching, as if by reflex. 

“I like that color on you,” Buck continues. “Always have.”

“Hm,” Eddie says, smiling. He’s in rose pink. He’s also leaning closer, lifting a hand and brushing his fingertips down Buck’s brow, his cheek. His eyes flicker, and suddenly they’re trained on Buck’s mouth. Buck’s stomach swoops boyishly. “It’s a good color.”

Holy shit, Buck thinks, head full of jasmine and honey and smoke and the cologne Eddie’s wearing, something unfamiliar with an exotic spiced note. They kissed before—they’ve been kissing all week—except this time Buck starts whimpering before their lips meet, and Eddie swallows whatever strangled noise he makes with a grin. Buck lurches in, fisting urgent hands into the front of Eddie’s shirt. 

“Eddie,” he pants after a while. It’s hard-won, because Eddie is demanding, and he bites. “Eddie, are you sure?” 

Now that they’ve done it, like, really crossed the line, gotten a taste—he’s gotta know if this is what Eddie was looking for, when he told Buck he loved him. Not just the sex, which they’re definitely about to have—all of it. Buck shoves his knuckles against Eddie’s chest to feel his heart gallop, hard but steady like it grew Thoroughbred legs. 

Eddie’s cupping his face in both hands while they kiss. He pulls away, not far, and surveys Buck the way he would a patient: like he’s trying to puzzle out what’s going on beneath Buck’s skin, in all the places he can’t quite reach.

“Buck,” he says, gently. “Of course.” 

He pushes his thumb between Buck’s teeth. Satisfied, Buck drags him back in.

[hy6erion]

viktor and jayce fighting over you??

𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞

⇢ 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐨

1. The Scientific Method (or How to Win You Over)

It starts subtly—at least, as subtle as Jayce can manage.

“You know,” he says, leaning against your desk, broad shoulders blocking your view of the latest schematics, “I was thinking—you and I should go out sometime. Just the two of us. For research purposes.”

You don’t even have time to process before Viktor, seated across from you, speaks without looking up from his own work.

“Research into what? The effects of secondhand embarrassment?”

Jayce shoots him a glare. “Into team bonding, Viktor.”

“Mm. And what hypothesis are you testing? That you can single-handedly drive them to madness?” Viktor hums, scratching something in his notes. “A bold assumption, but I suppose it is not entirely unfounded.”

Jayce turns back to you, ignoring him. “Dinner. Drinks. Maybe some—”

“A headache,” Viktor mutters.

Jayce groans, running a hand down his face before pointing at you. “You. Pick a side here.”

You exhale, setting down your pen. “I don’t even know what we’re arguing about.”

“We aren’t arguing,” Viktor says at the same time Jayce huffs, “We are arguing.”

You stare at them both. They stare at each other.

This has been happening for weeks.

It’s not always this obvious—sometimes it’s in the little things, the way Viktor always ensures your coffee is warm but lets Jayce suffer with whatever’s left in the pot. Or how Jayce somehow always has an extra set of tools whenever you’re missing yours, grinning like he wasn’t just waiting for the opportunity.

And the way they bicker—gods, it never ends.

“Fine,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Jayce, we can do dinner. And Viktor, you can join.”

Jayce groans, throwing his head back. “Not the third-wheel invitation—”

“I accept,” Viktor interrupts smoothly.

Jayce turns to him, expression wounded. “Dude.”

“You do not own them, Jayce.”

“Neither do you!”

Viktor just smiles.

You take another sip of your coffee. This is going to be a long night.

2. The Art of Winning (or Just Being Petty)

“Y/n, my dearest, most trusted lab partner,” Viktor says, sidling up next to you while you’re examining some blueprints. “You are an artist of unparalleled skill. Would you mind assisting me with some designs?”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can answer, Jayce materializes from across the room.

“Woah, woah, hold on, I was just about to ask them for help.”

Viktor tilts his head, feigning confusion. “Just about to? How convenient.”

Jayce narrows his eyes. “You knew I was gonna ask them—”

“Mm. And yet, I asked first.”

“That doesn’t—”

“Time is linear, Jayce. Surely you understand this.”

Jayce looks ready to explode.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You both know I have other work to do, right?”

They don’t. They definitely don’t.

But Jayce recovers first, flashing you his most charming smile. “C’mon, you know I have the bigger project right now—”

“Size does not determine quality, Jayce,” Viktor interrupts. “By that logic, your brain should be much more effective.”

Jayce’s jaw drops. “Did you just—?”

“Mm?” Viktor takes a slow sip of his tea.

You sigh, turning away before you witness a murder. “I’m flipping a coin. Heads, I help Jayce. Tails, I help Viktor.”

Jayce’s shoulders relax. “That seems fair.”

Viktor hums, noncommittal.

You flip. The coin lands. You glance at it.

Then, you slap it onto your palm before either of them can see and say, “I’m helping myself today.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, and Jayce groans, dropping his head onto the nearest surface.

“Brilliant,” Viktor murmurs. “I am rubbing off on you.”

Jayce mumbles something into the desk. You pat his shoulder in consolation before walking away, leaving them to their stalemate.

3. The Heart of the Matter (Or: Maybe They’re Not as Subtle as They Think)

At some point, you begin to wonder if they even know what they’re fighting over.

Because it’s not just lab work. It’s not just projects, or coffee, or who gets to sit next to you during meetings.

It’s you.

And they’re both smart enough to know it, even if neither of them says it outright.

It’s in the way Jayce’s gaze lingers whenever you laugh, like he’s memorizing the sound. The way Viktor’s voice softens when he murmurs your name, careful, like he knows the weight it holds.

It’s in how they both wait for you at the end of the day, pretending it’s just coincidence.

It’s in the way Viktor watches Jayce’s arm brush against yours and says nothing, but his fingers tighten around his cane. In how Jayce watches Viktor pull you in to murmur something close and he says nothing, but his jaw tenses.

It’s in the way neither of them will ever say it—but neither of them will yield, either.

And you?Well.

You just let them fight.

[bunny-jpeg]

hi!, could i please get churros, nanaimo bars and honey cruller with a side of milkshake and dark hot chocolate with oscar piastri?

bakery menu

hey that was quite the hiatus! happy to be back. i spent the holidays trying to figure out how to make a comeback with the bakery prompts. they'll still be scattered in with my other fics, but i hope you enjoy 'em! a little break is never a bad thing and i hope that you've been enjoying my other fan fics! i wanted to start with smaller orders to get back into the groove, but i'll work up to the lovely bigger orders ya'll have sent! thank you anon and i hope you enjoy <3

churros: "if you don't shut that little mouth of yours, i will stuff it full. okay?" + nanaimo bars: "who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it." + honey cruller: "i forget how small you are sometimes." + milkshake: size kink + dark hot chocolate: sub!reader served by oscar piastri (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, established relationship, stress relief, oral sex (oscar receives), car sex, dirty talk

sometimes racing felt like hitting his head against the wall. another week, another messy weekend. he was so close, but advised to let lando over take him. oscar honestly hated it sometimes.

they were friends, but lando always seemed to get the spotlight more. he was currently barrelling towards the wdc, and oscar felt like he was being left behind. a seat filler without much to give.

the anger brewed into something else inside of the normally gentle oscar. when you were talking to him on the drive back to the hotel. he made a remark that sent a hot feeling through you, "if you don't shut that little mouth of yours, i will stuff it full. okay?"

his eyes went wide and before he could say anything, you replied, "promise?"

oscar parked the car quickly, pulled into a quiet car park. he was thankful for his tinted windows as he put the car in park and turned it off. he said, "i'm sorry, i don't know-"

he never spoke to you like that. but you weren't scared of him, instead he knew that you were fairly flustered at his words. he reached to touch your cheek and instead you leaned in to kiss his inner wrist.

"don't worry about it, oscar. you're stressed out. i was near the pit wall when i heard them make the call... you feel bad." you said lovingly. you placed a hand on his thigh, close to his cock and added, "you should lose more if it makes you dirty talk like that."

oscar was able to relax and then leaned in across the gear shift to kiss you on the lips. he was able to cup most of your jaw with his larger hand. he asked, "do you like the dirty talk?"

you nodded as he held your cheeks in his hand. your lips forced to pout as he held you a little tighter. he chuckled lowly and thought it was beyond adorable.

he kissed your lips and said, "i forget how small you are sometimes." he knew that you liked your size difference, while it wasn't the largest gap anyone has seen. his slightly taller frame and bigger hands made you feel safe in his grasp.

"oscar." you said softly.

he chuckled and kissed your lips tenderly. he held you face, letting you feel close to him. he soon pulled away and said, "honey, why don't you help me relieve a little stress... we're all alone here. look at you, so pretty. who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it." there was a slight tease to his tone that made your cheeks heat up.

"fuck." you exhaled deeply. it was erotic, you had to admit it. you moved your hands to his jeans and started to work his belt. you licked your lips and made eye contact with briefly before you got the belt undone. you asked softly, "

"no one else i'd rather make headlines with." he said lovingly before he kissed your cheek, "i think we're okay. i'll keep an eye out. you just focus on getting me off."

you got his cock out of his pants then leaned in to kiss the tip. you rubbed your thighs together even with the awkward angle that came with giving oral sex in a car. you kissed the tip softly before you wrapped your lips around it and sank down as deep as you could allow yourself.

you didn't want to choke on his cock. you were spurred on by his soft noises. even when he was angry, he still was painfully sweet. you moved your head up and down, you kept your pace steady and you tried to play with the head as you slid up and down.

"do you want dirty talk, baby?" he asked softly.

you nodded as you looked up at him. he patted your soft hair and held onto the back of your neck loosely. the feeling of his large hand on the back of your neck made your core soaked and goosebumps run down your legs. you shivered and he applied a little more pressure on his hold of you while you orally pleasured him.

"oh i bet you love that." he said, "the best stress relief i could have. they always say exercise or a massage, something. but, my best way to relief stress is to have you between my legs. have you choking on my cock. letting me do it in a car park, what a dirty girl. what would everyone think? they barely think we have sex!" he chuckled lightly. he licked his lips at the sight of you taking him, "but we get up to a lot, right? back home, you and i. i remember those weekends, how good you looked on top of me."

you moaned a little bit and he chuckled softly. you moved your head faster and oscar exhaled deeply from the feeling of your tongue on his cock. you anchored yourself on his thighs as your drool dripped down to his balls, wetting his briefs.

he held onto your hair for better hold of you. your curls in his hair hand as he moved your hips a little to push his cock just a little further into your mouth. he felt the shudder of want through him as the pleasure continued to mount in him.

your eyes fluttered shut as you focused more of your attention on his cock. your lips were slick with the gloss your wore, but it was coming off due to the saliva that was painting them now.

"baby." oscar cooed as he played with your hair.

the pleasure continued to grow in him. it mounted in his core as you pleasured him. you looked beautiful rested up against him. even if the position wasn't the most comfortable. but, he knew that once you got back to where you were staying for the weekend, that he'd take proper care of you. any pleasure you gave him, he would return five times over.

while he still felt the stress in his body, it was nothing that couldn't be fixed with your thighs wrapped around his head. he moaned a little bit and bit back a louder one that followed, "you take me so good. remember when we started having sex, you've only gotten better with each time we fuck. i'm so lucky to have you." he swallowed as he rested further against the leather car seat.

you let out a sweet moan as his cock nudged against your throat. you continued to move your head and even with the slight ache in your jaw, you continued. you wanted to get him off. soon after you took your mouth off of him and jerked his cock with the same energy. you panted heavily as you said, "you're my champion, oscar. even if no one else on the team sees it. i do." you looked at him and leaned up to kiss him on the lips.

he moaned into the kiss and hissed through his teeth when your mouth went back on his cock and you continued to pleasure him. the momentum of lust only picked up further in his body. he swore under his breath as he felt on the edge of orgasm.

you played with the tip against your tongue and he pushed you down further quickly as he came down your throat. you let out a squeaky moan, your mouth full of his cock as he finished. you pulled your head away and swallowed the salty taste in your mouth.

oscar's hand was on your face as he asked softly, "are you okay?" even with all the dirty talk, oscar was still the sweet, kind boyfriend you fell in love with. when you nodded he kissed you on the lips. "good." he said afterwards.

he put his cock back into his pants and patted you on the thigh before he started the car to leave the lot. his hand found your thigh and kept it there like it belonged there. he said simply when he pulled back to the main road, "when we get back. i hope you're ready for more dirty talk. because there's so much more i want to do." <3

[amatoryscripts]

Never Let You Go

Pairing: Soft yan! Caleb x Fem! reader

Summary: You've had back-to-back missions lately, and Caleb's getting fed up and concerned. Not only is he worried, but he also hates that he hasn't been able to spend more time with you lately. When Jenna calls, saying she needs you on a mission with the team, he doesn't like the idea and intervenes with you going.

Warnings/tags. MDNI +18: Soft yandere Caleb, forcing you to stay home, poor baby cares too much, obsessive and possessive, unprotected sex, use of "baby girl" "princess" "baby" "pretty girl", MC giving him the silent treatment,makeup sex, biting, so good he tears up.

Lately, every time you turn around, a call from Jenna would come through about a mission that would take up hours of your day, sometimes even longer. How often you've been disappearing in the last two weeks was becoming concerning. Especially to Caleb, who has noticed this the most. How could he not? Every time you two had plans to be together, you had to cancel because of a last-minute mission due to wanderers lurking around. It didn't help his anxiety when you'd video call him after these missions; you'd be bruised up and getting bandaged by the medical techs during a majority of these calls. It pained him to see you in those conditions, as if his own heart could feel all the bruises and wounds you've accumulated on your body.

He always tells you that you can say no to a mission once in a while. Seeing you relax on his couch, reading one of your books while he made you food was a more enjoyable image than seeing you covered in blood and injured. Despite him asking you to do so many times, you refuse. Your response would always involve your worries of not being there for your team and helping to save those around. You were always putting other people first. Sometimes, he wishes you were as selfish as him.

Today was supposed to involve a relaxing date night at his apartment. The plan was to eat dinner and watch the movie they didn't get to last time cuddled up on the couch. In the kitchen, he was cooking a new dish you've been craving to try for a while. Oyster Rockefeller paired with lemon rice and sauteed Korean cucumber. When you mentioned your interest in it, he took note of the dish and garnered the ingredients for the day he knew you two would be together. This is the only thing he's been looking forward to all week.

You sauntered into the kitchen wearing one of his t-shirts and shorts. You've always liked wearing his clothes, but he especially likes it, thinking it makes you two feel closer. Plus, he thought it was cute when you'd hide half of your face and body in his shirts when sitting down. You rest your head against his back, taking in the smell of the seasonings invading the air. "Smells good," you hum, wrapping your arms around his torso. Caleb smiles at your embrace, wanting you to stay attached to him like this all the time.

"I should be done in the next hour or so," he informed you, sautéing the aromatics. He could tell how happy you were that he was making this dish for you. He took pleasure in doing things like this. He didn't mind it one bit, relishing in your happiness and the way your face lights up when he would take care of you. You're very independent, but take advantage of the way he wants to do everything for you. Sometimes, you wonder if you're taking advantage of poor Caleb, but he would always respond with how his only wish in life was to make yours as easy as possible.

"I was thinking we could also play Mario Ka-" You were cut off by the sound of a call trying to get your attention. Caleb already had a clue of who it could be. He puts down the knife he was using to split open the cucumbers and watched as you took the phone out of your pocket. It was Jenna, as always.

"Don't answer it," his low and dark tone caught you off guard for a split second. He knew Jenna was gearing up to swoop you away, once again, to go fight off wanderers they could take down by themselves without you. He didn't understand why they always needed to involve you in all these missions.

"Caleb, I have to," you remind him, letting go to answer the phone. As you turned around to pick up the call, you suddenly felt your body be immobilized. "Huh?" you grunt, trying to move but to no avail. Caleb walks in front of you, taking the phone from your hand. He was using his evol to keep you from moving and answering the phone. His arms swing over your shoulder, covering your mouth with his hand as he answers the phone.

"Hello?... Hi, Jenna... sorry she can't come to the phone," you muffled through his hands, trying to get him to stop. Your eyes demanding for him to let you go. "She's actually pretty sick... yeah, it must be a stomach bug. Poor thing can barely even speak," he smirks, looking down at you. "I'll tell her you hope she gets better. Bye now," he hangs up the phone and places it on the counter. He continues to keep you restrained but removed his hand so you can speak.

"Caleb! Why would you do that?!" You press as you watch him go to lock the front door and return to your side.

"I don't think you should go on that mission," concern and domianance coats his voice as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. You knew he hated you going on missions, but to basically keep you hostage irked you in so many ways.

"That's not really up to you," you struggle. Caleb's overprotectiveness was nothing new to you. He's always made it known that he would never let anything happen to you and would always protect you. You appreciate and even love that he feels this way, but it didn't mean he could stop you from making your own decisions. "Let me go." Your tone is firm as you stand your ground.

"Only if you promise to stay here and let your team handle everything," he attempts to bargain with you, hoping you'd give in easily. Your stubbornness was the real threat to him. He wouldn't put it past you to try and run out of the apartment as soon as he let you go, attempting to join your team in their fight against the wanderers terrorizing wherever Jenna wanted to send you off to.

"I can't leave my team behind," you retort, thinking about how your absence might affect them. They were strong, and you had faith in them, but that didn't mean you were okay with the idea of not being there when they might need you.

"They'll be fine," he assures you. "But I won't be if you come back hurt again. It took you days to recover last time, and now they're trying to send you back out there." His voice is tender, wrapped with a hint of frustration. The last thing he wanted to see was you covered in bandages with blood soaking through and bruises not caused by him decorating your body.

He wasn't wrong. You weren't fond of coming home all banged up, but you took this job to protect people, something you want to do. If that meant sometimes getting hurt, then so be it. "Caleb, I'm strong enough to protect myself. I don't need you treating me like glass. I'll always get a scratch here or there, but it comes with the territory, and I accepted that. You need to do the same." You didn't get this far by being fragile. Jenna put you on her team for a reason, and Caleb needed to start seeing you as someone strong and capable, not the little girl he would protect from bullies and danger 24/7.

He stayed silent, cupping your face and staring into your fiery eyes. He just wants to keep you like this. At his whim and safe from the cruelties of outside. Was that so wrong? Wanting to keep you locked away being only with him?

"You can't keep me from doing my job," you sigh, knowing he was just scared of losing you again. You both shared that fear, so she understood him well.

"I can try," his assertion not wavering, standing strong in his goal to keep you here. "You're not leaving. You're going to eat dinner, and we're going to watch the movie like we planned, okay?" All he could think about was how this interruption was ruining this time meant for you two to be alone.

You were silent, your frustration consuming you as you stared at him with narrow eyes. You knew trying to run off would be futile. He looks the most determined you’ve ever seen him. Jenna already thinks you're sick, so what's the point? After another few seconds of staring each other down, you give in. "Fine," reluctance infuses your words, knowing he wouldn't back down. He drops his evol, and you move your shoulders around, relaxing your body.

At the dinner table, you weren't talkative like usual. Your attention was on the food, not looking up at Caleb once. You were too upset to properly enjoy the meal. Normally, you'd be showering him with compliments as you stuffed your face from happiness. At this moment, you were picking at the food, taking small bites as you worried about your team, wondering how the mission was going.

Caleb stabbed his plate, picking up a piece of the oyster on his fork, watching you ignore him. "I'm doing this to keep you safe," he suddenly says. You didn't look up, pushing a slice of cucumber in your mouth. He could even make cucumber taste amazing. You keep the praise to yourself, listening to him attempt to make you understand why he did what he did. "It drives me crazy when you're risking your life for others. Doing it back to back too often is insane." He grips his fork, which begins to bend slightly from his strength. "You can really hurt yourself if you keep pushing your body like this. I wouldn't forgive myself for letting you go out there to get hurt."

Still, you refused to acknowledge him, pushing the rest of your food around. As the silence continued, the sound of your phone receiving a message echoed. You checked the notification and saw it was from Tara, hoping you got well, while also informing you that the mission was a success and everyone was fine. That message made you smile for the first time since you sat down.

"I'm assuming you received good news and everyone's limbs are intact. Happy now?" You frown at his comment. You hope he didn't think you would forgive him easily because everyone was fine.

"Yeah, it's good to know I can stop feeling guilty for worrying about my teammates when I should've been there for them!" You hiss, standing up abruptly and marching into the bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Caleb stays at the dinner table, not touching his food anymore from a loss of appetite. He didn't like it when you got like this. It made his heart crumble when you'd give him the cold shoulder and shut him out. All he wants is to be near you and make you happy. Now you were pissed and shutting him out. His worst fear, right below losing you forever. You were scary in this state, going from being sweet and loving to an eruption of anger.

You stayed in the room, covering yourself with the shirt you wore. holding your phone inches from your face as you caught up with your teammates. You heard Caleb leave the apartment a few minutes after you got up from the table. Curiosity about where he ran off to did creep around your mind, but you were still annoyed at his behavior. When you checked in with the last member, you felt better than earlier, knowing everyone got out without being heavily injured. Even if Tara confirmed this with you earlier, it still didn't feel right not checking in with them.

A knock at the bedroom door interrupts your scrolling through your Moment feed. You close the screen as you watch the door slowly open, a small, plushed brown bear poking it's head through the crack.

"Caleb wanted to say he was sorry and that he misses you. Can he come in?" a high-pitched voice, you assume coming from Caleb, chirps. You couldn't help the small smirk that danced on your lips. You stifle it as you respond. "You can come in".

Caleb's large body pushes through the door, holding the bear as he approaches your side of the bed with the peace offering. "I went to the arcade and saw this little guy," he explains as he holds the bear out for you. You take the gift, examining its little face and soft fur. "Bears are cute and cuddly, but we know they're ferocious when provoked."

"You calling me a bear?" your brows raise in amusement at his comment.

"Absolutely," his response makes you chuckle, almost forgetting why you were mad at him in the first place. You shove your face in the back of the plushies head as you took in how it smelt like Caleb already. He watches you indulge in the bear, looking more peaceful than before.

"I'm sorry," he finally says, sitting beside you. His hand travels to your blanket-covered legs, giving them a small squeeze. "I shouldn't have lied to Jenna and stopped you from going on the mission". You raise your head, listening to what he had to say. " I...I was just scared. I didn't want to see you get hurt again. I was selfish, not wanting you to disappear for hours while I would be here alone without you while you missed dinner and the movie." His voice was infused with an apologetic tone laced in sadness. You could tell he was just worried and wanted to do whatever he could to keep you protected.

You run your hand over his. "I want you to have more faith in me and my abilities to protect myself". His heart jumps at your touch and the softness in your voice. "I know me being a hunter is worrisome for you, but you have to believe that I'll be okay."

"I do have faith in you. I just can't stop thinking about what would happen if something goes wrong. If a wanderer hurt you or someone else did, I'd go crazy." His grip becomes tighter at the thought. You squeeze his hand to show him that you were there with him and not off getting hurt, trying to bring him back to the present.

"I can't promise I'll never get hurt, and I'll always be in the best condition, but no matter what, I'll always come back to you. That I can promise." He wants to say; How do you know you'll always come back? , but he didn't want to dwell on that thought when you were touching and looking at him with so much promise and affection in your eyes. He didn't want his worries to ruin this moment. Instead, he leaned in and planted a kiss on your lips. It started off soft and innocent but transformed deeper, filled with yearning.

"You promise?" he questioned, breaking the kiss to look at you as he cupped your face, not wanting to ever let go of it.

"I promise I'll always come back to your side," you whisper, leaning back in to continue the kiss.

Heavy breathing and whimpers flooded the silent room. Your face contorted in pleasure as Caleb's fingers worked their way inside of you, pumping at a rhythmic but swift pace, watching how you took his fingers perfectly, coating them in your wet heat. His lips found that delicate spot on your neck as he nibbled and sucked on it, drawing out those sweet moans he loved hearing from your lips. "You sound so cute like this, baby," he comments in a dark, sensual tone. "I wanna hear more." His thumb joins in on the fun, circling over your throbbing, sensitive pearl, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your body jolts and twitches as you cry out for him.

"Caleb! fuck...feels so good," you mewl into his hair, gripping his shoulder tightly, nails digging into his skin leaving behind crescent marks. His fingers could feel your walls tightened around them, signaling how close you were.

"That's it. Cum all over my fingers, pretty. Be a good girl for me, okay? Let me take care of you". He moans into your neck, feeling how hard he was getting from the sounds you were making and the tightness of your cunt sucking him in. His movements mixed with his words, encouraged your peak to shoot through your body, cumming all over his fingers. He slows down, drawing out your orgasm before bringing his fingers to his mouth, tasting you on his fingers.

"You taste so sweet," he coos, cleaning his fingers off as if he was desperate to get every last bit into his mouth. "Let me taste you some more," he whispers darkly before dropping his head between your legs. You let out a soft gasp as he connects his mouth to your soaking pussy, wasting no time to lap up your juices and shove the same fingers he just licked clean, right back inside. The combination pushes you further into your pleasure. He's relentless in his goal to drive you crazy. He sucks on your sensitive nub, humming in delight as you lose your words, spilling out whimpers and cries from how he was ruining you. Your fingers found his head and began grasping at his dark locks, pulling at them from the stimulation engulfing your body. He groans in satisfaction, loving when you got handsy like this. "Harder," he commands in a low groan. It didn't take much for you to tug on his hair even more. He made sure of it when he spread your legs wider, giving him the change to fuck his fingers in deeper.

"Caleb!" you call out, your voice soft and trembling. "I'm...ah~', your squealing elicits a wicked chuckle from his throat. "No, no. I can't, I can't." Your face twists as you lose confidence in your ability to cum again for him.

"Yes, you can," he growls, picking up his pace as he continues sucking your clit as your hips buck into his mouth. His fingers curl up into you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your back arch. "You can do it. I wanna taste you cum all over my mouth" he sucks harder on her clit causing a high pitched whine to spill from her lips "Just one more time. Please, baby? I'll make you feel so good, I promise" he pleads for you to let yourself cum on his mouth. You whimper and buck your hips as your release finds you once again, dripping all over his lips as he hums in satisfaction. "Fuck... your such a good girl for me". He finishes lapping up your juices as if he was licking a plate clean.

Your chest rises and falls as you catch your breath, watching him push one leg back to your chest. He wasn't done yet; he couldn't be satisfied until he was buried deep inside of you. He lines his throbbing cock between your legs, rubbing his tip up and down your wet folds. "You want more of me, pretty girl?" he purrs, trying to hold back from slamming into you the way he wants.

You look at him with pleading eyes, nodding feverishly as you bring your arms up to wrap around his neck, wanting the same thing that was clouding his mind. He drops his head down to your ear, gripping your hip tightly as he nibbles and licks your lobe. A shiver infiltrates your body, going down your spine, causing you to push yourself up into him.

"Come on, use your words, princess," he insists, pushing his teasing cock between your folds just enough to make you groan in impatience.

" Please, Caleb. I need you," you whine. He drops down to your tits, playing with one while he sucked the nipple of the other, nibbling just enough to make your legs kick and wrap around him from the sensation.

" What do you need, hm?" he smirks, wanting to hear you beg some more. "You need my cock fucking this cute little pussy? you want me to ruin you, baby?" his voice was dark and tainted with lust as he twisted your nipple. " Cause I'll fucking ruin you if you want."

"Yes," you breathe, followed by a small whine. "I need you to fuck me so badly." Your plea doesn't become lost on him. He pushes himself into you, groaning from feeling how tight you were around his tip.

"Oh fuck!" he grunts, pushing further into you, watching the way your mouth part and eyes flutter. Once he saw you'd taken most of him, he pulls back slowly and shoves himself back in, evoking a loud cry from you that he soon began to devour, moaning into your mouth as his hips thrust into you. his movements were hungry, wanting his cock to be the only thing you could feel. He breaks the kiss, looking down at you watching how your tits bounced against your chest, gripping your hips tightly pushing them back onto him. "You look so pretty like this, baby. Do you like how I feel?"

You could barely speak, feeling too consumed by him stretching you out. You bit your lips, stifling your cries as your body succumbed to the warm heat spreading through you.

"Answer me, princess," he thrusts into you harder, making you gasp and whine as you grip the side of the bed.

" Yes!" You wail. " Love it so much...please... need more," you pant, catching his purple eyes that have darkened from his craving. He drops into the crook of your neck, lifting your hips up to give him more leverage. He slams into you erratically, the sound of your skin meeting repeatedly dancing in the air, mixing with moans and grunts trickling from both of your lips as the headboard crashes into the wall behind you.

"Wanna stay like this forever" he groans, using his finger to rub circles around your clit, adding more intensity to your body. "Fuck! Wanna always be buried in this tight pussy. Wanna feel you like this all the time." he expresses his desires, occasionally letting out a small whimper from how you were clenching around him. "Never wanna leave you. Never." His thrusts turn sharper as each word escapes him. You feel a drop of water meeting your collarbone, sparking confusion. You look down at him, lifting his head to meet your face. Tears were prickling the corner of his eyes as he looked at you with emotions and yearning flooding his gaze. "Please don't leave me," he grovels, continuing his sloppy movements inside of you.

"I won't," you mutter, kissing his forehead softly. You couldn't help but think of how cute he looked like this. So desperate for her that it brought him to tears.

"Say it," he begs, feeling himself getting closer. "Say you'll never leave me. Say you'll always be here. I need to hear you say it...please." He bites your shoulder, scrunching up his face as his balls tighten, ready to give you all of him. You mewl from his bite, a mixture of pain and pleasure taking over you.

" I'll never leave you, I promise! I promise!" your cries swamp his mind as he finds himself shooting his hot cum deep inside of you, letting your voice permeate his mind. His release is thrust deeper inside as his hips slow down, refusing to pull out. He looks down at himself inside of you movingly slowly, taking in the white ring around the base of his cock, as streaks of his cum drips down your inner thighs.

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his attention to your lips. Your kiss is soft and saturated with affection. You could tell he's been worried about this for so long. The thought of you leaving one day, always floating and haunting him in the back of his mind.

"I'm gonna hold you to that promise," he murmurs, catching his breath as he crashes on top of you, ensuring he didn't suffocate his precious girl. With his eyes closed, his fingers drew patterns on your warm stomach.

"And I'll make sure to always keep it." You kiss the top of his head, pulling him in closer as you pet his soft head, showing that you would never let go.

[chuluoyi]

hello everyone ! as of now, i’m on hiatus

it’s fun to be here, and thank you to all lovely people who make it so 🤍 but my work is at its peak right now, i’ll be going on a company trip next week, and a vacation to japan the week after. i know that some of you are waiting only for fics from this blog… and i’m sorry that i can’t accommodate it right now. writing is not something you can do just bc you want to do it—i don’t know, it takes more than just the “will” to write, but also imagery, inspiration and more—at least to me. but with how busy my recent life has been after the lunar new year, rather than raising the expectations, i prefer to put this out here first. i should be more active again in early march, when i’ve gotten back from my trip

and as much as i want to interact with everyone, it’s very unpleasant to get rude asks in my askbox. to be told that i can’t post “rant posts” and just “update ur fics” is very entitled of them. it makes even my will to write disappear entirely… and so i will be turning off anon asks for the time being. to all lovely emoji and non-emoji anons, thank you so much for your kind words—i’ll be opening them soon, when i get back 🤍

a friendly reminder to be kind, always 🤍 there are real people behind tumblr accounts, and therefore, please act accordingly and be more gentle with each other ✨

[doromoni]

Not Over the Papaya | OP81

⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Ships : Oscar Piastri x Popstar! Reader , Ex!Lando Norris x Popstar! Reader

Genre : Smau

A/N : hi~ its been a while my luvsss! Hope you enjoy hihi

Face claim : Jennie Kim

Summary : Y/N and Oscar cope with their own breakups by making the Heartbreak Club.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

< Previous | Part 18 | Next >

Y/N. 45mins ago

story replies

oscarpiastri Thank you dearest! Ily

Y/N. ily too! are you free to go to the hotel now?

oscarpiastri Not yet, baby. I still need to do post race interviews and I'm assuming that McLaren will bite my ass for the race.

Y/N. Ah damn, I wish i could commit arson in your motorhome rn hbcalfbsa

oscarpiastri Lmao I'll beat you to it.

Y/N. Should I wait for you?

oscarpiastri No need luv, I'll see you in our room

Y/N. Alright Osc~ call me if you need anything.

oscarpiastri Ik luv, keep safe alright?

L.norris Aren't you and your rebound fucking happy.

L.norris I know Max and Charles planned everything to screw my drive. I bet it was your idea.

L.norris I'll make oscar's stay in Mclaren hell than it already is.

Y/N. P1-P6 in turn one amazing drive and really?? a dummy account?? how desperate can you be? Ella not enough for you?

L.norris I swear Y/n.

skysports LIVE

mclaren

liked by user1, user2, user3 and others

mclaren P2astri! monstrous effort by @oscarpiastri. P17 to P2 — that’s our driver!

oscarpiastri Lol. 

danielricciardo Yeah Lol

user1 Bruhs literally said Lol.

user2 Oh, hi danny ric. Can I ask you a question? what's up with Mclaren screwing their aussie drivers??

user1 Not Mclaren tryna play nice after the team orders. Cuz wth was that???

user3 Sweep it under the rug ahh move from them.

user2 I stand by what i’ve said about Oscar should try to fit in the team before but damn after what they tried to pull today?? Oscar’s reaction is valid

user3 Imagine admin posting this after Mclaren tried to f up Oscar’s race… the audacity of this team is amqzing.

user4 I could see Lando fuming right now 😮‍💨

user5 Mate of course he is! Did you hear the radio? Lando wanted to take both his and oscar's cars out 

user6 Lando has always been a sore loser. But today was smth else -- a crybaby in the radio damn.

user7 imagine if McLaren actually showed support towards Oscar? Blud might even be fighting Max on the WDC rn

user8 WE WILL NEVER FORGET WHAT YOU DID TO OSC IN QUALIFYING

user9 and we will NEVER forgive you Mclaren!!

user10 Oscar only continuous to amaze us as a driver. That level of focus on maturity on track was masterclass.

Notification : You missed a call from Zak Brown*

Notification : You missed a call from Zak Brown*

Notification : You missed a call from Zak Brown*

Notification : Zak Brown sent you a voice message*

-Pick up the damn phone Oscar! or I swear you'll be driving nothing next week!! -

Incoming call from Mark Webber

Pick up or Decline

Pick up

-Hello? What is it Mark?-

-Get your ass inside the motorhome. NOW-

-Calm down, I'm on my way. I just finished my bloody interviews-

-Heads up, everyone is fuming. You made them look like clowns today Osc... I have no idea what consequences they've planned for you-

-Whatever, i'm sick and tired of them-

-You don't get it Osc... this is serious. RedBull and Ferrari contacted me and they've said Zak is pulling some strings to keep you inside McLaren. They might withdraw their offer-

-shit, what???-

-Exactly, so get your ass here NOW. -

call has been disconnected

Formula1 news

MCLAREN DRIVER FEUD! The arguments between the 2 McLaren drivers have turned physical! 

read more… 

Not long after the race and interviews, it was said that a fight had started inside the McLaren Motorhome. 

Sources had stated that Lando Norris had confronted Oscar Piastri for not following team orders given previously. Both drivers seemed to be talking till it started to escalate when Oscar tried to leave. 

Physicalities had started when Lando had struck the Australian in the face— initiating Oscar to fight back. The fight had been stopped with Lando Norris being escorted with a broken and bleeding nose and Oscar with a bruised cheek. 

oscarpiastri 3 mins

story replies

danielricciardo Mate! how did you get that?! 

oscarpiastri Lando was a sore loser and punched me after interviews 

danielricciardo Damn, tell me he’s got it worse?

oscarpiastri yeah, I broke his nose. danielricciardo Nice. does Y/N know? 

oscarpiastri not yet. 

danielricciardo oh she’s not gonna like that

oscarpiastri I mean i didnt start it

logansargeant WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?

oscarpiastri Calm down, Logan its just a bruise. 

logansargeant so the rumors where real? you and lando got into a fight? 

oscarpiastri blud couldn’t accept that I won. 

logansargeant Cool. But i’m sure Mclaren isnt happy with this.

oscarpiastri is that even a surprise 

logansargeant Hey, they might fire you and I could have your seat then 

oscarpiastri Yeahhh screw you. You already signed the contract with Indycar 

logansargeant heck yeah I did! 

charles_leclerc Oi I let you out my sight for a few hours and this happens??

oscarpiastri you know you're playing this father thing a lil too real.

charles_leclerc Ik, deal with it! Anyways so the fight was true

oscarpiastri How did you know?

charles_leclerc carlos was on call with Lando and I overheard. You hit Lando out of no where?

oscarpiastri WHAT? NO. He punched me first. Where did you get that?

charles_leclerc Carlos told me that Lando said that to him… that you were the one who punched him in the nose. 

oscarpiastri wtf? Nah… he’s twisting the story again. Classic 

charles_leclerc I knew it!

*Hilton Hotel

-Y/N? luv are you here?-

-Yeah, i’m on the bed-

-Did you watch the race?-

-I did! P2 my luv congratu— what the fuck happened to your cheek?!- 

-Lando punched me after the interview. Nothing big-

-Nothing big?! are you kidding me? Oscar half your face is swollen! -

-And his nose is broken, whats the big deal?! I’m fine aren’t I?-

-You broke Lando’s nose?!  Oscar what the hell! You hit him back?! - 

-Of course I did! What?! should i just let him have at me? What the fuck is that question Y/N??- 

-Oscar! you actually fought physically. This is different! this is not online or on the tracks! you can’t just start throwing fists like cavemen!-

-Different how?! Y/N, Lando struck first and I hit back. I’m was defending myself! Why am I even explaining this to you?! Aren’t you on my side?! -

-Of course I am Osc! I am always on your side!-

-Then show it! Y/N! because what it looks to me is that you think is that I should’ve just let him beat me over! - 

-Of course not! but you know that everyone will use this against you.-

-So?-

-So?? what do you mean so?! You could be in trouble with the FIA. Red Bull and Ferrari might withdraw their offer for you if this blows up! Oscar your career is already hanging on by a thread! How could you let them hold more things against you? -

-You think I dont know that?! HUH, Y/N?! Not a fucking day goes by without me thinking whether if I’ll have my job the next day! So don’t fucking preach to me what I should be thinking or be feeling! You know that everything about this started with you right?? because I chose to fight for our relationship?? -

-Oscar, I know that! Don’t you think I don’t feel guilty or hurt seeing you suffer because of me? because of us?! I’ve been dealing with some shit too! and do you see me throwing fists around?!!-

-And now it’s all about you. You know what Y/N? Yeah… you don’t fight No. You just wait for them to cheat on you before you see the years of abuse. Well tough luck Y/N, i’m not like you! I don’t cower away when its Lando. - 

-WOW! just fucking wow, Oscar!! how nice to pull that shit up. You fucking know how I feel about what Lando did to me!-

-You know what?! I can’t do this right now. I need air. FUCK!-

Notification : you received a message from **** *** ***

*Hello ms. Y/N, this is Emery James, McLaren's Lawyer. I am reaching out on behalf of McLaren to offer you a proposition that will benefit all . Your presence is requested urgently. please contact us at your earliest discretion. Thank you*

⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

extra A/N: Only a few more chapters for this series my luvs! I'm so glad yet sad that this smau is coming to an end huhu

alsooooo recently i've been obsessing over football! any Madridistas here hihi? Imma shamelessly plug my playlist for Jude here~ enjoy hskhdbvks

Series Taglist : @champagneproblems17 @itsjustfranzi @cheriwritesig @forza-charles @awritingtree @sltwins @gr1mes-cc @hwalllllllelujah @btsfluffsworld @tillyt04 @landotd @booksandflowrs @czennieszn @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @tellybearryyyy @wobblymug @alittlechaotics-blog @bingussthirdtoe @mirrorball-6 @demandealalune @heartsforleclerc @yoongi-holland @maneskin-slave @alenix @forensicheart @bloodyymaryyy @stereading @hahahjej @youre-on-your-ownkid : closed

Maintaglist : @myescapefromthislife @peterholland04 @charlottef1 @fangirl125reader @mel164 @gnarlycore @chloelovesln4 @vickykazuya @merchelsea @ln4author @qzmef @nxk1309 @styl1shl1v @lottalove4evelyn @gr3yhues : closed for now

[pomefioredove]

hellooo !! can i please get a sugar cookie , #2 , with chocolate chips and powdered sugar ??

tc of urself n evrythingg !! i love ur works and i love reading ur writinggg its soo nice i love it <3

keep it up !! ur super duper cool !! o((>ω< ))o

AWEE thank you!! sorry this took so long to post ;w;

order #2, sugar with chocolate chips and powdered sugar

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ a presumptuous affair

summary: kalim mistakes you, a random barista, for jamil's date. you go along with it tropes: coffee shop au, fake dating characters: jamil additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is not yuu, use of y/n, a little kalim x yuu, kinda long, a kissy

As if today couldn't get any weirder...

For a moment, you had almost believed it was fortune. You made it to work on time despite the snow, your shift manager let you take the afternoon off, even your customers were feeling generous- your tip jar was almost to the brim.

And then it got weird.

"Jamil, look! See how cute these cookies are? It's like they're dressed up for the new year!"

That sparkly ray of sunshine has had his hands and nose pressed against the glass of the pastry case all morning. He's dressed in a Night Raven College uniform, but you can't imagine what someone so cute would be wearing it for.

"I just can't decide what to get! Everything looks so good!"

On the contrary, the taller, quieter, tired-looking boy, the one called Jamil, standing by the door, suited his uniform quite nicely.

"I'm sure the Prefect will be pleased with whatever you choose for them, Kalim. We're going to be late,"

The sparkly one (Kalim, was it?) pouts. "But this is our first new year's party together! Usually, I'd just buy everything, but they said..."

"Only one thing. I know. Surely, with all the time you spend together, you'd know their preferences,"

"I do! But it's hard... you'd understand if you had a date, too, Jamil,"

He narrows his eyes. "I'll be kept busy enough by the party,"

"Aw, that's no fun. You should enjoy yourself, too! If you need any help finding a date, I'd be happy to ask for you!"

"That is completely unnecessary-"

You finish wiping down the case, having shamelessly eavesdropped on the entire conversation. "May I make a pastry suggestion?"

Kalim's eyes widen, as if he'd forgotten you were standing behind the sparkly glass, but Jamil nods.

"Please, please do. And thank you..." his eyes dart down to the nametag on your apron. "Y/N."

"You guys know each other? Oh! I see," Kalim grins.

"Now I know why we came here instead of my favorite place- this is your date!"

The silence is almost worst than the bickering. You and Jamil (perfect strangers, by the way) exchange similar expressions of surprise, while Kalim grins, waiting to be introduced, or... something.

You open your mouth, but before you can explain yourself or the rather presumptuous affair, Jamil nods.

"Yes. This is them,"

He gives you a look that either says "please go along with it" or "I will make you go along with it" but you're too shocked to speak, anyway.

Kalim giggles. "This is perfect! Now I won't have to worry about you being lonely at the party. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to take away the attention from yourself and the Prefect," Jamil says, dryly, crossing his arms.

Kalim either doesn't notice his tone, or he ignores it.

"Aw, you guys don't have to worry about that! Here, I'll have one of those, and those... that date pastry for Jamil, and... here!"

He takes out a roll of thaumarks thicker than your hand and forces it into your tip jar.

Jamil's eyes widen with panic. "Kalim-"

"I want to make a good first impression!" he says, and then to you: "I can't wait to see you at the party!"

You finish bagging his pastries, shellshocked, and watch him skip out of the coffee shop like a little kid.

Jamil lingers, seemingly unbothered, and yet apologetic all the same.

"Sorry I dragged you into this, he's been begging for a double date all week. I'll tell him you're sick when the party comes around,"

He turns to leave. Your eyes dart between the tip jar, him, the boy outside, him, your coffee-stained hands, and him once more.

"Wait!"

Jamil stops, one hand on the door, and looks over his shoulder.

You try to stop yourself, but the words spill out of your lips anyway. "What time?"

You had never been inside Night Raven College, but the very last thing you were expecting it to be, anyhow, was warm.

You'd dressed in something thick and wooly for the winter weather, and now you're sweating, there's sand stuck under your nails and cool drinks are being passed from hand to hand.

"You're dressed like a penguin," Jamil whispers, holding you by the wrist and pulling you towards a closet, lined with gold and stuffed with coats and shoes from the partygoers.

"I didn't know it'd be hot!"

Jamil closes the door. "I suppose that was an oversight on my part. But I can't have you afflicted with heatstroke- not under my care, at least. Take off the coat,"

You do as he says. You've learned very little about Jamil over the evening, but he seems to know what he's doing.

"Better, but you're drenched in sweat. I'm sure we have dorm uniforms in your size somewhere..."

A loud, raucous noise that you can only assume was a cheer comes from beyond the door. You're not so sure you want to know.

Jamil notices the look on your face. "Too loud?"

"It's a little... much,"

He scoffs, though there's a smile on his lips, now. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose,"

He begins moving coats and shoes, boxes and chests, looking for something to cool you off. You sit on the floor behind him.

"I apologize again. For making you a part of this. I... didn't think you'd actually come," he says, facing away from you.

"I don't mind. I didn't have any plans for the holiday, anyway,"

Jamil makes a noise of acknowledgement, but, no words. You suppose he's trying to figure you out as much as you are him.

"...Ahem. Well, I'm... pleased to have you here. As much as it hurts to admit Kalim was right about one thing, I did need company today,"

"It's no problem,"

"It's some problem," Jamil scoffs, but he's smiling, too. "You'll have a headache for days after this."

"Then it'll be worth it,"

He seems to give up on finding a uniform, or perhaps he's just forgotten about it altogether, and he sits next to you.

You tilt your head to the side, a smile playing at your lips.

"I think Kalim was right about two things, actually,"

Jamil looks at you as if you'd hit your head on something and started speaking in tongues. "And what is that?"

You point up towards the heavens, or, rather, towards the ceiling of the closet, where a mistletoe has been poorly strung up.

"You should enjoy yourself, too,"

Jamil's eyes widen, but before he can ask who put that thing up there?! your kiss is on his cheek and his stoic demeanor is gone.

"Eh- what was that for?"

You could laugh at his expression, but you don't want to rub it in his bewildered face. Rather, you gently nudge his side.

"For being so kind,"

"Kind?" Jamil repeats the word as if he'd never heard it before. "I would hardly call myself that. I'm only... repaying the favor for your kindness."

You smile.

"I guess I'll just have to keep being nice to you, then,"

[wendichester]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ happier³,

summary. after sam's confession, you can't deny your feelings anymore.

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester ; angsty!

wordcount. 1086

notes. just shocked. heartbroken. going absolutely insane with this series!

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1, part 2 + dean's ending

The bunker feels different now.

You don’t know how, exactly. The walls are the same, the air is the same—heavy with lore books and coffee, gunpowder and old leather. But something about it feels off, like the foundation has shifted beneath you and you don’t know how to walk steady anymore.

Because Sam left.

And Dean? Dean barely looks at you.

The last thing you remember clearly is standing between them, Sam’s confession hanging in the air like an exposed nerve. The way Dean turned away, the way he asked you if you loved Sam, the way your throat closed up before you could answer—

And now here you are. Days have passed. Maybe a week. Maybe more. The time feels meaningless when all you can do is think.

Sam isn’t here. He didn’t take much—just a bag, his laptop, a few weapons—but he’s gone. He left without another word, and you don’t even know where he went. Maybe that should be your answer right there. Maybe if you truly loved him, you wouldn’t have let him walk away. Maybe if you truly loved him, you would’ve chased him.

But you didn’t.

And yet…

You don’t sleep. Not really. Not without thinking of Sam’s eyes, how they softened when he looked at you. Not without remembering the way he always listened—really listened—when you talked, the way he knew when you needed silence and when you needed a joke. Not without thinking about how easy it was to just be with him, to exist beside him without effort or expectation.

Dean loves you. You know that.

But Sam sees you.

And it’s that realization—the quiet, slow, earth-shattering realization—that makes you sick.

Because what kind of person are you, to love one brother while holding the hand of the other?

Dean is quiet when you find him in the kitchen.

He sits at the table, nursing a beer, his jaw tight as he stares at nothing. It’s been like this ever since Sam left—short conversations, no teasing, no warmth. Just silence.

You sit across from him, tucking your hands in your lap. The words sit heavy on your tongue, but you need to say them. You owe him that.

“I think I love Sam.”

Dean exhales sharply through his nose. It’s not a surprised sound. He’s known. Maybe he’s always known.

“I figured,” he says after a moment. His voice is rough, distant. “You gonna go after him?”

Your heart twists. “I don’t know where he is.”

Dean lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Bullshit. If you really wanted to find him, you would.”

And there it is. The truth, laid out bare. You’ve been waiting for someone to say it, and now that he has, it stings worse than you imagined.

“I never meant to—”

“To what?” Dean snaps, finally looking at you, green eyes burning. “Never meant to fall for him? Never meant to lead me on?” He scoffs. “That’s comforting.”

You flinch. You deserve that. “Dean, I didn’t want this to happen.”

“Then why did it?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice breaks. “I didn’t realize it, I didn’t—” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I love you, Dean. I do.”

Dean leans forward, forearms braced against the table. “But not like you love him.”

It’s not a question.

Tears burn behind your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Dean studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he pushes back his chair, standing up without a word.

“Dean—”

He holds up a hand, shaking his head. His throat bobs, but when he speaks, his voice is even. “Go find him.”

You don’t move.

“You want him?” Dean says, jaw tight. “Then go.”

And so you do.

It takes three days to track Sam down.

You follow a trail of credit card charges—cheap motel rooms, gas stations, diners. He’s been moving every couple of days, never staying in one place too long. It makes you sick, knowing he left because of you.

When you finally find him, it’s in a small, rundown motel on the edge of nowhere. His car is parked outside, the headlights catching in the rain-soaked pavement. Your hands shake as you knock on the door.

There’s a pause. Then, finally, the door creaks open.

Sam stands there, barefoot in jeans and a worn hoodie, hair messy, eyes tired. He blinks at you like he’s not sure you’re real.

“Hey,” you whisper.

His eyes widen and you can clearly see you were the last person he thought would be on the other side of the door. “What are you doing here?”

You take a shaky breath. “I think I love you.”

Silence. Then—

“You think?”

Your chest aches. “I know.”

Sam exhales sharply, looking away, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You can’t just—” He swallows. “You can’t just say that.”

“But it’s true.”

His jaw clenches. “And Dean?”

“I told him,” you say softly. “I ended it.”

Sam stares at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, suddenly, he lets out a breathless, almost bitter laugh. “Shit.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until Sam reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek. His touch is hesitant, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You broke up with Dean.”

“I had to.”

Sam shakes his head, but his hand doesn’t leave your face. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow and careful.

“You broke his heart,” he says quietly.

“I know.” A tear slips down your cheek. “I never meant to hurt him.”

Sam swallows hard. “But you chose me.”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “I did.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Sam exhales, something breaking in his expression, something raw and aching and real, and suddenly his hands are on you—gripping your face, pulling you in. His lips crush against yours, desperate and searching, and you melt into him like you’ve been waiting forever.

He tastes like coffee and rain and something inherently Sam, something safe and familiar and right. His hands tremble against you, like he can’t believe you’re here, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

But you’re not going anywhere.

When you finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, Sam breathes out your name like a prayer. His hands cup your jaw, his thumbs brushing over your skin.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmurs.

You smile, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Then don’t let go.”

Sam’s lips ghost over yours, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Never.”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @lmg14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20

[gay-dorito-dust]

I have something for Johnny if you want.

Johnny x shy!reader that has scarlet witch powers? Being Johnny girlfriend and Johnny family adores shy!reader

‘I’m starting to think my family likes you more then me at this point.’ Johnny says one day as he face planted your shared bed.

‘How so Johnny?’ You asked sweetly as you waved your hand as you brought a blanket over your boyfriend’s body with your magic, never failing to notice the soft smile that grew across his face as he lifts himself from the pillow to face you.

‘Are you kidding me? I mean look at you!’ He exclaims as he gestures to all of you shamelessly, making you feel a little exposed by his beautiful brown doe eyes that never seemed to fail in making you melt. ‘You’re sweet, compassionate, adorable to an unfair extent it makes me question how a being as beautiful as you could exist, and did I forget to mention that you’re an absolute badass with your powers?’ Johnny adds with a smirk as he saw how easily affected you were by his words as he counts off everything he found to adore you for on his fingers.

You groan playfully as you smacked Johnny on his bicep, a sheepish smile began to spread across your lips, all the while attempting to fight back the butterflies that were making their presence known within your stomach. It didn’t matter if you were dating Johnny for a few weeks or a few months, for he would always find ways to make you feel as though no time has passed between the two of you.

You at first didn’t want anything to do with the cocky, overly confident, playboy known as Johnny Storm and stayed away from him for a good while…until you couldn’t and it lead to what you considered the best decision you ever made in agreeing to let him take you on a date. However recently Johnny’s sister Sue, her husband Reed and Ben had been taking note of the subtle changes within johnny and knew someone was the reason behind it, which had lead to Johnny dragging you to the Baxter building more times then you can count to meet his family; whom of which had grown a fondness towards you and your positive influence on Johnny himself.

‘Johnny…’ you drew out his name as you buried your head into his shoulder, holding him close as you selfishly leeched off of his warmth, not that you’d ever tell him this but you were certain with how eager he was to keep you in his arms chuckling. He was very much aware and was more than willing to indulge you as he was just as much addicted to your soft, comforting hugs that he swore to high heavens he would die without.

‘I’m not lying! You should hear them half of the time! Where’s y/n? Johnny, go get your better looking partner. Johnny, where is my future sibling in law, you can’t hog them all the time.’ Johnny replied as he made dramatic voices for the likes of Sue, Ben and Reed based on the most recent interactions with them, most of which were asking for you or wondering how you were in general. Johnny didn’t mind, if anything he was downright ecstatic knowing that his family were just as obsessed with you as he was, he adored how you and his sister got along the most; knowing straight away from the moment he found you and his family sharing stories in the kitchen that this was something he wanted to see more often in the future.

Commitment wasn’t his thing, it never was until he met you, and as cliche as that sounded -and he knew just how cliche it came across- but it was true and Johnny wouldn’t want it any other way. He’d even claim you had put some type of spell on him, to which you only hide your smile from his groan inducing joke in regard to your magical abilities. He even remembered the day that he realised that you were the type of person he wanted to bring to his family, something he never gave a deeper insight into before you mind you as he never felt that deep of connection.

So everyday when he wakes up to see you cuddled into his side peacefully and safely, he considered himself the most luckiest man alive, and he didn’t bother to hide it either as he bragged to anyone with ears that someone as wonderful as you had chosen a hotheaded stud muffin -his words- like him.

You smiled as you cuddled further into him, knowing firsthand that he was right, and you were still getting use to the idea that his family adored you from the moment Johnny brought you to your first of many Sunday family diners. You remembered sweating bullets and tugging at your formal attire, but Sue and Reed were more than welcoming and reassuring, meanwhile Ben was full on teasing Johnny about how he was growing into a true man.

However before you could respond you were quick to remember that you were very much late for your day out with Sue. You gasp upon realisation as you push Johnny away from you, who fell back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief that you had just pushed him away. ‘I’m late!’ You cried as you moved away from your baffled boyfriend, who had propped himself to his arms.

‘Late for what?’ Johnny asks as he watched you sort yourself out for an outing he wasn’t aware was taking place.

You smiled softly, not wanting to give too much away of what you and Sue had planned prior. ‘Sue wanted help to find something for Reed for Valentine’s Day, and I agreed to help her.’ You half lied, well you weren’t lying about helping his sister find something for Reed, but what you had left out was the fact that you were also using this time to find something for Johnny yourself. To you he deserved something for being such an amazing partner, and you were thankful that Sue was more than happy to help you in doing so during your most recent late night conversations with the blonde woman.

‘I just want to find something for him that he’ll love,’ you told Sue as you allowed your magic to flourish between your fingertips, a nervous habit you had developed the moment you realised that you were capable of feet’s no other magic user has ever accomplished before, it was a comfort to you and brought your mind back to what was most important to you and what was most important to you was Johnny smiling.

She smiles, glad to know that her brother was blessed with someone like you, reached out to grab your hand in hers as she squeezed it in reassurance. ‘Whatever you get him, I’m certain Johnny will treasure forever.’

‘Really? You really think so?’ You asked her, still a little nervous despite having been with Johnny for a while, but that man had a way to make you feel as though you were falling for him all over again and you wanted to hate him for it, and yet you found yourself becoming shy and flustered whenever the man even threw his arm over your shoulder. If this was what love was like then you hoped to stay in this never ending state of adoration and mutual understanding for as long as you could.

‘I know so.’ Sue replied, her eyes had a knowing look to them. ‘Johnny would take anything you give him becuase you were the one that give it to him, that thought that he would like it and all he’ll care about is that you had him on the mind and to show that you care about him.’ She finished, squeezing your hand again when she saw sparks of your magic come to life at your fingertips, rubbing her thumb across the back of your hand. You smiled at her. ‘Then I can’t wait for tomorrow.’ You tell her, beaming.

Johnny smiled from his place on the bed, again happy to see you and his sister bond and become close to one another, it was a simple thing that he didn’t know he needed but then again that was the magical thing about you. You made him want simple and small things that he would’ve taken for granted, or not even considered in the first place, and for that he couldn’t help but find himself wanting moments like this in your future together.

However before Johnny could open his mouth to push you for more details on your outing with his sister, the door opened to reveal Sue stood on the other side, obviously having been waiting for you but not showing an ounce of annoyance in the slightest.

‘I’m here to steal your partner.’ Sue says to her brother as she grasps your arm, pulling you to her side.

‘Not the first time my beloved is being stolen from me by you, Reed or Ben.’ Johnny scoffs playfully as he watched you and Sue link arms, already acting like you were in laws for a long time with how relaxed and comfortable you were with one another.

‘Oh you can have them back as soon as we’re finished shopping.’ Sue retorted.

‘So like ten hours from now?’ Johnny sarcastically replies with and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sibling squabble, making him look at you with a warm smile. ‘Don’t I get a goodbye kiss at least from my most beloved?’ Before you could give him his kiss, Sue drags you out of the room with her and out the door, though not before shouting over her shoulder followed by your laughter. ‘You’ve had enough time today to trade kisses, now you have to wait.’

Johnny only groans dramatically as he flops back onto his bed, impatiently waiting for you to come back not even seconds after you left his room, he really was in love like the sappy bastard Ben teased him in being.

[nadvs]

first prize desire (one-shot)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating mature 18+

summary your brother’s friend, rafe, is good at a lot of things. hiding his infatuation with you isn’t one of them. one night, you stop teasing him and finally give him what he’s been dreaming of.

tags college au where rafe and reader are varsity volleyball players. reader is a noncommittal f-girl. rafe is down bad for her. mentions of past infidelity. lots of angst and some light smut. not a happy ending.

�� masterlist

note hello, i’m back!! a little while ago, i got an ask about a f-girl reader who’s been hurt in the past and is a little mean to rafe and i’m obsessed at the thought of him pining and lowkey being a simp for her?? this one goes out to my girlies with trust issues <3 divider credit.

You have to be doing it on purpose.

Rafe’s grip on his gym bag tightens as he steps out of the men’s locker room. The door shuts behind him with a heavy thud.

The girls’ team has the court now. You’re by the end line closest to him, only a few feet away as you stretch. You’re bent over with your back arched and he slowly paces towards the gym exit, his mouth going dry at the way you look.

The sight of you in those little shorts always throws his thoughts into a frenzy. Seeing your ass perched in the air like that makes him feel even more disoriented.

The varsity volleyball schedule is simultaneously the best and worst thing that has happened to him. Twice a week, Rafe steps out into the gym, exhausted from practice, to see you warming up, always tormenting him with how good you look.

You stepped into his life a few months ago at the beginning of the school year. His friend had mentioned that his sister would be starting college and that she plays volleyball, too.

The first time you came over to the house he shares with your brother and a few other guys on the team, he knew he was going to like being around you.

Until he got to know what a tease you are.

You stand up from your stretch, placing your hands on your hips as you look over your shoulder.

“Hey, Rafe,” you sing-song, your voice sweet as sugar. His hair is wet from his post-practice shower, hanging over his forehead. “Your hair’s cute like that.”

He was right. You are doing it on purpose. You knew he was there and you purposely put yourself on display for him like that, like a treat he knows he can’t have. For fuck’s sake. He’s never wanted a girl this bad.

Rafe’s lips flatten as he nods in greeting, stopping in his tracks. You’re not sure if the rosy tint to his cheeks is a product of a rough practice or a distressed blush from having seen you in such a suggestive position.

“Are you coming to watch our game tomorrow?” you ask, just loud enough over the voices echoing through the gym.

Rafe steps closer. You adore it about him, how he always looks like he’s been hinging on a opportunity to talk to you.

“Should I?” he asks.

“Sure. I know you like any excuse to look at me,” you reply with a shrug.

He scoffs, a mix of incredulity and amusement. He’s obvious about how bad he wants you, he knows he is, and that’s why it makes it ten times worse that you toy with him like this.

“You never watch our games,” he responds.

“I’m a busy girl,” you laugh.

He knows that. And he wishes he didn’t. He wishes he didn’t have to see you jump from guy to guy, snuggled up to a different one at every other party, never staying long enough to call any of them your boyfriend.

A couple of weekends ago, Rafe had been one too many beers deep. Pressed against the wall at a house party, he gazed at you through heavy lids and asked if you were ever going to find a guy you liked enough to actually keep around. You laughed and told him, “I’m not the commitment type.”

“I’ll see if I can make it,” Rafe says, because even though he’s a goner when it comes to you, he tries to keep at least some dignity intact and feign indifference.

“Hope you can,” you respond, smirking. His eyes go a little brighter. You know that means he’ll come.

You’re a whirlwind, a storm constantly passing over him, leaving him spinning. Time and time again, he gets just close enough to the edge of thinking he has a chance with you, and then you pull back.

Your flirty looks and dirty jokes are maddening and any time he’s tried to do anything about it, you’d say you’re not going to complicate things with your brother’s friend, especially when he lives with him.

Off limits, you’d once whispered in his ear at a party, but your body was pressed up against his so tightly that it didn’t seem like you wanted a boundary between you two at all.

Rafe’s name echoes from behind him. He turns to see your brother leaving the locker room, donning a confused expression.

“You leaving without me?” he laughs, walking towards him.

Rafe would never tell him that he purposely rushed out to get a glimpse of you.

⫘⫘⫘

The minutes before the start of a game is when you feel the most pressure. More than during the actual match. You know if you don’t feel proud of your performance, you fall into a funk nobody can pull you out of.

You rub your palms together as you wait for your turn in a spiking drill. The other team just arrived, warming up on the other side of the court.

You thought you didn’t mind these opponents all that much. Their team is usually weaker than yours. But they have a new player and seeing her familiar face makes your blood boil.

Rafe makes it to the gym after class, two sets into the match. It’s 1-1 and the air is heavy with tension. The gym is quiet as he settles in the bleachers, the thumps of hands hitting the volleyball rolling across the court.

You’re panting as you hurry around, dodging your teammates while never letting the ball hit the floor.

You look more stressed than usual.

He almost gets right up again to leave, irritated at himself. This is the crap a boyfriend would do; come watch your games, worry about the anger etched on your pretty face. Yet all he gets called is a friend while you entertain other guys right in front of him.

But then he smirks a second later when he sees you frustratingly mutter something to your teammate after the opposing team wins a point.

Rafe revels in seeing your temper come out. It’s cute. And it makes him feel better about his.

A few minutes in, though, he sees anger flare up in you like never before. A girl on the opposing team blocks your spike and seems to murmur something to you.

You fight back, loud enough for him to hear. You snap at her to shut up. One of your teammates holds you back. The ref blows the whistle.

It’s a misconduct foul. Something’s up with you and he doesn’t know what.

The rest of the game has an added level of intensity. It results in a loss for the home team. You’re wearing the disappointment in your expression.

Rafe decides to leave. You always take your sweet time after a match and he’s not about to make an even bigger fool of himself by waiting outside for a girl who messes with him for wanting her so bad.

But still, because he’s so pathetically into you, he texts you later on: rough game. you good?

You don’t respond.

⫘⫘⫘

The next day, Rafe hasn’t gotten over you ignoring him. He’s not really one to let go of things all that quick.

And he’s had enough. Of the teasing and the flirting and the indifference you have towards him while all he does is long for you. You have all the power and he’s sick of it.

It’s not hard for him to find the girl you’d argued with on the court. It’s a matter of searching on her college’s athletic department website, learning her name, and finding her on social media.

He chats with her, invites her to his house party the next night, and because it’s easy for him to get any girl to agree to hang out with him, unless she’s you, she accepts.

He can’t wait for you to see him with her.

⫘⫘⫘

You make it to the house the next night, showing enough skin that makes Rafe’s stomach grow tight. You nudge your brother’s shoulder in greeting, then shuffle closer to Rafe see him nursing a beer.

“Hey,” you say over the music. He towers over you, a crease between his brows. He wears everything on his handsome face, incredibly easy to read.

“You mad at me for not texting back?” you ask playfully, squeezing his forearm. “Sorry. I was in a shitty mood after that game.”

“Why?” he asks, reluctantly softening up. You hardly ever show him this side of yourself. You’re usually a few drinks in if you do.

“Did you see that girl I yelled at?”

He nods, Adam’s apple bobbing with a nervous swallow.

“I know her,” you explain, “and she’s not very nice.”

“You’re not very nice,” Rafe jokes.

“Then imagine how bad she is if I’m the one calling her that,” you say with a soft laugh.

“What’d she do?” he asks.

As expected, you wave a dismissive hand, rolling your eyes, blocking him out.

“Nothing worth repeating,” you reply. You bring your hand up to his bicep, squeezing the hard muscle. “Did you go to the gym today?”

Rafe’s eyes dart down to his beer, the attention from you another hit to his bloodstream, a dopamine rush he’s been missing.

���Hit a PR,” he replies.

“Wow,” you flirt. “We should go to the gym together. You’d be a good personal trainer.”

“You couldn’t handle me,” he replies.

You bite your bottom lip, smiling up at him. Nobody gets your heart racing quite like Rafe does.

And it’s why you stay away from him. Getting involved with a brother’s friend is already a bad idea just because it could get messy, but really, it’s the effect he has on you that scares you away.

You’ve been burned. The summer before college started, you discovered your serious boyfriend had never really respected you. You’re pretty sure someone’s first love always leaves a wound. But finding out they were cheating on you the whole time leaves a scar that never closes back up all the way.

“I don’t know,” you reply, pushing away your thoughts. “Pretty sure you couldn’t handle me.”

Rafe’s pink lips part as he looks down again. He shuffles in place so faintly that it’s nearly imperceptible.

“Not like you’d give me a chance to try,” he mumbles with a defeated smile.

No. You wouldn’t. Because the more you get to know Rafe, a man who at first seems hard and aggressive, but really just wears his heart on his sleeve, the more you can see yourself falling for him.

His intensity is overwhelming. It’s something you don’t see in most people. He’s a beautiful rarity of a man and you stay far away from any kind of real intimacy with him, because while you can hook up with other guys with no attachments, tangling yourself up with Rafe would make you susceptible to another wound.

“You know you could get any girl you want, right?” you say to him, voice gently dropping into a serious tone you don’t often use with him.

His phone buzzes in a staccato. He pulls it out of his pocket. Damn it.

“Hey, I’m here,” she says when he answers.

“You’re here?” he blankly repeats.

“You invited someone?” you tease. “And you’re standing here flirting with me? Shameful.”

You offer him a smile to show him you’re kidding around. The dull sting you feel from knowing he’s probably talking to a girl is a good reminder of why you keep him at an arm’s length.

It may not be reasonable to be a little annoyed, considering you’re always running around with different guys right in front of him, but you can’t help it.

Rafe hangs up, a tinge of regret pinching his chest. It took a few seconds with you to realize his spitefulness just fucked things up.

“Go get your girl,” you say with raised brows, stepping aside. “I need a drink.”

“Hey, it’s…” Rafe’s face pinches with concern, leaning to be closer to you. “Don’t be pissed off at me.”

“Pissed off?” You usually do a great job feigning indifference around him. You hope he doesn’t somehow see the crack in your armor.

“It’s that girl,” he replies. “The one from…”

“The game?” you say soberly.

Rafe hates the way your smile drops. The way your eyes search his face for an explanation.

“Whatever,” you reply after a beat. “Do what you want.”

It’s kind of a sick thrill to have the upperhand for once. He’s flustered when you tease, but now, your eyes are sharp with frustration, your lips turned down in a scowl that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is.

“You sure?” he says. You nod curtly.

“Not like I’m your girlfriend or anything.”

He’s sure you say it just to twist the dagger already lodged in his heart. It works.

⫘⫘⫘

Your stomach is in a knot. You’re at the back of the living room, purposely as far away from Rafe as you can be.

And she’s there, looking up at him with a sickeningly bright smile. The same smile she used on your ex. The same smile you’re sure she wore when she texted you how it’d been ‘weighing on her soul’ that she’s been sneaking around with him.

It was all bullshit. You know she was proud to play a hand in your heartbreak. She never looked torn up about it at all. If she did, she wouldn’t have provoked you at your past match.

Missed, she’d said mockingly. It took everything in you not to hit her.

Again, you’re inches away from doing it. Every minute she stays here, you get closer. You wouldn’t normally be angry at the woman your boyfriend cheated with if she didn’t know. If she was a stranger, she wouldn’t have owed you any loyalty.

But she knew. She was your friend.

You’ve been trying not to care anymore. You started this year with the intention to leave all the high school shit behind and have fun and not give your heart to a man. Not for a long time.

But seeing her brings it all back.

“What’s up?” you hear. You look up at your brother.

He knows how your relationship ended. When he heard what your ex did to you, he offered to beat the shit out of him, but no amount of revenge ever felt like it could undo your pain.

He never met your ex-friend. He has no idea who the woman Rafe is flirting with is.

“The music sucks,” you reply, wincing as the bass reverberates through the room.

“You always had shitty taste,” he replies. You crack a smile. It falls when you remember how he’d said the same about your ex, long before the breakup.

“I need a breather,” you say.

It doesn’t happen very often, so when you see worry wash over your big brother’s face, it jolts you a little.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just need to spare my eardrums.”

He huffs a laugh, gently pushing you as you step away from him.

⫘⫘⫘

Come upstairs.

Rafe stares down at the text from you, sent three minutes ago. He looks up at the girl he invited as she comes back to him, arm linked with a friend she’d called to join the party.

He’s stiff as they make introductions. Then he tells them he’ll be right back.

Rafe’s bedroom is lived in, but it’s not quite messy. Clothes are strewn across an open drawer and on the back of his desk chair, but his textbooks are neat on the shelf and his bed is made.

You turned on his dim nightstand lamp. You stare ahead at the calendar on his closet door, practices and games written in black pen.

You lean against the headboard, squeezing your fingers, teetering towards crying. It’s a sick joke to like a guy again just to watch the same woman enamour him.

The door opens with a soft click, music spilling in for a moment.

Rafe has dreamed of this, coming up to see you in his bed. But in his dreams, you’re not staring at him like he just massively fucked up.

He doesn’t say a word. He only looks at you with confusion.

“I take it back,” you say, sitting up. “I don’t want her here.”

“What?” he says.

“Tell her to leave.”

Hope warms his core. Are you jealous?

“It’s my house,” he answers flippantly, giving you the same blasé attitude you’ve always given him.

You scoff. He crosses the room and sits at the foot of his bed, the mattress sinking with his weight. He’s never heard this thinness in your voice before.

“Can you just do it? Please?” you say shakily.

“What happened between you two?”

“You know what?” you scoff frustratingly, swinging your legs over the edge. “Fuck it. I’ll just go.”

“Stop,” he says sternly. “Tell me.”

He may have never seen you this vulnerable, but you’ve never seen him this mad. At least, not at you.

You thought Rafe had a soft spot for you. It hurts that it doesn’t seem to be there anymore. But then he sighs, head tilting slightly as he takes your hand.

“If you– you…” he begins, words fast and tumbling together. You’ve noticed he stammers when he’s on edge. “If you need me to kick her out, then, fine.”

“Really?” you say.

He sighs your name in exhausted resignation, looking up at the ceiling. You’re not jealous. You just really don’t like this girl. It has nothing to do with him and that hurts.

He nods in response. He knows you know he’d do anything for you.

Despite your instinct telling you to call an end to the conversation, the warmth of his hand on yours is piercing. You look down at your lap, turning his big hand over, calluses on his fingertips similar to yours from volleyball.

He gazes at you, his pulse picking up as your eyelashes stay low over your eyes, blinking quickly.

“I had a boyfriend,” you say quietly. “He cheated on me. With her.”

Rafe’s body goes cold. The irritation he was feeling has been replaced by biting guilt. He would’ve told her not to even bother coming in if you had just shared the truth.

“I didn’t know,” he murmurs. The shame is worse with every second that passes. He got what he wanted; he hurt you. And he hates himself for it.

“Yeah,” you say. You find his eyes, bottomless seas of blue. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

“I don’t want it to be like that,” he admits. “And I make it pretty damn obvious.”

You look down again, huffing a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, you do,” you reply.

You’ve always felt a sense of control over Rafe, but it’s chipping away, pieces being taken from you and given to him. You shouldn’t have opened this wound. Because now, you just want to smother it with temporary bandages.

Rafe’s jaw tenses as he watches your hand on his. Silence settles between you, your breaths heavy, the music muffled.

He’s not sure what’s next.

“Don’t tell anyone,” you say.

“I won’t,” he rasps.

“Not about that,” you say. “Well… yeah, about that. But I meant about this.”

You shift to straddle him, the backs of your thighs resting on his lap. He meets your eyes as your noses nearly brush together.

You lean in. His breath stops when your lips meet his.

His heart-rate skyrockets. Fuck. This is really happening. His hands find your thighs, fingers pressing into your flesh.

You gently grind up against him as your kisses grow hungrier, mouths opening, breaths shortening.

You take him in, the smell of his aftershave and the taste of his tongue, as your arms link around his broad shoulders. You already feel better, feeling him hold you and kiss you like this.

He’s getting hard. It makes fire swirl in your stomach.

“Tell me,” you whisper against his mouth, desperate to feel even better, “how bad you want me.”

“You’re all I fucking think about,” he admits breathily.

“Which parts of me do you think about?”

“Everything,” he groans. “Fucking everything.”

You wish he would’ve just said something physical to solidify this as the casual hook-up it is. You can’t handle it being more.

“We’ll keep this a secret, okay?” you whisper.

“I know.” Rafe kisses you again, willing to say anything just to keep this going.

You gently push his shoulders so he lies back. Clothes are clumsily shoved off, kisses grow messy, and once you feel all of him, your head swims with euphoria, blocking out the impending regret.

You stay on top to at least hold onto some of the control you have left.

He comes with a groan, clinging onto your waist with trembling fingers as if you’ll run away from him.

But you do run away. It’s over and you sit up and scramble to put your clothes on again, the high gone, the crash on its way.

“Shit,” you whisper.

Rafe’s smile fades, his chest heaving. He sits up.

“Why are you acting like you regret it?” he asks.

He wants to give you his shirt, stay in bed with you, trace his fingers over your skin and tell you how badly he’s always wanted you.

You look at him with furrowed brows.

“We can’t tell anyone.”

“You already said that,” he mutters. “It’s not like we have to give details, but… nobody’s going to lose their shit if we’re together. Your brother isn’t like that.”

“No,” you shake your head. “This was just sex.”

It’s not a sudden break. His heart cracks slowly. It’s a fracture, spreading through his chest. He’s empty.

“So, I’m just…” He scoffs, tongue jutting under his cheek. “I’m just another one of the guys you do this to.”

“Don’t,” you say softly. “I told you I don’t date.”

You did, but he thought he was different.

You stand, smoothing your hair.

“Because of one asshole?” he murmurs, angrily picking up his t-shirt.

It hurts that something you told him in a vulnerable moment is ammo now. He’s being harsh and you know you are, too, but it’s the last thing you need right now.

“Don’t bring it up again,” you say with a strain in your voice. “Any of it. I knew I…”

Your throat starts to feel raw as you pace past him towards the door, desperate to get home and be swallowed in your blankets. Alone. Like you should be. Not chasing temporary relief in hook-ups.

“What did you know?” Rafe says to your back, tone softened. His anger is gone. It takes one glimpse into your pain to erase his own. He just wants to make you feel better.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” you murmur, staring at the door handle. “I can’t trust anyone.”

You leave. You gave him what he thought he wanted most, but he can see now that this hollow version of having you is the last thing he’d ever want.

You’ve ticked him off your list. You’re done. He’s in your rearview now, a quick hook-up that you wish you didn’t have.

⫘⫘⫘

You’ve been home for less than five minutes when your phone buzzes with a text from Rafe.

Make it home okay?

You swallow hard and respond: yes. didn’t mean to freak out. friends?

Rafe chews on his lip as he stares at his phone. He hasn’t left his bedroom.

yeah, he replies. There’s no point in pretending he doesn’t want you, even if you push him back into the role he’d been playing before.

Fine. He’ll be your fucking friend. He already lost his pride long ago. But tonight is the first time he’s truly lost the hope he had in you.

(the end)

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[bratbarzal]

The Secret of Us (LH43) 1/3

aka the sequel to let it happen

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 21k (oops)

I felt it, you held it, do you miss us? wonder if you regret the secret of us.

General Warnings: angst (lol), a severe lack of proofreading, mentions of injuries, a couple of angsty flashbacks with avoidant behaviour and fade to black type smut

A/N: just want to say thank you guys for liking this so much 💖 seeing all the comments and the messages and people recommending this to others and the sweet things you're all saying (even if I betrayed you lol) made me so unbelievably happy!!! I could never let these two go out like that, I enjoy writing this dynamic way too much, and I also have way too much discussing this fic with people!! shoutout to the let it happen film club lmao!!! I hope you guys enjoy this sequel, and I hope it lives up to LIH, they really are my babies!!

and I know what you're thinking, maggie how could we ever trust you again after let it happen??? you can't!! and you shouldn't!!! but I wouldn't do that to you twice.

or would I???

I wouldn't 😌

OR WOULD I?!?!?!?! 😏

You need to start getting more comfortable saying no to people.

It’s something you tell yourself all the time, that being a people pleaser is going to lead to your downfall - it’s something you’ve always known.

So why you would ever possibly agree to attend a football game with your sorority sisters after weeks of hiding away in the safety of your childhood bedroom, you have no idea. You’ve spent the last 4 weeks alone convincing yourself to grow a backbone, and you’ve only been back in town a week. 7 whole days and your resolve has crumbled to pieces.

And now you’re squeezing yourself through a crowd of sweaty, yelling men to find your seat in the cramped spaces of Michigan Stadium, after already being packed like a clown into the back of your friend Molly’s car, and your head is throbbing, already.

A football game.

You at a football game.

It’s absurd.

Dressed in team colours with a ridiculous yellow M painted on your cheek like you’re some sort of local.

It’s your own version of a living hell, and you can’t wait for it to be over.

“Are you guys always sat this low?” You yell out to Molly as the rest of your friends amble in, surrounded now on all sides with no way out.

“Aren’t the seats, great?!” She yells back, louder than you, causing you to wince a little at the shrill sound in your ear.

The seats are not great, but you wouldn’t be happy anywhere in here.

You can barely even see the field, the sidelines packed with God-knows-who, and your back hurts already, and all you want is to go back to the version of you that was first asked if she wanted to come with. A version of you that should have told Molly straight up that you’d have rather sat at home plucking at any remaining body hair with a pair of pointed tweezers than to come to a Michigan Football game.

“Oh, look!” Molly jumps, and you’re assuming she’s just going to point to her boyfriend, following her finger with a bored gaze. You’ve seen him, before. You don’t need to see him again.

Only Molly’s finger doesn’t point to her boyfriend.

It points to the sidelines - to a group of guys stood with a shorter girl with curly blonde hair.

Ellie’s down there, dressed in team colours, too. She’s stood next to Jack, who’s stood next to Quinn.

And you don’t even need to look past Quinn to know who’s gonna be stood beside him.

It’s way too late to go home, now, you fear.

Not when Molly is digging her phone out and pressing immediately on Ellie’s contact, and you can see the whole situation unfold in front of you. 

Ellie never has her phone on silent, and when it rings, it rings loud - a high-pitched, horrific tone that honestly sets off your fight or flight, and you can see the immediate reaction the boys have to it chiming in her hand. 

She answers, instantly, and you can hear Molly’s side of the conversation, guiding Ellie to where your group are up in the stands, waving like a lunatic until Ellie finds you all - and, as if your life isn’t bad enough, she then starts gesturing at you.

“Look who I managed to convince to come with!” She yells, still pointing like you’re some circus attraction, and, if you could remember what the ground felt like, too long in the stands, now, that you miss it, you would honestly want it to swallow you up.

Because obviously Ellie isn’t the only one looking.

Jack is looking.

And Quinn is looking.

And you know, once again without looking yourself, that the person beside Quinn now has his eyes on you, too.

The weight of them takes you back in a dizzying flash, and all of a sudden, you’re back in the lake house, sobbing into your hands until you were pulled into the soft embrace of your best friend.

“Hey, you’re crying, what’s wrong?” Ellie cooed as she came over, throwing her arm around your shaking frame and rubbing a hand up and down your back. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” you tried through shaky breaths, attempting and entirely unconvincing smile, like it would at all mask the flood pouring down your cheeks, “Go back to your party, I’m just being dumb.”

“I’m not gonna leave you like this,” she told you, “What's going on, is it Luke?”

The mere mention of his name brought back the onslaught of tears, your face scrunching as you tried to hold them back, but it was no use. Every single part of you ached with regret, your throat, your chest, your limbs - and all you wanted to do was curl up and cry it out. “I fucked it all up, El.”

“No,” she reassured you, “He fucked things up, he should never have spoken about you like that, it wasn’t fair. Not if the two of you are into each other, he shouldn’t be saying things like that.”

“He was right, though,” you sobbed, “I’m a mess, I just ruin everything good, I don’t even know why.”

“Aw, babe, no-,” 

“I told him I’d go out with Cole. I don’t even know why, I just wanted him to stop trying to make things work, he kept trying to tell me that he didn’t mean any of it, but I know he did.”

“Do you?” She asked, “Want to go out with Cole?”

“No, of course I don’t.” You shook your head, although you didn’t know how obvious it was, especially to everybody else, how little you wanted to be with anybody that wasn’t Luke. “I just want to go back to this morning, before I heard him say any of that stuff.”

“Why don’t you come downstairs, huh? We can find him, and the two of you can try to talk again-,”

“I can’t,” you refused, the thought of trying to communicate your feelings while you looked the way you did - eyes red raw and face all swollen - filling you with anxiety. “Can you just tell people I’m sick if they ask? I know it’s your birthday but I can’t go down there, Ellie.”

“Okay,” she had agreed, although the worry in her eyes made you feel even worse - missing your best friend’s birthday party because you were too chicken to face your feelings?

What sort of friend does that?

“I’ll come check on you, though. And tomorrow, you’re gonna have a serious conversation with Luke, alright? You can’t keep pushing people away, it isn’t good for you.”

“I know,” you sniffled, “I promise, I’ll try tomorrow.”

But trying had been futile. Luke wanted nothing to do with you - he could barely even look your way. He didn’t come downstairs for breakfast the next day, and when he finally did, he turned straight back around. Every time you tried to talk to him, he would shut you down, and by the tenth day of trying, you’d given up, entirely - booking yourself a ticket home, packing your things up one night and leaving the morning after. 

The following weeks were spent wallowing back home with your mom - texting Ellie, waiting for him to reach out, even though you knew he wouldn’t. Watching sad movies, staying inside, spending your days alone, while your mom was at work, and trying not to miss him so much.

And coming back to Michigan had only been made easy by the fact that he would be gone - due to go back to training in Jersey, and the two of you wouldn’t cross paths.

It won’t hurt as much, you had thought, if you didn’t have to see him.

But now here Luke is, following Ellie’s gaze as she waves up to you in the stands, stood on the sidelines of the football game you’d only attended to finally get yourself out of the house - still in Michigan, stood at the end of the path you thought no longer led to him. 

This might be the first time he’s met your eye in a while, and there’s a visceral feeling that shoots straight through you - your heart falling into an alarming, irregular thump that reverberates through your entire body, and it’s a strange sensation, like the slowing of time, the blurring of everything around you but him. 

His arm is held to his front with a sling, and you try to ignore the way your stomach turns at the sight of it. It’s nothing to do with you, he doesn’t want you to care. He doesn’t even want to talk to you, and you don’t want to talk to him, either - not anymore. Not after almost 6 weeks of silence - of forcing yourself to think about anything but him, like you even could.

You offer a tight lipped smile and a wave to Ellie, and try to ignore his presence for as long as you can, try to watch the game, to focus on your friends in the stands beside you - only, he keeps looking back. Craning his neck, surveying the crowd as it fills up just to find you, and your heart starts to hammer in your chest every time you catch his eye.

What happened to him avoiding you at all costs? What happened to ignoring your attempts to talk, the knocks at his door, the pleading, persuasive looks you’d try to give him when it all got a little too much in the end. 

Why can’t he just let you slip away into nothingness, like it would be so much easier to do?

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket as you’re trying to focus on the game, the desire to flee growing by the second - cramped and claustrophobic in your seat, dying for a drink and a minute of reprieve away from the crowd, away from Luke and whatever weird telekinetic powers he has on your heart.

Luke: can we talk?

Luke: I’ll be at the closest concessions in 5

You slip your phone back into your pocket without responding, and by the time you look back down to where he had been stood, he’s gone. 

You should be relieved. 

Maybe if you ignore his message, he’ll stop looking at you.

Maybe this is where it ends, and you can finally let each other go - too far gone to fix, nothing left to say.

Only your legs are now moving, side stepping Molly and the other girls, along with the rest of the people in your row, and your mouth is apologising to those you bump into, and your feet are carrying you down the stairs to where you know he’ll be, sneakers squeaking against the sticky floor as you search for him in the small concessions queue.

He stands taller than most, waiting by the counter, facing the other way, and you take the second that his back is turned to you to reconsider.

Stuck in place, staring at broad shoulders you’d once spent tracing the freckles between while he slept, and wondering which might hurt more - walking away or hearing him out. 

He turns before you get the chance to choose, his eyes meeting yours , widening in surprise, as much as they can, considering his current predicament, and he immediately heads your way.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” Luke just about says as he precariously holds onto a plastic cup between his teeth, offering you the one in his free hand - what you assume is diet coke with ice sloshing a little over the rim and onto the already sticky floor. 

“Can hardly leave a one-armed man to navigate the concession stand on his own. Not one with your appetite, at least.” Your brows furrow when you notice the distinct lack of snacks in his hold, but you figure he prioritised using what little carrying capacity he had to get your drink. “Do you want me to hang around while you get something to eat? I can hold your drink,”

“I don’t have much of an appetite,” he says, clearer now that he can hold his cup in his hand instead of his mouth. “I’m on some pretty strong painkillers, can’t eat without feeling sick.”

“Oh,” you frown, eyeing the sling that holds his other arm. He had been fine when you left the lake house - and even last week, in Ellie’s story on instagram, he hadn’t seemed injured then. It must be a recent development, and so close to the season, for him to be out in public wearing a brace, it can’t be good. “What happened?”

“Took a pretty bad hit on the ice,” he shrugs with his other shoulder, lips turning down like he’s trying to play it off, “Been telling myself it’s karma.” The way he chuckles is distant and noncommittal, and not at all like all the ways you’re used to seeing him smile or laugh. His eyes don’t squint, his mouth barely turns up, barely pushes those tell-tale folds into his cheeks that you used to press at when he was close enough to do so. Back when being in such close proximity made your heart thump in a different way.

But maybe that’s for the best.

Maybe one of Luke Hughes’ signature crooked grins might have made you do something stupid, like touch him again. You’ve worked too hard to push away the feeling of wanting to for the past month. 

“Karma for what?” You ask instead, head tilting to survey the damage, like you’d even be able to see anything through the thick yellow hoodie he has on. It’s better than looking him in the eye, you think.

“For what I said to Cole,” he tells you, the shame that lines his words doing little to alleviate the way they so quickly jab at you, all the memories of that day and that conversation rushing back at you full-force. Memories you’ve worked really hard to suppress. “For hurting you. I probably deserved to get hurt, too.”

“I’d never want you to be hurt, Luke.” You say before you can think better of it, narrowed eyes meeting his finally, watching as they soften slightly, let your words sink in and melt like warm butter, seeping into his every pore and breaking down his hardened exterior. 

“Me neither,” he almost-whispers, “For you, I mean. I wouldn’t want you to be hurt.”

You nod, momentarily pressing your lips together, your focus dropping to a patch of lint on his hoody, clenching your free hand into a fist behind your back to save yourself from reaching out to pluck it off. 

“Is that all you wanted to see me for?”

You don’t want to be rude to him, but it’s hard, especially when every instinct in your body is telling you to push him away - to keep him at arms length where he can’t pull you back in. 

“No,” he utters quickly, his feet shuffling as if he wants to step forward, reduced the metaphorical distance you’re trying to force between the two of you. “I was hoping we could talk.”

You just about save yourself from having your jaw drop wide open.

You’d tried to talk to him last month, before you left, and he had wanted nothing more to do with you. 

“In the middle of a football game?” You frown, daring to glance up - taking notice of the panic in his eyes when he reads you like a book, can recognise your retreating form from a mile off, by now.

“No,” he blurts out, “No, I mean later, if you’re free. Somewhere else.”

“I don’t know-,”

“We’re having a barbecue back at the house,” he interrupts, a look on his face like he couldn’t possibly accept no for an answer. “Like an end of summer send-off thing, you should come over, I know the guys would want to say goodbye properly.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you finish your earlier thought, “Besides, your family probably all hate me.”

“Why would they hate you?”

“Because of what happened with us,”

“Oh,” He frowns, “No, they don’t hate you, I promise, not even Jack.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you scoff - when he had helped Ellie move rooms back in the sorority house last week, he could barely even muster a smile to send your way. He hadn’t been his usual stand-offish self, but he had hardly been friendly, either. You didn’t expect laughs and hugs and welcome-backs, but after the two of you had kind of made up back at his cousin’s wedding, and things were finally solid between him and your best friend, you thought some kind of bridge had been built.

Apparently not.

“I didn’t tell them.”

“Oh,” you don’t know whether you feel relieved or disappointed. He can’t have been that heartbroken about the whole thing if he never told a soul, right? Even you told your mom when you got home - granted, she was a whole bottle of rosé deep into the night and seconds from falling into a wine coma, but you still at least acknowledged your feelings to somebody. 

What did he do, just bottle all whatever feelings remained up and send them off down the lake? Enjoy the rest of his summer like you never happened?

“I didn’t think you’d want me to,” he continues, “You never really liked me talking about us with other people, so I didn’t.”

“Right,” you nod, biting your tongue to save from throwing out a bitter, thanks. You spent the last month watching heart-wrenching sad movies in your bed all day and he just went about his life like the two of you were nothing That’s fine. That’s cool.

“Ellie’ll be there,” he tries again, like she won’t be attached to Jack’s hip all night and you’ll be left on your own. “And a few of the Michigan guys, if you need a ride back to campus. I’d offer to drive you, but,” he nods down to his arm, “Or you can stay, your room is still free.”

Yourroom. Like you have any claim on any part of his world, still.

“I’ll think about it,” you tell him, because you can’t fully bring yourself to say no to his face. It’ll be easier when you’re back home, later, and can just ignore his texts, if he even cares enough to send any. “I should get back.”

“I can walk you back,”

“You shouldn’t be in a crowd with your arm,” your head shakes and you step back, your body language saying more than your lips even dare. “It’s fine. Thanks for the drink.”

“No problem.” He chews at the corner of his lip as he watches you retreat, like he has more to say. 

Despite spending the last month doing everything in your power to wipe your thoughts clean of Luke Hughes, you want nothing more than to hear it - but where you’ve been suffering and relating every pathetic, sad song you hear back to him and fighting every urge to reach out through fear of rejection, he’s been ignoring your entire existence. Repressing whatever feelings he may have had and neglecting any instinct he might have had to reach out, too. 

“Promise me you will?” He calls out when you’re a little ways down the tunnel, causing you to turn back to see him in the same spot, “Think about it, I mean. I’d really like to talk to you.”

Your fingers tense at the mere mention of a promise tumbling from his lips, your pinky sending signals to your feet to run straight back to him, practically itching to reach out and link with his. Instead, you nod, eyes darting to the big M that stretches across his chest, easier to look at that and lie than into his hopeful gaze. 

“Sure,” you tell him, because you can hardly make a promise you can’t keep. 

Not to Luke.

You’re not coming.

Luke realistically knew as much when Ellie arrived on her own - immediately going over to Jack and sparing Luke a glance out of the corner of her eye as she whispered to his brother.

But it’s taken him almost 2 hours to really come to terms with the fact - to stop keeping an eye on the door and whipping his head around any time a newcomer enters the house. 

He should have known when you refused to make a promise to him - not like you owed him anything in the first place. Should have known when the few attempts you made at joking around with him like old times, you’d barely mustered a smile - that familiar glint in your eye that shone only for him watered down into a dull gaze you refused to hold. 

God, he’s an idiot, he thinks.

He should have spoken to you when he had the chance - those few times you had tried to offer an olive branch, pushing a pre-poured glass of juice his way at breakfast or making space for him on the couch he’s now conveniently slumped on, all alone.

It feels a little like a lost cause now, trying to reignite some sort of spark between the two of you - not when you won’t even hear him out.

He’d felt a bit of hope when you’d met him at the stadium, thinking his text might have been left on read - and even though he’d made the effort to buy you a drink, he hadn’t entirely expected you to turn up. 

He thinks maybe that had been the first thing to throw him for a loop - arranging a meeting on a whim and you actually making an appearance. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t form a coherent sentence, or relay any sort of confidence in himself or what he was trying to sell you on. 

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t convince you to come.

He can’t blame you - your last 10 days here at the house had been miserable, on his account, and if he was in your shoes, he wouldn’t come back, either. He wouldn’t hear himself out, wouldn’t forgive himself.

The night of Ellie’s party should have been where he drew the line at avoiding you - the initial aftermath of your fight still sizzling, too hot to touch while the both of you were still reeling.

The morning after, he had been hungover - throwing back drinks like nobody’s business just to drown you out - and there was no chance of having a serious conversation, then, even though he had woke up alone in his bed wanting nothing more than for you to be there.

He’d gone downstairs sometime in the early afternoon, ignoring his growling stomach until he couldn’t do it any more , and had trudged into the kitchen only to find you there with Cole.

The bitterness within him fought violently with his need to puke, and he stormed back up to his room, no longer having any sort of appetite, and stayed there for the rest of the day.

The days that followed were no better - avoiding you at every given opportunity, ignoring your pleading eyes, leaving no chance for you to speak to him, despite all the times he could see that you wanted to. He’d leave every room you entered, turn away from every conversation you joined, and the final nail in the coffin was probably the time he ignored you knocking on his bedroom door one night, the soft call of his name feeling like a knife that twisted in his gut. 

You were gone the next day - your bedroom door open and the room empty when he walked past, your seat at the table vacant when he came downstairs for breakfast, and he seemed to be the only one who didn’t know. Ellie seemed unbothered, already having moved into Jack’s room, Quinn was drinking the green tea you had bought, that no one else was supposed to touch, Alex probably wouldn’t have cared either way, and Cole was already talking about meeting up with some other girl.

“Wow,” Luke had scoffed, throwing himself into the chair beside Cole’s and sneaking a peak at his phone screen, suddenly feeling a burning need to call the guy out. He was to the entire reason you called things off with Luke, and now he was talking to someone else? “Her bed isn’t even cold and you’re already moving on, huh?”

Ellie had glared at him from across the table, and Jack had frowned too, no doubt wondering why after 10 days of complete silence about the whole thing, he was daring to bring you up now.

“What are you talking about?” Cole chuckled, leaning back in his chair and raising a brow at Luke, who just said your name in response, with a pointed stare. “What about her?”

“Thought you were ending your summer with a girlfriend.” 

“Dude, where the hell have you been?” Cole snorted, amused, if anything, “She couldn’t have turned me down quicker if she tried. Man to man, don’t ever follow instructions from that one,” he pointed over to Ellie, “She led me on a wild goose chase all summer just so that I’d help her get her guy.”

“Hey!” Ellie called from across the table, “It’s not my fault you have no game. And I would have gotten my guy just fine without your help.”

Before Cole could retort, spurred on by the way Jack was chucking by her side, Luke frowned, straightening in his chair. “She didn’t want to go out with you?”

“No, but before you say anything, it has nothing to do with my game, alright? She’s into someone else, I guess.”

“Someone else?” Luke’s eyes darted over to Ellie, who just rolled hers in response, turning her attention back to Jack before she excused herself from the table.

“That’s my guess,” Cole shrugged, “She said she wasn’t into me like that, but come on.”

Wasn’t into him?

That wasn’t what you had said to Luke.

“Sorry man,” Luke offered, absentmindedly, head craning to see which direction Ellie left in. “As you were.”

He jogged out of the kitchen and up the stairs, just about catching her before she disappeared into her and Jack’s room. “Hey, wait,” he had called, watching as she let out a heavy sigh and turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. “She turned him down?”

“Did you not just have this exact conversation with Cole?”

“Ellie, c’mon,” he pleaded, desperation creeping up inside - feeling a little too much like guilt, and causing a serious discomfort in the pit of his stomach. “She said she wanted to date him.”

“You’re so unbelievably stupid.”

It didn’t quite hit the same as when you said it, shame washing over him at the way Ellie was glaring at him. 

“She heard you tell him that she wasn’t girlfriend material, and that she would just be hard work, and not worth his time. Lucky for you, she didn’t hear the bullshit you said before that.” Regret formed like a heavy ball in his gut, the weight of it almost pushing him to keel over. “She said whatever she had to to get you off her back because it hurt her less to push you away.”

“I don’t-,”

“And you’re the dumbass who just let her do it.”

That’s not fair, he thought. What was he supposed to do, just watch you move on without a care in the world, cheering you on with a stupid grin on his face while his whole heart crumbled to pieces at the thought of you being with anybody else?

“I’m not a mind reader, Ellie,” he tried to defend himself, “I can’t keep pushing at a door that won’t open.”

“My God, do you have a peanut for a brain, Luke?” She had shoved at his chest, “She’s been holding the door open for the last ten days, and all you’ve done is walk past it. She wanted to talk to you, and you wouldn’t even look at her!”

“I wasn’t ready! I thought she-,” 

He had thought you had taken Cole up on his offer of taking you out - had thought that’s the conversation he had stumbled into the day after the party - and he didn’t want to risk hearing anything about it, or seeing it in action.

“She said it didn’t matter.”

You had said that - he had asked you straight up, so there was no confusing it, but when he tried to remember, he can’t picture your eyes as you did. He must not have been looking, he thought, or maybe you weren’t looking at him. Either way, how’s he supposed to muster up a clear idea of your intentions if he can’t remember the look in your eyes as you spoke them. 

You couldn’t lie to him - you never could, even in the beginning, pretending to be aloof, pretending you weren’t into him, he could always see through you, back then, so why didn’t he try harder when it was something he didn’t want to hear?

“She’s really gone home? Not just back to Ann Arbor?”

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie scoffed, folding her arms across her chest, “Chase her down?”

“I don’t know, if I have to. We need to talk.”

“She’s probably back at her mom’s by now, she left pretty early. And I think it’s for the best if you leave her alone, Luke. She gave you a hundred chances to talk.”

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t just leave things like this, I made a mistake, I need her to know that, I need her to know I’m sorry.”

“It’s better if you both just cool off a little. She’s hurt that you’ve been ignoring her, it isn’t fair to keep playing hot and cold with her feelings.”

“That’s not what I-,”

“I know.” Ellie sighed, leaning against the wall and giving him a pitiful look as she finally took in just how panicked he had become, running hands through his hair and shifting between his feet. “Just give it time, that way you can both think about it, think about what you want to say without just saying things and not meaning them.”

And that’s all Luke has been doing since then.

Thinking about what he wants to say to you - thinking about how to fix things. All without knowing when it is that he would even see you again, or if you’d be willing to listen. 

He’d distracted himself with it - his mind stuck on just how bad he had messed things up, and it had put him into a rut - so much so, that he ended up hurting himself in training, an injury that would have him out for a good couple of months. And he had meant it, when he told you he thought it was karma, because he deserved a reality check, he thinks. It had shifted things into perspective, at least - because now he could stay in town a little longer, could try and make amends before he had to go home and properly start his season.

And when he’d noticed Ellie scanning the crowd back at the game, had followed her beaming smile all the way to you in the crowd, he thought his heart had stopped.

It had been 4 weeks since he’d seen you last - almost 6 since he’d spoken to you. Since he’d touched you, or kissed you, or seen you smile, and when your eyes meet his from the stands, widened and hesitant, he could tell you were feeling the same.

An insurmountable longing for something the two of you should never have thrown away.

He saw the truth, then, even as you looked away and diverted your attention back to Ellie - the truth he was too hurt to notice all those weeks ago back in your room in the lake house. 

That you felt the same way - you always had - you just weren’t used to it. Weren’t used to loving someone, or having them love you.

But he can’t quite tell if you still feel it.

He can’t expect you to, not with how reserved you’ve become.

He sighs, sinking into the cushions of the couch, legs stretched out and head thrown against the back as he squints against the light - the noise around him dwindling to a constant buzz. 

He’s too caught up in his head to notice when Ellie sinks down beside him until she nudges at his side, and he slowly looks her way.

“If it helps at all, I could tell she wanted to come.”

Luke snorts out a humourless laugh, eyes rolling. “If she wanted to come, she’d be here.” He says, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“She doesn’t really open up to people,” Ellie sighs, and he can tell from the way she’s looking at him that’s only divulging this from a place of pity, although he guesses that’s better than her saying nothing at all. “It took us years to get to where we are, and even now I’m not sure she lets me all the way in, and we’re supposed to be best friends.”

“I feel like I don’t even know if she was ever into me in the first place,” he mutters, tracing at a scratch in the surface of the table. Even if he had thought different, back in the stadium, he can’t be so sure now that you haven’t shown. You’d have come if you still cared. “I’m still confused by the whole Cole thing-,”

“That was my fault,” Ellie interjects, “I thought I was doing the right thing, I didn’t realise that you two were-,” her teeth clash as she bites down, as if to stop saying the word, together. “Whatever you were. And she just got all in her head after she heard you saying all that stuff, it’s what she does, keeps her cards close to her chest until she loses them all.”

“That’s the problem, El,” Luke groans, “If she really liked me, she would have told you. If she was ever serious, you’d have known something was up. She wouldn’t have hidden it from her best friend and told me that she was gonna go out with Cole after all.”

“You know she turned him down, Luke, he said himself, she was into someone else.”

“Yeah, or so he assumed,” he grumbles, recalling the feeling he got when Cole had said as much, back on the day you left.

“And you know on my birthday when she overheard that conversation, she’d literally just told me that she liked you. That’s big for her, Luke. It might have taken her a while but she got there in the end. It’s your own fault for having such a big mouth and ruining it.”

“I told her I didn’t mean it,” he can’t help how whiney he sounds, lips pouting and a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told her I was sorry.”

“And then you ignored her for almost two weeks until she had no choice but to leave. You don’t get to claim the moral high ground here, I’m sorry.”

“So what am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me.”

“You just have to give her time, don’t give up again.” Ellie nudges him a little too forcefully, the sharp jut of her elbow in his ribs causing him to wince. “Really think about if there’s a version of you that could be friends.”

“What if I don’t want to be friends, what if I don’t wanna keep taking one step forward and three back?” 

“Then think about if you’d rather be nothing at all.”

“She hates me that much?”

“I don’t know, she stopped talking to me about it.” Ellie huffs, leaning back a little more into the couch. “But I’d take that as a no. If she hated you, neither of us would hear the end of it, trust me.”

He knows that’s true - all the odd comments you’d drop about Jack back in the beginning of summer. He knows you never hated Jack, but there was always a clear dislike, and you were never shy about voicing it to anyone willing to listen.

If you’re not talking about him at all, it means one of two things. You either give so little of a shit about him that you don’t see a use in bringing him up, or you don’t want to show vulnerability by admitting how much he hurt you.

He knows what he’d put his money on.

“Can’t you talk to her for me? Put a good word in?” He pleads, rounding his eyes in the hopes that Ellie’s pity extends to doing him a solid - he dedicated his entire summer to getting her and Jack together, after all.

“I think it’s best for the both of us if I stay out of her love life. My meddling is what got you guys into this mess in the first place.”

Luke sighs as he resumes his previous position, neck thrown against the back of the couch and eyes cast to the ceiling. 

Your room is right above - the bed on which you’d kissed him that first time, away from your scheming at the mall, still made and empty. The bed where you two would lay atop the covers, watching movies on the old staticky TV, sharing snacks between you and spouting commentary into the night.

He wonders, then, if you’d watched anything since the last time - before you left - and it’s that thought that has him pushing himself up and making his way up the stairs. 

Despite the amount of time since you were in here, it still kind of smells like you - like melon sunscreen and passionfruit perfume - and he casts a glance around for anything that might remain.

There’s nothing, though. No loose hair ties, forgotten jewellery, not even a book left behind.

And then he checks by the TV - the shelf below it housing a DVD player, and he powers it up just to press eject.

After a few seconds, a disc spins out.

Silver Linings Playbook, with Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence.

He might have seen it once or twice, can vaguely remember some of the storyline, but it isn’t until everybody has left the house a good hour or two later that he thinks he should watch it - if it’s the last movie you watched before you left - just to get an idea of your headspace. 

When he’s lounging on his own bed, the movie playing on his TV, Jennifer’s Tiffany saying to Bradley’s Pat, “I used to think that you were the best thing that ever happened to me, but now I think that you might maybe be the worst thing. And I'm sorry that I ever met you.” And it turns his stomach in a way he isn’t prepared for, tears pricking at his eyes at the thought of you watching this and thinking the same.

And then Pat responds, and Luke sits with the line for a good minute, pausing the movie as he ponders the response, "Good for you. Come on, let's go dance.” 

He wonders if you smiled the same way - soft and small, hopeful that one day the punches you throw to defend yourself are met with the same resistance, with a hand that grabs at them, and instead of fighting back, just pulls you closer.

It’s almost by instinct that he pulls his phone out, loading up the same app he always does when he’s watching a movie, ready to fill in a review when it gets to a part that resonates with him.

And there you are, on his friends feed - the last movie you logged being an hour ago, La La Land, which you had unsurprisingly given 5 stars, and had reviewed with just a quote - It’s pretty strange that we keep bumping into each other. Maybe it means something.

And he grins, really and genuinely beams, for what feels like the first time in a while, a small chuckle rumbling up from his chest as he checks for your review on Silver Linings - the same quote he loved so much sitting there under your 5 star rating. 

He doesn’t want to be nothing, he decides, then, like it was ever in question. 

And he realises it’s up to him to do something about it.

Luke’s first thought when it comes to fixing thing is to text you.

It’s simple, and it should be easy, but he sits staring at your name in his phone for 30 minutes trying to think of what would be best to say.

A casual, hey, in the hopes that you’d just instinctively type it back.

A call out, like, Bummed you couldn’t come over the other night, thinking you might have been feeling guilty.

A question, or even an invite, along the lines of, Do you want to meet somewhere? Because leaving someone hanging on an invite is just plain cruel.

But then he feels like he doesn’t want to force your hand - weirdly inspired by that La La Land quote you loved so much, about bumping into each other.

Only orchestrating a chance encounter was hard when you weren’t going out. Ellie had mentioned everybody going for drinks at one of the bars on campus, and you never turned up.

She told him your favourite coffee shop, and despite him hanging around all day one time, like a total creep, he didn’t catch sight of you once.

You weren’t with Ellie when he bumped into her at the mall, or at the diner, when he had gone for burgers with the guys and seen a few of your sorority sisters on the other side of the restaurant.

And even when Ellie had told him to come over to the house, that she’d take him into town to pick up some suits, because he was still in his sling and couldn’t drive himself, he had been disheartened to find out you wouldn’t be there - that you had a morning class, and Ellie hadn’t even seen you.

He settles for looking at the cute photo of you and Ellie on the mantle, greek letters painted on your cheeks, beaming smiles as you looked straight into the camera, and he still gets that twinge in his chest even looking at a photo.

A twinge that only grows when he hears a gasp from behind him, and he swiftly turns to see you at the bottom of the staircase, looking back at him, alarmed and surprised.

Luke’s eyes trail slowly up your bare legs, his throat going dry as they land on the oversized shirt you’re wearing - his shirt, he’s pretty sure, although he knows it’s probably best not to comment on that - before cutting up to your face, wide eyes staring back at him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, stepping back toward the staircase where you rest your hand on the bannister, putting as much distance between the two of you as you can without completely retreating up the stairs. 

“I uh-,” he stutters, losing his train of thought as he stands there with his mouth agape, taking you in.

He hadn’t been prepared to see you, that much is clear - and especially not like this, dressed in his shirt, which you’ve obviously slept in, hair a little messy, skin bare of any makeup. It reminds him of those mornings in his bed, waking up before the rest of the house, your body bathed in the soft glow from the rising sun, trading sleepy kisses until you would sneak back off to your room.

It makes him yearn for that, again, and feelings like that need some kind of forewarning, otherwise they serve nothing but to make him ache.

“I said I’d drive him to an appointment,” Ellie says as she emerges from the kitchen, car keys in hand, “I though everyone had class this morning, you’re not gonna hand me in for having a guy in the house, are you?”

“I’m not a snitch,” you frown, tugging at the ends of his shirt, “I slept in, I didn’t think anyone else was here either.”

He didn’t exactly need the confirmation, considering your current state, but knowing you slept in his shirt makes the heat creep up his neck, his chest puffing as he really takes in the meaning of it.

So many things about you are screaming that you want nothing to do with him, but you’re sleeping in his old Michigan shirt, one you’d borrowed when your shoulders were burning out on a wakeboarding trip one day, he’s pretty sure - one he never even realised you kept.

“Do you need a ride?” She offers, stepping beside Luke, close enough that in order to look at Ellie, you pretty much have to look his way too, and every time you glance at him, he catches you. “We were gonna go get a drink before, so we’re heading your way anyway. Or you could come with, if you’re skipping."

“Uh, no,” you decline, without even thinking about it, Luke’s chest feeling a little tighter at just how quick you are to avoid being near him. “I’m gonna go to the library.”

“I could still drive you. I doubt you’d mind a detour, would you, Lukey?”

“No,” he breathes out, almost immediately, eyes staying on you. “I don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” you offer Ellie a tight lipped smile, “I’ll walk.”

And that’s that - your figure retreating back up the stairs before Luke has anything to say about it, his shoulders slumping as Ellie offers a friendly pat to his back.

“C’mon then, I need to stop for gas, you’re paying.”

He follows Ellie out to the back of the house, where the girls usually park their cars off the street, and just as he’s climbing into Ellie’s Mini, he glances up to the one of the windows, just in time to catch the quick shift of a curtain.

“Don’t worry,” Ellie says as he adjusts the passenger seat, folding his long legs into the limited space, an assured smile sent his way before she starts up the car. “I’ve got a plan.”

“What happened to no more meddling?” He huffs as he buckled himself in.

“I can’t sit back and watch my best friend become boring trying to avoid you, Luke,” she sighs, “It’s borderline painful.” 

—

You don’t know when managing your social life became Ellie’s full time job - as if the two of you aren’t tumbling into the depths of your final year of school with very little direction or guidance - but you’re growing tired of it, quick.

First, it had been, you’re coming to the bar and I’m not taking no for an answer, except, she had taken no for an answer, she just relished in making you feel bad for it after.

Then it had been, I need your opinion on halloween costumes, and she had insisted you join her at the mall, but you had an appointment with the careers counsellor that you really couldn’t miss, and she had to settle with sending you photos, again adding incessant messages about how she wouldn’t let you turn down the next invitation out.

Never mind trying to avoid bumping into Luke during his extended stay, avoiding Ellie was becoming a real task - slipping out before she can corner you in the mornings and staying out most of the day.

She caught you off guard, the other day, though - inviting Luke around. Sure, you were supposed to be in class - would have been, if your alarm had gone off on time - but still, bringing him into your space was like crossing a line, breaking an unspoken rule.

She’s supposed to be on your side. She isn’t supposed to be bringing the guy who hurt you into your house and driving him around town like his personal assistant, all from the good of her heart.

She’s just trying to kiss up to Jack.

At least, you thought so, until she sent you a text later that day - a bunch of pictures of Luke in different suits, tailored perfectly to his lean figure, shirts that stretched taut across his broad shoulders and pants that clung perfectly to his hips, followed by the message, thoughts?

You had many, but none that you could possibly sent to her - only replying with a question mark until she apologised, claiming they were meant for Jack’s approval.

It became clear then, what she was doing - flaunting him in front of you until you burst at the seams, like one of those jackets looked like it was going to do in a few of the pictures from the back of Luke in the tailor shop. Sending you those had been no accident.

And that’s why you were sceptical when the weekend rolled around, and she was begging and pleading for you to go with her to a party at the hockey house - promising you that he was finally heading back to Jersey, and definitely wasn’t going to be around.

She’d buttered you up with groans of, I feel like I never see you anymore, and, school is stressing me out, already, I just want to let loose with my best friend!

And it was the promise that she’d let you wear a skirt you’ve been eyeing in her closet for the past two years that sealed the deal - a vintage Diesel mini that she had thrifted and guarded like her whole life depended on it. 

You can’t help it, anyway - it’s been so long since you’ve been out like that - probably summer being the last time - and you need to let loose too.

And that’s how you end up walking hand in hand through the front door, Ellie having styled your hair, the two of you looking like a million dollars, and it’s the first time in months that you aren’t disturbed by the feeling of eyes on you.

You kind of feel like your old self - confident, self-assured, like there isn’t a soul on earth who could possibly make you doubt yourself.

You wish the universe gave you at least five minutes to sit with that feeling before you saw him. 

Before you saw Luke, sling-free, bottle in hand, leaning against the wall, talking to Victoria Anderson, a girl you know he has history with - a girl you have history with, yourself.

You hate how quick the switch within you flips - the slight slump of your posture, the tension in your jaw, all your self-worth seeping from your pores like your body is actively trying to kill it.

Your hand slips from Ellie’s, immediately heading in the opposite direction to where Luke is - making a bee-line straight for the kitchen, straight for a drink.

Ellie is hot on your heels, grasping at your arm to keep up, “I’m sorry,” she calls after you.

“You said he wouldn’t be here,” you grumble, shoving through the swinging door and heading straight for the line of bottles on the counter. 

“What am I, his keeper?” She scoffs, trying to play it off as a lighthearted joke, but you can see it in her eyes that she knew. “I don’t know where he’s gonna be at all hours of the day.”

“You said he was going back to Jersey.”

“Yeah, well, I must have got my days mixed up!”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, pouring out a shot from the first bottle you find without even reading the label, and throwing it back before you can think twice. You pour yourself a proper drink, after - a vodka with diet coke - and sip at it just to cool your nerves, trying to calm yourself down.

You don’t want to be mad at Ellie - whatever she’s doing, she’s doing it because she cares - but you’re so tired of overthinking this whole thing. All you want is a break from it all, and no one is willing to give you one.

“I’m gonna go find Ethan,” you tell her, figuring you can kill two birds with one stone - ask him about the class you missed the other morning, and avoid speaking to Luke, “If you want to make this up to me, I need you to tell Luke to steer clear, okay?”

“Fine,” she scowls, rolling her eyes as she has to pour her own drink.

You storm off back toward the door, and just as you get close, it swings open, the edge of it knocking straight into you - into the hand holding your freshly poured drink, which is now dripping down your front.

Your whole body tenses at the sensation of the liquid seeping through your shirt, only momentarily thankful that you hadn’t added ice before you remember the coke - remember the vintage skirt, with the light denim wash.

You hear Ellie groan from behind you, and you squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes that you’ll magically gain some sort of time travelling superpower - a rewind button, like Click.

“Are you okay?”

Of course it had to be him, you think - because you’ve somehow unsettled the entire balance of the universe, and this is how it’s decided to repay you, your eyes opening to find those concerned, grey-green eyes peering back at you. 

He takes the empty cup that’s being squished in your grip and tosses it into a trash can to the side before you feel a hesitant hand on your side, watching as he surveys the damage.

“And here I thought that skirt couldn’t get uglier.”

Victoria’s piercing blue eyes gleam back at you, a sinister smirk plastered on her lips, and you’re lunging before you even know it before a strong arm curls around your waist, the heat of his skin slipping straight into the gap between your skirt and t-shirt, and sending a shiver straight down the spine that’s now pressed to his front.

“Hey, c’mon,” he warns, pulling you back with enough force that there’s a good couple of feet between you and Victoria now, and her eyes narrow at all the points he’s touching you. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You think you only let him guide you away to piss her off - and it isn’t until he’s ushering you into the small downstairs bathroom and closing the door behind him that you realise how little consideration you put into that.

You watch as Luke retrieves a towel from the small cupboard by the door, forgetting he probably still knows this place like the back of his hand, and starts to work at the front of your t-shirt before you snatch it away.

“I’ve got it, thanks.” You snap, entirely frustrated with the whole situation than you think you are with him, a small swirling of guilt immediately bubbling up inside you. 

You dab at the skirt, first, hoping there’s some way that it’s salvageable, or Ellie’s going to murder you. You lean against the counter by the sink, and glance down at the damage. It looks just like a water stain, for now, unfortunately placed, but you won’t know for sure until it dries, and dabbing at it with a towel isn’t really going to fix that.

“Did she hurt your hand?” Luke asks, low voice breaking the silence you were starting to cherish, and it’s only then that you realise where the door hit you. Your knuckles ache a little, but you can still flex your fingers, so you figure they’ll just be bruised tomorrow.

You do wish you could have bruised them another way - maybe with a fist to Victoria Anderson’s smug grin - but you’re supposed to be a pacifist, so maybe not. If anyone’s going to break that pattern, it would be her - your rival in every way ever since you came to Michigan. Academically, in all the same classes, socially, in opposing sororities, and even romantically, with her somehow always looking out for the same guys.

She’d even been at one of the parties back at the lake house, with her hands all over Luke - you remember hearing her shrill laugh and feeling like someone had just drug their nails down a chalkboard, all semblance of peace instantly lost. 

You’re brought out of whatever fiery daydream even her name elicits with the touch of Luke’s fingers to yours, the soft brush of his thumb over your knuckles as he surveys the damage.

“I’m fine,” you croak out, dazed a little by the feeling before you tear your hand away, “It was just a knock.”

“You want me to kick her ass?”

You blame the shot you took for the way you snort out a laugh - caught by surprise and unable to even consider the reaction, slipping straight back into your unguarded self around him - like the walls you’ve tried so hard to rebuild just dissolved. Not even a knock or a tumble of bricks, just them fading into nothing like magic.

Luke smiles back, soft and hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to fade away, too.

And then there’s that silence you thought you wanted - heavy and tense, and it’s too much for you to handle, so you slip past him, wordlessly, and head straight back to the door. 

And just as your fingers grasp at the handle and you prepare yourself to pull, a large hand lays flat on the surface beside you, trapped by a warm chest closing in on your back.

It’s quiet for a minute, the dull thump of the bass from the music somewhere else in the house now distant and fading, and the room feels charged way beyond the atmosphere of the party you’ve been away from a little too long.

You see the bend in his elbow before you feel his breath on the back of your neck, and you can feel the distance closing - an inch or two now, so close that you have to stay vigilant not to take even the slightest step back.

“Luke,” you breathe, your throat stinging in preparation for some sort of hurt, and your lip trembling until you start to chew on it.

“Just one more minute.”

“You have to let me go.”

“Please, I just want to talk.”

You turn, slowly,  and you don’t know why you do it to yourself, because it’s inevitable you’ll fall prey to the pleading look in his eyes. Your back falls against the door, and you’re craning your neck to look up at him, blinking slow as his eyes flicker between your own.

Every passing second feels like a minute, and just as you’re about to give in - to tell him to go ahead and talk, the door vibrates behind you, a fist banging into the other side.

“Please tell me the skirt is okay!”

You press a hand flat to his chest and push, wedging some much needed space between the two of you - enough that you can swing the door open and face Ellie, and save yourself from plunging into whatever rabbit hole that would have taken you down.

“I won’t know until it’s dry, but if it’s bad, we’ll take it to the cleaners, okay?”

“Ugh,” Ellie groans, grabbing you by the hand and dragging you back to the kitchen for another drink, “I’m so running her ass over the next time I see her on the street.”

You look back at Luke, still stood in the doorway, watching the whole way until you disappear around the corner, and it’s only when you can’t see him anymore that your heart rate returns to an acceptable speed.

You successfully manage to avoid Luke for a good couple of hours, almost forgetting him, miraculously, despite being in a house filled with his closest friends. There’s even a point where you think he might have left, until you stumble out into the backyard to a group setting up a small fire to keep warm.

You’re too buzzed to comment on the legality of it, so far gone that the thought of campus police coming around barely even crosses your mind, and you throw yourself down into one of the camp chairs with a drink in hand as the group discuss how to pass the time.

You can’t remember who suggests Never Have I Ever, too distracted by the figure settling down on the opposite side of the fire, long limps stretching almost comically out of the small chair, meeting your eyes for a moment before you look away at the arrival of Nick, who comes with cards in hand. 

You’d usually make some sort of comment about how juvenile it is, but there’s this part of you that’s probably trying to cling a little to that, lately, so you let it pass, leaning almost sleepily back into your chair as it kicks off.

The game is pretty tame compared to other times you’ve played it, stuff like, never have I ever crashed a car, and, never have I ever broken a bone, coming from the top of the deck, and there’s only a few complaints about it needing more spice before it gets to Ellie’s turn to pick, a few people down from you. 

“Never have I ever,” Ellie drags out before picking a card, flipping between her manicured fingers and smiling slowly as she reads the rest, “Been in love,” she coos, turning it to show the rest of the group with a love-struck grin.

A chorus of groans sing out from around the circle, Luca reaching to swipe the card from Ellie as she takes a big chug from her red cup. “That’s so lame,” he huffs, “Pick another, this isn’t the Ellie show. We get it, you're happy, doesn't mean the rest of us should suffer.”

You glance down at your empty cup as the two of them start to argue about the rules of the game, Ellie grumbling how she didn’t write the cards, and Luca retorting with how she could have at least gone off-script to make it a little more interesting.

If you had any semblance of your inhibitions, any control of your reactions, your gaze would have stayed on the last few drops swirling around the base of your drink. Your eyes wouldn’t have trailed up slowly, past the dancing flames of the makeshift-campfire, and fallen onto another cup at the opposite side of the circle.

It wouldn’t have watched intently as long, slender fingers raised to bring said cup up, pressing to parted lips, the contents gulped down as you stare at the movement of his throat around the liquid.

When you dare to look higher, you find him already staring back at you, piercing green eyes burning hotter than the fire between you, and your own throat goes dry as you watch. 

And of course he makes a show of it, squaring his shoulders and swiping a thumb across his bottom lip to make sure there's no residue. No evidence of all that he had just admitted to. Nothing but the memory of it burned already into the back of your retinas, lingering like an ache all the way down your spine.

No one else seems to notice - but you suppose that’s just how things go between you and Luke. One more secret to add to the ever-growing pile.

Your hand trembles as if it wants to copy him, but you’re thankful for the last shred of dignity you have that tells you that even if you wanted to drink - even if you could play it off as assuming the question had been vetoed, and you were just quenching your thirst in the brief break in the game - there’s nothing left. Even if you wanted to drink - which you brain is so loudly telling you that you don’t - you can’t.

And when Luke’s gaze shifts, lowers painstakingly slow as everything else fades to background noise around the two of you, you don’t know why you find yourself tilting your cup when his eyes land on it, making a show of just how empty it is.

“You’re not gonna drink?” Ethan frowns from beside you, a nudge of his elbow knocking at yours and bringing you back down to earth with a painful splat.

Why would he assume that?

“What?” You ask, frowning as you meet his chocolate brown eyes, the reflection of the flames basking them in a warm, melting glow. 

“He said never have I ever been kicked out of a bar,” he chuckles, quirking a brow as your face morphs from one of confusion to one of recollection. “I know for a fact you have.”

“Oh, right,” you laugh, nervously, the reaction coming out more like a stuttered breath as the panic swirling in your chest dissipates just the slightest. “I’m running on empty. I’m gonna go get a refill.”

Ethan nods as he shuffles a little to let you out of the circle, watching with narrowed eyes as you lift yourself from the chair and edge your way out of the group and back towards the house.

The kitchen is thankfully empty when you get back inside, sliding the door shut behind you to block out the noise, your thoughts overbearing enough without still being able to hear everyone yelling out in the yard.

You move almost on autopilot, heading for the row of bottles on the counter and reaching straight for the vodka you’ve been mixing with diet coke all night.

You pour out a measured shot first, swirl it in the cup before lifting the it straight to your lips, leaving little room to think much more about it, and throwing your head back.

The liquid burns the whole way down - all the way from the back of your mouth, past your aching chest, and into the pit of your stomach, pooling there in a nauseating bubble of heat and regret - and you don’t know entirely if the need to drink was just to quench your thirst, to alleviate the warmth spiking up your neck, to quell the rampant beating of your heart, or to play along with the game. With Luke’s game.

Maybe some mysteries are better left unsolved. 

He wasn’t in love with you.

You think you’d know. He would have told you - he’s hardly shy about voicing his opinion, you learned that the hard way. 

He’s just being cruel, now, you’ve convinced yourself - probably payback for earlier, for leaving him in the bathroom and telling him to let you go. One final act of defiance, because he has to have the last word.

God, why would you even play along?

You shouldn’t have even looked his way - should have kept your eyes down, then you wouldn’t still be feeling like your whole body is on fire. 

Your eyes dart up at the sound of the screen door opening, and your heart thuds in your chest at the sight of who walks through.

You hold your breath as he slowly makes his way toward you - cautious steps carrying him toward the counter where you stand, and he places his empty cup on the surface beside yours, 

“You can’t avoid me forever.”

“I don’t have to avoid you forever,” you shrug, circling around him and trying not to let him trap you again, “I just have to avoid you until you go home.”

“I don’t want to go home without us talking,” he grasps at your wrist before you can fully get past him, levelling you with a tired look, one that says he’s resigned to his fate, but he can’t rest until he tries one last time. “Please.”

“Luke,” you groan, the remnants of intoxication slowly fading into exhaustion. 

“Just one conversation.” He begs, “Then you can be done with me, I’ll leave you alone.”

Your lips twist as you try not to give under the weight of his softened, pleading gaze. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that - and he’s technically surpassed the efforts you had made back before you left the house toward the end of summer, now almost 3 weeks since you had turned him down back at the football game. 

And do you really want him to leave you alone? You’re not entirely sure. Maybe talking to him can help you finally figure that out. 

“Fine.” You acquiesce. “One conversation.”

“You want me to walk you home?” He asks, his voice soft and low, a tilt to his head that makes his curls shuffle and a caring glint in his eye that makes your legs feel like jelly. It’s probably for the best if he does, you think, you’re at a serious fall-risk now. Tired and buzzed, a lethal combination.

You nod, wordlessly, watching as he seemingly tries to fight a small smile, straightening up to swipe your cup, stacking it with his own and throwing it in the trash. 

“C’mon, I already gave Ellie a heads up, I’ll come back for her.”

You soften a little at the thought of him considering her - even if it isn’t about you. If it’s on Jack’s behalf, and he’s just being a good brother, him looking out for your best friend is still sweet.

You let him guide you out of the house, and it’s quiet in a way you can’t stand, walking side by side down the otherwise empty street.

“You’re out of your sling, then?” You don’t know why you feel better to make small talk - but waiting with bated breath for him to say what he’s been trying to for so long now makes your heart pound almost painfully against your ribcage. 

“Yeah,” he flexes his arm a little, as if to prove a point. “I’m back in Jersey at the end of the week, will probably be doing no contact training for a while.”

“How long until you’re playing again?”

“They’re saying it’s looking like November,” he tells you, “Which sucks, but at least I don’t need surgery like Jack.”

“Do you miss it?” You ask, conscious of the way your steps are slowly turning toward his and trying to straighten yourself up. “Being back in New Jersey with your team, with Jack?”

“Jack doesn’t give anybody a chance to miss him, you should know that by now.” He grumbles, "In my texts 24/7 like it’s his second job.”

“Ellie’s too,” you tell him in a breathy chuckle, crossing your arms over your torso just to keep your hands busy with something as he shoves his back in the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know where he finds the time,”

“He doesn’t need time, he’s annoying to his very core.” Luke scoffs, “I do miss the guys though, but there’s a couple group chats. And I’d probably miss the guys here if I was back there.”

“So either way you’re missing somebody?”

He gives an affirmative hum, kicking a rock down the side of the curb, figuring you don’t quite realise just how true that question rings to him. The sorority house is at the end of the path, now - closer than either of you really anticipated, and you almost start to panic, like the walls are closing in on you, like you’re running out of time.

“Listen-,”

“Look-,”

You both stop in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at each other wide eyed until you press your lips together, and gesture for him to carry on.

“I miss you,” he says, plain and simple, like it’s all he can muster up - and if you’re honest, it’s all you want to hear, an acknowledgement that without you in his life, there’s this gaping hole that no one else can fill. “I know that if I want to fix things between us, that I should give you this huge speech about how much I fucked things up, and that I should have trusted you, and listened to you when you tried to talk to me, and I do think all those things. I know those things, but I’ve been trying to figure out how to say them without it sounding like some bullshit excuse, and I figure I just need to be honest with you.

“I feel like the whole time we were together, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know, like I could never just be in the moment with you because I felt like it was gonna end. And I think maybe you were doing the same.”

It’s crazy, you think, how well he knows you.

“And neither of us were ever gonna be ready to be anything more, because we weren’t even acknowledging that this thing between us probably wasn’t healthy.”

You’re quite thankful for the sting in the back of your throat, because you don’t know what you’d say to that, if you could speak.

It hurts to hear it, but he’s right. 

“I just wanted to believe it was a good thing for as long as you’d let me, and when you said you’d have dated Cole, and that you’d have thrown it all away, and I just left without a fight, I-,” he blinks, like he’s trying to rid himself of the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, like he doesn’t want to give in and let them shed. “I don’t know, I thought it was best to avoid you all together than watch you put that final nail in the coffin, or whatever.”

“You know I never went out with Cole, right?”

“I know. He told me before he left for training camp. The day you left. Almost considered running after you to apologise for being such a dick. Even thought about flagging you down in departures at Wayne County.”

You let that thought sit for a moment - Luke chasing you down like something out of one of the romantic comedies you would watch together - like the angsty movies you watched after you went home, laying on your bed and wishing the two of you could have had a happy ending. 

“Probably for the best you didn’t chase me through the airport,” you tell him with a wistful smile, “declarations of love freak me out,”

“I thought they might.” He chuckles, breathily, his heart not entirely in it.

“I also took the greyhound.”

“You know serial killers get those things, right.”

“You watch too many movies.”

His eyes flicker to yours, then, knowing and amused - like a new inside joke has cemented itself into your dynamic. 

“I don’t want to be nothing with you.”

It’s a weird statement, almost nonsensical, but you get it.

It’s what you’ve been trying for ever since you left Michigan, after all, and especially after you returned.

You let the thought settle for a moment, your lips twisting and your eyes tearing up as you watch him wait for a response.

“You really hurt me, Luke.” Your voice trembles as you say it, and you think you’re only part spurred on by liquid courage, the rest of it probably the incessant need to open up to somebody.

“I know,” he practically whispers back, choked up as much as you are. 

“I don’t think I can do that again.”

He nods, pressing his tongue to the side of his cheek like he’s trying not to press you on it, stepping back ever so slightly and huffing out a deep breath.

You almost think he might retreat, entirely - accepting your reluctance this final time and letting you go, just like you’d asked, earlier.

“What about if it’s not,” he shakes his head, sighing as he tries to think of the best way to say it, “What if it’s not romantic, between us?”

“You really think we could be friends?”

“You don’t?” He asks, wincing a little like the thought of anything else is painful.

“We’re hardly gonna see each other,” you tell him, “Is there really any point in keeping it up?”

“I’d like to try.”

You don’t know what concept hurts you the most, the thought of trying and failing, or not trying at all. Either way, you lose him.

You wish, for a moment, you were in any way good at math - that you could work out the statistic for the other option, the one where it actually works.

The option where neither of you get hurt, and you get to keep him.

You imagine that it’s slim.

“I don’t know, Luke,” you sigh, unable to shake the heaviness of your doubt, “It feels like we’re just stretching out the inevitable, here.”

“I don’t think so,” he fights back, taking that step forward that he just took back, “Just friends, it doesn’t have to be anything more than that. Hell, if you want to build up to friends, I’ll take that, too. Just not nothing. I miss you too much to be nothing.”

You miss him, too. You missed him the past 3 weeks while he’s been in town, and the two of you have somehow managed to avoid seeing each other for the most part. You missed him for the month you were back at your mom’s house. You missed him those ten days over in the lake house, when he was still technically right in front of you the whole time.

“Can I think about it?”

“Yeah!” He nods, eagerly, the slight etching of a smile spreading across his lips. “Yes, you can think about it.”

You nod back, then, hesitant and before you can do something stupid, like wrap your arms around him as a goodbye, you step away.

You bid him goodnight, offering a thank you for walking you home, and you retreat into the safety of the house, watching through the window by the front door until he disappears back down the street. 

The start of your semester passes in a chaotic blur, and you very quickly, and very frantically, find yourself panicking a little about the what’s-next of it all.

With the last few months of your headspace occupied entirely by a certain brunette, you realise quickly that you really need to knuckle down and figure out what you’re going to do with yourself once school is over.

And that’s what brings you to New York City in the middle of October - one of your very few prospects for the aftermath of your college career discussed over iced teas in Midtown, Manhattan, before you’re crossing state lines through the Holland Tunnel and scrambling to get ready in the hotel room you and Ellie had booked.

You don’t know how you managed to hide all of your efforts behind a veil of secrecy, but Ellie had been all too distracted by you agreeing to accompany her to Jack’s team halloween party in Jersey City, and so she had little brain power left to question where you disappeared off to, or why you’d possibly have any sort of appointment anywhere near here as soon as you told her she could pick up a costume for you.

You should have known it would be something ridiculous, evidenced by the poofy yellow dress and cartoonish crown she had left on your bed for you to change into. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, fully dressed, she’s stood in her Princess Peach costume - the colour palette a lot more complementary to her than the yellow is to you, but you can hardly fight her on it now - especially knowing Jack is out there somewhere dressed as Mario.

You don’t know how it slips your mind that he and Luke play for the same team, or that they’re brothers, or that he could possibly at the same party, dressed as Luigi. Not until you and Ellie are walking into the party a little after it starts, and you meet his eye for the first time in a couple of weeks, your mouth falling agape as you realise just what Ellie has done.

You don’t even have a second to call her out before she’s prancing off to some far side of the room with Jack, all over him after their own extended time apart, and you literally have no option but to sidle up to Luke, tail between your legs, cringing at the entire situation as you stand beside him in a room full of his peers after you had only just shut him down not long ago.

Thankfully, it’s Luke - and he would rather choke than make you feel uncomfortable about it.

He offers an easy smile, amused, even, as he greets you from the tall table he’s occupying, handing you the beer he just opened for himself and reaching for another from the table behind him. 

“I don’t even know why I agreed to come with them, I knew they’d just split and make out in the corner,” you roll your eyes, taking a swig from the bottle and grimacing a little at the taste. “I don’t even know anybody.”

“You know me,” he shrugs, “I don’t mind keeping you company.”

“Yeah right,” you scoff, “You literally just came back, the last thing you need is to be lumped in a corner with me all night when you’ve hardly seen your teammates for months. I’m just gonna duck out in a little bit, no one will care.”

“I’ll care,” he chuckles lightheartedly, the ease in which the statement slips out and the certainty in which you feel it sends a slight shiver down your spine. “I’ve been back in training for a week, trust me, I’ve already had enough.”

You sigh, trying to ignore the convincing look he’s giving you - head titled, a lopsided smile and eyes filled with hope.

It was only just under two weeks ago that you told him you didn’t want to be friends, so you can’t really understand why he’s so intent on you sticking around. He should be personally ordering you an Uber back to your hotel and pushing you out of the door, but he’s giving you this pleading pout now that’s making you think his night would fall to pieces if you left so soon.

The thing is, you’re not that great around people you don’t know, not lately, anyway - especially not when those people are all big, bulky high performance athletes (and Jack) and their drop dead gorgeous partners. You feel like an intruder, like you don’t belong, and you can’t imagine anything happening to change your mind.

“I still feel like such an outsider at these things,” Luke huffs, elbows resting on the tall table in front of you, his body leaning onto it in the absence of any stools nearby until he’s more around your height. “This is the first time Jack’s brought anybody with him so I can’t exactly stick to his side like normal.”

You frown.

Is he serious?

Luke has never been the type to stick to his brother’s side - not from what you’ve seen, anyway, and you’d pretty much spent your entire summer observing the guy - you’re way past the point of trying to deny that, now.

“Isn’t that Seamus over there?” You point to the opposite side of the room, where you’re pretty sure you recognise another of yours and Luke’s previous classmates. “Aren’t you two friends?”

“We got into a pretty heated discussion during Thursday Night Football the other night, we’re on a break.”

You almost forgot how quick Luke can be, the slight quiver in the corner of his mouth giving away his attempts at deception, but you’re hardly in any position to call him out on it.

He’s trying to do you a favour, after all.

“In fact, I need you to stay for my protection. He might be out for my neck, you can’t let me die in a Luigi costume, that would be cruel.”

You snort as you take him in in his entirety, from the ridiculous hat, to the stretched out one-piece outfit topped off with a pair of white sneakers.

“Speaking of, aren’t you supposed to have a moustache?”

“It’s in my pocket, didn’t want to make Jack feel bad, ‘cause he can’t grow one and all,” he mutters, reaching into the front of the outfit to retrieve the stick-on prop, the back still taped up and in-tact. 

“Right,” you scoff, taking it from his hand and peeling the tape, “Jack can’t grow facial hair.”

You reach forward and press it to his upper lip, holding it in place until it sticks, careful not to actually touch his mouth in the process.

“I can grow it,” he rolls his eyes, “I just don’t suit it.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug as you pull back, admiring the results and trying not to laugh, “I’d say you suit it just fine.”

You reach into the pocket of your own dress to retrieve your phone, and snap a picture just to show him, pressing your lips together as you see his eyes widen in horror.

“Delete that,” he huffs, and you just about manage to stop him before he rips the thing off.

“No,” you whine, “Keep it on, it’s funny!”

“I don’t want to look funny, I want to look cool and hot.” He huffs, frowning when he seemingly realises how ridiculous that sounds.

“Halloween costumes aren’t supposed to be hot.”

“Easy for you to say, Princess,” he gestures down to your dress, and you once again have a visceral reaction to how natural it is for him to say things like that. You feel your ears going warm, and you break eye contact just so that he doesn’t see straight through you.

“I meant to say, sorry about this,” you gesture down, too, all of a sudden feeling every fibre of the costume that’s covering your skin, “I don’t know why I didn’t connect the dots sooner when Ellie said she and Jack were doing Mario and Peach. She just said she’d get me a costume, I didn’t think that we’d be-,”

“A couple?” 

“Yeah.”

“It’s no big deal,” Luke shrugs, sipping at his drink with a nonchalant frown. “S’just a costume. Besides, what else could you have been? I don’t think they sell sexy Goomba outfits.”

“Please,” you scoff, swatting lightly at the blue overalls stretched across his chest. “Don’t be ridiculous, if anything, I’d be sexy Toad.”

“Hmm,” he considers, with a long glance down your figure. “That might have actually worked.”

You feel the heat creep back up your neck before you can regulate yourself, not concealed at all by the sweetheart neckline of your dress, or the way Luke’s eye linger on any exposed bit of skin.

You press your lips together and divert your attention to Jack and Ellie in the corner, feeling every extended inch of Luke’s presence beside you, your heart thumping at the mere proximity of him, and you start to chew on your bottom lip. 

“Can’t believe we tried so hard to get them together,” you mumble, watching as they start to kiss, “They’re disgusting.”

“Absolutely revolting,” he agrees, “We were out of our minds all summer.”

You know he’s referring to the scheme you two kept up, you’re the one who even brought the topic into conversation, but you can’t help the instinctive way your chest starts to ache again at the mere mention of summer.

The two of you had talked about this, back in Ann Arbor, before he had come back to Jersey. You’re supposed to be over it, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. You swallow thickly before reaching for your drink and chugging down the contents, avoiding his gaze as he watches you.

The thought of leaving crosses your mind again, but there’s a larger part of you that has missed this - missed him, maybe - a little too much, and those weeks back in Michigan last month had only served to weaken your resolve.

Keeping your distance had been a giant failure from the second you started to attempt it, and Luke is persistent - that much has always been obvious - so denying him any sort of contact is just pointless, now.

You had thought, back when he had dropped you off at the house the other week, that turning down his offer of friendship had been the right thing to do. You’d told him you would think about it, but it was always going to end up in rejection.

He’s in Jersey, you’re in Michigan. He has a really hectic schedule and career, and you’re supposed to be putting your head down and studying for your final year.

He broke your heart, and you broke his right back.

But you realise that you were naive to think that your paths would hardly cross.

Your best friend is dating his brother. You have so many mutual friends that you can hardly avoid him when he’s back in town. And beyond all that, you miss the versions of the two of you that just got on - before it all got messy in the summer. 

The banter, the inside jokes, the deep understanding of how each other worked.

And you had regretted it since - turning his offer down. 

Bringing it back up again is daunting, though. Opening yourself up to him, to say that you’d been thinking about him this whole time, and feel a deep, ever growing pit in your stomach now at the thought of being nothing, just like he had said he felt.

“Listen,” you start, with all intentions of figuring it out as you go along, only now feeling a serious urge to fix things, somehow, before you go back home, tomorrow, “I-,”

“Hold on, I gotta introduce you to someone. Hey, Pesce,” he calls out to his ever so-slightly taller teammate as he passes nearby, waving him to stop by the table the two of you are at before he walks away. He introduces you both by name, and you don’t miss the silent interaction between the two of them as he does, wide eyes and wiggling brows, a telepathic taunt from Brett and a wordless warning from Luke. “She’s my friend from back in Michigan, and he’s been my rehab buddy.”

You allow yourself to be distracted by that - not Ellie’s friend. His. Not a plus one of a plus one, or an outsider hovering around the edges of a private party. Someone he wants his teammates to know.

You like it more than you ever thought you would.

You feel your lips turning up into a natural smile, and a weight lifting off your shoulders - 7 words erasing the need for an entire conversation, already.

You probably could have told him to go fuck himself and that you hated his guts back on the street outside your sorority, and he’d still be out here calling you his friend.

Persistent.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you tell Brett, reaching out to shake his hand, matching his firm grip and meeting his steely gaze. 

“You too,” he smiles back, “I’ve heard-,”

“Lukey! Finally got a girl to notice you, huh?”

Another of Luke’s teammates approaches the table, and the absolute comedy of being introduced to a bunch of people in ridiculous costumes isn’t lost on you as he comes closer, a gigantic, teasing smirk almost overshadowed by a glaring red headpiece he wears.

“Nice to see ya, Curtis,” you watch as Luke embraces his other teammate, a wry, crooked grin on his face as he rolls his eyes fondly, and you try to ignore the weight of Brett’s discerning gaze on you. When he introduces you this time, Curtis shows no sign of recognition at your name, offering you a kind smile and extending his hand for you to shake. 

“Not talking your head off, is he? We’ve tried to train it out of him, but he’s a stubborn thing,” he chuckles, ruffling Luke’s hair like he’s petting an excitable puppy. 

“I’m used to it by now,” you shrug back, smiling when Luke scoffs, returning to your side.

“Nice costume,” Curtis looks Luke up and down, and it’s like you can see him trying to formulate a joke in his head, your lips twisting as you notice Luke anticipating the same, watching with a raised brow and a bored roll of his eyes. “That might be the closest we ever come to seeing you with facial hair.”

“Big talk coming from a dude dressed as shrimp.”

“I’m obviously a lobster, Luke.” 

“Obviously,” Luke mimics back like a child, his face sour and his lips pouted as his older teammate just laughs in his face. 

“C’mon, man,” Brett claps a hand on Curtis’ back, “Enough bruising the kid’s ego, you owe me a drink, remember?”

He knocks his free fist against Luke’s as he passes, offering you a wink and a nice to meet you before he’s guiding Curtis over to the bar and leaving the two of you alone, once more. 

“Sorry about them,” Luke mutters, “I could save them both from a burning building and they’d still treat me like their annoying baby brother.”

“It’s cute,” you shrug, sipping at your drink and catching his eye as they narrow toward you, clearly taking further offence at your choice of adjective. “They do it ‘cause they love you, Luke, it’s sweet.”

You try not to react to what you’ve just said - try not to think of that sentiment in the context of your own interactions with Luke, lightheartedly poking fun at him just to get a reaction because he can be so gut-wrenchingly adorable. 

It’s not the same.

But you can tell he’s thinking it too, looking at you with eyes that see straight through you, and a tilt to his head that’s almost mocking. 

“I uhm,” he sighs, stepping back a little closer to you and leaning down on the table so that he has to look up to meet your eye, “I told Pesch about you. About us.”

You blink back at him, waiting for him to say more - not really knowing how to respond, because you kind of had a feeling anyway. Brett has the worst poker face you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“It’s just been me and him training together, and we were getting to know each other, and you know how it is, he asked me about how I spent my summer, and about girls, and there’s just you for both, so it sorta just came out. Plus, I kinda felt like I had to talk about it with someone or I was gonna go crazy.” 

You look down, giving a slight nod of understanding - because you do get it. 

Also, the confirmation of something you’ve been wondering is kind of a relief. He hadn’t started anything with anyone else after you left, or back in Michigan, when you were making everything so hard on him.

There’s just him for you, too.

And it’s really hard, having one person consume your thoughts in such a way when you have no outlet to properly talk it through with anyone.

You never felt like you could talk to Ellie about any of it, and having all these feelings fizzing up inside you for so long is starting to make you feel like a volcano on the brink of eruption. 

Luke had done the sensible thing, finding an unaffiliated third party and seeking advice from someone with no bias. No scathing comments from his brothers, judgement from any of the guys back in Michigan or pitiful looks from your best friend.

“I didn’t say anything bad,” he assures you, “Not that there is anything bad, I promise I don’t think poorly of you or anything, and I wouldn’t go around telling random people if I did, especially not my teammates, I don’t want you to think-,”

“Luke, it’s fine,” you place a hand on his forearm, his eyes snapping up to meet yours at the slightest touch, wide and alarmed, like he feels like he’s digging himself into a hole. “I get it. Sometimes I feel like I’m gonna go crazy, too.”

“You do?” He frowns, like that was the last thing he expected you to say. 

You had told him you were hurt, so it can’t come as that much of a surprise that you feel some type of way about everything that went down between the two of you.

You’re not that heartless.

“What did you say to him?” You ask, hoping to engage with his incessant need to talk, rather than any attempt to eke information out of you. “About us?”

“Just that I didn’t like how we left things,” he tells you as you lean beside him, “It’s hard, not knowing where we stand, or what it’s gonna be like when I see you again. I still get the urge all the time to text you, even about stupid things. Someone was telling me about this Matthew McConaughey movie the other day, and I thought of you. Wanted to ask if you’d seen it.”

“It’s probably safe to assume I’ve seen all the Matthew McConaughey films. Even the bad ones.”

“It wasn’t on your Letterboxd.”

You swat at his bicep, your lips turning slowly into a grin as you can’t help but laugh at how little he cares about hiding his intentions.

You’d caught onto him monitoring your account somewhere between him coincidentally watching Notting Hill a couple days after you did while he was back in Michigan, the five star rating he gave to Call Me By Your Name, and him somehow knowing all the most obscure but gut-wrenching quotes from all the movies that really tore your heart out - writing them in his reviews like he was talking to you in some secret language that only the two of you spoke.

I think I’d miss you even if we never met, from The Wedding Date. 

I’ll do anything to make you happy. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it, from Past Lives.

There will be a piece of you in me always, from Her.

All movies you had listed after going home from the lake house - had laid in bed with teary eyes and trembling lips for the most part, and associated all those same quotes with him, too. And even without you putting them in your own reviews, he just knew every time which part of the movie made you think of your relationship.

You’d even tried baiting him out with Barbie, the other week, snorting to yourself despite your heartache when you imagined him seriously typing out, I only exist within the warmth of your gaze, without it, I'm just a little blonde guy who can't do flips, and hoping you would see it.

If anyone else had done it, it would probably have been corny. You’d have blocked them, the level of perception and lowkey invasion of privacy making your skin crawl - but Luke seeing you was different. Him being on the same wavelength - feeling the same feelings, thinking the same thoughts - was something you couldn’t ignore. 

“You’re not supposed to admit to cyber stalking me, you idiot.”

“What?” He chuckles, rubbing at his arm, “I missed watching movies with you.”

He shrugs at that like it’s nothing, but you can feel your cheeks go warm even if his don’t. You missed watching movies with him too - missed the long stretch of his legs far surpassing yours on top of the sheets, and the way he’d hold out candy for you to get some every few minutes. 

“Plus, you were stalking me, too. Why else would you be watching The Mighty Ducks on a Saturday night?” 

“I thought it might teach me about hockey.” You frown, although you’d been all too caught up with just how cute those movies were. You still know very little about the sport, but you can still appreciate the charm of a young Joshua Jackson.

Luke smiles, lopsided and gentle, but you know by now that’s his version of cocky - the kind of smile that shows you that something you’ve said has scratched at his ego, and he’s banking it somewhere in the back of his head.

“I can teach you,” he says, his voice an octave lower as he leans in - and you know he isn’t doing it on purpose, but it makes the hairs on the back of your arms raise, how he almost purrs over to you. “Can give you a crash course if you want?”

“Now?”

“Nah,” he sips at his drink, “Another time. Need an excuse to text you remember?”

“You can text me whenever,” you tell him, chewing at the corner of your bottom lip as he smirks at you, “Just so you know.”

You don’t tell him that you’ve been waiting for him to do it, anyway.

That for those first few days after he finally left Michigan, every buzz of your phone had your heart rate doubling. 

The first instant you had started to regret your decision, you had been hoping he would still try to change your mind.

You don’t tell him you started following a random team update account for news on how he was getting on with his injury, because he wasn’t letting you know, himself, or that you once spent an hour reporting people trolling him or talking smack in the comments just for something to do.

“What about FaceTime?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

To say you were planning on leaving as soon as you had arrived, you enjoyed yourself way more than you thought you would with Luke and his teammates - in fact, you’d probably go as far as to say it’s one of the best nights you’ve had since the summer.

Luke had introduced you to pretty much everybody, flitting around the room and making the rounds, and it had been nice to see how normal and nice everybody was - instantly making you felt like you belonged, to the point where you figured out that Luke had only said all that stuff about feeling like an outsider because he knew that was how you felt, knew it would tug at your heartstrings and make you stay.

You know from how close he is with the guys back in Michigan that Luke loves his teammates, but seeing it in action for the first time had been sweet. Seeing the other guys ruffling at his hair, play fighting, throwing their arms around him and indulging him in his corny jokes kind of made you feel less tense about the way you’re so instinctively affectionate with him. 

Even after what had happened toward the end of summer, and swearing off any sort of romantic connection since, you still want to touch him, still want to be near him, and while you don’t think his teammates exactly have those same thoughts, it makes you feel a little more normal, how much they all love him. Makes you feel less like you should be wedging all this distance between the two of you - because if they all love him like this, then why can’t you?

You don’t even realise that Ellie and Jack have long snuck off until you get a text to say not to come back to the hotel, and that Jack’s bed is freshly clean for you to sleep in. The thought of it is gross, but you figure that two athletes will have a comfy couch, so you’re not all that bothered in the end.

Plus, it gives you more time with Luke - to have a proper conversation, to figure things out. So, when it’s time to leave, and he ushers you out of the bar with a hand on the small of your back, you let him cross the boundaries of being nothing, and lean into his touch until you’re out in the cold, wrapping your arms around yourself as he shrugs off his jacket.

“Put this on,” he demands, throwing it to you and watching as you catch it with a clumsy grip, “We’re walking.”

“Walking?” You ask, stumbling to catch up with him as he starts to make his way down the street, his long strides making it incredibly difficult, especially in the stupid costume heels you’re wearing. You ease into his jacket as you move, shaking your arms until your fingers just about peak out of the ends, and relishing the warmth that encapsulates your body.

“Yeah, it’s 10 minutes. I know that sounds like a lifetime in campus terms, but I’m assuming you still know how to walk.”

You scoff as you pretty much jog to keep up, taking rushed, small steps until you just about make it to his side. “I don’t have a car, remember, I walk everywhere. I just assumed we’d be getting an Uber or something."

“S’good for you,” he shrugs, “Clears the mind. And it’s only a few blocks back to the apartment. I can show you all the best breakfast spots for you and Ellie to visit before you leave tomorrow.”

“But it’s dark out.”

“What, you’re scared of the dark, now?” He looks down at you from the corner of his eye, his height advantage meaning you can so clearly see the amused way in which his mouth curves up on the side closest to you. 

“I’m scared of being abducted in a back alley and brutally murdered so that my organs can be sold on the black market.”

“That happens more on the other side of the river,” he hooks a thumb in the general direction of what you assume is the Hudson, but it could be anywhere for all you know. This is your first time in New Jersey, and your brief expedition into Manhattan in the morning had done very little to clue you in on the lay of the land.

“Murder is an international issue, Luke, I don’t think they draw the line at what state they do it in, look it up.”

“You watch too much TV,” he chuckles, “Who’s gonna mess with you when I’m around? Look at me,” he gestures down to his ridiculous costume, “I’m the picture of intimidation. You don’t think I’d protect you from the black market organ thieves?”

“You’re dressed like an Italian plumber, you dork, and you’ve got arms like toothpicks, they’d probably kill you first just for fun.” You retort, grabbing at his arm to bring him back to your pace. You almost can’t believe that in the brief expanse of one evening, you could possibly have returned to this level of comfort, but you’re trying not to think too hard about it - especially with a mind partially loosened up by a couple of drinks. “Could you at least slow down? Your legs are like twice the length of mine.”

“Aw,” he pouts, “Do you want me to carry you?”

“Don’t joke, I’d pay good money for a piggy back right now.”

“Shame I’ve got such toothpick arms then, isn’t it?” he fakes an exaggerated smile, and you narrow your eyes until he drops it.

You huff as he carries on, thankful at the slightly slower pace he seems to have adopted, and the way his chin keeps jutting in your direction to check on how well you’re keeping up.

“What about a fireman’s carry?” You suggest, looking up at him with pleading eyes and pouted lips.

“The best you’ll get is me giving you my gloves to wear as socks and I’ll carry your shoes for you.”

“And if I step on glass, cut into a vein and bleed out?”

“I suppose then I’d carry you.”

This feels familiar.

Feels comfortable and right, and when you look back on those nights in September when you had seen him - at the football game, in the living room back at the sorority, and the party at the hockey house, this is what you’d felt like you had been missing.

It doesn’t have to be awkward, or charged, or tense between the two of you. 

Maybe it can be like this again.

Like it was in the beginning, before everything got messed up.

“I meant to ask earlier,” he nudges at you with his elbow, “Ellie said you had an appointment over in Midtown,”

“You’re such a stalker,” you snort, shaking your head with a wry smile as you glance over at him, “Literally the snoopiest guy I’ve ever met.”

“Snoopiest?” He scoffs, “It’s called curiosity. I can’t wonder what my friend did with their day, now? I’m snoopy?”

“There’s a masters programme at NYU,” your eyes dart down to the floor as you start to tell him, figuring that you’ll feel less nervous if it just feels like you’re speaking in general, instead of confiding in him. There’s also a part of you spurred on by his immediate adoption of you being his friend - still reeling from the ease in which he had been introducing you as such to everyone all night. Opening up to him is just as easy, and now that you’re embracing the dynamic, it’s like the pieces that form all the resistance within you are shifting out of place, creating a bunch of cracks for him to seep straight into. “One of my sorority sisters has a cousin who’s in her final year, she set up a meeting so that I could talk about my application.”

“You’re applying to NYU?” He asks, quickening his step until he is a little ahead of you, turning on his feet until he’s walking backwards, giving you no chance of ignoring his presence anymore. 

“I’m thinking about it,” you shrug, “It isn’t a done deal, so don’t tell anybody.”

“I can keep a secret,” he promises, and that same ache starts to form in your chest again, at just how well you know that to be true.

“Plus, it’s a long-shot, so even if I did apply, I probably wouldn’t get in, and I don’t want to get Ellie’s hopes up that I’ll be sticking around.”

You have a job lined up elsewhere already for when you graduate - an entry level role in a PR agency over in Chicago, close to home, close to your mom - but the more you’re considering it, the less sure you are. The job would be pretty much you getting taken advantage of for being a recent graduate, and furthering your education could help secure something bigger and better. But throwing away a sure thing seems stupid, and you don’t really want to do so if you don’t have something else secured.  

“Getting into the NHL is a long shot, and you’ve just spent the night in a room full of people who made it happen,” Luke tells you, ducking his head a little lower until you look him in the eye, “Don’t underestimate yourself, you’re really smart, you’ll get in if you do end up applying.”

The way he says it is so sure - so different to anybody else, who you feel like is just saying it to make you feel better. Luke believes it, you can see it in the way he looks at you, confident and certain of your abilities more than you’ve ever been in yourself.

“I don’t think you can call you getting into the NHL a long shot, unfortunately,” you tell him, your lips twisting in the corner as you bite back a smile when he starts to frown. 

“Not you too with the nepotism stuff,” he scoffs, only partially feigning offence.

You swat at his chest, “Hey, I’d never,” you gasp, “I meant ‘cause you’re so talented.”

“I bet you did,” he snorts, falling back into step beside you, a little closer this time, your elbows knocking as you continue to walk. “Haven’t even played yet this season, what would you know about my talent?”

You think it’s the way he’s leaning in a little that seems to hypnotise you, rendering you a speechless, practically-spluttering mess as you struggle to form words or a single, coherent thought. You wonder if this is how he felt, all those times when you turned on the charm and innuendo and purposely tried to push his buttons. Defenceless and weak. 

“I’ll tell you what I do have a talent for,” he straightens up a little, increasing the space between you so that you feel like you can at least breathe again. “Important old man voice. If you ever need to put someone down as a phoney reference.”

“I’ll bare that in mind when the NYU admissions board loosens their policy on Kevin McAllister level schemes, thanks,” you chuckle, your smile lingering when he returns it, cheeks folding into a lopsided grin. 

“Hey, give a guy some credit, there’s a little Ferris Bueller in there too.”

“Yeah, ‘cause schools love Ferris Bueller types.” You scoff, “You’re such an idiot.”

You glance over to see him pretty much beaming in response, and, if you were a betting person, you’d put all your money on knowing his exact train of thought.

You have a tell, after all, you remember, for when you’re enjoying yourself more than you think you should be.

Walking back to his apartment gives the two of you a little time to properly catch up - away from tense conversations and teary admissions - he tells you about his training, you tell him about school, and it feels like seconds pass before he’s ushering you into his building with that same guided hand on your lower back, the heat of his touch felt even through his jacket, and into the elevator. 

You stand by his side as it slowly ascends, hands buried in the warmth of his jacket pockets and ever so often meeting his eye in the reflection of mirrored doors before you glance away with a flush to your cheeks.

Every time you look back, he’s smiling a little, soft and small, but sure of himself in a way that makes all those hardened parts of you melt a little inside. 

There’s something different about him that you can’t quite put your finger on - something in the way he carries himself, around his teammates, around you, even just in general - like he stands taller, somehow. Like here in Jersey, he makes a point to hold himself up a little more, and it makes you cherish the version of him you had, those months ago - vulnerable and raw.

You hadn’t appreciated at the time, just how much of himself he gave to you - all the little quirks and insights you got to see - but you appreciate them, now. 

“I had fun tonight,” you tell him, smiling instinctively when he meets your eye, “Thanks for not letting me leave.”

“Thanks for not leaving,” he chuckles, the doors opening in front of you and that hand going straight to your back again until he’s guiding you towards his apartment. “It’s been nice just talking to you again, I missed it.”

“Me too,” you admit, because there’s really no use in keeping it bottled up when he’s so freely opening himself up to you. He so easily tells you that he misses you, and wants to speak to you, and it enjoys your company, so you not doing the same only feels like you’re doing yourself a disservice - especially when admitting as much back to him earns you one of those cute, crooked smiles he’s so good at giving. 

He holds open the door for you and you have to brush past him to go in, but your hesitance to touch has long dissipated throughout the night, so you don’t entirely mind when he follows you straight in, and you can feel the heat of his presence.

“Are you wanting to go straight to bed?” He asks, hand on your waist as he passes you and heads for the kitchen, flicking on the lights under the cabinets and getting two glasses down from one of the cupboards.

“I probably should,” you huff, despite wanting to stretch this out with Luke - your mind going back to I miss watching movies with you, and considering flopping down onto the couch and putting something on, for old time’s sake. “Is your couch comfy? I don’t really want to sleep in Jack’s bed.”

“You can sleep in mine,” he offers, before he even has a second to consider it.

“Oh, I don’t know-,”

“I’ll go in Jack’s, it’s fine,” he nods down the hall, gesturing you to follow as he carries two glasses of water, knocking the handle to the room on the left until the door opens and letting you go in first. 

The sheets are the same as on his bed back at the lake house, and it’s the first thing that takes you aback, a familiar grey-blue comforter that you already feel the softness of from across the room, and a cream throw haphazardly thrown across the top. 

You can tell the sheets aren’t entirely fresh - slightly crumpled, and not-very-neatly made, pillows askew - but if you’re sleeping in Luke’s bed, weirdly enough, you would probably prefer it that way.

“Sorry, I should have tidied up a little,” he chuckles nervously as he passes you to place a glass down on the nightstand. 

“It’s fine,” you shrug, stepping forward just to fall down onto his bed - the mattress plush enough that you already feel yourself sinking into it, tension easing away from your muscles. 

You’re kind of glad you kept an eye on him, watching his gaze shift to the way your dress now rides up on your thighs, and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows thickly before looking away.

“I’ll just get something to change into then I’ll get outta your hair,” he mumbles, trying to busy himself with something else as a distraction. Just before he can pass you to his closet, you reach out to grab at his wrist, and it’s almost like muscle memory is forcing you to do so - something within you not allowing him to get away.

He’s in front of you now, close enough that you kind of have to crane your neck the whole way to look up at him, and you watch as his eyes drag slowly from the point of contact to meet yours, every movement he makes unhurried and purposeful. 

“I just wanted to say thank you again, for tonight,” you start, speaking without any real plan as to what you want to say, but wanting to keep him just a little longer, “For keeping me company, and letting me stay in here-,”

“It’s no big deal-,”

“And for not letting me push you away.”

It might be the first time you’ve ever owned up to it - being the master of your own downfall, or the downfall of your relationship with Luke, and anything you still could have been after the fact - and it isn’t easy, admitting that you’re the problem.

But you feel like you owe it to him, as a reward for all this resilience in the face of your constant rejection. He’s been nothing but patient, and you’ve been nothing but hard work, and you’re willing to admit, now, that you’re done with it.

He smiles, eyes knowing, the relieved, breathy sigh he gives dissolving all the guilt that’s building in the depths of your gut, and sinks down beside you on the bed, his thigh brushing yours as he settles in. 

Hours ago, being this close would have terrified you. You’d have shut down, turned away, shuffled across the sheets until there was a healthy distance between the two of you, but you don’t move. You just turn, a little, to be able to meet his eye.

“Are you saying you’re done with that?” He asks, a little hesitant, assuming, probably, that you won’t be entirely open with him.

But you nod, chewing at the corner of your bottom lip as he presses his own together, eyes darting a little lower.

“So we’re friends?” He asks, his voice low, the depth of it causing a weird vibration to wrack down your body - a buzz that won’t go away, now that he’s this close, and he’s looking at you the way he is. 

“If that’s what you still want to be.”

The thought of him changing his mind makes you a little dizzy, an ache growing in your chest again at the thought of being nothing - but you’d deserve it, you think, after all the times you turned him down. 

It would hurt, but, as always, it would be your own doing. 

“And we won’t ever be more?”

The pleading tone in which he asks makes the back of your throat go dry, and all you can do to respond, now, is shake your head. Slowly, and hesitantly, but it shakes all the same, tears welling in the corners of your eyes as you take in his resigned acceptance.

And then, something shifts.

A subtle shake of his head, as if he’s fighting an inner monologue, and then an assured switch in his demeanour - a tilt of his head as he surveys your reluctance, and the swipe of his tongue to wet his lips, like he’s preparing to fight back.

“If I kissed you right now,” he asks, voice still low, eyes lower, pinned to the curve of your lips as they part as if by instinct, “Would you tell me to stop?”

“Luke,” you warn, no more than a whisper as you watch his lips too, “We can’t.”

“That’s not what I asked,” his eyes trail slowly up until your gazes meet, and his head tilts again in question, blinking heavily before he asks, “Would you push me away?”

Your lips form around a response that you can’t even think to give back, opening around an answer you’re not ready to give at all, and all your body wants to do is deny. You fight the urge to shake your head, but you think that it’s a losing battle, especially considering how much your brain feels like it’s being rattled around anyway.

You don’t know what you do to make him move forward, but you figure by now you don’t actually have to do anything. He can probably read your mind at this point, spurred on no doubt by the way your eyelids flutter closed when he’s close enough, and the tip of his nose presses to yours, slow, heavy breaths falling into the decreasing space between the two of you. 

You should stop him. You know that.

It isn’t good for either of you, letting this carry on, leaving the edges of your relationship so frayed that even the smallest tug could pull the whole thing apart, thread by thread. 

You should tell him to stop, should push him away, should hold a lighter to the loose ends and singe them together to prevent further damage. You’ve only just settled on friends, and now you’re not sure, again.

But the second he gets this close, you’re not in charge, anymore.

It’s like some force of nature takes over, brings the two of you together like tectonic plates meeting, and causing unfathomable destruction to both of your hearts in the aftermath.  

His kiss is so instantly tender that it hurts already, tears prickling at the seams of your scrunched-closed eyes, and all you can do is push through the pain. You kiss him back, lips closing around his again and again as your faces smush together, and you start to feel the passion consume him - something takes over almost like an urgency, where you’re clawing at his the front of his costume and he’s clutching at your waist, doing anything physically possible to close whatever gap still sits between you.

The pressure of his lips is almost bruising, now, but you like it that way - soft exhales puffing out from his nose so that he doesn’t have to part to catch his breath, fingers pressing so hard into your flesh that you hope they leave a mark.

He tastes just how you remember, and it takes you back all those months to summer - to stolen kisses over centre consoles and making out in his bed when everyone else was out. There’s a part of you that feels giddy with it, just like you had then, partaking in something so precious that was just for the two of you, and it starts to distract you from what this actually is.

A mistake. 

You pull away instead of pushing, bringing your chin back until your lips part with much effort, a hmmph and a furrow of your brow, and you can’t bring yourself to open your scrunched eyes, not yet, but you know when he’s going to chase.

“Luke,” you whisper in warning before your eyes flutter open and you peer up at him through your lashes. He looks so soft, you think, despite all the ways he tries not to. Despite the sharp line of his jaw, and the hardened look in his eyes. You feel your walls crumbling at just the sight of him - defenceless to his charms, once again, because how much could Luke possibly hurt you? “Friends don’t do that.”

“Maybe our friendship starts tomorrow,” he hums back, “Maybe we get this out of our systems one more time.”

And it’s sitting on the precipice of that feeling you’ve been chasing since July that has you considering it - ever so close to finally getting closure on whatever the two of you were, or could have been.

Getting it out of your system sounds healthy. Sounds like a clean slate, a fresh start, and you have no doubt that if you’re going to be friends with Luke Hughes, that it’s exactly what you need in order to do so. 

Because, if you’re honest, it’s that exact thing that’s been holding you back this entire time - closure. With such an abrupt end to what the two of you had, how could you ever possibly close that chapter mid-sentence? How could you ever move on?

“One more time,” you try to sound stern, try to convince yourself of your own words, “Then we have to let this go.”

“You got it.”

“No more Luke, I mean it.” You have to push down this feeling of impending doom, or you’ll never get anywhere, but you need to warn him one last time, just to be safe. “Strictly friends after tonight.”

“I already agreed, can you please just let me kiss you again?”

“Okay, fine, just,” you huff, hands splayed across his broad chest and pushing until your bodies part, his butt shuffling back on the bed. “Take the costume off, first, I’m not feeding into whatever dorky cosplay fetish you probably have.”

You’re only part joking, but it’s the only way you know how to relieve the tension a little, and your nerves start to dissipate at his reaction.

He chuckles, with the kind of cocky smile that makes your heart jump, reaching behind himself to unzip the back of his costume with an affectionate shake of his head. He stands, then, to shuck it off, the whole thing dropping off of him until he kicks it across the floor, towards his laundry hamper, then stands in just his briefs, which are slung low on his waist. “You can keep yours on, I don’t mind,” he tells you when you’re distracted by the taut, defined lines on his stomach, eyes trailing slowly up to meet his, gleaming back at you.

“You’d love that wouldn’t you,” you scoff, watching as he draws closer, shuffling back a little on the bed to accommodate him, “You absolute freak.” 

“You can’t sit there and pretend you don’t want me to call you princess again.” He smirks, bending down until his hands are on either side of your hips, and you’re leaning back with your fingers pressed into his sheets and your head craned back to meet his eye, “Saw you getting all flustered about it, earlier.”

“Shut up,” you huff, curling a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down into you - the two of you colliding in a clumsy, messy kiss. His body crawls over yours, encapsulating you entirely in an intoxicating warmth, and you find yourself melting into his every touch - large hands running down your sides, settling on your waist, and the other easing its way under the skirt of your costume. 

You put both hands to use too, one remaining behind his neck, scratching into the grown out curls that sit there and tugging when he starts to tickle up your thigh, the other on the warm skin of his chest - the rampant thud of his heart beating against your palm.

One more time, just to get him out of your system.

And then you can be friends.

What could possibly go wrong?

another a/n: I'll try to finish the next part asap!! thank you for reading, I know this was long lmao!! would love to hear your thoughts!!!!

[cheralith]

from slytherin!kaiser au, he finds out one year when you and him are students that you've been asked out to the yule ball during the quinquennial triwizard tournament and he tweaks the Absolute Hell Out. i'm taking like ferocious plays in quidditch where he's just absolutely ravaging everyone on the field and hexing anyone who even slightly crosses him. he's frustrated and the most irritating thing is that he doesn't know why. he just knows that he felt surges of anger and vexation after he had overheard in the dining hall that you were asked out by a stupid beauxbatons boy and that you had to absolute nerve to accept his invitation. every time he sees you in his classes, the familiar surge of aggravation boils back up again just at the mere sight of you, even if you both haven’t began your bickering yet.

he’s already pissed off that your best friend, yoichi isagi, was chosen as hogwarts’s contender in the tournament and not him, so for you to be running around collecting attention from people outside hogwarts had upset him even further. he sees you one weekend in hogsmeade with a strange boy that he’s never seen before, so it’s safe to say he’s the beauxbatons boy that your friends were rumoring about earlier. ness’s words are absolutely drowned out as he focuses on the unintelligible conversation you and him have, his fist tightening around his wand. figuring he should take his anger out on something else rather than poor ness for the fifth time this week, he conjures a jelly-leg jinx just before he turns on his heel, snickering when you exclaim out when your companion suddenly crumples to the ground unexpected. 

ness obviously has noticed kaiser’s short-temperament that he’s harbored for the past few weeks, he’s sure everyone has. he does not do a very good job of disguising it, considering his azure eyes absolutely burn into the back of your head during dinner. 

“are you jealous?” ness suggests, squeaking out when kaiser whips his head at him as soon as his friend finishes his sentence.

“huh?” he scowls, “fuck off. i don’t get jealous. why would i get jealous? that’s dumb. if anything, (l/n) should be the jealous one since i bagged myself that hot gryffindor girl—what was her name? fuck, i forgot already.”

ness blinks at his friend’s babbling as he stuffs a piece of meat in his mouth and chews it with obvious aggravation, his icy stare still lingering onto you and how you laugh at isagi’s joke. he sighs, moving kaiser's wand a little further away from him just in case the slytherin chaser decides to cast another jinx on the poor boy again.