#bleed galore

[newty]

i miss my wife tails. i miss her a lot. [icelandic prog metal band agent fresco]

[bratbarzal]

The Secret of Us (LH43) 2/3

aka the sequel to let it happen

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

>PART ONE<

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

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

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

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

Luke feels like he’s floating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Prove it,”

“No.”

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

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

“I swear I’ll behave after,”

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

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

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

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

“You’re not being very friendly.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I disagree.”

“Of course you do.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you comparing me to a drug?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That you want me just as bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’d have let him, he knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke Hughes refuses to lose you again.

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

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

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

That’s not what a friend would do.

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

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

You don’t know why you’re nervous.

It’s just Luke. Your friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Funny how he remembers that, verbatim, you think.

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

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

And the sole reason had really always been Ellie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.” 

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

“Am not.”

“He’s into you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It means a lot that you were there. 

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

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

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

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

It’s been 10 days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you avoiding me, Hughes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was it your mom that said that?”

“Others said sexy and mysterious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In 3 days. The 27th.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you guys gonna stay for a drink?”

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

“That’s nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until Jack points his finger upwards.

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

“Thanks again for the present.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper into his chest.

“Merry Christmas,” he echoes back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plug this in when you wanna feel like nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke: best

Luke: christmas

Luke: present 

Luke: ever!!!!!

You: it’s a $20 lamp

You: and you grew up rich

You: so I highly doubt that

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

Luke: I feel microscopic

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

You: merry christmas luke ♥️ 

Luke: merry christmas 🎄❤️ 

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

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

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

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

This time you feel isolated. 

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

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

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

Luke has been a good enough distraction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Luke’s throwing popcorn into his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” 

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Must have been.”

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

You have plenty of guy friends. 

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

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

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

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

But then where does that leave you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want to go out.”

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

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

“You were weird before this week, though.” 

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

“Maybe I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah, right.”

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

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

Jesus Christ, he is being weird, he thinks.

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

“No, why would you think that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is insane to think that. 

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

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

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

“You’re still into her.”

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

“You’re not denying it.”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

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

“This conversation isn’t good for me,”

“You need to move on.”

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

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

Moving on doesn’t really seem like an option.

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

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

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

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

Would you tell him if you were dating?

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

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

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

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

“That you have to get under somebody else.”

He feels like he’s about to throw up.

Absolutely not.

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

Those things are his. They’re only his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This Saturday?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have fun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until he wakes up again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you usually do?”

“Sleep.”

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

“You wanna go get breakfast?”

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

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

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

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

“That depends, what time is it?”

“Around 8:30,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There you are. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You asked.”

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

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

“Thought you wanted to know more about hockey.”

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

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

“When?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We both know I’m hilarious.”

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

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

“I don’t know, a date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I meet him?”

“No.”

“You’ve met my parents.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s bored. All day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

He forgot. He probably never even bought a ticket. 

Double fuck. 

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

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

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

It doesn’t matter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so damn cute.

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

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

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

“Were?” He scoffs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, a little hesitant, a little unsure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now you’re nervous, again.

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

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

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

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

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

“I was messing with you.“

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

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

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

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

“That isn’t everything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can. When.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is crazy.”

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

“What if you get tired of me?” You ask, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you wait out his response.

“Won’t.” He smiles, an almost child-like certainty to the way his lips curve. 

Your own lips start to tremble as you watch him, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you start to feel the tell-tale sting of oncoming tears.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, fingers reaching tentatively to swipe at the salty droplet that falls before you have the chance to stop it, “What is it?”

“I think this whole thing with my dad really got to me,” you admit, probably for the first time to anyone, that you’re not as okay as you try to make out. It’s pointless keeping up the act when Luke sees straight through you, anyway, you think. “It’s like no matter how much I try to prepare myself that he’s gonna let me down, there’s this stupid part of me that thinks it’s gonna be different every time.”

“That’s not stupid,” he tells you, his voice firm and his gaze convincing. “It’s okay to want more from people, it doesn’t make you an idiot. He’s the stupid one.”

You know he’s right, but it’s so hard to let go of the idea of your dad that you grew up with - the man who would pick you up from school every day, would blast music the whole way home and sing at the top of his lungs, and would dash a smiley face on every plate with sauce. The dad who was home with you while your mom worked crazy shifts, and would tuck you in at night telling you that you were his world. The thought of him doing that for your brothers now, and not even caring about something as important as your birthday - it just hurts. The stretched out, aching kind of hurt that hangs over you like a dark cloud - the constant threat of rain hovering above. 

“He ended up just sending money over, said to get myself whatever I wanted, which is exactly what my mom did. It probably sounds really ungrateful but I just got really in my head about how no one really showed up for me, or got me something that was personal.” Your last hope after brunch had been Ellie, who had given you a purse she’d gotten at Christmas that you said was cute - you were grateful for all of it, the money, the bracelet, the purse, but the lack of thought and effort sort of lingered like a sour taste in your mouth. “But here you are.”

The way Luke looks at you is enough that you don’t need him to say anything in response - his irises gleam with affection and a softened, slow smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“I think you were right the other night at the game. You might be my best friend.”

“And that makes you want to cry?” He comes back almost immediately, lips upturning into a smirk.

“Well, I’d scream but it might give us away,” you retort, smiling straight back. “The girls are really funny about having visitors in the night.”

“There’s always your pillow,” he nods over to the top of your bed, “Might muffle the noise.”

You laugh, a huff of air from your nostrils that slowly turns into more, until your eyes are crinkling in the corners and your cheeks start to ache.

“I think you might be my best friend, too.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He affirms, serious and straight, like he’d already realised it long before you.

You smile slowly before you push all the gifts gently into a pile by your side, shuffling past them and wrapping your arms straight around Luke’s middle. He reacts fairly quick, his own arms making their way around your shoulders, swaying softly as you stay in his embrace for a good minute or two, just holding onto him as you let all the emotions wash through you. 

You bury your face into his shoulder to save yourself from saying one of them out loud - that you love him, because you’re pretty sure you do.

You’re pretty sure that’s the feeling twisting in your gut.

But you’re can’t quite grasp the extent of it.

You know what love is. You love your family, love your friends - love being outdoors in the spring time, love the colour yellow, the taste of strawberries, and swimming in the lake when the sun is out and the water is warm. 

But the way you love Luke seems different. It isn’t defined by any season, or time, or place. It’s all consuming, all the time. It’s in the stuffy heat of the passenger seat in his car in the summer, in front of the blazing fire in the backyard of the hockey house in the fall, and here, in winter, with the evidence of his love in a dedicated heap behind you on your bed.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, the thought of it doesn’t entirely terrify you. 

The end of Luke’s bye-week arrives quicker than you can really comprehend, and you’re grateful the guys had taken it upon themselves to throw him a little goodbye party at their house, because you don’t have the mental capacity to throw anything together, yourself. 

Ethan had been the one to tell you about it - lowkey, he’d said - the guys and a few people who were close with Luke before he left for Jersey, and he said you could bring whatever of your sisters you wanted.

With it being mid-week, most of them are busy, but Ellie is always happy to tag along, and she even says she’ll do your hair and makeup. There’s a backhanded compliment when she does offer, but you’re too in your head to really let it sink in or affect you. 

It feels nice to do this again, anyway. You’ve been in too much of a slump to really go to any sort of party lately, but what better occasion than anything dedicated to Luke?

It was probably last year that you and Ellie did this, sipped on way too strong homemade cocktails while some pop music played in the background, and you’re convinced not to let the little comments she keeps uttering get to you.

“If I’d have known it would only take Luke to get you out, I’d have got Jack to ship him out months ago,” she says as she runs a thermal brush through your hair, smoothing out the frizz and curling it at the ends. “Should have known after the halloween party that you’d follow him anywhere.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, frowning despite your conviction to ignore her when she gets like this. The mention of halloween triggers something deep within you though, and you immediately smooth out your features when you meet her eye in the mirror, aiming for nonchalance, although you’re pretty sure the abrupt palpitations you feel at the mere mention of his name are visible from where Ellie stands behind you.

“You slept with him in October,” she says, like this is somehow common knowledge, like the two of you have ever even spoken about that, or anything to do with the developments in yours and Luke’s relationship since the end of summer. 

You turn in your seat, mouth agape as you stare wide-eyed back at her, thankful to avoid the hot end of the hair tool. “No I didn’t,” you scoff, figuring denial is your safest bet. Admitting anything to Ellie last time hadn’t worked out too well for you, whether it was the fault of that conversation or not, and you don’t really want to put your heart on the line for her to watch it shatter again. “Why would you even think that?”

“Because Jack said his bed hadn’t been slept in when we got back from the hotel.”

“That’s because Jack’s never heard of making the bed,” you try to argue, but she claps back almost immediately.

“He’s actually weirdly neat. It’s almost annoying.” She shrugs, “I believe him when he says it was untouched, which means you slept in Luke’s bed, and that means you fucked him.”

“Why does it automatically mean I fucked him?”

“Because the two of you can’t stay away from each other,” she rolls her eyes, “Plus, you were avoiding him like the plague, and then all of a sudden you guys were FaceTiming each other every day. And now he’s come back and you spent the entire week with him. I’ve never had to sneak a guy in here for you before, so you can’t tell me you guys weren’t fucking up here.”

“We weren’t,” you say, trying to convey the honesty in your tone. “We were justing hanging out. We’re friends.”

“Right,” she scoffs, motioning for you to turn back around with her fingers before she picks up another strand of your hair. “Probably for the best then, ‘cause I was starting to worry.”

“Why would you worry?”

“Because I don’t want my best friend to get hurt again,” she says, like it’s obvious. “I know you think you’re friends, but he’s gonna crush you when he starts seeing someone and you get left behind.”

“Why would you even say that?” You turn again, this time all attempts at nonchalance thrown out the window. 

She stares back at you, holding the hot brush out to the side as she levels you with a glare at how close you were to making her burn you again. 

You glare back. She’s being a bitch for the sake of it, now. Why would she even bring that up? Where did that even come from?

She huffs, yanking at the wire so it extends and putting the brush down on the heat proof mat on your dresser. 

“Promise me you won’t go all crazy when I tell you this,” she sits on the edge of your bed, hands splayed out by her sides, “Because Jack told me something pretty crazy a couple weeks ago, and I’ve been debating whether or not you need to know.”

“Just say it, Ellie,” you snap, tired of the theatrics. If it’s something you need to know, she should have told you when she found out - weeks ago, allegedly.

“He’s seeing somebody.”

You blink slowly, your eyelids feeling like they weigh 90lbs each. 

No he isn’t. If you don’t have the time to be seeing anybody between your class schedule and being available to him, he sure as hell doesn’t have the time, being in the NHL and all. 

“I’m sorry?” You ask, shuffling uncomfortably in your chair.

“Or speaking to her, at least.” She corrects, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal.

“Speaking to who?”

“Her name’s Yasmin,” Ellie says, and you don’t know why hearing some random name makes your throat go dry - the fact that there even is a name, and it’s not just some bullshit nothing story Ellie is running with. “Jack says she’s a friend of one of the other wags, they met at some bar when they went out a couple of weeks ago and hit it off, he’s texting with her all the time apparently.”

You try to think back on the week, on all the times he’s been on his phone - that first morning, when he’d told you he was checking for nearby restaurants, at the hockey game, when he’d said he was ordering concessions straight to your seats, all the times you thought he was texting the boys - could he have been secretly messaging Yasmin and not telling you?

“He would have told me,” you say, more to reassure your self than defend Luke, if you’re honest. He would have told you, right? You guys tell each other everything. You’ve told him more than you’ve told even Ellie about yourself, about your life. 

He’s your best friend.

He would have told you. 

“I think Jack has his wires crossed or something,” you say, feeling like your throat is closing up on you, or like the walls are closing in. “He isn’t seeing anybody.” And just as she opens her mouth, “Or speaking to them.”

“Would it matter if he was? Even if it’s not Yasmin, if it’s somebody else, is that a problem? Could you watch him just move on?”

You just about stop yourself from biting back, of course it would matter, or, of course I couldn't watch that, your lips staying parted and gaping back at her like an idiot as you try to think of any other response. 

“We’re friends.” Is all you can come back with, but it feels like a lie when you say it, this time. 

“Okay then,” Ellie shrugs, pushing herself up and reaching back for the brush. “Can you stay still while I finish your hair please, I can’t deal with the guilt of burning your neck.”

You feel catatonic, after that, so it isn’t hard to stay motionless, staring blankly at your reflection as you try to compute the information she’s just spewed at you. 

Yasmin, who he hit it off with weeks ago, who he texts all the time, who he hasn’t told you a single thing about. 

You replay those facts over and over in your head, somehow managing to get ready in a zombie-like state, somehow managing to walk with Ellie all the way to the hockey house, integrating yourself into a group in the corner as everyone moves around you, people talking and music playing, and everything just blurs into noises and shapes until your phone buzzes harsh in your pocket.

You don’t know what you’re expecting when you check the notification - mindlessly scanning the words until you’re shocked back into reality, and you have to read it again for them to register. 

It’s an email, and your settings allow you to read the sender and first line only.

From: NYU Office of Admissions

Congratulations! On behalf of the admissions committee, I’m delighted to-

You gasp, and you don’t even open the whole thing up to read it before you’re pushing yourself away from the group you’re with, shouldering past a mass of bodies and trying to catch a glimpse of brunette curls as you crane your neck into every room.

“Hey, have you seen Luke?” You grab Ethan as soon as you see him, who responds with wide eyes and catches you as you stumble.

“I’m pretty sure I saw him in the kitchen with-,”

“Thanks!” You yell, rushing off in the other direction before he can finish, until you finally get there, pushing straight into the room before you can think anything of it.

Luke is in the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter in the far corner, a playful smile on his face, the kind he gives you when he’s trying to make you blush or something. And you’d recognise who’s stood in front of him anywhere, even by the back of her hair. 

Victoria Anderson, reaching her chicken claw hands up and pushing Luke’s curls out of his face. 

You feel a little like the world is spinning around you - like you’re stuck in the middle, and everything else is flashing by in a dizzying blur. You don’t even think your heart is beating anymore, the blood draining from your head as you watch what’s happening in front of you. 

And before he can see you in such a pitiful state, you turn on your heel and push your way back out of the door, slipping through the same bodies you’d passed before until you’re out the front door, the shock of the cold air bringing you back into consciousness. 

Would it matter if he was? It it’s somebody else, is that a problem?

Ellie’s words from before ring like a warning bell through your skull.

Of course it fucking matters. 

All Luke needs to see is a flash of your hair as the door to the kitchen closes to know he’s fucked everything up, once again. He doesn’t know why it takes him a minute to register just how bad the situation is before he makes a move, though. 

Victoria had cornered him a while ago, had been clinging to him for a good 20 minutes or something, and she had been relentless with her questions and attempts at conversation. It had been a little suffocating, even more so when she told him that her and her boyfriend had broken up before the new year, and he’d tried to excuse himself for a drink, but she had followed. 

He’d tried to let her down gently, had told her that he wasn’t interested anymore, and she had pushed her luck, cornering him against the counter, and asking, “Not even for old time’s sake?”

Hooking up with her in the first place all those years ago had probably been a mistake - he’d known it back then, never pursuing anything serious, and he knows it now, when she just can’t take no for an answer. “I’m into somebody else,” he had smiled, pitifully, wincing a little as she ran a hand through his hair to try convince him. “I’m not interested.”

And that had been about as plain as he could say it - thankful for the distracting creak of the kitchen door as it swung shut that he could look away from the way her face turned into a scowl, and then immediately panicked by the sight of you leaving. 

All he could do was blink, wondering if it had been a figment of his imagination. And then he figured that even if it was, he doesn’t want to be in this kitchen with Victoria Anderson. He wants to spend his last night in Michigan with you.

He edges out from where she has him trapped, and rushes out of the kitchen in search of you, looking over all of the heads in the larger space to try and find you.

Ethan catches him by the elbow as he passes, and asks if he’s looking for you.

“Yeah, have you seen her?” He asks, feeling a little breathless as he still tries to scan the room. 

“Uh, she walked past a few seconds ago, looked pretty upset. She was looking for you, before.”

“Why didn’t you go after her?” Luke frowns, watching as Ethan’s brows furrow in response. 

“She’s grouchy when she’s upset, starts getting all mean and bitey, I’m not getting in the middle of that.” He scoffs, crossing his arms, defensively.

“You’re supposed to bite back.” Luke sighs, knowing then that you hadn’t been a figment of his imagination at all. “Where did she go?”

“Think she’s outside.”

“Great,” Luke snaps, figuring he can apologise later for blaming Ethan of all people. He storms off, heading straight for the front door, relieved to find you outside when he bursts through it, ignoring the bite of the freezing cold as he takes you in - leaning against the rail on the porch, wiping at your face before you turn to fake a smile his way - a smile that makes his gut churn when it’s flashed alongside the tears you hadn’t quite managed to hide.

“Hey,” you say, voice small and weak, “Was looking for you.”

Okay. You’re not mad.

You’re upset, which is probably worse, but he can explain things if you’re willing to listen. 

“Ethan said,” he tells you, moving to your side and leaning on the rail, too, his body facing yours. “That wasn’t what it looked like, in the kitchen,” he swears, and you nod, the movement short and subtle. “I swear, I’ve been trying to get her to leave me alone for the past 30 minutes.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug, and his heart plummets at the way you seem to close yourself off to feeling any type of way about it, again. “You can do what you want, with whoever you want.”

“I don’t want to do that,” he frowns, “Not with her.”

“Okay,” you pretty much whisper, your eyes barely meeting his before they dart away, your body turning back to lean against the side. 

He watches you for a minute, trying to gauge how best to handle this, how best to make sure you understand that this is important, that this is something the two of you need to talk about, especially before he leaves for Jersey, tomorrow. The two of you have come too far to let something as stupid as this ruin what you’ve made for yourselves. 

“Hey,” he calls out, reaching to swipe his thumb at the little trail left behind by your previous tears, using the leverage to turn your head until you’re facing him again, and he leans in. “I don’t want to be with anybody but you tonight, I promise.”

Your smile is small, but there’s something there to cling to this time, the soft crinkle of your eyes as you lean into his grip. 

“Okay,” you repeat, blinking up at him as he tries to level his breathing. 

“You gonna come back inside with me before you freeze to death?” He asks, taking his hand away and sliding it slowly down your arm until he can grip weakly at your fingers, hoping they open to let him slide his own through the cracks.

“Wait,” you grip back, your smile growing a little. “I have something to show you.”

“Yeah?” He asks, holding your hand between the two of you, “Did you get me a going away gift?”

You wordlessly hand him your phone from your other hand, and he takes it in the one that’s free, frowning as he looks down at it. “This is your phone.”

“Duh,” you scoff, “Look what’s on there.”

He taps on your screen until it lights up, eyes squinting to read the tiny text - having to read it twice until it registers in his still-a-little-panicked brain. 

“You got in,” he mutters, like he can’t quite believe it - and it isn’t that he wasn’t expecting you to get in, but the excitement feels like a bucket of ice water thrown over his head, shocking and exhilarating all at once. “You got in!” He repeats, this time louder, prouder and the intensity of the smile that breaks out is almost instantaneously achey.

He drops your hand to grab you by the face, holding onto your own smile like it’s the most precious gift you can give him, jumping as he caresses you and letting the sound of your giggle seep into his skin. 

“Yeah,” your voice comes out a little like a whine, tears prickling at your eyes as they almost close with how big your smile is. “I’m going to NYU!”

It’s the first time you’ve said it - the first time you’ve known it for sure - and he’s so lucky he’s the first to hear it, he thinks, that he’s privy to you letting yourself have one more good thing without the fear of it being taken away or falling apart.

“You’re going to NYU,” he tells you, prouder than he’s ever been of anybody else in his life, probably. 

You’re gonna be across the river - a mere 30 minutes away on a good day - and he’s gonna get to see you all the time. Movie nights can be in person, you can come to his games, you can taste all the food you’re convinced isn’t as nice as he’s making out - and all of those things seem selfish to be the first to come to mind, but he can’t help it, he’s so happy he could cry, himself. 

He’s so distracted by the thought of crying that he doesn't realise you’re reaching up - that your fingers are curling around the back of his neck and you’re pulling him down, your lips colliding and moving together until his body turns to autopilot.

His hands grip at your waist, his mouth deepens the kiss until he can swipe his tongue against yours, and his feet shuffle clumsily until he’s guiding you away from the rail, toward the house, and pressing you gently into the cold brick wall. Your back arches until your chest presses to his front, and you kiss and kiss him until you both run out of breath, relying on muscle memory to guide you to all the places you know each other likes.

He’s in a daze when you part, panting and blinking rapidly and trying to form any single coherent thought.

That is, until you say, “I don’t want to watch you move on.”

What?

“I don’t understand,” he mutters, trying to make sense of what the hell you’re talking about. He’d explained the whole Victoria thing. Is that seriously the only reason you kissed him? Because seeing him with her made you feel a certain way? “I thought you wanted to be friends.”

“I did,” you respond, blinking back, “I do, but I-,”

“You don’t want anyone else to have me either?”

He doesn’t even know why he’s getting agitated, it’s probably the drinks he’d had before you got to the party - but he kissed you because he loves you. He kissed you because he’s proud of you, and happy for you, and excited to show you how much of himself he can give when you’re finally in the same place for an extended period of time. He kissed you because he’s spent the last week trying not to, the last 6 weeks convincing himself that he shouldn’t want to, ever since fucking Harry met Sally, and the last 8 or so months trying to fight the need to. 

And you kissed him because you were upset somebody else might have gotten there first.

“You tell me that we can’t ever be more, and when I try move on, you keep reeling me back in,” he huffs, “Like you don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either!”

“That isn’t true,” you frown, trying to grasp at a hand that he pulls away.

“Which part?” He asks, head tilting as he waits for you to figure it out. “You don’t even know what you want,” He sighs, tired all of a sudden and hurt that after all this time, you still aren’t sure on him. You still don’t want the same things, for the same reasons - still won’t let yourself believe in something good, even after the the universe just proved to you that it’s possible. “I don’t even think I know what I want out of this. I think about you all the time, you know, think about us. What we were, what we are now,” He had convinced himself only days ago that he could be your friend, if that’s what you need him to be, but now he can’t help it - not when you dangle the idea of more so carelessly in front of him like this. “What we could be, if you just let me all the way in.”

“I want to,” and because he knows you too well, he doesn’t get his hopes up at how quick you are to tell him that. “I promise you, I want to. I just don’t know how.”

Luke scoffs out a humourless chuckle, breaking eye contact as he clenches his jaw - thoughts working overtime to try and understand again where you’re coming from. 

“It’s been 8 months,” he sighs. “I don’t know how long I’m supposed to wait for you to figure it out.”

He doesn’t see the way your lips tremble, or your eyes well with tears, again.

“If all you want to be is friends, then I’ll be your friend,” he tells you. “But we both have to find a way to move on. It won’t work otherwise.” 

He doesn’t want to move on - the thought of being with anybody that isn’t you honestly makes him feel a little sick, but if it’s what he has to do to make sure he doesn’t feel like this again, maybe he should. 

Your lips stay parted, and you don’t argue back this time, blinking back tears as you stare at him, wide eyed and unsure.

“It isn’t fair to either of us to keep blurring the lines like this.”

You nod, pressing your mouth closed, averting your gaze until you’re not looking at him anymore, you’re looking past him, all the joy from before draining from you like sand in a timer. You stay silent, and he figures a nod is all he’s gonna get, because it’s another minute before he finds the words to say, himself.

“Let’s go back inside, yeah?” He asks, your hand slipping behind your back just as he thinks of reaching for it, the action causing his stomach to twist with guilt. “C’mon, we’ll get you a drink to celebrate the good news.”

“I think I’m gonna go home,” you mutter, so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear it, and you look back up and give him that same small, forced smile that made his gut churn when he came outside, looking at his cheek instead of his eyes. “I have class in the morning, so I should probably go to bed or something.”

“Alright, I’ll walk you-,”

“No, uhm,” you step back, and all he can do is watch as you slip away one more time, “This is literally a party for you. It’s just around the corner, I’ll be fine.”

And if he had thought he fucked up before, this feels a thousand times worse, now. 

“I’m sorry,” you squeak out, and the joyous tears that were teasing his lashes earlier turn somewhat sour, stinging until they gather in a thick pool in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You didn’t.” He’d reach for you again if he didn’t think you’d flinch away - if the sight of you retreating from him once again wouldn’t make him want to curl up and die. “I’m gonna get one of the guys to walk you, alright? Please don’t go on your own.”

“It’s fine-,”

“It isn’t fine,” he doesn’t mean to snap - just wants to be firm, just wants you to feel that he cares - but it comes out harsh, because this can’t be another thing that you sweep under the rug to pretend you don’t care. “Please just wait.”

“Okay.”

He rushes inside then, and he grabs the first of his friends that he sees - thankfully, Ethan, who he knows cares about you enough to make sure you get home safe.

“Hey man, did you find her?” Ethan asks, his face twisting with concern as he takes in what must be sheer panic on Luke’s face. “Is she alright?”

“I need you to walk her home, she’s waiting outside, I need you to go before she goes on her own,” he drags Ethan towards the closet by the front door, where he’d discarded his jacket when he arrived earlier. “Give her this and text me when she’s inside, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” his best friend frowns, confused as he takes the coat from his shaking grip “Are you sure you don’t want to do it?”

“I don’t think she wants to be around me right now.”

“Oh,” Ethan huffs, shoulders straightening as he understands the gravity of the situation. If you don’t want to be around Luke, you probably shouldn’t be on your own. “Right, sure, I’ll take her now.”

“Just make sure you text me when she’s safe.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it, man,” Ethan chuckles nervously, “I’ll text you.”

And all Luke can do again is watch - watch as Ethan rushes out the front door, watch through the little sliver of window as you let him shrug the coat around you, as you accept the grip to both your arms as he tries to warm you up, watch as the two of you disappear from what the small rectangle allows him to see.

Watch as he, once again, lets go of the one thing he wants more than anything else in the whole world. 

[nemisuki]

𐔌 ✧.* ᴛʀᴜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ || A compilation of her favorite nicknames that he rarely uses! 

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, no smut or angst, short oneshot, dating au, soft bkg, words of affirmation, praise galore, 375 word count

It's the terms of endearment that make her feel like a flustered school girl on a random tuesday.

An accidental slip of his tongue when he spontaneously mumbles rare forms of praises — it doesn't happen often — but when it does... oh she goes crazy all right.

Like whenever their training and she finally manages to land a solid hit on him?

He grins, completely unbothered that you made his nose bleed.

"There she is... 'atta fucking girl."

Or whenever you solve a math problem correctly?

His crimson eyes scan the worksheet — zeroing in on the unnecessary long equation — giving it a quick once over before handing it back with an invisible smile.

Rubbing your head gently as his fingers caress every spot.

"Finally did it on yur' own hah? Good job baby."

And what about when you show him the little doodles you did in your notebook?

His focus seems to be all over the paper, admiring every little pencil marking and detail he could find.

"Didn't know ya' could draw, looks just like the real thing hun."

Oh! How could she forget his looks of admiration whenever she gave him an outfit of the day?

Giving him a small twirl to show off her new dress — one that he got from his dad's fashion line — only to get five more of the same style a few days later, but in different colors.

It happened so often, she had no choice but to confront him for overfilling her closet, yet his response always stayed the same.

"Hah? Not my fault everything looks great on you, princess."

But her favorite moments?

It's the ones where he speaks of her, when he thinks she's not there.

She didn't mean to eavesdrop — she truly didn't — but when one of their classmates brings up her name, asking him — in a joking manner — why he's always so calm with her, she silently listens behind the wall.

His voice remains unsteady and surprisingly tender.

"Because she's my girlfriend."

Nothing else had to be said.

Those three words could be considered nothing special for anybody else, but to her it held meaning, spoken as if her being his meant just that.

That her being his girlfriend was enough reason to be gentle.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| omg srry for the late post, I totally forgot but here is a short drabble! I just finished the first draft of the bkg fic for his birthday and it’s over 2k words so be prepared for major fluff! (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ ɴᴇxᴛ ꜰɪᴄ ||| katsuki bakugo x f!reader (fluff) ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 @qyuin @sunnyalmighty — ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[yukinohiko]

Nahida had instructed him to request you for a tea ceremony. You’d been earning a decent reputation amongst those in Sumeru City. The worldly tea maker.

Wanderer scoffs to himself. Worldly. You were flighty was what you were, he thinks, and opinionated. Regardless, as a begrudging favour to Nahida, he finds himself roaming the streets in search of you.

He assumed you’d be at one of the inns you spoke in favour of during your trips to and fro. But no. Nor are you in the market place browsing for bizarre ingredients for your concoctions.

He’s growing tired of looking. He has better things to do than search for a strangely obscure tea maker. His feet are aching. His head is pounding. His ears are practically bleeding — but that’s more due to the bustle and noise from the centre of the square.

Music bellows from a makeshift stage. He loathes the thought of looking through that cesspool of noise and pushing, crowding, sweaty bodies. But it’s the only way to the other side, where you might be perusing some forest herbs or scented oils. Sighing internally, he starts to make his way through.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs, narrowly avoiding tripping on some woman’s dress at the cost of knocking into another man’s tipping glass of wine.

“Hey, watch it, boy!”

“Hah—”

He turns at the antagonistic tone, bristling despite himself, when he freezes, eyes lifting up the stage at the reveal of dancers. Fuss and feathers galore, but parsing through them, he makes out a redhead he vaguely recognizes. But that doesn’t concern him, no, not her. The figure beside her, flushed under the dusky late day sun, hair strewn across dewy temples. Silks he’s never seen you wear before; rose and mist, a blossoming water lily.

Since when did you dance? Since when were you cultured at anything but tea making?

Something hot settles under his skin at the sight of you. Your fingers open like a flower, cupping your palm outward. Honey seeking.

Saliva pools under his tongue and Wanderer quickly looks away. The invitation for Nahida’s tea ceremony crinkles in his fist as heat warms his cheeks.

Perhaps you'll be an even greater trouble than he originally thought.

[cupophrogs]

Welcome Home Tox! AU

Did somebody say angst? I think someone said angst

Something’s been going around in the neighborhood, they’re calling it the Tox. No one know what it is, and the medicines aren’t working. All a puppet can be certain of is that it will change you, for better or worse, and it will hurt.

Welcome to the Tox AU where there’s pain and agony galore!!

The Tox is a parasite that forces its host to evolve in hopes of surviving longer. These “symptoms” can vary wildly from puppet to puppet, and usually just lead to a slow, painful death. Here’s what our favorite neighbors have!

Wally Darling: Eyes. He usually wears a blindfold.

Barnaby: Second Spine. He walks on all fours to lessen the pain.

Howdy: Blood. He Carrie’s rags and a bucket to keep from ‘bleeding’ everywhere.

Frank: Chitin Shell. It’s hard to move his arm now. Julie helps him write.

Julie: Horns. Her joints hurt a little, but she’s okay.

Eddie: Hooks. He can’t put his feet down anymore.

Poppy: Scales. She’s so, so cold.

Sally: Heat. Stay ten feet away if you don’t want to burn.

[alexsoenomel]

Being two golden retrievers in love (Dean Winchester headcanons)

Note: I hate the whole black cat golden retriever theory and the whole "YOU NEED TO BE A BLACK CAT IN ORDER TO KEEP A MAN" like bitch I'm a romantic and a proud golden retriever you will never take that away from me. Anyways, enjoy this!

You kissing his nose whenever you can because you loved his nose and thought it was the most perfect nose in history of noses

"What is your obsession with my nose?"

"It's a work of art."

Dean always playing with your hand/kissing it whenever you ride shotgun

You two having movie nights

"TIME TO SLICE AND DICE!"

"DEAN, WE WATCHED ALL SAINTS' DAY TWO WEEKS AGO IT'S MY TURN NOW!"

Always arguing over what to watch next

"I want Batman!"

"Ugh fine!"

Junk food galore during movie nights

Always quoting someone

Always

Sam just rolling his eyes

"(Y/N), I am your father!"

"Well you are... sometimes."

"Oh..."

Sam just standing there feeling uncomfortable

Dean wasn't a reader but you got him hooked on smutty fantasy books

"What is it about?"

"Fae and fucking!

"Give it to me!"

Since you were both touch starved you couldn't get enough of each other

"Stop touching my ass! We're in public!"

"(Y/N), your ass is like a peach and I love peaches!"

You both loved cuddling and now you couldn't fall asleep without each other

Forehead kisses and nose kisses

Both having the same lame dad humour and always making lame jokes making Sam cringe

"Why did the rabbit skip school,Sammy?"

"Why, Dean?"

"It was having a bad hare day!"

"THAT IS GOOD!"

"I'm out!"

You loved buying Dean gifts whenever you see something you knew he would love. Dean was also the same with you. He would buy you junk food when you were on your period, "those books that make you wanna fuck my brains out" or something that would remind him of you

One time he got you a keychain with a small peach because: "Your ass is like a peach and I love peaches."

You would get him comic books, band shirts, food....

Cooking for each other

"I made pancakes for breakfast!"

"Will you marry me?"

Jamming on roundtrips in Baby

Dean letting you drive his beloved car and not panicking

Karaoke nights in the bunker

"Guys, you're making my ears bleed!"

Sam hating every minute of it

Sex sometimes being chaotic and clumsy

Especially when you're drunk

"Dean, you're not moving!"

"Wait, I think I see double!"

And sometimes being so passionate and intense making you cry

And Dean freaking out

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No I just love you so much."

He loved calling you his girl, sweetheart, babe, nerd

"Every time you call me sweetheart I wanna lick and bite every inch of you."

"Are you ovulating?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Horny jail!"

Always making each other laugh with stupid jokes

Rarely fighting

Well you fought sometimes on hunts

And afterwards you would fuck like rabbits

Having random burst of energy

"Dean I wanna do something stupid!"

"Like what?"

"I don't know but I feel like I'm on crack!"

"Calm down Skippy!"

"Can I suck your dick?"

"That's not doing something stupid that's doing God's work!"

"Shut up and take off your pants before I decide to go out and HIKE!"

"Not the hiking!"

[welp-back-on-my-bs]

OM charicters and how they handle periods

Lucifer

- can and will fuck the shir outta ya if it helps-

- he will also baby you

- I mean- he literally sends the brothers out to gather sweets and other needs

- heated blanket on hand for you

- you can sleep in his bed

- he watches over you as you sleep of you get tired

- none will hurt his little lamb

Mammon

- he panicks

- you're BLEEDING WTFFFF

- especially worried and unprepared if you don't identify as a female

- thinks you're dieing and lucifer wil kill him

- when its explained he does good and gets everything he knows you need

- here, have literally all this expensive chocolate he knows you like

- have all the midol he could find

- have the products you need to survive this- and more♡

Levi

- he probably learned about periods trough anime/an online AFAB friend

- he wont mind if you stay with him, he can clean whatever gets blood on it, you chose to spend time with him, he is hapoy with that :>

- anime and video games to distract you

- you can sleep in his lap as he plays

- you get to share his anime themed snacks

Satan

- for those who get moody during hell, he is here to help

- cat Cafe is the haven for you both-

- he also gets his anger out with you in healthy ways

- you both write out everything, scream out your toughts into the Forrest, and sing along to songs that bring out that anger

- afterwards he will read to you until you fall asleep

- he takes good care of you

Asmo

- feeling extra ✨️horny✨️ he is here to help

- he fucks ya fore a few hours then you both have a nice hot bath, makeovers and stuff

- you get sugar coded fruits with him

- sleep like Royalty and wake up feeling refershed✨️

- literally a phone call away for anything

- period products are in his bathroom too

Beel

- this man has the comfort food

- he will allways share with you and Belphie

- he notices when you come to him more often for sweets and stuff, so he stocks more for you ^^

- om nom nom

- one of the best people to nap with

- he is also a good workout bud to help with the cramps n stuff too

- one of the best boys to go to tbh-

Belphie

- now- of you need sleep- he has ya

- he sees you being tired and d r a g s you to one of his spots, cuddles you, and falls asleep with you

- it's fuckin comfy so ofc you fall asleep too-

- you get only the best dreams by his side

- cuddle, sleep, it's done- he won't stop- help QwQ

Diavolo

- the me is that?

- he didn't know until you bleed trough your clothes sadly

- he helps by haveing teas with you and has barbatos find some thar help with cramping and just to make thibgs more comfortable

- sweets galore (you're allowed to take them home

- you can sit on his lap and cuddle him, he is warm

Barbatos

- he knows when your periods are, its not weird-

- he has products set up in the bathroom near the room you're staying in and the next fee over just in case

- he brings you tea and sweets that help you

- he has a change of clothes for you on the ready along with spare blankets/sheets/pillows

- he can take care of any and i mean ANY of your needs, just ask ^^

Simeon

- he isn't that exposed to them, so he dosent know what to do or if he can interfere

- he decides that he can if you beg him enough or he sees that you're suffering

- finds things that can calm the symptoms and help your body

- gentle massages

- he is a little cold but damn can he take care of you

Luke:

- also has no idea wtf to do

- he learns sweets help and bakes alot for you

- like- they all are get well things or if you like to celebrate it then the sweets are red and pink

- he'll tell off anyone who tries to bother you

Solosus

- he has a potion for that

- you just have to beg

- :>

Thirteen

- hasn't had one, but she likes to help you if you promise to help her on a trap

- or you can be the trap by surprising someone with your moodyness

- she gets the perfect things for you

- a damn good tradeoff

Rapael

- like the other angles VERY confused

- he does help tho

- number 2 for sleep spots, no cuddles tho

- gets you weird foods to try

- about 5/10 could be better

Mephistophlies

- bro dosent know anything about this, why should he?

- when he does learn, he sneaks some sweets into your locker, high quality ofc

- he would give you shit as he gives you some spare clothes

- this man, he finds good shit to help ya

[fluentmoviequoter]

Care Now and Forever (Starting Now)

Part 2 of Care Now and Forever

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: You faint and Deacon takes care of you. As you wonder how he manages to be exactly where you need him to be, Deacon plans to start forever with you.

Warnings: r faints, depictions of anemia/iron deficiency, brief mention of blood, fluff and comfort galore

Word Count: 1.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Yawning again, you glance at the clock and frown. It’s not even lunchtime, but you’re so fatigued you are having trouble staying upright. You stand to refill your water, then lower your hand back to your seat as you grow dizzy. Since the last time you passed out around Deacon, you’ve been better about ensuring your iron levels stay consistent and you are hydrated, but you’re having an off day.

In the kitchen, you get another glass of water and a snack, hoping it will help you feel better and get you through the rest of the day. You check your phone after receiving a text from Deacon promising homemade dinner when he gets off tonight. Before you can reply, your phone rings with an incoming call.

“Hi, Deacon,” you greet. “I was just texting you.”

“Should I hang up and let you finish?” he jokes.

“I suppose I could just tell you. Dinner sounds great.”

“Good. How are you feeling? You sound tired.”

Deacon has a sixth sense about you and your health, so you’re not surprised he can tell that simply from your voice.

“I am, but other than that, I’m all good. How’s work?”

“Slow. Which… Let me call you back? Hicks is calling us over.”

“Sure. I love you.”

“I love you,” Deacon replies before ending the call.

You return to the couch and sit carefully, sipping your water and eating your snack in measured bites. A metallic, coppery taste invades your senses, and your stomach flips as if you ingested blood. After another drink of water, your phone chimes, but you feel off-balance and don’t reach for it, opting to take deep breaths to remain conscious.

A key slides into the lock on your front door several minutes after your head clears, and you furrow your brows as you stand. Deacon steps inside with a bright smile, and you take several hurried steps forward to greet him with a hug. Just before you reach him, you stop and blink once before your legs buckle.

Deacon watches your eyes as he extends his arms. He catches you without a problem and carries you carefully to the couch. Watching your chest rise and fall, Deacon wonders what happened. You were fine earlier; you sounded tired, a symptom of iron deficiency, but you’ve been eating well, staying hydrated, and keeping him updated, so he’s confused about the sudden fainting.

“Hey, you with me?” Deacon asks, gently tapping your cheek.

You hum and squeeze your eyes closed tighter. “Did I faint?”

“Better question is why did you faint?” he counters. “Have you eaten today?”

“Yeah, I ate and drank water. Right before you got here, I got this weird blood taste in my mouth.”

“I’ll make an appointment with your doctor if you want. For now, what do you need?”

You open your eyes, smile, and look pointedly at Deacon's muscular arm resting beside you. He sighs, still smiling, and moves onto the couch to tug you against his chest. Your water and snacks are still within reach, and you take several bites while your senses return.

“Feeling better yet?” Deacon asks.

“I think you’re the magic cure,” you answer with a nod. “Maybe you should just quit your job and stay with me all of the time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier you weren’t feeling great?”

“I thought it would pass, it wasn’t like the last time, just some dizziness and the weird taste.”

“But you���re not actually bleeding?”

“Not that I know of.”

Deacon brushes his hand over your hair and kisses your forehead.

“What do you think happened?”

“Maybe you just missed me so desperately that your body reacted dramatically,” Deacon teases. “Alternatively, you might be slightly anemic or stressed; there are lots of possibilities.”

“You always seem to show up right before something happens,” you muse.

Deacon smiles but doesn’t comment on his ability to be in the right place at the right time when it comes to you. “Do you want me to order dinner?”

“We can cook,” you offer. “I’m feeling much better.”

“Sweetheart,” Deacon sighs. “Don’t jump back into doing too much too fast.”

You nod and grip Deacon’s wrist as you grow dizzy again. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’ll order the food, you sit here, look pretty, and stay conscious, okay?”

“I can do two of the three, but you have to pick which.”

“Faint and you become a comedian,” Deacon grumbles with faux grumpiness. “Any requests for dinner?”

“You can pick,” you reply. “And, Deacon? Thank you.”

“For?”

“Taking care of me, being here, everything.”

“The care is a given, now and forever, because I love you. I really wish you’d start telling me when you feel off, but I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Your phone buzzes as Deacon makes a call to your favorite restaurant. Unwilling to risk leaning forward, you leave it on the table and watch Deacon. Every little thing he does communicates his care for you, and you’ve known from the beginning that he shows his care in remarkable ways because he loves like you’ve never been loved before.

“Food will be here in thirty minutes,” Deacon says as he returns. “What else do you need?”

“You really want to take care of me?” Deacon smiles because he obviously does, and you ask, “Sit with me?”

Deacon takes the place beside you and welcomes you under his arm. Leaning against his shoulder, you look into Deacon’s eyes and thank him again.

“Will you go to the doctor with me? It’s not fair to either of us that this keeps happening.”

“Anytime,” Deacon assures. “What did you do today?”

“Not much. I got some work done this afternoon but started feeling bad around lunch. You’ll be glad to know I took your advice and rested, drank water, and had some food rather than pushing through.”

“I am glad to know that. However, you keep forgetting the most important advice which is to call me.”

“I think you’re secretly Spider-Man and your senses tingle, so you know to come home anyway.”

Deacon smiles at your phrasing. He doesn’t care that you just compared him to a superhero, but you called your house a collective home, and Deacon thinks the idea of a shared future with you sounds perfect. His promise to care for you forever is just the beginning, and now he wants to start forever with you.

[angelesca]

vows are not meant to be exchanged with the devil w.c. ~700

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 make a deal with the devil and pay the price

sunday x gn!reader, pseudo-marriage(?), blood, vague violence (but includes "slit neck"), kinda enemies, idk sunday is a lil' prick ig (affectionate)

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬. it is unforgiving; it slices and splits the latitude of its white canvas. wounds along the roof gape open, sunlight bleeding through the lacerations. it gleams atop the rouge galore. you sink to your knees, weak.

you beg with yourself desperately, to restrain the morbid curiosity and force your eyes anywhere but the sinister that lurked below. by your knees were bodies you used to know. 

“a deal… but only the devil makes deals.”  you replay the conversation only minutes ago.

the man sat on the altar, folding one leg over the other. his lips curved amusedly, “is that so?” 

your mouth contorts into unreadable shapes, imitating the phantoms of words, “you… r–really did it,” your lips quiver. 

red blood freezes solid blue in your veins. all that you have left to offer is cold flesh.

“i have rid of your enemies, foes, all that dared to oppose you. this was my end of the negotiation. and now, i will have you grant your half of the deal.”

peering at malice personified, you wonder how this was fair? his appearance is as chaste as angels, but his words bare its blade, threatening your neck and piercing skin. you have nothing to protect yourself with, but hands calloused with prayers, gripping the sword at bay as you attempt to intimidate him with a sharp stare – a weapon of your own. what else could you do but fight for your life? 

the devil pushes himself off the altar table, each step sinking into the blood from the bodies he reaped. he paid less than a penny to the thought of the mutilated corpses. they were nothing but meagre pests, their remains rotting like disease on his shoes.

he stares down at you from his standing position. his shadow dominates over your body, eyes watching. lifting your chin, he inspects the quality of his novel toy.

you meet his eyes, a quiet whisper, “what do you want with me…?”

“you know that already, don’t you?” his silvery tongue is honed with venom, fingers slithering along your jaw. the serpent coils himself around you.

you pay it no mind, competing with his stare. 

he smirks, eyes rolling in disbelief. perhaps this toy is faulty. “you accepted the terms of our deal. is your revenge not satisfactory?”

the harsh texture of his gloves play with the softness of your skin, tracing the length of your neck.

you grit your teeth. there is no escaping; the contract establishes your soul under his submission.

“fine.” you decide to pay the price. “it is only fair…” your voice trails off, mouth trapped in static.

those golden eyes of his are darkly vampiric, syphoning your determination which fuels him. you are his livestock, hooked upside down with a slit neck, dripping blood into his mouth. a chill runs down your spine. 

he crouches in front of you, hand cradling your cheek as his thumb wipes away your pearling sweat. he hums, “good.” the sun praises him with golden radiance, his glorious halo reigning high over his head like a crown. he rules over you, commands you. completely, entirely, and wholly his.

“say my name.” and seal your fate.

the atmosphere constricts– sudden– your breathing. hitches. heavy air… lack of oxygen… his eyes orbit your features, glimpsing into your universe, observing you inside out. you choke out the name that is forced roughly in your throat: “... sun…day…” 

“do you pledge to be mine?” sunday kisses your ring finger, the weight of commitment encircling it, locking eyes with you to ensure that you witness the officiating. you are his, but he is not yours. 

the exhange of vows, a finality which binds your life to his. this must be his sick idea of a marriage, but you do not sense his earnestness. it is more akin to a predator playing with his food before consuming it.

your jaw clenches, gaining back your breath as you entertain his fantasy, “... i do.”

“yet, you look like you want me dead.” sunday nuzzles into your neck, hiding a smirk. “my spouse is quite charming, hm?”

a/n: originally this was nsfw *bonk* but it felt awkward as i built up the plot so i removed it lol. if anyone wants, i can post it as an extra part on my ao3?^^ if the ending feels rushed, it's because it's 3am for me and im tired ahaha thanks for reading!🐕

[negans-lucille-tblr]

The Fan | Jensen x Reader | Oneshot

Summary: Y/N has an unhealthy obsession with a man with a filthy mouth and an oral fixation he’s hell bent on ruining her life with. 

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Tags: audio porn, porn AU, dirty talking, daddy kink, praise kink, slight degradation, oral fixation, oral sex galore, use of sex toy, masturbation, public masturbation, Jensen has a filthy filthy mouth in this one, it might make you feral be warned…

WC: ± 4K

A/Ns: I shouldn’t be trusted to write porn when I’m feeling feral because this is absolute filth and I just wanna thank Laura for commissioning it and sending me further down my crazed rabbit hole. <3

Want your own commission? Find out more here!

Jensen Ackles Masterlist

“Oh fuck, baby girl, you take Daddy’s cock so fucking well in that tight little cunt, don’t you?” he coos as your whole body starts to break out into a light sweat. “Best damn pussy I’ve ever fucking had, sweetheart.” 

You whine, your back arching off the bed, your head fuzzy with your impending orgasm as your eyes flutter closed and you try to stave it off just a little while longer. 

“Look at you, so fucking perfect, you were made for me, made for my cock inside you. Daddy’s perfect little slut,” he growls, gasping for breath at the end of his sentence, moaning deep from his chest. “Tell me what you are, I wanna hear you say it.” 

“I’m your perfect little whore, Daddy,” you whine out, your fingers working your clit to the very edge of sweet release.

“That’s fucking right you are, baby, feel so fucking good on my cock, fuck, making Daddy wanna fucking cum. Do you want that? Hm? Do you want Daddy’s cum deep in that pussy? Maybe I should put your panties back on you and send you out. Let you walk around the store with my cum dripping down your thighs. Oh you like the fucking sound of that, don’t you?” he chuckles darkly, and you gasp for air, the feeling of the cock pistoning in and out of you almost too much to bear anymore. 

“You’re not going to cum again are you?” he asks. “You know how I feel about you cumming when my mouth isn’t down there to taste it. Do you need my tongue in that cunt again, baby girl? Or are you still craving Daddy’s cock? Look at you, so fucking desperate you don’t even know what you want anymore, you just want to be used, don’t you? You just want Daddy to use that fucking cunt over and over until I’m through with it. I’ve fucking got you, baby girl, you’re mine and everyone fucking knows it. I’ve marked you up good, you wanna see your skin, fucking covered in my claim.” 

You can’t take anymore, and you cum hard, screaming out in pure ecstasy as your climax washes over every inch of you, and you’re left gasping for air, squirming on the edge of over-stimulation as the cock continues to piston in and out of you at the steady pace you’d set it at. 

Your eyes flutter open and you’re brought back to the room, your earbud falling out, letting the natural ambience of your bedroom fill your eyes, the very faint sound of the actor’s voice still bleeding through the forgotten earpiece. Your body is still trembling, goosebumps erupting over every inch of you as you finally reach for the dial beside you and slow the machine down until it’s come to a stop, and you carefully remove the toy from inside you and whimper at the loss of contact, even if you are thoroughly done. You reach for your phone to pause the audio, realising there’s still ten minutes left. You never can make it to the end of one of his audios. That man is far too good at what he does, and it’s a crying shame he doesn’t do videos, though you realise that audio gets you off far better than visual does nowadays. You don’t even think you’d care what the guy looks like, if he can make you cum that hard and that many times with just his words, he could look however he wants and you’d still fuck him. 

Somehow, the guy seems to be all your biggest fantasies wrapped up in one dirty mouthed human, and you’re actually starting to worry about your real dating life, given you’re never going to find a guy that will ever come close to your favourite audio actor, you’re sure of it. Still, it doesn’t stop you from trying, even if your nights do end like tonight; alone and getting yourself off with your best investments yet; your fuck machine and Patreon subscription to ‘Dean Winchester’.  You hadn’t even needed a machine before Dean, and you actually had more real life sex with real life men, but over time you ended up settling for mediocre one night stands less and less, rathering going home to Dean, instead. You know your obsession is borderline unhealthy at this stage, but if the guy would stop putting out the best audios you’ve ever heard, then maybe you’d stand a chance. 

*

Work is so mind-numbingly boring, you find yourself watching the clock on the wall and praying that the last twenty minutes would hurry up, so you can get out of the office for the weekend. With the weekend upcoming, you don’t have time to start a new project, but you finished your last one two hours ago, and have been desperately trying to seem busy for your boss’s sake since then. You sigh and twist yourself left to right in your office chair, and practically leap at your phone the second it goes off next to you. Finally, something to do. 

You’re quick to glance around you when you realise that the notification is from Patreon, and you open it cautiously to see Dean has posted a new audio. It’s rare for him to post something mid afternoon on a Friday, and you read the title and the audio information, eager to find out what your Friday night is going to entail. 

Daddy can’t get enough of eating that sweet pussy (with toys)

Contains: Excessive oral sex, daddy kink, use of toys, praise, degradation, slight humiliation, mocking for multiple orgasms, soft dom, aftercare 

You look around the office, feeling your pussy getting uncomfortably wet already, and rub your thighs together, reaching into your purse and grabbing your headphones, before quickly making your way towards the bathroom. You would normally at least try to wait the extra hour, and for  the comfort of your own home, but this one sounds too good to wait. You just want a little glimpse; at least that’s what you tell yourself as you lock yourself into a bathroom stall and eagerly put an earbud in, making sure your phone is definitely connected to it before you turn the volume up a little. 

“Hey, baby girl,” Dean hums through the headphone, and instantly the wetness doubles.

You shift uncomfortably in your heels, and take a seat on the closed toilet lid, hitching your dress up enough to get to your soaked panties. You can just have a little play, it’s not like you’re busy, and no one will know what you’re doing in here. 

“Have you missed me? Aw, I can tell,” he coos, “have you been waiting for me all day? I’ve had a long week, and I was thinking I could use some stress relief,” he explains. “I’ve been thinking about you since I left you naked in bed this morning, been thinking about that sweet little pussy, about how good you taste. My cock has been hard all fucking day just thinking about tasting you when I got home.” 

You try your best not to moan out loud, your fingers now pulling the ruined material of your panties to one side as you take a shuddered breath in and start to tease your swollen clit. 

“You don’t mind if I help myself, do you?” he asks, and then a low hum rumbles through him. “Fuck, let me take those panties off, wanna see that dripping little pussy properly. It’s gonna taste so fucking good, you always taste so fucking good, you’ve got Daddy addicted, d’y’know that?” 

You rush to remove your panties over your heels, wanting to keep up with the fantasy now playing in your mind’s eye, and you quickly stuff them into your blazer pocket. 

“Don’t worry about making dinner, I’ve got enough to feast on right here,” he chuckles lowly, and then the sound of his lips smacking over something fills the quiet, and he moans under his breath. “Tastes fucking good, baby girl,” he praises. “That pussy was made to be eaten, and look at it, practically dripping for me, such a naughty little slut, hm? You want a finger inside you?” 

Instantly you slide one finger inside your warm, wet cunt, and your eyes roll as you throw your head back. 

“So fucking tight, baby girl, you like having something inside you when I eat that pussy, don’t you?” he laughs, “then why don’t you use the dildo I got you? It’s right here, I’ve got it, let me see if I can make it fit.” The sound of vibrations accompany Dean’s hums of approval, and you wish with everything in you that you were home right now, where you could reach for your own vibrator and slide it inside you like Dean’s doing in your fantasy right now. “Fuck, baby girl, you take it so well, does that feel good? It’ll feel better when my tongue is back on that clit.” 

“Jesus,” you whisper under your breath, pushing a second finger inside you in a desperate attempt to mimic the toy you’re imagining. 

“Don’t worry about me, baby, I’ve had a cockring wrapped around my cock all day, I’m gonna be fucking you for hours yet. Now you just lie back and let me take care of that sweet little cunt.”

The bathroom door opens outside of the stall, and you jump to remove your fingers, even though whoever has entered won’t see what you’re doing, you still don’t want to get caught out somehow.  The obscene noises of Dean ‘eating you out’ are still playing into your ear, and you rush to pause the audio in an attempt to calm yourself down a little, hearing the clicking of heels on tile as someone enters the stall next to you.

“Y/N?” you hear Amber call out. 

“Yeah?” you call back, your voice shaky and not trustworthy, right now.

“You coming to the bar with us?” Amber asks. 

You stand up and flush the toilet to complete your facade, heading out of the stall and quickly beginning to wash your own juices off of your fingers before Amber somehow notices. 

“Not tonight,” you insist, your mind very much on the remaining twenty three minutes of Dean’s new audio, and the date with your machine you’ve found yourself with suddenly. 

“C’mon, you’ve not been out in forever, plus, Sascha insists that this new bar has the hottest guys,” Amber explains as she also exits her stall and stands at the sink beside you, washing her own hands. 

“I gave up on men a long time ago,” you remind Amber with a chuckle. 

“Oh c’mon, I’m all for silicone friends, but you’ve gotta get a real dick at least once in a while, and girl for you, it’s been a while.” You laugh at her bluntness and shake your head. “You’re coming, even if I have to pay for your drinks all night,” Amber insists. 

You sigh and roll your eyes, before nodding reluctantly, guessing one drink won’t hurt if it gets Amber off your back. 

“Great,” Amber beams, reaching forward to undo the top button of your dress so your cleavage is far more on show than it was before. “There, let’s go.”

*

One drink has somehow turned into three, because every time you say you might leave, Amber is quick to buy you another cocktail, and you feel bad wasting her money by not drinking it first. You’re hyper aware of the fact your panties are still stuffed into your blazer pocket, and your pussy is completely bare and exposed under your dress, and the only thing you can fully focus on is the remainder of Dean’s audio you want to listen to. You really do have a problem, apparently. 

By the fourth drink, you offer to pay, feeling bad that Amber is footing your bill all night, and you guess you owe her one drink before you finally go home to your machine. You stand at the bar and shift uncomfortably from foot to foot as you wait to be served, your mind running wild with all the ways Dean is going to fuck you tonight, and when the barman finally stands in front of you, you realise you’ve forgotten what Amber wanted. You guess your way through a list of a few different cocktails, figuring one of the girls will drink them even if Amber doesn’t, and as the barman moves away to make your long order, you hear a scoff beside you. 

You turn your head to look at the man, and are kind of taken for a moment because he’s pretty attractive. Sascha was right, the men at this place really are better looking than the rest of the bars around town. Maybe they have some weird lighting, or something. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he laughs easily, and his voice shoots straight to your core. Jesus, has it really been that long since a hot guy has talked directly to you? “It’s just I’ve been stood here for over five minutes, and that bar man is only serving the hot girls,” he explains. 

Your brain takes a second to process what he’s saying, and then you scoff and shake your head. 

“Clearly not, he just served me,” you counter. 

“I stand by what I said,” the stranger insists, after his green eyes have raked up and down your body a couple of times. Is this guy actually flirting with you? You find yourself staring for a moment. There’s something very familiar about him, but you’re fairly sure you’d remember ever meeting a guy this attractive. 

“Do I know you?” you ask him, frowning. 

His green eyes light up and he laughs softly, shaking his head. 

“Urm… don’t think so,” he finally offers, shaking his head. But his hesitance only confuses you more. 

“Are you sure? I swear I know you somehow,” you insist. 

The guy begins to blush, and he clears his throat before looking around himself. 

“Well, what if I said my name is… Dean,” he slowly offers. 

Your eyes widen immediately, and you’re not sure if you want the ground to swallow you whole or if you want to kiss the man. His voice that’s what you know, that’s what’s so familiar, and that’s why you’re having this kind of reaction to just talking to some guy. So you’re not that desperate, after all… or maybe you are, depending how you look at it. You would’ve never placed him as Dean Winchester, no matter how intimately you know his voice, because you never would’ve actually expected him to be more attractive than the picture you’d painted in your head. And you never would’ve expected to bump into him at a bar in town of all places. 

But then the realisation hits you fully. If this guy is Dean Winchester then he knows that you listen to his stuff, and he knows that you listen enough to recoginise him. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, your cheeks burning. “Oh my god, I’m so embarrassed, I’m so sorry,” you fumble to apologise, but Dean just laughs and shakes his head. 

“Why are you sorry? I love meeting fans.” 

The word fan only makes your skin crawl more, he’s going to think you’re some psycho, some desperate woman that needs audio porn to get her kicks. 

“Oh god,” you groan, now feeling your skin crawling in shame. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart, really,” he reassures you, reaching out to grab your shoulder. “Honestly, I’m flattered a girl like you listens to me.” 

“Oh sure,” you scoff, not believing him for one second. You want to tell him you don’t really listen to his stuff that much, but then you realise that might be insulting, and you don’t want to tell him you’re as big a fan as you are, or you’ll just look even more pathetic to him. “Listen, I’ll leave you alone,” you conclude. 

“Oh,” he replies simply, before licking his lips and nodding his head. “Yeah, sure, if that’s what you want.” 

You can’t help but feel like you’ve insulted him somehow, and you swallow hard, rushing to explain. “I don’t wanna seem like some creepy fan,” you excuse. 

“Sweetheart, I’m the one that hit on you,” he laughs. 

Your eyes only widen further, “you were hitting on me?” 

“Yeah, well… I thought I was… I did call you hot, didn’t I?” 

“I guess,” you agree, now feeling embarrassed for a whole new reason. The guy that has given you more orgasms than all the other men in your sexual history put together has hit on you. “I’m sorry, I just always assumed that a guy like you would be married, or at least dating someone.” 

“Nah, my work is just as much for my benefit as it is yours, trust me,” he laughs softly. “So, can I at least buy you a drink, even if it’s just to thank you for liking my work?” 

*

“I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this,” you confess, already drunkenly laughing behind your hand as you look over at him. 

Dean – or Jensen, you’ve now been told his real name is – seems to wait patiently for your confession, and in the two or so hours you’ve been sitting together drinking and getting to know each other, you somehow feel like you’ve known him for years. Maybe that’s because of the porn, but either way, you’re actually about to say this out loud. 

“The audio that you released today?” you prompt, and a smirk grows over Jensen’s plump lips.

“Yeah…” he prompts. 

“Well, I didn’t get to finish it, but let’s just say I started it in work… in a bathroom stall… and I’m still a mess. I was dying to get home to finish it.” Your confession doesn’t leave you as embarrassed as you thought it would, not when Jensen only smirks harder, and then bites his bottom lip as his green eyes look around the bar. 

“Well… why don’t I just… show you what the rest was like?” he asks, blinking at you. 

“What?” you ask, feeling yourself beginning to sober up at just the very thought of what Jensen’s implying. 

“What if we… y’know, re-enacted it?” 

*

“So how far did you get?” Jensen asks, breathing against your neck.

You crane it, pushing your head back further into your pillow as you moan softly, dragging your nails through the soft hair on the nape of his neck. 

“Not very, you’d just pulled out a vibrator,” you explain breathlessly, your heart thudding in your chest. If this man is this good at kissing, you’re not sure you’ll survive the rest of it. And you already know what a filthy mouth he’s got from the dirty talking. And from talking to him tonight, you were more than excited to find out that his audios are a true reflection of his own kinks.

“Do you have one?” Jensen prompts, and you blindly reach under your bed for the box that holds your toys, throwing the lid off carelessly and wrapping your hand around your favourite vibrating silicone friend. 

You produce it in front of you, stopping Jensen in his tracks as he smirks, taking it from you and throwing it to the bed next to you both. 

“I don’t have a cock ring though,” you add with your own smirk, and Jensen chuckles lowly. 

“Don’t worry, I’m covered,” he tells you smugly, taking your hand and pushing it under his boxers. Your hand meets soft, warm velvety skin, and as it gets a little lower, you feel the rubber ring at the very base of his swollen cock. 

“Do you always go to bars wearing one of those?” you sass, wrapping your fingers around his erection and growing pleasantly surprised at the thickness. 

“I had it on for the audio this morning, y’know, for authenticity, and figured I’d leave it on because I was so horny. Meeting you was just the bonus,” he explains. 

“What else do you do for authenticity?” you tease, gasping when Jensen’s teeth sink into the delicate skin on your neck. “Do you…” you struggle to regain your composure, grinding your core up against his bare thigh, your slick coating his skin. “Do you actually eat pussy?” you finally manage to ask. 

“Unfortunately not. It’s been a while since I got to eat a pussy… don’t mind if I fill up on you, do you, baby girl?” 

“No, Daddy,” you whimper, not even ashamed at how quickly you submit to him. 

“Oh, someone’s been listening to my work… such a good little whore, f’me, aren’t you? Bet you taste fucking delicious.” 

Suddenly, Jensen’s face is gone, and you feel his hands grab the backs of your thighs and push your legs backwards, spreading you open. He doesn’t waste any time dining on your pussy, making sounds far more obscene then the audios could ever capture, and just when you thought this man couldn’t get you off any harder, you’ve finally felt his tongue for real, the stubble on his face rub along your delicate skin, you’ve finally felt exactly what this man can do to you. 

Your fingers comb through the hair on the top of his head, and Jensen only ever pauses to bite and suck on the flesh at the insides of your thighs, before returning to licking and sucking your pussy like a starved man. Your back arches into his touch, and you nearly lose your mind when you see him blindly reach for the dildo you’d given him, turning it on to a low rumble as he presses the tip to your entrance. 

“So fucking tight, baby girl, you like having something inside you when I eat that pussy, don’t you?” he growls, his voice slightly deeper and far more reminiscent of his “Dean” persona. 

You moan loudly, bucking your hips desperately as he begins to fuck you with your vibrator, and you find yourself torn between wanting his mouth back on your pussy, and wanting his cock replacing your toy. Amber’s right, sometimes you just need the real thing. Especially when the real thing is as tempting as Jensen’s. 

“Fuck, Daddy, feels so good, please don’t stop,” you beg, feeling his mouth back on your cunt in an instant, and he laps at your arousal and moans loudly around your clit when he sucks it between his lips. “Holy fuck,” you shout, staring up at the ceiling, not sure you’re even going to survive this. 

Jensen’s rutting against your mattress, but seems to be in no rush to finish eating you out any time soon, and your thighs tremble either side of his head as he coaxes your orgasm to the surface. 

“That’s it baby,” Jensen pauses for a brief second to say. “Cum f’me,” he growls. “Cum on Daddy’s tongue, c’mon, perfect little cunt, tastes so sweet, you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he chuckles, looking up grinning at you like the devil. 

“Yes,” you whine, encouraging his mouth back on your clit as he now fucks your vibrator in and out of you so much better than the machine has ever managed to. 

Jensen doesn’t stop to talk again, he just hums and moans against your skin until you’re cumming hard and fast on the toy, and he’s quickly removing it to lap at your juices that are practically flooding out of you. 

As always when you listen to his work, your first orgasm does little to stave off the arousal he’s elicited from you, but luckily, it seems Jensen’s not done with you, because he licks his lips clean and hums, rising back to his knees between your legs. He begins stroking his cock in his hand, his eyes several shades darker as he looks down at you. 

“So,” he smirks, guiding the tip of his cock towards your soppy entrance, only teasing it with his tip before tapping the heavy length on your sensitive clit, making you squirm. “Which of my audios should we re-enact next?” he asks. 

“Any one that requires that inside me,” you reply, watching Jensen chuckle under his breath. 

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Want your own commission? Find out more here!

[bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades]

Stan and Ford are identical twins, yeah, but that doesn't mean they automatically look the EXACT same--- subtle differences like weight, how tan they are, quality of their teeth, that wild look in their eye, how they fidget and squirm in public from paranoia... those qualities can set twins apart. And yeah, people mistaking Stan as Ford can be easily explained away in the show by Ford simply being so isolated no one really knew what he looked like, but they do know what he looked like, at least a little, and someone who was wildly scruffier might have made people call his identity into question.

So Ford's time with Bill was bad enough to make him as malnourished and shifty as a guy who was near or straight up unhoused for 10-15 years, and Stan's time on the streets was bad enough to make him as paranoid and jumpy as a guy who was being constantly threatened by an interdimensional demon. Both sunken faces with eye bags galore, both pale from hiding inside, both unshaven but faces still nicked and bruised and bleeding.

And you have to think about the brief time they interacted before Ford was pushed into the portal--- Stan wondering how Ford was going to use him just like how Stan had been used while running as a scam artist (and the Ford, indeed, trying to use him), and Ford wondering how Stan was going to hurt him just as Ford had been getting hurt while working with Bill (and then Stan, indeed, hurting him).

And then, after seeing each other so scared and damaged and fighting and losing their one chance to reunite and maybe fix things--- well, they have to sit alone and think on that for 30 years.

[lomltrentarnold]

birthday boy — jude bellingham ₊˚ෆ

‣ warnings : pet names galore, jude is a lil (a lot) clingy, judes half naked btw :)

‣ hana’s notes : this is just small blurb that i was supposed to post on jude’s bday but didn’t 🫣 hope yall like it 🫶

MAIN MASTERLIST

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

Sunlight was bleeding through the curtains. The air was chilly but your body was warm due to the other person accompanying you. With his arms draped around your waist, head tucked in your chest. You combed your fingers through his hair, nails softly scratching his scalp.

You could feel Jude fidgeting from on top of you at the contact. A small noise escaped from his throat, a little horse and laced heavy with sleep. “Morning, love.”

You smiled when you felt his arms tightened around you. Your hands moving to rest behind his neck, fingers trailing mindlessly across his naked back. “Morning, birthday boy.” you mumbled, softly kissing the top of his head.

A small smile made its way on Jude’s face, not enough to be a full one because of how sleepy he still was. You chuckled at his droopy smile, the sight has you feeling lightheaded and lovesick.

“Come on, babe.” you softly muttered, patting his back to wake him up. “We have a lot planned today.”

He whined, nuzzling his face more in your chest. “Don’ wanna move. You’re too comfy.” his long fingers absentmindedly scratching along your sides.

“Baby-“

He whined again.

“Babe-“

“Nooo.”

“Jude.”

He immediately lifted his head up. Eyebrows furrowed, with a pout on his lips. “What?” he almost looked offended.

“We need to get ready, Jude.” you explained, kissing his nose softly.

“No.”

“No?”

He shook his head, “Not when you’re calling me that.” he rolled his eyes, and huffed. He looked like a toddler that was denied candy.

Your eyes softened as you try to hide your growing grin. “What? Your name?”

“I’m not just Jude.”

“That’s literally your name.”

“Not for you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Okay then, baby, babe, sweetheart, angel, cutie pie, apple of my eye, honey bun, blueberry muffin, sugarplum, precious baby boy.” you let out a deep breath, lifting his head with your two hands.

The biggest grin took place onto his face, his eyes round with fondness when he looks up at you. He cutely scrunched his nose. Taking the covers of off you too and stood up. He stretched his limbs, giving you the perfect opportunity to shamelessly ogle at his abs.

“You alright?” Jude cockily smirked, eyes dragging along your figure on the bed. His ego doubling in size when he caught you staring.

You grunted, “Ugh, I hate you.”

“You didn’t say that last night.”

“Jude!”

“Not my name!”

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[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 70

Jaskier is the worst roommate Geralt could ever ask for. He comes home at odd hours of the night, constantly makes noise and chatter, and he brings home random strangers almost every damn night. It'll be three in the morning when Jaskier stumbles in, drunk off his ass, heeled shoes loudly clicking against their floor as he meanders about, squinting and knocking things over. At least he has the decency to mumble "Sorry" every time he breaks something, but is he apologizing to Geralt, or apologizing to the damn mop? He talks to himself, he sings to himself, he sings as a hobby, he sings as a job, he plays his lute/guitar loudly all throughout the day and night, he even talks in his damn sleep. Constant humming, singing, talking, muttering, whispering. Hookups and flings and fuckbuddies galore, both women and men. Not that Geralt cares, it was just something he observed. They'd steal his food, or use up the shower when Geralt was meant to be getting ready for work, or they'd leave and keep the door unlocked. The worst was when Jaskier's bachelor of the night mistook Geralt's bedroom for Jaskier's bedroom and very happily cozied up and went to sleep in Geralt's bed. Naked. Geralt didn't even care if he was high, drunk, or just dumb, he threw him out all the same. When Geralt's girlfriend, Yennefer, breaks up with him, he is comforted by Jaskier of all people. Coming home tipsy and without a shirt, and yet still sitting down next to Geralt and giving him a thoughtful, long, deep pep-talk. Maybe he isn't all bad, after all. Geralt is the worst roommate Jaskier could ever ask for. Don't get Jaskier wrong, Geralt is unbelievably easy on the eyes, but that's pretty much all he has. Geralt always looms silently in the dark, offers brutal remarks at best and grunts at worst, and for some reason always has a little blood on him. It'll be three in the morning when Jaskier stumbles in, drunk off his ass, and Geralt will just walk out of the shadows with an insanely deep "Did you remember to lock the door?", scaring the bleeding daylights out of him! He walks quieter than a damn cat! He should wear a bell like one! Fuck's sakes! Geralt's ~lovely~ comments are always harsh but sadly never truly unprompted. Jaskier will get stuck on a line and ask aloud for help, momentarily forgetting his only recent company has been Geralt, and Geralt will sometimes oblige him with an answer, such as "Can you shut up for five minutes?" "It's too late for this shit." "I hate it." So on and so forth. Jaskier learns to stop asking... Mostly. Jaskier went to shave one time, and found blood in the sink. He looked over at Geralt and asked him if he had cut himself shaving. Geralt said no. Jaskier REASONABLY asked why there had been blood in the sink, and got the answer "Work." WORK?????? "And your job is what?! BLEEDING INTO SINKS!?" and yet Geralt was already walking out the door. But then one night he comes home, to find Geralt waiting for him - Silently, alone in the dark, just sat there. Like always. Weirdo. - demanding his half of the rent. Fuck. Fuck, Jaskier completely forgot- Jaskier starts panicking. He explains how he doesn't have the money, that some of his latest gigs have backed out on him or refused him pay for bullshit reasons and he didn't earn as much as he expected to, and begs to not be kicked out. He's surprised when Geralt calms him down from his spiral, and tells him to take a deep breath and wash away his tears - Shit, when did he start crying? - He comes back and Geralt sits him down and explains he'll cover the entire rent this month, his work had gone extra well recently. He knows what it's like for people to pull out pay or suddenly ignore your deal, and won't hold it against Jaskier, but expects him to be able to pay next time. Jaskier is so overjoyed he hugs Geralt. And Geralt lets him. Maybe he isn't all bad, after all.

[mirensiart]

i heard you wish for knowledge on roolie. and for today i shall forbid my role as a ghost and become a genie. :D

SO. Hyrule's games don't really have too much of a story on their own, my guy is hcs galore here. But what is canon is that after he killed ganon, his blood became cursed, meaning if he dies ganon will be brought back from the dead to reign terror over hyrule, with no hero to stop him.

Now in Zelda 2 (the adventure of link) he successfully defeats all Ganons servants who know the ritual to bring back ganon, saving hyrule and ensuring its safety. but people saw that and went "nah" so in most hcs he can still be used to bring back the ugly blue pig.

this means that monsters and a cult called "The Eyes of Ganon" most often are constantly hunting him down to kill him and use his blood to bring back their master, meaning poor dude is always on the run and has no real area to call home. some people hc that he also stays away from towns for this reason, to not draw monsters there like the selfless hero he is

he also is often in fanfic deathly afraid of bleeding, because it draws monsters to him. in the pain-share au this might also add emotional pain onto physical pain because first he gets a wound bad enough to bleed, and then he's freaking out and panicking on top of that

onto his spells. hyrule in-game has a fire spell, a thunder spell, a life spell, a jump spell and a fairy spell. the jump spell isnt really mentioned because in most stories this guy is already capable of jumping without magic. his fire spell casts fire around him, thunder spell strikes lighting all around (which could be pretty risky for fighting in groups), life spell heals himself or others as we see with twi in the lu comic, and fairy spell turns him into a fairy. (a lot of people hc him to be a fae because of this)

he has a magic bar though, and a limited amount of magic he can use. many people hc that if he gets too low on magic it could be dangerous, but thats not canon in the game.

zelda 1's plot is pretty much just "get triangle, kill pig" and thats it. zelda 2 is that princess zelda has been cursed to fall asleep and cannot be woken up, so to save her sleeping beauty ass hyrule goes and gets the triforce. along the way he finds ganons servants in dungeons, and defeats them so ganon cannot be ressurected. he eventually finds an old man in a dungeon, and has to fight his shadow (which btw is the hardest bossfight ever like wtf) and upon defeating it, proves himself worthy of the triforce and gets it. he then cures zelda of the curse, wakes her up, and they make out. yes the last part was actually in the game.

hyrules placement in the timeline is right after legends in the downfall timeline, so they get to be the downfall duo together. also hyrule is often hc with a huge hero-worship thing going on with legend, and he's afraid to dishonor or disappoint his ancestor.

and thats about all i know at least, i may be wrong and im sure someone will correct me if i am, but i wanted to provide info anyways! im sorry for the huge ask btw ;-;

Wow, ok! First of all, thank u very much for all this, like this has been super helpful!

Like, seriously, tysm for taking ur time to explain everything to me, I really appreciate it 🥹💖

I did know some of these things so I suppose I wasn't that lost on hyrule's lore!

I do enjoy the downfall duo tbh, I did know beforehand that hyrule is the last one in the downfall timeline, since I used to own hyrule historia ages ago (it got lost during one of the many times I changed apartments 😔) I think it's cute for hyrule to have a hero worship on him and for legend to be soft to hyrule too lol

Anyway! This has been super informative, I'll make sure to keep it in mind from now on, thank you!

[reverieblondie]

Costume Party

Pairing: Peter B. Parker X Fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with some Plot, Exhibitionism, Praise, Mask-Kink, Protected Penetrative Sex (wrap it before you tap it), Fingering, Pining.

Summary: At a costume party you run into a guy with a very impressive Spider-Man costume....He seems familiar...

A/N: So, I am not ashamed to admit it! I think Peter B is hot and needs more fics about him. For this story MJ and Peter are divorced. If you enjoyed this Halloween themed Fic, please checkout my Halloween Fic with Miguel here.

Word Count: 6,245 (Not edited very well, sorry)

“I can't believe how crowded this place is, it’s not even Halloween yet?” 

You shout in the crowded bar filled with an array of costume-clad people. It was a week before Halloween and people were already out and about getting the Halloween festivities into full swing. Your friend Bea laughs at your remark.

“Well some people are trying to get the most out of their costumes, it's no fun you only get one night to enjoy it.”

“Like Mallory?” pointing your finger to the dance floor you see your friend Mallory dressed as an amazing Jason Voorhees tearing it up on the dance floor drawing in a crowd. Let's just say Mallory takes Halloween very seriously. 

Taking a moment just to appreciate your friend Bea breaks the silence, “Never thought I would see Jason twerking…” 

“You have to love her enthusiasm” you respond hypnotized by the slight. 

“Well Kitty Cat, I think Jason could use a dancing partner and Barbie is just the right person. Are you going to join us?” Bea dressed as cowgirl Barbie begins to dance over to Mallory as she keeps her eyes on you for your answer. 

“You two go for it, I'm going to walk around, maybe get some fresh air..” 

With that Bea gives you a nod and starts dancing with Mallory, rewarding you with the image of Barbie dancing with Jason Voorhees. Not being much for dancing you start walking around the party and watching the different costume-clad people having fun and interacting. There are Vampires, Werewolves, Nurses, disgraced celebrities, and ghouls galore! Costumes ranged from professional cosplayer level to a dude in a Spider-Man tee shirt and a plastic mask. No judgment though you went the basic route with your costume going as a sexy kitty, a costume that Mallory had loaned you from her vast collection. 

Mallory being the Halloween fanatic had invited you and Bea to this costume party at a popular club and with it being October, of course, it was a costume party. Not minding too much you had Mallory pick out a costume for you and off to the club you went. 

In all honesty, you needed a party to attend, work was starting to stress you out due to your boss being well a dick. Now three hours in the club is in full swing, the crowded floor and booming music all though enjoyable was starting to give you a slight headache. So needing to find a way to soothe your headache you decide to go outside to get some first air. 

Pushing your way through the club you find a backside door. Perfect! Haphazardly swinging it open, you hear a smack followed by a low groan. Quickly stepping out in the cool night air you see a guy in a very impressive Spider-Man costume rubbing his hand over his nose. Shit- 

Feeling guilty you rush over apologizing profusely, “Oh, I am so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Why are you swinging doors open so-” The masked man quickly stops mid-sentence looking at you in what seems to be a surprise, you can only assume due to the mask covering his face, but the white lenses grow wide looking at you so it tipped you off. Clearing his throat he finally looks away before speaking, “I’m fine don’t worry about it”

“Well I feel bad I smacked you pretty hard, is it broken?” You try reaching for the mask to lift it but he quickly holds his hands up moving away and stopping you. 

“I’ve taken worse hits, it’s no big deal really” He lifts his mask and reveals his lips and the tip of his nose. “See, not even bleeding,” he says with a slight smile. 

Woah, diggin the scruff there my guy, plus that cute smile? You couldn’t help yourself from blushing slightly. He lowers his mask again, seeming to be leaving but you interject. “Um Wait, I still feel bad! Maybe I can buy you a drink? To make up for my reckless door opening?” 

He seems to think for a moment, rubbing his hand on his chin. Watching as he eyes you for a moment, you can't see his eyes but you have a feeling he is talking to you all in. Adjusting your skirt you give a sweet smile trying to persuade him. 

“You're not going to hit me again, are you? kitty?”

The playful pet name has you biting your bottom lip quickly. Okay, flirt. Not knowing the way that costume is showing off his arms, the playful teasing, or maybe it's the mask but you're intrigued by him.  

 “Not unless you give me a reason too” you playfully say, opening the door and turning back for him to follow you in.  

“Well I will tread carefully then,” he follows closely behind you. 

Making your way with Spider-Man in tow, you push past all the different ghouls. Finally making your way to the bar you hand him a menu looking through one yourself. “Just try to steer away from the top shelf please.” 

This gets a laugh out of him as he leans against the bar, something about his laugh seemed familiar in a way but you couldn't place it. “I thought you were making up for hitting me with a door?” 

“I am, but you didn't bleed, if you had bled you could have gotten top shelf.” You tease and it causes him to laugh more, you're kinda surprised by yourself flirting with a random stranger but there is something about him that you just can't help it. The bartender finally makes their way over to you two, inquiring about your orders. Spidy orders an Old-fashioned while you order a Sbagliato, you can’t let him drink alone now, could you? 

Receiving your drinks you two sip and start chatting, common small talk, but both of you dance around the obvious question ‘What's your name’. Lost in the conversation you're just drinking the tall man in. Two things circle your mind as he talks; One you're really into the way his lips curl against the glasses rim and two his costume is really impressive now that you look at it closer. 

Spider-Man, New York's favorite hero, has become one of the most popular costumes. They ranged from kids' costumes to adults and even offered a sexy Lady Spider costume that you have seen a few times tonight. But this guy's costume was impressive. Not only did it look high quality, but it was like it was designed just for him to show off his assets. Was he completely jacked? No, but those strong arms and solid chest still had you blushing.

“I like your costume, Spider-Man he's a good one” This catches his attention and he looks towards you before responding. “You don’t think it's a bit…Overdone?” 

You chuckle “Maybe, But I'm dressed as a sexy kitty. I can't exactly judge someone on having an overdone costume.” This causes him to laugh sliding closer to you. “Plus, your costume is really impressive, looks professional quality.” reaching over lightly brush your fingertips across the web pattern.

“Well, I like your costume, I think you pull it off well, the ears are a nice touch” he turns to look at you and you can feel your face blush from the compliment. For a moment you feel his hand slightly graze your lower back, but it's only for a second before he moves away taking a long sip of his drink. Poor thing wants to flirt but doesn't want to seem like a creep. Giving him some reassurance to the flirting you squeeze his forearm feeling his muscle. 

“So, is the mysterious guy thing a technique of yours?”

He looks at you with a crooked smirk “What do you mean?” 

“You know, the whole masked man thing? Flirting with girls but never revealing who you really are, keeping us as strangers.” 

“Are you sure we are strangers?” he quickly interjects. oh? 

“Are we not?” you inquire with a smirk, something about him is familiar but you still can't place it.  

“Well, we have been talking for a while now, I think we have at least turned to acquaintances by now.” ah, that's what he means. “Well, I usually know my acquaintances' faces.” 

He leans in more, his mask still lifted showing off his grin “Well, what's the excitement in that?” 

-----

Now you're not exactly sure how you ended up in a dark booth but here you are still talking to your mystery man, he was right about the excitement, it made the flirting and slight touches just a little bit better.  

“I swear if my boss wasn't riding someone's ass he would die!” throw your head in your hands, somewhere in between small talk and flirting work was mentioned and you took the chance to vent. As you are ranting you feel a finger brush against your cheek then tucking a strain of hair behind your ear. You stop talking and feel all your breath escape you, his soft touch has your heart racing. 

Sliding closer to you he's whispering in your ear “You know kitty cat, it sounds like you need some stress relief…” -oh, word? 

“Is that so? And how are you going to relieve my stress?” I ask arching my back to lean in closer

Leaning in, he plays with a strain of your hair, he's so close to you know you feel his warm breath tickling your ear. The warmth radiating off him just causes you to shudder in excitement. “I figured I could fuck you so good you forget about your job…” 

The bluntness of his comment has your skin tingling with a sudden rush. With a shaky breath you respond, “T-that's big talk For s-someone who hasn’t even kissed me yet…” 

“Well then, let me kiss you,” he gently grabs your chin and brings you closer to his lips. Feeling the heat of your body rising to a fever you lean in with half-lidded eyes lips in a slight pout waiting for him to kiss your flushed face. Even though you can't see his eyes you can see the smile stretching to his lips and the blush starting to creep across what you can see of his face. 

“Please” is all you can whimper before he gently leads his lips to yours, the kiss is slow but intense. It made your body feel like you were on fire only to be cooled by his hands sliding up your thighs to then grip your hips bringing you closer. 

One of his hands plays with the hem of your skirt before slipping under to brush gently against your ruined panties, causing a quick gasp to escape your lips. Taking his opportunity he slips his tongue past your lips allowing him to taste you, while his finger pushes harder against your clothed folds pushing the ruined fabric further against your clit. 

Breaking away from the kiss you whine breathlessly as he continues to brush against your wet cunt. “We’re in public…” 

He just smirks as he slips his finger under your underwear running his long finger over your dripping slit, this causes a sudden moan to rip through you,  “shh, I know, your going to have to be quiet, there are other people around kid..” his honeyed voice teases as he continues to slowly push his finger in to curl into you. 

Shaking your head no you can't help but tighten and squirm as he touches you. Unable to contain yourself by letting out quiet moans as your wetness starts dripping down his fingers. Wanting to push you over the edge he starts rubbing tight circles at your clit with his thumb, which has your head being thrown back with a gasp. 

Ever the opportunist you're figuring out he kisses and licks your neck up to your ear. “Shh, We could go somewhere more private if you want?” 

Breathless trying to keep your cool you can only release a ‘mhmm’ before he's pulling his finger out of your weeping slit. Before you can complain you see him take his coated finger in his mouth, shutting you up. Surviving around he sees an empty-looking bathroom and nods his head towards it. Eyes completely blown, face fulling red you can only nod in agreement. 

Chuckling at your lustful expression he adjusts your cat ears on your head. Downing his drink he takes your hand and leads you out of the booth, he walks behind you and whispers in your ear, “I’m going to take such good care of you, such a good girl, you deserve to be taken care of” his soft phrases have you melting and eager to get him alone. 

 Before you can get to the bathroom, you quickly stop remembering something important, pulling him closer to whisper in his ear. 

“I will meet you over there. I have to get something from my friend really quickly.”

He pulls you for a kiss and bites your bottom lip when he pulls away. “Hurry, I need to make you feel good.” 

Nodding quickly you run off to go find your friend. Looking like a mad woman you're scanning all over the club for your friends till you see a shoulder-shimming Jason and you quickly make your way over. 

“Mallory, I need to get something from you!”  you say desperately as she continues to dance.

“Nuh uh call me by my name please” she teases as he swings her hips around.

“Uhhg, Jason I need a condom” 

Mallory suddenly stops dancing and slowly turns to you. “Excuse me-“

“Just give me the fucking condom!” You say you are fully frustrated, you have a sexy man wanting to ravish you, you don't have time for any teasing, you're hot and horny and need to go!

Mallory looks at you confused before reaching into her wallet and giving you the contraceptive. Before you can rush off she grabs your arm. “Just know you wouldn’t survive a horror movie.” 

Giving a quick ‘Thank you’ you run off to Spider-Man.

———

Rushing back you see him leaning against the wall near the bathroom. As you approach he is quick to grab your hand and lead you in. As soon as you're through the door he's locking it and pressing burning kisses to your lips backing you up to the cold wall. Gasping at the feeling of his hands slowly rubbing all over your curves he makes you wetter. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles as he brings you away from the wall, bending you over on the sink's counter in front of the mirror. Quickly peeling away your shirt he kisses up your spine and massages your breast. You can't help but push your ass into his strained cock feeling him twitch as you rub against him. placing his hand on your jaw he lifts your head to face the mirror. Kissing along your neck, Confused you go to make a snarky remark “What am I ah-”

A moan rips through you as two fingers are slipped through your puffy folds into your slit stretching you open instantly. He can only chuckle and he moves his lips to your shoulder, kissing you as he sinks knuckle-deep into your tight cunt. Moans slip from your lips as the stretch he's causing you, and this is only his fingers.

 After a single moment for you to adjust to his fingers, he curls them into you looking into the mirror watching as your face contours in ecstasy. “Nuh uh, Kitty, keep those eyes open, look at how gorgeous you are….” 

Shooting your eyes open you see his mask eyes on you with his lips cooing sweet words while he pushes faster into you curling slow and deliberate. Mouth hanging open you start to push your hips into his hand more.

“Oh, that feels good huh kid? You work so hard, like a good girl…”

.

All you can do is nod as you approach your high, feeling yourself clench around him approaching your orgasm. 

“Feels so good, I do work hard…” you moan out watching him through the mirror. He smiles and hums pushing you down further spreading your legs out further, now hitting your sweet spot. You can't help how you're moaning, and he just smiles like your moans are music to his ears. 

“A good girl like you, I can tell you do, ride my fingers till you cum, you deserve it….” Being supported by the squelching sound of your wet cunt and his sweet phrase you start rocking yourself back and forth faster and faster, slamming his long fingers into your dripping wet cunt. Chasing your high the orgasm rips from you and you cream all over his digits. It drips down his fingers falling to the floor. 

“Cumming so pretty for me,” he coos and he takes your costume off, you're still coming down from your high so you lazily watch through lidded eyes as he strips your skirt and panties off. Then swiftly peels down his suit and pulls his cock out and it's already pebbling with pre cum. Pumping his cock he watches your aroused clit swell and your spend slit clench around nothing. While rolling on the condom he coos at you. 

“You want to cum again?”

Watching him pump himself you let out a whine of yes arching your back to entice him to put it in. Chuckling he gathers your arousal around his cock teasing you further. 

 “Please! I need it!” 

“Oh? You need it alright, going to make it where you won’t forget about this cock kitty cat. Now look forward, I want those pretty eyes watching me.” 

Sliding into you smoothly his cock stretches you deliciously making you moan as he pushes further, filling you up. Your hands splay out over the sink counter, it's pure bliss that makes your mind clear of all the bullshit you have had to endure till this moment. Forget him fucking you so good you forget your job you're forgetting everything. He slowly starts his positioning into you, you can feel him resisting the urge to slam into you from the tight grip on your hips.  

“Oh your such a good girl for me, taking me so well”

He thrust into you faster into your messily wet cunt, His increased pace making your second high come all too quickly. Looking up you see him biting his lip as your pussy tightens around him, feeling him leaning over you, feeling sloppy kisses and nipping at your shoulders and neck as he rails into you deeper. Feeling his tip kiss your spot that has you seeing stars. 

“Don’t cum yet kitty, I want to feel you clench down on me more” his heavy breathing fans over your ear before he's kissing your earlobe. 

All you can do is whine as he keeps throbbing and pushing you. The shooting pleasure has your knees buckling and your body shaking. Moaning from you and him bouncing off the wall you feel him grab a handful of your hair and bring your eyes to the mirror. 

“Taking me so good, so good… ”  He thrust harder, losing all the remaining restraint he once had. Looking forward in the mirror your face is flushed, hair completely ruined, biting your lip hard. The knot in your stomach feels like it's about to burst. 

“Ah, I need to cum!” 

“Ah, cum on me baby,” 

Feeling your pussy clench tighter on him, his words make your knot snap as his cock throbs within you. Vision blurring your orgasm washes over you dramatically causing you to scream out and you make a mess all over his cock. Helping you ride your orgasm he reaches his fingers to your cunt he plays with it sending you further over the edge. 

Finally, with your cunt fluttering over him, you feel his cock throb and spurt while inside you reaching his high. Panting, he holds himself up on the contour, arms keeping you caged underneath him. It's quiet for a moment before he gently pulls out of you. Rubbing your back he carefully leans you up supporting you as you finally stand straight, your legs feel like jelly. 

As you catch your breath, he seems to have recovered mostly. Helping you get cleaned up, fixing your hair, and handing you your costume. As you get dressed you feel like you should say something to him, ask his name, ask for his number maybe? You want to see him again. 

“So um…” As you start to speak up he sees your nervousness. Quickly getting his costume back on he leans over and presses a kiss to your lips, then to your neck, moving to your ear lightly nipping at it to make you laugh. 

“I will see you next weekend on Halloween, here, okay?”

“Okay” 

With that, he puts his mask down helps you readjust your costume and walks you out of the bathroom. Before he leaves he whispers to you,” I can’t wait to see you again kid.” Kid…He keeps calling you that, it's familiar…

when you turn around to look back at him he’s gone.

——-

Typing away you are trying to get all of the meetings with the chief organized, you also have to organize all his paperwork, take all his calls, Go in and scribe for all his meetings or whatever rants he is making that you want you to write down. Then order him lunch, get his dry cleaning sent and delivered, and make sure he has dinner reservations to whatever place he's craving that night. All this while he is yelling at you to bring him coffee or whatever else he needs from around the newsroom. Working for J. Jonah Jameson was rough, especially as his assistant. 

While you are trying to get your work done you also have Bea in your ear, she was a copy editor at the Daily Bugle, however today she was ignoring her work, and all she could talk about was…

“I can’t believe it! I’m still in shock! You had sex with some random guy at the club!” 

People around your desk look at you two with puzzled expressions. Lowering your head you grimace “Yeah, why don’t you say it a little louder I don’t think the marketing department heard you.” 

Lowering her voice she continues to say “I’m sorry Y/N, I just can’t believe you hooked up with a random stranger at a club, that's pretty spontaneous…and you didn't see his face at all?” 

“Well, not fully I saw his lips and the tip of his nose…” 

“Kinky…so when you see him again are you going to wear a mask too?” rolling your eyes you look at her unamused “Are you done?” She laughs and hugs you as you continue to type. “For now until I think of more jokes or come to ask for more details.” 

During the hug, Jameson calls for you. Bea lets go of you and starts heading back to her department giving you a sad wave as she goes. Quickly rising from your desk grabbing your notepad just in case you hurry to your boss's office to see what he wants. Pacing in his office he is yelling at someone over the phone, a common tone for him. Jameson darts his scowl towards you and snaps at you, you quickly get ready to write something down but he shakes his hand and mouths the word ‘Coffee’ pointing to his empty mug. Ah, of course, go fetch him coffee. 

Backing away from the doorframe you suddenly feel that you are pressed against someone. Quickly turning your head to apologize, your breath catches in your throat. Smiling down at you, you're met with a familiar set of brown eyes that always makes you feel giddy, Peter B Parker. Carefully he places a hand on your waist gently moving you through the doorway. 

“Sorry kid, I have to squeeze past you,” he keeps his smile on you as he slips past. Once inside he takes his seat in front of Jameson's desk waiting for him to finish his call.

 As you're walking out you can't help but look over your shoulder to steal a glance of Peter, but when you do you catch Peter doing the same to you. Shooting you another smile you feel your face warm and quickly go to make your boss's coffee. 

Making your way back to Jameson's office, coffee made just how he likes you see that Peter is showing him his latest photos of Spider-Man. Glancing at the photos you are reminded of how talented Peter is, definitely one of the best freelance photographers that works for the paper. 

Honestly looking at some of the pictures you have to question how he was getting such incredible shots, he would never reveal his secret though. Peter had been gone for a couple of months, a nasty divorce apparently which made you rather sad. Peter was one of the nicest guys at the paper, he always talked and joked with you, treating you like an actual person, not everyone is always so nice. 

Now he was back you were excited that the Bugle would have some quality pictures and you got to see more of Peter again. Being honest with yourself you have a bit of a thing for him. Kind, super smart, incredibly funny plus not bad to look at either, how could you not end up with a crush? Though when you two first met he was married so that meant off limits, then the divorce happened and he did not take it well. Now that he's finally back he seems okay, you notice that he talks to you more and you two share more stolen glances but that could just be wishful thinking on your part. 

“Y/N!” Suddenly snapped from your thoughts you see your boss and Peter staring at you. 

“Yes sir?”

 Jameson rolls his eyes “I said quit your daydreaming and hand me my coffee!” Nodding you quickly hand him his coffee and decide that it’s time you took a break. 

--------

Plopping down in the breakroom you lazily look down at your coffee sighing. If only your masked stranger was here to relieve your stress again. Mind wandering back to that night you feel your face heat from what he said to you, how he touched you, his lips…lips…reminiscing back you think of that smile and the conversations, he seemed familiar? Especially that smile…and what did he mean when he said we might not be strangers? 

Face contorted in thought you fail to notice that Peter has walked into the breakroom. Reaching the top shelf Peter pulls down a mug and pours himself some coffee looking over at you he must see you lost in thought, “Penny for your thoughts?”

His voice startles you for a moment breaking your trance, Peter looks at you expectantly waiting for you to speak, You couldn’t repress the words flying from your mouth as you stared at Peter, “Would you fuck a stranger?”

“Uh, I mean I think I could manage it for sure. But I would hardly call us strangers?” He says with a smirk. Huh? -Deja vu

You roll your eyes you brush off the words with a laugh “It’s not a proposition it was just a question” 

“That’s a pretty specific question?” 

“Well, this weekend I was at a party and I met this guy…and he was so funny and charming that we, you know…” 

“Had sex” Peter says frankly finishing your sentence for you. 

“Yeah had sex” 

“Well sounds like your not strangers” 

“That’s the thing though, he kept his mask on…” 

Peter gives a long whistle “y/n? You are a freaky little thing aren't you?” 

Something about how he says that makes your body rush with excitement, it feels…familiar…shaking the feeling away you continue. 

“Do you think that's weird though? Like I didn’t see his full face at all.” 

Peter smirks to himself as he pours sugar and cream into his coffee. As he sits down he stirs his coffee listening to you ramble, “Well, I think it's up to you. Did you like it?” 

“I mean yeah, but it's still weird…but like a good weird, you know? It's exciting.” As you look up you see him listening intently to you, his eyes bright and smile soft, it makes your heart skip for a moment. 

“I probably shouldn’t be talking to you about this, I'm sorry..”

“Doesn't bother me, I'm the one who asked '' He playfully nudges your arm and you can't help but giggle. “Are you going to see him again?” 

“Yeah, same place Halloween night…kinda nervous about it” 

“Why, I mean you two already had sex at the club?” 

“Yeah, wait…how did you know we had sex at the club?” you look towards him with furrowed brows. Peter looks surprised for a moment but quickly responds “I heard your friend talking about it.” -of course he did…

Sighing you put your head in your hands. Peter pats your back “It’s not that bad I don't think everyone knows…yet..”

With a pout you place your chin in your hand leaning on the table, “It's not that, it's the mystery guy.” 

“What, you don't want to see him again?” 

“I do, just…what if he doesn't want to see me again?” 

Looking down at your coffee you're kinda in shock that you're confessing all this to your office crush, who does that? But suddenly you feel a familiar gesture, a finger sliding across your cheek tucking a strain of hair behind your ear. Looking over to Peter you see that same smile, it's just like...You feel your face heat up. Peter's face looks equally flustered, quickly he moves his hand and grabs his coffee. Standing quickly he mutters how he has to go, before he's out the door he turns around, “he would be crazy not to want to see you again y/n” 

With that, he leaves you a blushing mess. 

--------

“I’ve seen several Spider-man, are you sure none of them are your guy?” Bea says, taking a sip of your drink and adjusting her large hat for her ‘sexy witch’ costume. 

“No, his costume is high quality like a professional,” you say with a slight lisp, feeling irritated that the fangs for your ‘sexy vampire’ costume are making you talk weirdly. You go to take them out but Mallory quickly stops you.

“Hey don’t take them out, it breaks the illusion!” you sigh and stare disheartened at your friend Mallory in her idea of a sexy costume ‘sexy Mothman’. 

Bea had begged us all to dress sexy this go round and you and Mallory begrudgingly agreed so Mallory helped you get your vampire costume and even decorated you up with some blood, while she did her twist to a sexy mothman. 

“Maybe he's not here? Running late?” Mallory questions

“The party is in full swing, maybe he's in the bathroom waiting for you,” Bea nudges playfully. 

Sudden realization hits you and you quickly chug your drink down. Bea and Mallory look at each other and then back to you once you're done. Finishing the drink you slam the glass on the contour, “I think I know where he is” 

At a hurried pace, you make your way from the bar in the back of the club to the back door where it all started. Nerves swirled around in your gut, you hoped he was here, you wanted to see him, feel him, talk to him. You didn't want this to be another one-night thing, you wanted to know who he was and you had an idea or well maybe it was just wishful thinking. Having a week to agonize about who he was you had a pricking thought of who you imagined him to be. 

Making it to the door that started it all, you take a deep breath, take out the fake fangs, and open the door carefully this time making sure it doesn't fly open to hit any unsuspecting Spider-Men. Making your way out the door you don't see anyone and it causes your heart to sink. He's not coming.  

Suddenly you feel a hand on your hip, while the other brushes your hair back to expose your neck. You are scared at first till you hear that same honeyed voice “Glad you learned to open doors carefully kitty.” 

Surrendering to his touch you let his lips caress your neck, “I'm not a cat anymore, I'm a vampire.” turning you see that half up spiderman mask with that same sly smirk, you wrap your arms around his neck “I see you're still Spider-Man” 

He laughs and backs you deeper into the alley pressing you against the wall “Well, I wanted you to be about to recognize me” 

His lips quickly find yours kissing you passionately. Feeling his hands on your ass he swiftly lifts you making, you instantly wrap your legs around him. Looking around you're a little surprised “Really? In the alley? You're kinda the expansionist huh?”

He quickly catches your lips in another searing kiss then you feel his hand eagerly pawing underneath your dress, and then he stops suddenly. “Oh, you're a dirty girl. No panties tonight?”  

“I figured they would get in the way,” you say with a playful shrug.

He quickly lifts your dress more and starts to finger your already wet cunt. Moaning and squeezing your legs tighter around him you give into the familiar stretch. 

“Already so wet for me, pretty girl you're just perfect for me.” 

Kissing on your neck he's already rutting into you, it seems like he's as eager as you are. Your soaked cunt was getting his suit's crouch wet as he continued to rub into you, maybe it was him or the fact that you two could easily get caught by a wandering pedestrian, but you were burning with need. 

“Please...I need you…” you beg breathlessly

He kisses your lips quickly putting his suit pants down. Looking at him confused he just smiles, “What? I made adjustments for easy access, just for you kid.” 

Finally freeing his cock he has you hold on tightly to him as he swiftly rolls a condom on. Safe sex is hot sex, right? While sucking and kissing your neck to your collarbones he rubs his cock in between your folds making sure you're wet and shaking with need. 

“Come on spidy, I need you…”

With the last bit of begging leaving your trembling lips, he pushes in between your folds into your soaked heat with a loud groan. Thrusting in and out of you you can't help but moan and clench down on his length.  

“Ah, y/n…you feel so good…” 

As soon as your name slips from his lips he stops his thrusting and stills. Looking down with wide eyes your mouth is agape, “did…Did you just say my name?” 

Hesitating for a moment he tries to find the words but suddenly he's met with your lips crashing down to his eagerly devouring him. With the passionate kiss, he fucks into you faster than before breaking the kiss and grabbing your ass hard to thrust into you harder. Getting all your breath thrust out, you can hardly speak as you approach your high.  

“So you know, ah, my name?” 

He nods breathlessly continuing his rutting, cock throbbing. “Yeah, your costume, doesn’t hide your identity, Fuck!” 

Throwing your head back from the feeling of how deep he is, your moaning and confessing your own secrets as he fucks your roughly. Your Orgasm is about to rip through you, stars blur your vision. 

“I know who, ah…who you are” 

Kissing along your neck he faces you and whispers to your lips, “Yeah? Say my name then..” 

Feeling the knot in your stomach about to snap it's now or never. Holding onto him tightly he's pushing his tip right into your sweet spot, bringing your moaning lips to his ear and whispering the name you're hoping to be him. 

“Peter, Peter B Parker '' While you say his name you grab the rest of his mask and reveal the rest of his face, you are met with those heart-melting brown eyes. And that sexy smirk. There he was in all his glory, your mystery man- Peter B 

“Well you're quite the little detective, you should get a reward kid…”  You smirk and give him a kiss rocking your hips into him as he thrust harder. Breaking the kiss you moan, “Just make me cum Peter!”

“Anything you want, pretty girl,” Rutting deeper and grunting heavily in your ear, your knot is snapped and you're creaming all over Peter's cock. Fucking you through your high he finally cums from your tight cunt clenching around him trying to milk him dry. 

Carefully he stands back up both of you staring and panting at each other. Peter quickly pulls your dress back down, then tucks his length away. His hands cup your face and he litters your face and neck with kisses, seems happy you figured his secret out. 

“Have any more secrets for me, Peter?” You say smugly holding up his mask. 

Peter smiles at you and takes the mask from you. Grabbing a hold of your hips once more he pulls you close to press against his chest. “I could tell you, or I could show you?” 

-This should be good…

[kuethemoon]

iwtv fanfic friday: lesbianism onto the guys

@oldbutchdaniel I'm joining the fun. it's yuri time

two-headed mother by tisiphones // e, 8.6k

"Poor darling," Armand says, and the condescension in his voice is so awful and so offensive and Lestat wants to curl up in it and never, ever leave. "It's okay to let yourself be taken care of for just one night. You can't help what you need." It's Lestat's last night in Paris. Armand makes it a memorable one.

actually world changing. mommy issues galore it's sooo fun and this fic is part of several that got me into armandstat

super graphic ultra modern girl by armanddelioncourt // e, 0.9k

“I want to watch how you insert your tampon.” “Wha—No, you weirdo,” she glanced around the mercifully-deserted aisle. “You can’t just ask me that in the store!”

yummmmmy period blood fic!!! i love period blood fics sooo much and they're so cute

More than Neither by apoptoses // e, 6.2k

Annoying, how hot it is to see Armand kneeling on the dirty bathroom floor like this. Without her heels to compensate for their height difference she looks small, delicate. Her face is on the level with Daniel’s hips and Daniel knows what’s about to happen. Armand has probably been planning for this since they stepped into the store, she realizes. There’s no way she’d catch Daniel bleeding for the first time and let that go. (Daniel gets her period. Armand helps. Written for the Queens of the Damned prompt butch/femme.)

another period blood fic pls bartender! if I tip you can add them being freaky in a public toilet? thank you very much I'll take the lot pls!! the way daniel and armand handle being women and lesbians is so well written. dyke stamp of approval. if you're starting to notice a trend don't tell me

she loves me, she loves me not by IguessIllchangeitlater // e, 2.3k

“Sure,” she panted and raised her head, tried to find Armand’s eyes, but kept focusing on her fanged smile instead. “I will wear that fucking skirt.” Push out, push in, push out, push in, Daniela was going to come just from that, she was going to die. “I can’t-ah, I can’t wear my underwear with that, I would look silly.” Push in, push out. “Yes,” Armand agreed. She rested her head on the mattress, next to Daniela’s knee and busied herself with mouthing the blood that was still there. The blood that she drew earlier. “So, what’s the plan, boss?” Daniela managed to raise herself on her elbows. Armand’s beguiled eyes looked like that of a cat in the light of the night. “For the underwear situation?” “You will wear none, of course.”

butch daniel wearing a skirt because armand said so was an idea that bounced around in my head for a whole week so you know how excited I was to read this. hell yeah they're so bad to each other

sweet things for the sea by ulatraviolet_glow // e, 2.6k

Danielle Molloy, a runaway posing as a young man on a trading ship dreams of a better life, but when her dreams find her falling overboard and into the arms of the woman of her dreams, how disturbed will Dani be when she realises that the woman is not human at all, but a creature of the sea?

siren armand do you know how much you mean to meeeeee I lay awake at night thinking of you sinfully. siren armand...

one of your girls by sleepdeprivedsurgeon // m, 4.7k

“I was thinking maybe I’d go with my girlfriend,” Daniel says. Armand sucks in a breath, a familiar blend of excitement and fever rearing its head inside him. This isn’t new— nothing is, after nearly five centuries— but it’s certainly been a while. Louis doesn’t care what he looks like, what he is, just as long as he stays below him. On his knees in the endless confessional. Marius would dress him up sometimes: Helen of Troy, Cassandra, Mary Magdalene. When the painting was finished he’d push his skirts up and take him there in the studio.

technically not yuri but beautiful feminization + crossdressing armand and I had to put it here. special treat!