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witchywithwhiskey · 5 months ago

Text

to save me from tears

pairing: DARK!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you thought you were going on a weekend getaway to the cabin of the guy were seeing, but it turned out bucky barnes had no intention of ever letting you leave. now, one year later, it's the anniversary of an important milestone in your relationship, and he knows just how to celebrate the special occasion.

warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), dark themes and elements, non-con/rape, abduction, drugging, imprisonment/captivity, sexual exploitation of reader, forced camgirl work, live-streaming sex, smut, rough sex, painful sex, unprotected sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, oral cockwarming with a dildo gag, squirting, sex toys, bondage/shibari, sadism/forced masochism, ass spanking, degradation, objectification, dacryphilia, choking, breathplay, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (doll, winter slut), mind break, reluctant stockholm syndrome, reader passes out during sex, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, if i missed something please let me know!

word count: 5.6k

a/n: here's my second entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: Has it been a year already? my last fic was so sweet that apparently i had to balance things out with the absolute darkest, filthiest fic i've ever written. i guess i was feeling some type of way, idk!! anyway, i hope y'all enjoy ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” played softly from a speaker in the corner, the chords lilting serenely through the cold basement, the choral harmonizing of the background singers becoming a soundtrack to the depravity you were forced to endure.

It occurred to you that you might wonder how you’d ended up where you had, but you knew exactly how—you’d trusted the wrong man.

Bucky Barnes had been charming from the moment you met. The former army sergeant had wooed you with ice skating dates and trips to the book store, regaling you with stories from his childhood growing up in Brooklyn over cups of hot chocolate and herbal tea.

He’d seemed perfectly normal, like the kind of man you’d want to settle down with, and you found yourself wanting to start a new life with him. It hadn’t been long, but you thought he was the one, and you began planning what that new life would look like in your own imagination.

Apparently Bucky had been determined to give you a new life as well, but he hadn’t given you a choice about what that life would look like. While you’d been picturing a cozy apartment in the city before buying a house and moving out to the suburbs, he’d been planning something much different.

It had all started that weekend in December, when Bucky had invited you for a weekend away at his cabin upstate. You’d been seeing him long enough that you trusted him, and you were excited, hopeful, even, that your relationship would deepen on the trip.

You were so happy about spending a whole weekend alone with Bucky that you didn’t think anything of the darkness in his voice when he’d warned you to never, under any circumstances, go into the basement of the cabin.

Then, after a weekend filled with delicate kisses and gentle lovemaking, you’d been packing to return to the city when a soft cloth had covered your mouth and nose and you’d smelled something sweet. You hadn’t known it at the time, but that was the end of your old life, and you didn’t even have the time or the strength to fight.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you’d woken up in the cold basement that would become your only home in the months to come. A thick leather collar had been wrapped around your neck, connecting to a chain that was attached to the heavy wooden frame of the bed you lay on. To your horror, you’d realized you were clad in lingerie that wasn’t yours, some cheap set that still managed to fit you perfectly.

Bucky had been waiting for you to notice him at the foot of the bed, standing next to a camera aimed directly at you.

“Welcome to your new life, doll,” he’d said, a depraved smirk spreading across his handsome face—and expression you’d never seen before. “Time to earn your keep.” His blue eyes had been glittering with dark excitement as he’d clicked a button on the laptop linked to the camera and crawled onto the bed with you.

That had been the first moment you’d seen the real Bucky Barnes, and he’d spent every day since then showing you exactly how vile and perverted he truly was. He’d kept you in the basement of his cabin and forced you to fuck him on camera, using the money he made from it to buy you more cheap lingerie and all manner of toys to use on your body.

The sharp, cracking sound of a palm meeting soft flesh filled your ears, the subsequent stinging sensation reverberating from your ass through the rest of your body effectively dragging you back into the moment of your latest debasement.

The pain of Bucky spanking you with the full force of his strength only joined the other aches already living in your body—but you knew better than to complain or cry or whimper. You’d made that mistake early on, but Bucky had only seemed to soak in your pain like it fueled him.

The first time he’d spanked you, you’d begged him to stop. Instead, though, he only hit you harder, grinning ear to ear while he’d told you that you had no idea what you were in for yet, fake pity dripping from his tone.

But in the present moment, your pain wasn’t only coming from Bucky’s palm.

Your shoulders ached from the way your arms had been tied behind your back, your hands gripping your forearms and constrained by intricate knots of cords wrapped around your body. To further restrain you, your calves were tied to your thighs, leaving you bound and unable to move with your ass high in the air while your face was shoved into the bed.

In honor of the holiday season, Bucky had traded in the coarse rope he typically used for a long string of multicolored Christmas lights, one end plugged into the wall so your skin was washed in shades of blue, red, green and yellow.

The string of lights was much more uncomfortable than the rope, even though that had burned. The wire holding the lights together was so thin, and the small bulbs dug painfully into your skin. If you didn’t know your discomfort was exactly what Bucky wanted, you might’ve let him see how unhappy you were with your current predicament.

Instead, you hid your face in the blankets of the bed, trying to focus on anything except Bucky’s big cock fucking into your cunt at a bruising pace.

Unfortunately, it was impossible to ignore him, his hard length plowing into your body. Not even the cheery lights wound around your body or the Christmas music playing out of the bluetooth speaker in the corner could distract you from the feel of his cock inside you.

Another jarring smack resounded in the cold basement a brief second before the sting of Bucky’s spank quaked through your body. The strike was hard enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out. You didn’t want to give him that, even if it would’ve been muffled by the blankets under your face.

“How many times do I gotta tell ya, doll,” Bucky huffed, his voice patronizing and impatient, like he was talking to a misbehaving child. “Look at the camera when I’m fucking you.” He spanked you again, so hard you felt your entire body tremble under the weight of it, then he grabbed and groped your ass cruelly enough to leave marks. “Our audience wants to see your face—don’t ya, fellas?”

That last part was directed at the camera. You turned your head, tipping your face toward the lens just in time to catch the reflection of the rakish grin Bucky shot to whoever was watching.

The chat box on the screen of the laptop set up just out of frame lit up, the audience for your daily stream with Bucky telling the both of you just how much they wanted to see your face while you were fucked by his fat cock.

Your eyes caught a few of the filthy, degrading messages before looking away. You refused to believe the way your cunt clenched was in response to what you’d read. You absolutely were not getting turned on by the depraved life your captor forced you to live.

Bucky’s large body curled over your back, his hand wrapping around your throat and lifting your head from the bed so the camera could better see your face. The position shoved his cock even deeper into your cunt, ramming painfully against your cervix and, against your will, your face contorted at the twinge deep in your body.

The chat lit up, chimes dinging fast and furious as the messages came in, and Bucky reached for the laptop so he could read what your viewers had written.

All the while, his hips kept grinding idly against your ass so his cock rubbed even harder into your cervix, making you let out a little whimper of anguish. His fingers tightened around the sides of your neck, enough to cut off your ability to breathe, and your whimper turned into a desperate, scared little keen.

You felt Bucky grin against your cheek, and you could’ve kicked yourself for giving him exactly what he’d wanted—a reaction. But at least his grip loosened, though you knew it was only because he didn’t want you to pass out too soon.

“The chat says you look like such a pretty little toy when I fuck you all tied up like this, doll,” Bucky cooed in your ear, grinding harder into your cunt.

You sunk your teeth deep into your lower lip as your whole body trembled under the assault of Bucky’s thick cock. Despite yourself, you felt your cunt clench hard around his stiff length, wetness frothing and gushing from your hole as he made a mockery of your protests.

Before you’d met Bucky, you would’ve sworn you didn’t like pain. You’d have said you hated it, in fact.

But after so many days and months of being speared open by his fat cock, all three of your holes ravaged by his hard, unrelenting manhood in his need to dominate you, to conquer your body in every way possible, you couldn’t help your pussy’s response to it.

You told yourself it was some kind of defense mechanism, that your body had begun to react to pain the same way it did pleasure. It was the only explanation you could bear to endure. Because if you admitted you’d begun to like the way Bucky fucked you and abused you…

“Ohhh, listen to this one,” Bucky crooned excitedly, drawing you out of your thoughts and giving you a distraction from the way he was working your body toward its undoing. “‘Happy anniversary to the Winter Soldier and his Winter Slut!’”

The names were, of course, fake ones that Bucky had chosen to give the audience of your streams something to call you both. His was based on his past as a sergent, combined with the season when he’d taken you captive, while yours showed his ownership over you.

You hated it. You didn’t want anyone thinking Bucky owned you.

But Bucky either didn’t notice or ignored the way you grimaced when he read the fake names aloud. He turned his eyes, filled with cheerful wickedness, toward the camera.

“Has it been a year already?”

The question was full of charm, and you could almost imagine it coming from the Bucky you’d originally met. The one who might’ve celebrated your one-year anniversary with a recreation of your first date, ending with a heartfelt proposal that the two of you move in together.

Instead, the question hadn’t even been asked to you, but to the camera—to the audience of loyal, degenerate perverts who watched your streams.

The quick, successive chimes from the laptop drew Bucky’s attention back to it, and he hummed in acknowledgement as he read through the messages.

His fingers squeezed around your throat, making you choke harder for the camera, adding to the small sounds of anguish that were slipping from your lips while he kept up his merciless grinding, his cock bruising your cervix.

A new sound, one like a cash register, joined the dinging chimes of the chat message and your heart sank.

That was the sound of people in the chat sending extra tips on top of the subscription fees they paid to get access to your streaming channel. It meant they were making requests for Bucky to do something new—and that never resulted in anything good for you.

Before you could glance at the laptop to try to get an idea of what was coming, Bucky sat back on his haunches, hauling you up with his hand around your throat. Between gravity and the change in position, it felt like Bucky’s cock pushed even deeper into your cunt, pressing against your cervix so hard it stole the breath from your lungs.

“It’s the one year anniversary of your very first stream, doll,” Bucky announced gleefully in your ear, using his free hand to slap at your tits. They were bound between two strings of the Christmas lights wrapped around your body, your soft tits highlighted by the shining, multicolored hues. “Do you have anything to say to our audience, my little Winter Slut?”

It was clear Bucky wanted you to thank them for their loyal viewership, but resentment held your tongue. Memories assaulted you of the very first stream you’d been forced to do.

Bucky had pinned you down on that very same bed, using nothing but his strong hands and large body to pin you to the mattress while he tore your cheap lingerie off your body. Then he’d ravaged you, slapping and groping your tits before biting them so hard you’d started crying.

It had been the only foreplay he’d offered you before he’d shoved his cock deep in your cunt. He was so big and your body was so unprepared that you’d screamed, which only made Bucky laugh. He’d told you, mockingly, that there wasn’t anyone around to hear you scream—only the audience on the dark web where he was streaming your defilement for who knew how many people who were just as vile as Bucky.

Bucky’s fingers digging deep into the sides of your neck brought you back to the present moment, small gasps falling from your lips as he cut off your air again. Your pulse pounded in your head, but you still managed to notice that Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” had given way to another Christmas song, the festive music so at odds with the dread and fear pooling in your belly.

“I guess my Winter Slut is feeling ungrateful today, chat,” Bucky said on a laugh.

His tone was mocking in a way that sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you refused to believe it might be anticipation. Your body quaked when his soft mouth brushed against your cheek, the gesture almost like a kiss as he turned his head so he could murmur in your ear.

“Our audience wants to see something special for our anniversary, doll,” he cooed. “They want to see me break you.”

Unease and something else flooded your veins, the conflicting emotions warring for dominance as you struggled to make sense of the way your cunt had clenched around Bucky’s cock when he’d said he was going to break you. You pressed your mouth into a grim line, still determined not to show your reaction to Bucky or the camera, especially when you didn’t understand what was happening to you.

In the year that you’d spent as Bucky’s personal cam star, you’d endured a lot—and if anyone had asked you, you’d have said you hadn’t enjoyed any of it. But over time, that had begun to change. You’d been fighting it, fighting your body’s responses to Bucky and every depraved thing he did to you. It was becoming so hard, and you were growing so tired of fighting, of pretending…

“I have just the thing—but first, let’s fill this slut’s mouth,” Bucky was telling the camera, and you forced yourself to focus back on the moment to prepare yourself.

Bucky shifted to the side, grabbing something from the basket of sex toys he kept next to the bed during streams. When you saw what he pulled out, you bit your lip against a helpless whimper.

He’d pulled out a penis gag, but it wasn’t just any normal penis gag—it was one he’d specially ordered for you. Instead of having a two or three inch dick attached to the strip of leather that would tie around your head, there was a full-sized dildo replica of Bucky’s cock. His big, thick cock.

You tried to keep your mouth closed when Bucky pressed the tip of the silicone cock to your lips, but he only tutted at you with a patronizing click of his tongue. Shifting his fingers from your throat to your cheeks, he dug them in until it hurt. Your jaw gave way.

“That’s a good little cock slut, open for your Winter Soldier,” he cooed patronizingly, shoving the fake dick into your mouth without preparation or remorse.

You gagged as the stiff dildo invaded your throat, tears beginning to flow from your eyes and spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth. Your arms yanked against the Christmas lights holding you bound, but that only forced them to dig deeper into your skin, making your struggle hurt that much more.

While you were distracted by trying to adjust to the silicone cock shoved deep inside you, Bucky secured the leather strap around the back of your head, tying it into place and making it impossible for you to do anything but hold the dildo in your mouth and breathe through the way it bulged in your throat.

Then Bucky was dumping you unceremoniously on the mattress and pulling his cock from your cunt, leaving you to fall face first into the blankets while he hopped up off the bed. You were thankful you could muffle your whimper at the loss of him in the sheets, even as you knew that whatever he had planned would be so much worse than him just fucking you while tied up and gagged.

“I was going to save this one for Christmas,” he was saying from behind a privacy screen beside the bed. It was set up to make sure the camera would only show viewers what Bucky wanted them to see—which was you, and everything he did to you. “But since it’s a special occasion, I’ll let you have your present early.”

When Bucky stepped back into view, your heart nearly stopped.

A leather harness was strapped onto Bucky’s hips, a dildo attached so it hung below his cock. The contraption, which had clearly been specially ordered because you’d never seen anything like it, wasn’t what shocked you, though—it was the size of the dildo.

The fake dick was easily twice the size of Bucky’s cock, bigger around and just as long. Staring at it with wide eyes, you genuinely didn’t think it would fit in any of your holes, no matter how roughly Bucky tried to stuff it in. But your cunt was between your thighs like it couldn’t wait for him to try.

Despite your dedication not to give Bucky or the audience any kind of reaction, you couldn’t help the, “No, no, no, no, no,” that came from your mouth. You couldn’t fathom the massive dildo fitting inside you, let alone you enjoying it, no matter how much your body warmed at the prospect of being fucked with it.

Your protests were muffled by the gag in your mouth, to the point that your words were indiscernible, but their meaning must’ve been understood because Bucky chuckled as he walked back to you.

“I know what you’re thinking, doll,” Bucky said conversationally while he climbed onto the bed and retook his place behind you. “There’s no way it’ll fit.”

He grabbed the knotted string of Christmas lights where they crisscrossed between your shoulder blades, pulling your torso up off the bed so your face was level with the camera. You tried not to look at your reflection in the lens, your mouth split open around the dildo in your mouth and your eyes round as saucers, but it was hard not to stare at the look in your eye—the look of something like fear… or excitement.

“But that’s what’s so fun about it,” Bucky went on, dragging the hard length of the silicone dick through your dripping wet folds, coating the fake cock in the mess of wetness your body was leaking against your will. “It will fit—and it’s going to ruin your cunt.”

Once upon a time, you’d thought the same thing about Bucky’s cock.

The first time you’d had sex with Bucky—before the cabin and the basement and the camera—you’d taken one look at his cock and whimpered in fear. But he’d been so gentle, promising you that he’d take it slow, that your pussy was made to fit his cock.

He’d taken his time, kissing your lips and cheeks and all over your face while he worked his cock into your pussy, giving you another inch only when you’d adjusted to the last and relaxed in his arms. Slowly, and with what seemed like an endless amount of patience, he’d opened you up for him.

That night, he’d made love to you in deep, toe-curling strokes that had wrecked you. He’d seemingly rearranged your body to be the perfect fit for his cock, and then he’d given you the best orgasm of your life.

No wonder you hadn’t stood a chance.

More than a year later, the memory felt like a dream. It was so faded around the edges, aged by the months spent taking Bucky’s cock roughly, furiously, whenever and wherever he wanted, all while he streamed your debasement for the audience on the dark web.

“You’re going to be so loose that you won’t even feel my cock anymore, doll,” Bucky was saying as he dragged you back to the moment by thrusting his own hard length into your cunt, soaking himself in your juices. “You’ll have to beg me to fuck you with this massive dildo just to feel anything again.” He paused, chuckling to himself as he bent over you, pressing a kiss to your spine between your shoulder blades before murmuring darkly, “That’s your Christmas present this year.”

Then, without anymore preamble, Bucky sat up and pulled out. You didn’t even have time to beg or whine before he lined his cock and the dildo up at the entrances to your tight holes, then shoved both into you at the same time. Bucky buried himself inside you so deeply, so thoroughly, that it felt like he was pushing into the very core of your being, conquering your soul just as completely as he’d conquered your body.

The intrusion was so sudden, you never had a hope of preparing, and all you felt was the devastating sting of being stretched past your limit, the overwhelming ache of being stuffed full beyond what you thought your body could ever take.

Pain eclipsed any semblance of pleasure you might’ve gotten from having both your holes stuffed full, and your eyes rolled back in your head, a piercing cry tearing from your throat. A white hot burn scorched through your body, and your mind went entirely blank, leaving nothing but depraved annihilation in its wake.

“Oh fuck, fellas, she’s so fucking tight like this,” Bucky groaned, talking over your head into the camera. “I can feel the fake cock splitting her open—it’s making her ass so fucking tight.”

Humiliation and shame swept through your body at his words, turning the burn into something slightly more bearable, almost pleasurable. There was something about being ignored, being treated like nothing more than a fleshlight or a fuck doll while Bucky completely decimated your body that was so…

You shook your head. No. You weren’t going to finish that thought.

“Fuck, I don’t know how long ‘m gonna last,” Bucky was grumbling, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or your audience.

The words should’ve sounded like music to your ears. You should’ve been happy the torture was almost over. Instead, you felt a pang of disappointment deep in your heart. But you didn’t have time to unpack what that could mean because then Bucky started fucking you.

His hips pulled back until only the tip of his cock and the dildo were still in your ass and pussy, then he plowed forward, shunting his entire length and the fat, massive fake cock into your holes once again. The pain of being split open was already starting to fade, an all-consuming pleasure creeping into the edges of your awareness against your will.

On Bucky’s third thrust, you moaned.

Your mind was hazy with a mixture of pain and pleasure that was leaning more toward the latter, and with the cock gag in your mouth, you were helpless against the reactions Bucky was wringing from your body. The sound of pleasure slipped from your lips unbidden, and your face heated in shame, which only served to add more fuel to the fire burning through your body.

“Did ya hear that, chat?” Bucky crowed, slapping your ass painfully hard—hard enough that another muffled cry was wrenched from your mouth. “Our little Winter Slut is enjoying her Christmas present! She loves getting her cunt ruined, don’t ya, doll?”

He slammed deep into your body as he asked the question and you were powerless, incapable of doing anything but moaning obscenely for the camera, tears streaming down your cheeks and joining the spit that coated the lower half of your face. Long strings of drool and tears were hanging from your chin, dripping onto the bedsheets below.

Distantly, you heard the chimes from the chat log and the cash register sounds as messages and money poured in. They were coming so fast and so furious that you couldn’t even begin to fathom how much money you were making for Bucky while he broke you with his cocks.

Bucky must’ve heard the sounds too, because he doubled his efforts. He picked up the pace of his thrusts, fucking you hard and fast, spanking your ass mercilessly while his other hand still held you up off the bed by your Christmas light restraints. It meant that your face was framed perfectly in the camera frame.

It occurred to you that you should let your gaze drift off, let your mind retreat somewhere deep inside itself where you could hide from Bucky and what he was doing to your body. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the camera’s display panel.

There, you could see the scene Bucky had constructed—your body tied up in glittering, technicolor Christmas lights; your face covered in tears and drool, lips spread thin around the base of the cock gag; your throat bulging from the fake dick buried deep in your mouth; your tits bouncing between the strands of lights.

Behind you, with a look of deeply depraved joy on his face, was Bucky Barnes.

He was naked save for the harness belted around his hips and the santa hat on his head. His big body was on display just as much as yours, his broad chest swathed in pale skin and chiseled muscles, his arms bulging as he held you up and spanked your ass.

Bucky’s dark hair was falling into his handsome face, but the strands didn’t hide the merry grin on his lips or the way his blue eyes glittered with wicked delight as he stared down at the place where his cock and the massive dildo were brutally fucking your holes.

It was too much to watch your defilement. It was too depraved and too…hot.

God help you, but something must’ve finally broken inside you because it was so fucking hot to watch yourself be violated on camera while jaunty Christmas music played in the background and hundreds, if not thousands, of perverts watched Bucky have his way with you.

Your pussy spasmed and clenched around the fake cock in your hole as you thought about those people watching you. It turned you on that the audience knew Bucky was fucking you against your will and not only were they doing nothing about it, they were taking their own pleasure from watching you be ravaged. Your cunt drooled even more.

Bucky Barnes had officially broken you.

That was the only conclusion you could reach, because when you’d met him more than a year ago, you never would’ve imagined that your pussy would be creaming all over a fat, girthy dildo while Bucky fucked your ass and held you tied up with Christmas lights for anyone on the dark web to watch.

But after a year of being fucked hard in every one of your holes, Bucky had finally broken you down until you’d joined him on his level. He’d torn away every ounce of shame, every bit of what had made you you, and remade you in the image of his perfect toy. You were a doll, his doll, just like he called you.

The realization filled you with a sense of peace you never would’ve expected, your body relaxing as your mind went blissfully blank. It was easier this way, you told yourself, as you breathed a sigh of relief. All that was left of you was Bucky Barnes’ perfect doll—his Winter Slut cam star.

Bucky must’ve felt or somehow sensed your submission because he groaned a filthy sound of pleasure and shoved his hips flush against your ass. He paused for a moment, his hand groping your ass possessively before pulling back and ramming home again, burying himself even deeper inside you, the massive dildo bullying your cervix as he pounded into you.

“That’s my girl, take your Winter Soldier’s cock like a good little fuck doll,” Bucky purred, his voice taking on a tenor of contentment you’d never heard before. It was like he was praising you for your submission, for finally giving yourself over to him, mind, body and soul. “You’re being such a perfect Winter Slut, taking me so good and crying so pretty for the camera.”

You preened under his praise, using what little strength remained in your body to shove your hips back onto Bucky’s cocks, fake and real alike, while you sucked enthusiastically on the fake dick in your mouth. Tears flowed harder from your eyes and you sobbed your pleasure, choked sounds of enjoyment falling from your lips.

You could feel the most devastating orgasm of your life building in the core of your being, and you were eager to chase it, knowing it would rewrite the fundamental fabric of your self.

“Fuck yeah, doll, be my perfect little cam star,” Bucky rumbled, slapping your ass in encouragement, the sting of pain swirling with the pleasure he was wringing from your body and adding to the burning bliss scorching through you. “Show the chat how good my Winter Slut can cry for their money—show them how much you love feeling me ruin your holes for Christmas.”

Bucky rutted into you, pounding into your cunt and ass so hard that the clapping of his hips against your skin was filling the basement and almost drowning out the new Christmas song that had begun. It felt so good, so fucking good to be fucked and filled in every hole, that you were close—so close you could nearly taste it.

“Fucking take it, Winter Slut, take the only cock you’ll ever feel again,” Bucky growled, curling around your body and taking your throat in his hand. He squeezed tightly, grinding his cock and dildo into your body, so deep, you could feel them in your guts. “For the rest of your life, you’re gonna do nothing but take my cock and be my pretty little cam star—you’re all fucking mine.”

Something snapped inside you and you felt liquid gush between your thighs, coating the massive fake cock in your cunt. Your squirt sprayed down to soak the sheets beneath you, and all you could do was revel in the pleasure flooding your body, every limb trembling with the force of it while you gasped and cried around Bucky’s hold on your throat.

When he realized what you’d done, Bucky whooped with triumph, crowing into the camera that he’d made you squirt, that you were his perfect little fuck doll cam star. But you were too consumed by your oncoming release, which was barreling toward you with the force of a freight train.

Before it finally hit you, and you came so hard your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you passed out, Bucky wrapped himself more tightly around your body, his chest pressing into your back and his arms wrapping around your front. He choked you with one big hand while the other groped and played roughly with your tits.

To your surprise, he brushed a kiss to your cheek in a gesture that felt affectionate.

“You’re making me so fucking proud, doll,” he cooed in your ear, and you thought, for a moment, that he sounded just like the sweet Bucky Barnes you’d met all those months ago. “You’re the best Christmas present I ever could’ve asked for.”

Just then, your release slammed into you and you screamed—and there wasn’t anyone around to hear you except Bucky and his camera.

Overwhelming pleasure washed through you, darkness creeping into the edges of your consciousness as your body convulsed and you choked on the dildo in your throat while your other holes clenched around the cocks that had split you open beyond your limit.

The last thing you heard before the weight of your release dragged you under was the festive synth pop chords of another Christmas song, and Wham! singing, “This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.”

Somewhere inside you, you knew that everything was going to change once you woke up. Bucky had finally broken you, and you’d given him your ultimate submission. Nothing would be the same, but you found that that didn’t scare you as much as it once might have.

You belonged to Bucky Barnes and you’d finally accepted that as fact. He’d taken everything else, but you still had your heart left to give—and you were certain it wouldn’t be long before you gave him that too. Maybe, at least, it would save you from tears…

As you came so hard you passed out, you accepted that your thoughts, your pleasure, your mind, your body, your soul—your everything—belonged to Bucky Barnes. Then, everything went black.

december daze challenge masterlist

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bratbarzal · 1 month ago

Text

The Secret of Us (LH43) 3/3

aka the sequel to let it happen

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

>PART ONE< / >PART TWO<

the pain of, the reign of, the flame of us

WC: 31k (I need therapy atp)

General Warnings: angst!!! did we expect any less for the final instalment of the epic highs and lows of this criminal situationship? (god bless the anon who sent me that line I think of it daily) cursing probably, inaccurate timeline of events regarding hockey and all but it's fiction just play along lmao, mentions of jack's injury, meddling friends, miscommunication final boss, hypocrisy final boss, jealousy and avoidance final boss and an ending 🙂

A/N: guys I wish I could put into words just how much joy writing this fic has given me, I have so much love and gratitude for the way you all responded to it. writing fic can sometimes be such a lonely and stressful experience in a weird way, especially something as long as this, and you guys turned it into this giant team effort and I felt like you were pushing me along the whole way!! this is such a corny a/n but I really love you all so much - thank you for being so kind to me, thank you for discussing every single element of this fic with me, thank you for loving (or hating lmao) the characters, and making them real enough in my head that they just flew onto the page. thank you to everyone who recommended this fic to anybody else, or who loved it so much that they went through everything else I've written and liked that too!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!! I hope this final part is loved as much as the rest, and I can't wait to talk to you guys about it!! my ask is always open for lih/tsou discourse!! these two will live with me for the rest of time lmao but I do now feel the need to run and hide because I'm terrified to post this actually so hope you like it lol

You can’t remember the last time you ever felt so lost in your life.

You’ve always been someone that finds your way - lands on your feet, figures things out - because you’ve had no other choice, before. Forced to be independent before you ever needed to be, you can usually work your way out of sticky situations with minimal scarring.

But Luke Hughes has somehow managed to crush you beyond recognition.

You thought things were finally going well, you were taking this monumental leap into something more, kissing him like you’ve been denying yourself for too long, and then all of a sudden you’re struggling to get your words out, letting him assume the worst of you and running with it, because what other option do you have now, knowing that he doesn’t want you back?

You’re a little caught of guard at the initial rejection, but the words that follow make you speechless, entirely, gaping open-mouthed like some dumb-struck idiot as he tells you that he’s moving on, and you only want him because you don’t want to lose him.

And you’re so consumed by this wave of renunciation that you can’t even fight him on it.

And then he’s gone.

The silence that follows Luke’s departure from the porch almost makes your ears pop - pressure building and building to the point of eruption inside your head, and you’re so caught up in your mind that you’re barely functioning otherwise.

It’s below freezing out, a cold wind whipping at your cheeks, and every breath you take feels rough and textured like you’re rubbing coarse sandpaper at your chest cavity - you really shouldn’t be out here, exposed to such harsh conditions, but what does that matter when you would be hurting anyway, no matter where you are.

You don’t even know how you got here.

One second you were running through the house with the best news of your life and only one person in mind to share it with, and the next you were out in the cold - key moments from the night playing in your head like some horror movie sequence.

Ellie’s warning of, he’s gonna crush you when he starts seeing someone and you get left behind.

The way she’s been keeping it to herself that he already is seeing someone, or speaking to her, at least, whatever that entails - because, the two of you speak. You speak every day.

Seeing Victoria with her hands on Luke, sinking her claws into him while he gave her one of those cute, toothy grins - the kind that made his eyes gleam and crinkle in the corners.

And then, I don’t want to be with anybody but you tonight, I promise.

How can anybody possibly hear that and not want to kiss him?

Sure, it was some weird, territorial spur of jealousy that consumed you and forced you to take that final leap, but it’s not like you haven’t thought about doing it before. Sat on your bed watching Wall-E on your birthday, the plush he had bought you tucked into the crook of your elbow and your hand brushing repeatedly against his in the bowl of popcorn. Or when he’d snuck out of your house the morning after, only just managing to evade being caught by your sorority regime and holding you against him with a kiss to the side of your head as the two of you said your goodbyes on the porch.

Does it really matter what the final catalyst was if the finished result was what you’ve both been wanting this entire time? Plus, it’s not like he hasn’t encouraged those feelings before - Mr Tell me that the thought of me even talking to another girl makes your skin crawl.

But that’s the problem. You’re probably too used to acting impulsively with Luke - doing first, thinking later - and he’s starting to realise it, too, growing tired of your stretched out resistance and finally throwing in the towel.

We both have to find a way to move on.

Maybe it’s not what you’ve both wanted the entire time.

Maybe Luke hasn’t wanted it for a while - has wanted to move on and find someone new. See someone else - speak to her, or whatever.

God, you feel pathetic.

A feeling that worsens when Ethan finds you, teary eyed and shaking - too consumed by your own humiliation to feel just how cold it is outside until he shrugs a jacket over you, holds it closed in front of your torso and peers down at you with nothing but concern in his chocolate eyes.

His mouth moves, but all you hear is muffled noise alongside the sound of your racing heartbeat, and you try to read his lips, but it’s hard to see through the blur of tears. His hands start rubbing at your arms, and the friction brings everything back into focus, a little. The cold night air, the cologne rubbed into the collar of the jacket, the voice of the caring boy in front of you.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he mutters, “Let’s get you home.”

You nod wordlessly as you accept his help, a guiding arm around you that ushers you off the porch, helps you down the steps and pushes you gently to the edge of the yard until you’re walking side by side down the street. You sniffle, not even realising that you’re crying until you try to remedy the dryness in the corner of your lips and taste the salty tears that have fallen there, and you end up crying the whole walk, trying not to be obvious about it - arms wrapped around yourself and head dipped to watch your feet as they move along the sidewalk.

Ethan doesn’t try to talk it out of you, for once, which you’re grateful for, and he walks you all the way up to the front door, turning away without any prompt so you can fetch the key you hid under one of the plants before you left

“Thanks,” you mutter, once you’ve retrieved it, standing back up and watching as he spins back around. “For walking me back, sorry that I got upset and weird.”

“It’s alright,” he shrugs, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans to maintain some semblance of blood flow, the below freezing temperatures making it almost painful to breathe. “Lot of tears for a guy you’re not into, though.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, because what’s the use in denying it anymore. It hasn’t done you any favours this far. You fumble your key into the lock and shoulder the door open, leading him into the house with a silent invitation, thankful that he follows without any hesitation and seals the heat back in behind him. “Can I ask you something?”

“As long as it’s quick, I got a beer pong championship I need to retain, I’m on for a three-peat, kids in this town will be talking about it for years.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to hold you back from greatness,” you scoff, offering a lighthearted chuckle as you shrug off the jacket he had slung over your shoulders before. Luke’s jacket, you’re pretty sure, that in any other circumstances, you’d keep, but the smell of him is probably going to suffocate you if you inhale it any longer. You hold it out to Ethan, quirking a brow when he frowns down at the garment. “You’re off the hook, it was stupid anyway.”

“No, come on,” he prompts, “I was kidding.”

He blinks slowly at you, dark eyes warm and encouraging as he steps a little further into the foyer, leaning against one of the pillars by the door. He’s settled in, and he’s giving the kind of energy that it’s hard not to reciprocate - open and receptive to whatever it is that you want to talk about.

“Do you guys talk about, like, girls and stuff?” You ask, brows creasing almost immediately at how dumb it sounds to even bring it up. God, you’re starting to hate what he’s turning you into. “I mean, like, if he was into somebody, would he tell you?”

His eyes go darker, somehow, amusement flashing through them as his lips quirk, and he can try all he wants, but it’s so obvious he’s biting back a smile. “He doesn’t have the track record for it since he moved away, no, but Luke’s a pretty private guy. Even when he was here, he was never really big on talking about that kind of stuff.”

“Oh.” You sigh, because great, you’ve just made an idiot out of yourself for no good reason - to Ethan, of all people, who’s been trying to eke information out of you all year.

“Awful poker face, though,” he adds, “Like anybody could see from a mile off that he is into somebody.”

That doesn’t make you feel any better. If he isn’t talking to the boys about any girl he potentially is interested in, why would he tell you? Maybe you had been wrong, when Ellie brought up him speaking to somebody back in Jersey, maybe he wouldn’t have told you. Maybe he’s a pretty private guy, like Ethan said, and that privacy extends to you in the same way it does to the guys - where Luke keeps his cards close to his chest, just like he had back in summer, when the two of you were a thing.

“Ellie told me that he was,” you lament, leaning on the pillar closest to Ethan’s, crossing your arms over your chest, “I didn’t believe her, I thought he’d tell me, but now I don’t know.”

“Is that what you’re upset about?” Ethan’s eyes narrow, “That he didn’t tell you?”

“I guess maybe he did,” You sigh, replaying his words over and over in your head. We both have to find a way to move on. I don’t know how long I’m supposed to wait for you to figure it out. It hadn’t been explicit, but the sentiment was there - like he was laying the foundations of something he’d be more ready to build onto at a later date.

Maybe this thing with Yasmin is early days, still. Maybe you put him so far off the idea of letting anyone else in on what could be a good thing - through fear of it all coming crumbling down, just like his relationship with you had done - that he won’t tell anybody until he knows for sure.

“I feel like an idiot.”

The idea of him letting go of his feelings just as you started to come to terms with your own hurts, but you can hardly be mad at him. He had been right - you’d told him in no uncertain terms that you weren’t willing to take things further again, and even though that was almost 6 months ago, now, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve withheld your feelings, since. You don’t even remember what you were trying to protect yourself from, because it can’t have been as bad as this.

“Maybe you should talk to him before he leaves again, tomorrow,” Ethan suggests, “I can try talk some sense into him if you want?”

“You’re good,” you decline, figuring you’ve done enough invading his privacy for the time being. You need to let him figure things out on his own, you think, instead of acting out of impulse and making everything explode in your face. “I’ll call him in the morning, thanks though.”

Ethan straightens up as he starts to get ready to leave, but just before you can say goodbye, he turns at the door. “He really cares about you, you know.” He tells you, “In case he didn’t tell you that, either. He can be an idiot, but he cares.”

“I know,” you breathe, smiling softly to try and reassure him - because if you do know one thing about Luke in this whole fiasco, it’s that he cares. Whether it’s too much, or not enough, you’re not sure, but it’s there, nonetheless.

You thank him again, because you really are grateful that he walked you back, and that he was so willing to lend an ear to your stupid questions without making you feel entirely stupid for them, and grins back, boyish and sweet, before he leaves.

The house is unsettlingly quiet - the rest of the girls either in bed or at the party - and you just want to go to bed, yourself to shut out the unbearable silence, but your room doesn’t provide the kind of escape you thought it might.

One of Luke’s sweatshirts is slung over the back of your desk chair, and even without it being there, you think you’d see him in every corner. He’s in your reflection in the bathroom, brushing his teeth by your side and nudging you out the way to spit the residue into the sink. He’s poking and prodding at your skincare on your vanity, reading the bottles and asking what they do. He’s sat at your desk, looking at your little calendar and telling you that you really need to take a break for yourself when he realises just how many spaces are filled in. And he’s in your bed, his scent in the sheets you’re yet to wash since he slept in here on your birthday - and even that isn’t giving you reprieve like it had the night before.

You can’t get to sleep at all.

And it’s probably morbid curiosity that will be the end of you, because as you lay in your bed, tossing and turning and trying to drown out your thoughts so that you can finally drift off - there’s some stupid, sabotaging part of you that thinks it’s a good idea to open up instagram. And then it seems reasonable to check Luke’s profile, knowing that he hardly ever posts, but heading straight to the accounts that he’s following.

You type her name before you can convince yourself how bad the idea is, watching as the results narrow down to just one with only a few letters, and you click straight through to the profile that remains.

It’s unassuming, initially. Her name is Yasmin Keating. Her bio suggests she’s a student, her location says North Carolina, and most of her feed is dedicated to her time spent decked in blue and white playing basketball at UNC. And she’s gorgeous. She’s athletic, and would probably understand all of his weird sports references more than you do, would probably understand his lifestyle, and the stress he’s under. She’s sociable, probably wouldn’t hide him away and make him feel like some dirty secret.

And one of her latest posts is tagged in New York, from a couple weeks ago. A carousel of photos, each as pretty as the last, and you hold your breath as you swipe through them for any sort of sighting of the curly brown hair you know too well.

The sighting doesn’t come, but as you scroll down a little, you find something just as bad.

Liked by lhughes_06.

If you were hesitant to accept Ellie’s word for it, confused by Luke’s own reluctance to let you in, and Ethan’s shifty explanation of his best friend’s privacy, then this is the confirmation you need to finally accept the truth.

Luke is moving on.

And maybe you need to let him.

When Luke wakes up the morning after, his head is pounding. There’s a relentless thud between his ears, and he swears his brain feels loose, like it’s rattling around his skull at even the slightest shake of his head.

He doesn’t think it’s a hangover - he’d had a few drinks, but not that many, and had ended up coming home a lot earlier than anticipated, his party spirit dampening as soon as you left, anyway. He’d fallen asleep with his phone in hand, staring at your message thread and trying to figure out if texting you would be a good idea, so maybe it’s staring at a screen for almost an hour that gave him such a headache, he thinks.

But all his usual remedies aren’t working.

He drinks a full bottle of water straight from the refrigerator, chugging the contents down until the plastic is squeezed to within an inch of its life in his hand, and manages to swallow down some Tylenol with it. He showers, letting the water spray directly onto his neck and shoulders to try and relieve the tension there, and spends a little longer than usual to try and wash the pain away. He even makes himself a decent breakfast to try line his stomach, but by the time 10am rolls around, he still feels like crap.

He is supposed to fly back to Jersey in the late afternoon, and as the hours tick on, there’s a panic that stirs within him - a feeling like he’s forgotten something, already, even though he doesn’t have to leave for a while. His bags were packed yesterday - he had figured he’d get ahead so that he isn’t stressing - and he doesn’t have to worry about returning a rental car, because he’s been driving his dad’s while they’re out of town and is supposed to leave it at the airport, anyway. He’s checked all the windows around the house, and the settings on the heater - there are no dishes in the sink, no clothes left in the washer or dryer, and it’s about as tidy as it was when he arrived last week.

And it’s only when he checks his phone for what is probably the 20th time that he even realises he keeps doing it - realises what he thinks he’s missing.

You.

He probably would have been with you, if things didn’t blow up last night.

He’d have been at your house, or you’d have been at his, and you’d have kept him busy all the way up until the point he needs to leave. He’d have slept by your side, like he’s pathetically getting so used to doing, now, and would have woken up to your pretty eyes slowly blinking back at him. And he figures that’s why he felt off as soon as he opened his own, with the sun peering into his bedroom through the thin curtains, and the slight chill that wracked through his body without yours to keep him warm.

You haven’t even text him - the last message on his phone being from Ethan, last night, after he’d dropped you off, one Luke had seen as he sat in the back of his Uber home, all desire to be around anybody swiftly drained as soon as you were gone.

His hands start to shake the longer he thinks about it, and the more he remembers - pushing you away and watching you leave - and he can’t even rationalise it all, anymore.

Summer might feel like a lifetime ago, but if that’s the case, then it’s a lifetime of Luke still wanting you. It’s months of trying to fan the flames of your affections, trying to keep the spark alive, despite all the ways you had told him it was long blown out.

He knows. He’s always known that there was something left.

But he’s tired of being the only one who believes in it, anymore.

Jack doesn’t support him, his parents are none the wiser, his teammates barely have time for their own relationship dramas, let alone his, and the only person who had ever encouraged him to pursue more with you lives on the other side of the continent.

But right now, the last remedy that comes to mind is a call with his oldest brother - one last ditch attempt to clear his mind before he flies back to Jersey and throws himself back into hockey for the last few months.

He’s found himself calling Quinn much more while he’s been home alone for the past 10 days, with Jack busy with the tournament, and his parents busy watching them - he thinks there’s a common ground there, with Quinn, where he’s sort of detached to the point of novelty when it comes to Luke’s life.

He offers a fresh perspective, gives unbiased advice - helps him make pancakes over FaceTime for the girl in his bed who isn’t his girlfriend, and doesn’t make snarky comments or push him to talk about it.

And so he’s pressing on his contact before he can think better of it - waiting until Quinn’s face pops up on his screen, seemingly propped up while he makes himself a breakfast smoothie all the way over in Vancouver.

“Lukey, what’s up?”

“Hey man, you got a minute?”

“Sure, let me just back away from the blender before I try to multitask and blitz my kitchen.”

He watches with a grateful smile as Quinn makes his way through his apartment, walking into the living room himself and throwing himself down onto the seat in the bay window.

“Surprised you found the time to call me, thought you’d be spending your morning at a certain sorority or something.” His older brother laughs as he lowers himself down onto the couch in his apartment, the view behind him that of a misty Vancouver, the sun barely seeping through the clouds.

It makes him feel a little closer, to see it - peering through the glass at the front of their parent’s house, himself, and looking up at familiar grey skies.

“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Luke frowns, hating the way his gut twists guiltily at the vague memory of last night - of your elation turning into evasion, and the way he still thinks he can taste you if he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. “I don’t think she wants to see me right now.”

“What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I’m the problem?”

“Are you not?”

“I don’t even know.” He groans, looking back on the evening with a lot more clarity than his beer-goggles had allowed him, before. “I sort of blew up at her last night about something, I had a couple drinks, and I think I was pretty harsh. She left the party early and we’d usually text by now, but I think she’s probably avoiding me.”

“You’re gonna have to quit being so vague if you want me to help you out, man.”

The look Quinn is giving is like the virtual version of a brotherly swat, a blank but bold stare at the screen that’s his own silent way of telling his little brother to just spit it out, already.

And Luke takes little convincing - despite all the months he’s held back from doing so. This is technically a boiling point, and keeping this whole thing between the two of you such a secret has done absolutely nothing to serve him, so far. He could really use the help, he thinks.

“We’re supposed to be friends.” Luke sighs, “Back in summer, we had a thing, like we were sort of, almost together,” he cringes as he says it, unable to think of a better way to lay it out. Sure, he’d spoken to Quinn a little about you, back then - had admitted to having a crush, at least, but he hadn’t shared much past that. And it’s different with his older brother, he thinks, on the other side of the continent, oblivious somewhat to Luke’s day to day, and just how much it probably involved you by now. He needs to explain it for it all to make any kind of sense. “Like we were hanging out together all the time, and sleeping together, and it sounds like a mess but it was perfect when it was just us.”

“Are you waiting for me to be shocked or something?” Quinn queries after a moment’s pause, quirking a brow with narrowed eyes pointed straight at the camera. “Because we all knew you were sort of, almost together, you couldn’t have been any more obvious about it if you tried. Was it supposed to be a secret?”

“I don’t even know anymore,” Luke huffs out an elongated breath, the whole thing feeling like a waste of time, right about now. Keeping you hidden, abiding by your rules of saying nothing about whatever was going on between the two of you. What was the point in kissing you behind closed doors and rushing you back to your bedroom in the mornings if everybody knew, anyway? What could the two of you be, now, if you hadn’t held yourselves back? “I really fell for her, though. Hard. Like the worst hit I’ve ever taken in my life. And I fucked it all up by being stupid, and I said some pretty awful stuff about her that she overheard,” he winces, hating even looking back on that stupid conversation with Cole, not wanting to slip and indulge too much to his oldest brother about it through fear of valid judgement. “And it took her a while to let me back in, and she said that we’d only ever be friends, and obviously I want to be more, obviously I’m still in love with her, but she made it pretty clear we’d never cross that line again, and I can’t spend the rest of my life standing at the wrong end of a bridge I can’t cross, do you know what I mean?”

“No,” Quinn deadpans, “I’ve never heard anything so dumb in my life.”

“She kissed me, last night, Quinn,”

“Sounds horrific.”

“And I pushed her away,”

“Sounds idiotic.”

“You don’t get it,” Luke’s jaw tenses, glaring at his brother through the screen. “She only kissed me ‘cause she didn’t want me to kiss somebody else. She saw me with this girl she hates and I found her after, she was pretty upset.”

“Lukey boy,” Quinn chuckles, giving an amused, crooked smile on the other end of the call, “You’re so full of shit, the hot girl that you like kissed you, it’s hardly the end of the world.”

“Don’t be a dick, Q,” Luke scowls, trying to push past the flare of agitation that lights within him at his brother referring to you as the hot girl. Even he can see how hypocritical it is, but it’s instinct - he can’t exactly fight it.

“No, come on,” his older brother starts, straightening up where he’s seemingly reclining on the couch, a surefire sign that he’s about to give some sort of lecture. “You spend your whole summer obsessed with her, and God-knows how long before that, and you fuck up so monumentally that the girl doesn’t talk to you for like 6 weeks, and then by some miracle she lets you back in and you fuck it up again.”

“Jack said I should move on,” Luke huffs in response, some attempt at trying to rationalise how stupid he had been to push her away last night.

“Jack’s an idiot.”

“He said that she’s probably moving on, and he made out that it was all sort of one-sided, and you know how much him and Ellie talk, I figured it had to have come from somewhere-,”

“It came from him being an idiot,” He repeats, “And it must be contagious, because why would you not just talk to her instead of letting it all blow up like that?”

“I tried,” Luke whines, “We went to a game together last week, I asked her about dating and stuff,”

“And?”

Luke frowns as he tries to remember the crux of the conversation - you’d joked that you wouldn’t go to a hockey game on a date, that you hadn’t been going to games on dates, and it never really expanded further than that, his attempt too specific to the situation and not the wider issue.

“I guess she said she wasn’t, but I probably wasn’t asking the right question.” He admits, blinking slowly as he tries to come up with any other reason why he had acted so irrationally the night before.

“So let me get this straight,” Quinn’s voice brings him back a little, shoulders stiffening in preparation of the verbal lashing he’s no-doubt about to receive. “You two spend a whole week together, like every waking second in her company when she’s not in class or with her friends, she spends valentines and her birthday with you, she tells you that she isn’t dating anybody else, she gets so upset about seeing you with somebody else that you find her almost in tears, and you somehow ignore all of the evidence that she is, in fact, into you, only to push her away because Jack implied she might have moved on?”

Well that sounds fucking stupid, Luke thinks.

“But she-,”

“She what?” Quinn asks, raising an expectant brow. “She snuck you into her house all week, despite the fact we both know how strict those girls can be about having guys over? She spent every day doing things that were important to you, trying to learn about the things you like, hanging around your friends, coming to you when she was upset?”

“You don’t get it,” Luke huffs, regretting all the information he’d been sharing with his brother throughout the last week right about now - not realising the little parts would be pieced together and used against him like this. “She told me she only wanted to be friends, she told me multiple times, and she only ever wants more when she is upset, like I’m just there to comfort her, or something.”

It had been the same back in summer, initially - you only ever sought him out when you were agitated or emotional over something you wouldn’t talk to him about. You followed him up to his bathroom after seeing him with Victoria, you brought him upstairs to his room in the middle of a party after an argument with Jack - and he had been fine with it, at the time - encouraged it, even, trying to flare up your jealousy to prompt you to give in to him, taking whatever scraps of your affections you were willing to give - but this feels different.

He can’t keep carrying on like this.

“Don’t you want to comfort her?”

“Of course I fucking want to comfort her,” he scoffs, because it isn’t about that. He loves you, he’ll always want to comfort you if you’re hurting or upset, but he can’t keep himself on stand by to be available to your methods of avoiding your problems only for you to keep pushing him away, otherwise. “But, I don’t know, there has to be a line, you know?” He sighs, “I have to put a line there before I fall any further and she pulls the rug from under me when she does start dating. Like she just saw me speaking to some girl she doesn’t like, and then she said she doesn’t want to see me with anyone else, but she still wants to be friends! I told her that we both need to move on, I don’t even know why, I don’t even think I want her to.”

“You need to talk to her, man,” Quinn frowns, “You need to tell her that.”

“That’s what last night was-,”

“No, last night was impulse,” he sighs back, “It was you after a few drinks, and both of your emotions at a high, and you blew up at her out of nowhere. Sure, she probably shouldn’t have kissed you, but you’ve got to give her a chance for her to think about what she wants instead of just telling her she needs to move on because she didn’t give you the right answer in the moment, Luke.”

You weren’t there, Luke wants to say, you don’t understand.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe an outsider’s perspective - someone like Quinn, who is fair and reasonable, who doesn’t let his loyalty to or protectiveness over his little brother cloud his judgement, who always understood the depths of his relationship with you before Luke could ever admit it to anybody - sees more than Luke could, himself.

“Go over, before you head to the airport,” Quinn says, his tone suggestive, but classically authoritative, “You don’t wanna leave it like that, trust me.”

“Yeah,” Luke breathes, “Thanks, man, sorry for dumping all of this on you.”

“It’s fine,” Quinn smiles back, crooked and familiar, bringing the kind of comfort Luke finds himself craving, sometimes, when his other brother is being a dick. “I’d rather you come to me than Jack, he just ends up making a bigger mess that I have to clean.”

Luke gives some attempt at a laugh that doesn’t quite seem right with how heavy everything else feels, and lets his brother carry on with his own morning routine with no more whining from him.

He gets himself ready, loads his bag into the trunk, and makes sure everything is locked up and secure before setting off across town on a route he now knows like the back of his hand. He sits in the car, parked up across the street from your house, for 10 minutes - trying to think of how he can possibly clear everything up before he leaves - when he sees something that makes his breath catch.

You come out of the house, bundled in what looks like a bunch of layers and his sweatshirt on top, your backpack slung over your shoulder, and you’re smiling as you turn back to speak to someone following you out of the house. Even from as far away as Luke is, the sight of your smile calms something within him, but that calm quickly turns frigid as he takes notice of who is coming through the door behind you.

Ethan is wearing the same clothes as last night, his hair is shaggy and unkempt, and Luke recognises the kind of wry grin he’s flashing your way from back when the two of them lived together when he was in college. It’s the kind of smile that follows a phrase Luke can still hear in the back of his mind, as if it were last uttered to him yesterday, and not almost 2 years ago. I don’t kiss and tell.

And that swirl of panic comes back tenfold - fingers clenching against the wheel as he starts the car back up and drives off as quick as he can, not wanting to watch anymore of whatever scene that was between the two of you unfold.

If he hadn’t regretted last night before, he sure does, now - because he understands you more than ever - 8 familiar words ringing around his skull like a siren sound.

I don’t want to watch you move on, you had told him, pupils blown and lips swollen as you spoke, the surface of them still slick and pink from his bruising kiss. And being the idiot he is, he had encouraged you to do just that - had thought it would be what’s best for you both, what’s healthy and right.

But he doesn’t want to watch you move on, either.

And now it seems like he has no choice.

Trying to distract yourself from the fact that Luke is actively avoiding you is harder than you ever thought it would be.

You lived so much of your life before him that it really shouldn’t take a lot of effort to try and reignite some form of your old routine, but as the days pass by - and the conversation lulls, the texts dwindle into short responses, and the FaceTimes cease entirely - you think you might have forgotten what your world was ever like without him.

You throw yourself back into your school work for a couple weeks, but it doesn’t really work the same as it used to, and you find yourself thinking about your future too much - about your grades, about NYU, about all the plans that involved him and now don’t seem as certain as they once did. You get back into the groove with your sorority responsibilities, spend a lot more time with your sisters, helping to plan the activities and events like you did a lot more last year, but you find yourself checking Luke’s game schedule more often than you should, trying to make sure nothing clashes even though he probably doesn’t care by now and he no doubt has Yasmin to support him instead of you.

And then you try to do things for yourself. You get back into your routine at the gym, you pick up swimming again and even volunteer on your one day off a week to teach a few lessons at the rec centre, thankful for those few hours you spend with a bunch of kids who just want to splash around and dive for the random items you throw into the deep end for them.

You manage to find some semblance of balance, but he’s always in the back of your mind, and before you know it, weeks have passed - whatever spark you had left with Luke fading as they do - and the last text you have from him is from 5 days ago. You’d tried to lure him into a movie night, asking about his availability, and he’d said he would let you know. He never did. And that is what led you to tonight - going out to the movies instead of sitting on your bed and thinking Luke should be beside you, and you figured it was the safer option, going somewhere that you never went with him.

You even ran into Ethan while you were out - and where the initial sight of him might have previously made you a little nauseous just from the connection to Luke, the last few weeks have alleviated that, somewhat.

After Ethan had dropped you home that night of the party, you’d left your bedroom to find him hiding behind a corner at the top of the stairs while the rest of your sisters lingered around at the bottom. He had been wearing the same clothes from the night before, and was close enough to your friend Megan’s room to understand that he had spent the night there. And you know Megan well enough to know she probably kicked him out and left him to his own devices, too exhausted to try and sneak him out of the house, herself.

So you did the honours - you figure you’d gotten good at it with the amount of times you had snuck Luke in and out the week prior - and helped him navigate his way out without getting caught, leaving the house with him on your way to class. He’d offered to drive you as repayment, and you’d gladly accepted, and the two of you ended up speaking more often - finding comfort in the way you didn’t really have to hide from him, anymore. He’d seen a vulnerable part of you that you no longer had to cover up, and it had been nice to have someone else that you didn’t really have to pretend around.

The local IMAX was playing The Martian, one of your favourites - so what if it was something you watched with Luke all the way back in summer? And you’d just planned on watching the movie and going home, but bumping into Ethan had stretched out your plans a little.

You’d both been hungry after the movie, despite the copious amounts of popcorn you ate and the giant soda you drank, and he suggested grabbing burgers. And then the burger place he drove out to was right beside an arcade, and he’d wandered in there first, really - you just followed - but you don’t regret it.

You ended up having a lot of fun - the weightless kind, where Luke sort of slipped from the back of your mind. And it wasn’t even just Luke that slipped - it was the stress of school, of your finals coming up, of finding out your dad was going to be on vacation again when you were due to graduate, and you’d gotten into a fight with your mom about NYU and turning down the job you had lined up back in Chicago. It was all the things that you’d been bottling up now that you didn’t really have Luke to talk to, and forgetting them for even just one night was nice.

Ethan had dropped you home after the arcade, and left you at the side of the street in front of the sorority house with the stuffed animal you had won just for Ellie, because she’d seen the little duck in the back of the picture you sent to her of your whereabouts.

And you’re just about to knock on her door when it swings open - Ellie’s eyes red and her cheeks puffy with fresh tears, alarm and panic in her features that immediately elicited the same in your own.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, heart seeming to thud to a dramatic stop as you watch her lips tremble and she ushers you into her bedroom.

“It’s Jack,” Ellie sniffles, “He got hurt, it’s pretty bad.”

“Oh, El,” you reach out to take her into your embrace, rubbing at her back as sobs wrack straight through her spine. “What happened?”

“He took a hit and went straight into the boards, I can’t bring myself to watch the replay, they’re saying on twitter that he passed out, and I can’t get a hold of anybody. Could you watch it for me? Could you tell me if he looks alright?” You hadn’t even realised there was a game on tonight - too consumed in your plans and your determination to have a night off from thinking about Luke to even check.

“Oh, I don’t-,” You break away, trying to think of how best to get out of it. You’re really not the best with injuries, and if it’s bad enough for her to be this upset, you have a feeling it’s going to make you feel sick. “Maybe I should ask Ethan to come over and watch it for you, I-,”

“Please?” She pleads, eyes round and welling with tears, a surefire way to get you to agree. “I just need someone to be honest with me.”

“Yeah,” You resign, holding out your hand for Ellie to give you her phone, seeing the video is already loaded once she’s unlocked it. “Yeah, alright.”

Ellie turns away with her hands covering her ears as you press play, and you watch as Jack skates toward the net, readying himself for the puck to be played towards him, not expecting the way he’s being approached from behind all of a sudden, and can’t bring himself to a stop before he’s colliding straight into the boards, the opposition player bumping straight into the back of him.

You try not to wince at the impact, at the way Jack’s body goes limp and he has to be turned over by the other player. You try to focus on the positives before you assemble your thoughts - he gets up, he can skate on his own, he isn’t bleeding anywhere - but it’s hard when you know him.

It’s hard when, as much as you and Jack don’t really get along, you’re similar in more ways than you’d like to admit, and you know that seeing him express even the slightest bit of pain must mean he’s in absolute agony.

She said that she wants honesty, but you know Ellie - she doesn’t want to worry, you don’t want her to worry, not until she knows all the facts.

“He’s up, he’s skating off,” you tell her, glancing up and offering what you hope is a comforting smile, a slight twist of your lips that does little, probably, to hide your own concern. “I don’t think it’s the same shoulder he hurt last year.” You remember how much she stressed about that at the time - about his surgery, and the aftermath, and you’d been living with him back at the beginning of summer, enough to know which side he previously had in a sling, or which side he avoided doing much activity with in the earlier weeks. “It doesn’t look great, but at least he can take himself off the ice, right?”

Even from clips of the incident, you can tell how much it worries the people around him - players on the ice, fans in the stands, and you wonder for a second about Luke, about how it must feel to watch from the bench and have to carry on without knowing what’s happening.

And now you’re worried about him.

You hand Ellie’s phone back over, watching as she chews nervously at the inside of her cheek, spinning the device in her hand and fidgeting erratically.

“I’ll wait with you until we hear something,” you promise, placing a hand gently on her lap to try and stop her knee from bouncing. You hand the stuffed animal you’re still holding out to her, and she takes it with a limp smile that comes nowhere close to reaching her eyes. “I’ll get you a drink, do you want something warm to calm you down? I can make you a sleepy tea, if you want?”

Ellie nods, eyes glistening as she maintains that weak effort of a smile, and you smile back, an attempt at reassurance before you hand her phone back and head downstairs to the kitchen. You’re thankful it’s empty when you finally walk in, able to wait around while the water boils and try to calm yourself down.

You know it’s selfish as soon as you start to think it - your best friend in pieces upstairs about her boyfriend being hurt - but all that flashes through your mind is Luke. That could have been Luke. How would you feel if Luke was hurt? How do you feel that he’s potentially, probably hurting now, even thought it isn’t him? How are you supposed to help him through this from so far away, with everything going on, afraid to even text him first, anymore? Would he even want you to?

Your cellphone burns a hole in your back pocket, the urge to reach out is practically making your fingers itch, and you cast a glance to the clock that flashes on the little screen on the range. He’s probably back in his hotel, by now. Or he’s with Jack and the medical team.

You could call him. Just so you’ve at least tried. Just so he knows you’re there if he needs you, and that the last few weeks of minimal contact mean nothing if there’s any potential of something happening to him.

Sitting around and dwelling on the fact that he hasn’t tried to call you is pathetic, you think. It’s self-centred and petty, and you need to be better than that. He deserves better than that.

So, as Ellie’s tea is brewing, you reach into your pocket, swipe at your phone with muscle memory and bring it up to your ear, waiting for the beep of his voicemail so that you can leave some sort of message, even if he probably won’t listen.

“Hey,” his voice cuts at your spiralling thoughts, low and tired, more like a sigh than anything else, and your body straightens against the counter as you rush to respond.

“Hi,” you say, a weird flutter in your chest at the mere sound of his voice after so long. “I didn’t think you’d pick up.”

He doesn’t reply other than a little huff, and you’re sort of thankful for it - if he doesn’t reply, he can’t say something you don’t want to hear, like how he doesn’t want to hear from you.

“I just got back to the house and Ellie told me about Jack, I wanted to check on you.”

“Pretty late to be just getting back,” he murmurs, and you hear a little shuffling, like he’s moving around, before you hear the soft clasp of a door in the background. “You overstay your welcome at the library again?”

“No,” you breathe out a little laugh, leaning against the counter as you watch steam rise from the mug of tea sat on top. “I finally followed your advice, actually,” you tell him in the hopes that hearing that might perk him up just a little. “Ditched the books for a day, did a whole lot of not studying.”

For as long as you’ve been stressing about school, Luke has been trying to guide you towards some sort of balance - giving yourself a little grace to actually have a breather - and maybe your main stressor hadn’t been studying, this time, but he doesn’t need to hear that, right now.

“Oh, really?” You can hear his smile through the phone, small but sure, and the sound of it eases a little of the anxiety swelling in the pits of your stomach. “You get up to anything cool?”

“Yeah, actually,” you stir at Ellie’s tea absentmindedly, hoping you’re offering some sort of distraction. “They were playing The Martian at the IMAX, I got all up close and personal with Matt Damon and his shitty potatoes.”

“Sounds like you had fun,” he snorts, and you’d like to think you can hear the soft semblance of a smile, even if his heart isn’t entirely in it.

“It was great, we went to go get burgers and play pinball after, which is why I’m so late home.” You sigh, only just starting to feel the exhaustion from it, hoping this sleepy tea does its wonders on Ellie so that you can both go to bed pretty quick. “I feel like I haven’t done anything fun like that all year.”

“Who’d you go with?”

“Just Ethan,” you scoop the teabag from the water and dispose of it, frowning as you realised you’ve somehow made this whole call about yourself, guilt seeping into your subconscious. “But enough about me, how’s everything with you? How’s Jack? Ellie said she hasn’t been able to reach him, which is why I thought you wouldn’t pick up.”

“Uh, they think they’re gonna send him back to Jersey,” Luke laments, “He’s gonna miss the game in Dallas, he’s convinced his season is over, so he’s pretty down right now. I think he’s about to give El a call and tell her.”

“What about you?” You bite your lip, hoping Ellie is occupied upstairs and you can stay on with Luke a little longer. This feels less charged than the last few times you’ve spoken - easier, despite the heavy topic - and you just want him to know that this sort of stuff is still on the cards. At least, you hope it is. “Can’t have been easy, watching him go down like that.”

“I’m fine.” The way he says it is short, obviously a lie, and you try to tell yourself not to take it personally. Luke never usually lies to you. Sometimes he doesn’t really talk about stuff, but he’s never hidden his feelings from you. But this isn’t the kind of thing the two of you have really had to navigate, before. Maybe it’s even the kind of thing he doesn’t want to navigate with you - maybe it’s something friends don’t navigate together.

“You know you can talk to me if you’re not,” you assure him, in the hopes that he won’t shut you out. “I told Ellie I’d stay with her for a bit, but I can always call you after, even if you don’t want to talk, it’s been a while, I-,”

“I’m fine,” he repeats, even shorter this time, his tone clipped, and the silence that follows feels like it goes on forever.

“Okay,” You croak after a moment, hesitance creeping up on you, again, all joviality from the previous conversation drained.

“I gotta go,”

“Luke, I-,” you don’t even know what you want to say, but there’s this voice inside that’s screaming to say something. To put up some sort of fight, to make sure he knows you want to be there for him. But this sudden reluctance is all consuming. It’s debilitating, even, and it overpowers that meek, unsure voice in a booming, unavoidable roar, that tells you he doesn’t want your help. He wants to move on, and you’re not letting him. And so all you can bring yourself to say, again, is “Okay,” like a whispered resignation.

He mutters out some form of goodbye before he hangs, up, and you find yourself staring at the billowing steam rising from the mug of sleepy tea until a hand on your shoulder shakes you from your reverie.

“Was starting to think you’d knocked yourself out with this stuff,” Ellie huffs out a weak laugh as she steps up to the counter beside you, taking the mug by the handle and bringing it to her lips. You watch as she takes a sip, as the line of frustration between her brows smooths itself out, and her shoulders slump a little, relaxed and soothed. “Just spoke to Jack, he’s flying out to Jersey in the morning for further evaluation, said he’ll update me after.”

“Oh,” you shake yourself out of your own head, feigning ignorance as you cross your arms over your chest. You can’t tell her about your call with Luke, partly because you don’t know what Jack has told her to try and ease her worries, and partly because talking about Luke with Ellie fills you with unyielding dread every time, and it’s the last thing you need. “Does he have any idea what’s wrong?”

“Won’t know until tomorrow,” she sighs, “He thinks he’s gonna need surgery, though.”

“Shit,” you mutter.

“I think if that’s the case, I might ditch spring break and go spend it with him. Help him out while I can, you know?”

You nod, pressing your lips together. The two of you were booked on a trip to Cabo, your last spring break together as seniors, and a few of your sisters were going, too, so you won’t be on your own if she does have to ditch you. You can’t hold any resentment about it.

You’d do the same, if it happened to Luke, you think. Not that he probably would want you to, anymore.

Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he’s right about boundaries, and blurred lines. Maybe you’re taking things too far.

“Of course,” you try to offer comfort, a reassuring smile that doesn’t feel as authentic as you’d like and a gentle pat to her shoulder, hoping you don’t reek of condescension.

Ellie chews at the corner of her bottom lip, like she wants to say something else, but nods, instead, diverting her gaze as she sips at her tea. “I’m here for you too, you know,” she says, after a few seconds, eyes peering up carefully to meet yours. “If you need me.”

“I’m not the one with the broken boyfriend,” you chuckle softly, thankful for the smile she gives back, a little of the tension eased from your shoulders.

The fact that you’re the one with the breaking bond goes unspoken, but you can tell Ellie is thinking it - it’s why she offered, in the first place, more perceptive of your situation with Luke than you probably give her credit for.

But you don’t want her pity - you don’t deserve it. You made your own bed with Luke, and all you can really do now is lie in it. He doesn’t want you anymore - not in the same capacity he used to, not like summer, whenever he cast a heated glance your way, and you’d feel it all the way through to your bones. You don’t think you’ll ever go back to that, it’s too late to get that back. You need to give him the space he so clearly desires, and maybe the two of you can find your way back to something resembling the friendship you had before you monumentally fucked it all up.

And maybe Ellie can give you the perfect distraction to do just that - focusing on fixing your relationship with her instead of investing all your efforts on a guy that no longer wants you back.

Luke knows it’s a selfish thing to say, but Jack’s injury has been hard on him.

For the second year in a row, his brother has had to end his season early, at the most crucial, cut-throat point as the team battle to make it to the playoffs, and Luke has had to shoulder a lot of the aftermath on his own.

There’s media, who are constantly asking him about it, waiting to trip him up, make him share something he’s not supposed to, or say something he doesn’t want to, and every time there’s a camera or a microphone shoved into his face, he dreads the social media discourse that follows.

There’s commentators and people in the league themselves, providing a constant reminder that the Devils are at some sort of disadvantage, and have to work twice as hard to make up for everyone that’s slowly succumbing to the brutality of the sport as they finally near the peak.

There’s coming home to an empty apartment while Jack’s away getting his surgery, and trying not to worry or overthink what he’s going through.

And then there’s Jack himself, when he returns - a grouchy, bitter mess of a person who can’t see the wood for the trees, can’t focus on anything other than where he’s stuck, watching his team persist in his absence and wishing more than anything in the world he can take someone’s place - that the misfortunes that keep finding him lose track, just once - even though he would never want anyone else to hurt like that.

And trying to juggle accommodating his brother's situation with his own is rough. Back to back losses following Jack’s departure, increased pressure on Luke as he takes on more responsibility within the team, and if you throw all of that in with the loss of his own coping mechanisms, Luke has found himself in a rut.

He isn’t sleeping the best, and he’s distanced from everyone - too in his head about seeing you and Ethan together to reach out to either one of you where he usually would - and he’s losing himself as the weeks blur by, and it isn’t until Jack mentions that Ellie is around that he lets himself think about you - about everything that happened in his bye-week, about how he’s been a pretty shitty friend to you, since.

“It’s spring break,” Jack says as Luke comes home to find him up and dressed for what seems like the first time since he got back from his surgery - struggling to shrug into a jacket while he only really has use of one arm. “She came out to spend it with me, gonna go over to her rental and watch a movie, you’re coming too.”

“Dude, I’m exhausted,” Luke huffs, throwing his keys into the bowl by the door as he watches his brother glare back at him, “I just want to go to bed, you don’t need me around when you’re hanging out with your girlfriend, I really don’t want to be seeing all that.”

“Lucky for you, there’s nothing to see,” Jack scowls back, “Ellie brought hell-spawn over with her, that’s why she isn’t staying here. Need you to work your magic as you seem to be the only one of us she can tolerate and I’m not in the mood for her bullshit.”

You’re in Jersey?

“I thought they were going to Cabo?” Luke frowns, too in his head about the fact that you’re in Jersey without telling him that he doesn’t call Jack out on how stupid he sounds, stopping in place as he watches his brother shrug in response.

“Ellie wanted to come out and see me, I guess she followed.”

And before Luke knows it, he’s driving the two of them over to the condo the two of you have rented for the week, and Ellie is answering the door with a giant grin on her face, cooing at Jack as she ushers them inside.

He’s looking around like a madman until she tells him you’re in the kitchen, and that you’re gonna need some help getting the snacks and drinks together - and despite it only being a few feet away, Luke feels breathless as he barges through the door, like he can’t calm down until he sees you in person.

Your back is to him when he enters, but the commotion he makes is enough to draw your attention, and your eyes are wide when they land on him, and not in the way that he usually likes.

Something about this whole situation makes him uneasy - the weeks of minimal contact, the lack of closure, the way you’re looking at him like you don’t know what to say.

You’ve never not known what to say, not when it comes to him.

“Hi,” he offers, because it’s the easiest thing for you to respond to, and the rest of the problems between the two of you are his own fault, so he may as well be the one to start to fix them.

“Hey,” you give back, the microwave pinging behind you, and you turn back to retrieve the bags from in there before you transfer them to the side. “I didn’t realise you were coming.”

“I didn’t realise you’d be in town,” he frowns, “Last you told me you guys were going to Mexico, your big senior spring break trip.”

That had been last month, and he has been a little distant since he left Michigan, but if you’re around, he would want to know about it. He can’t fathom why you’d be in the same city and not even tell him that you’re around.

He also can’t fathom why you’d give up something you’ve been looking forward to all year.

“Yeah, well, Ellie wanted to be here for Jack,” you shrug, busying yourself by emptying the popcorn out of the bag and into a few bigger bowls. He can’t remember ever having a conversation where you didn’t give him your full attention, and he feels a little nervous as he watches you focus on anything but him. “And I want to be here for Ellie, she shouldn’t have to miss out on her last spring break.”

“You couldn’t have told me?”

“Thought you’d be busy,” you reply, still not looking his way, “You’ve been busy most times I’ve tried to reach out the past few weeks.”

He wants to tell you that’s different, but it isn’t. He’s been avoiding you, and it’s obvious to the both of you that he’s been using the distance as the perfect excuse. He technically has been busy, but it’s no more than he was before that night in Michigan, and he managed to make time for you then. Sure, he’s been on the road, and there’s been a string of some pretty shitty games, but he’d had the same in January, too, and the two of you still kept up texting, at least.

“I mean, I’m playing like every other day this week,” he pouts, “But I’d still want to see you.”

He watches as your brows knit together, your movements coming to a halt as you stand in front of the counter, still not sparing him a glance. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you contemplate a response, and he wants to give you the time to think of one - doesn’t want to rush you again into saying something you don’t entirely mean.

He might have ignored Quinn’s instruction to clear up this entire mess before he left Michigan, but the rest of that conversation has still been weighing on his mind - about how he had been impulsive, and unfair, and he hadn’t considered all the ways you showed him things, without necessarily telling him.

“There is this art installation I wanted to visit,” you tell him, hesitantly meeting his eye, “We could go together, if you’re free at all?”

“As friends?” He asks, because he can’t help himself, watching as your eyebrows raise a little, like you’ve just been hit by an unexpected impact.

“Yeah,” you nod, although you don’t look entirely sure. “As friends.”

And he hates how he can’t even withhold the disappointed sigh he gives, your own shoulders slumping as you notice the reaction, and you retreat a little into your previous distance, eyes darting down until he can no longer see your irises.

“Maybe we should do something else,” he mutters, trying to push down the immediate need to backtrack when you don’t even respond, “You could come to a game, or something? An installation sounds cool and all, but that’s the kind of thing you do on a date, and we’re supposed to be moving on, right?”

“Are you?” You ask, peering up at him, again, “Moving on?”

He nods before he even realises he’s doing it, but it’s too late to stop before you notice, and all he can think about is the day he came back to Jersey, when he’d seen you leave your house with Ethan. All he can think about is losing you, and for some stupid reason, he thinks this is the only way to stop that. “I’m trying,” he shrugs, like he isn’t actively saying the most insanely stupid lie he’s ever told, “It’s what we said we’d do.” And he only says that to make himself feel better, he thinks - that you were only ever following the rules that he laid out for you, because it helps him to be delusional like that.

“Oh, okay,” you breathe, stepping back with a pained attempt at a smile and dodging his gaze, again, even quieter in your acceptance of his rejection, and it sort of makes him panic. “Yeah, it was stupid, this was stupid, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he frowns, the way he so quickly needs to correct you when you try to shrug him off coming by instinct, now. And he doesn’t like where this is going, now - misses the way you used to just roll your eyes and call him an idiot when he’d act like this, choosing the wrong path at every turn. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you call yourself stupid, and he has to try to reassure you. “It’s not stupid, it’s cool, it sounds like it would be fun, it’s just-,”

“Not together,” you bite back, “I get it.”

He sighs out your name, regretful and apologetic, “That’s not-,”

“Are you guys almost done in here?” Ellie huffs as she shoulders her way into the kitchen, features curled into a soft scowl as she stomps toward the counter, and Luke bites down on his tongue, fighting the sudden urge to tell her to go away. Her and his brother both have the single worst timing he’s ever known in his life. “Jack won’t shut up about how hungry he is."

“Yeah, sorry,” you mutter, “We’re ready.”

And Luke steps back to let the two of you carry some drinks and snacks through to the living room, holding the door open for the two of you and trying to meet your eye as you slip past, his chest aching all over when you don’t. He grabs whatever’s left and follows the two of you out, watching as you sink down into one of the smaller loveseats,

Jack and Ellie are taking up most of the couch, so he walks straight over to the seat opposite yours, an entire coffee table separating the two of you where you’d usually sit together, and he tries not to think about the last time you watched a movie - your birthday, when you’d been squished up against his side in your bed, the Wall-E plush he got you smushed between you as you watched the film, itself.

The last time things had felt easy - the last time any of it had felt right.

And then he’d gone and ruined it.

Jack tees up Good Will Hunting, huffing and puffing when the remote isn’t working like he wants it to but refusing to accept anyone’s help on the matter, and Luke busies himself with his phone while it starts, trying to sort some tickets for his next game so he doesn’t let you down on that front, either, and every time he peers over at you, he thinks the tension grows, somehow, your jaw set and your eyes focusing only on the screen.

He dips in and out of the movie, waiting for an update so that he can hopefully set about bridging the gap between the two of you tonight, and he only tunes back in at random intervals.

He’s seen it before, it’s one of his favourites, and he probably could quote it back to front without assistance, but certain parts have a new meaning when he really hears them, this time.

Especially when it comes to a certain monologue, the comforting voice of Robin Williams ringing throughout the room as his character sits beside Will in the park, watching the swans and realising just how short Will’s perspective on life is.

“If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favourites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy.”

He tries not to glance your way, his jaw tight as he blinks slow, recollections of waking up by your side flashing in his mind like something out of a dream. A blissful peace he hasn’t quite experienced elsewhere, his eyes flitting around your features as you slept, trying to study every inch of your face to commit it to his memory, never knowing if each time he got to experience it that it might be the last.

“I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell.”

He thinks of all those times he sought you out for his own personal comfort - after back to back games that drained every ounce of his energy, long stretches away from the comfort of his own bed, the constant comparisons to his brothers, and how he’d always come up short - but he was always first, to you.

Even when the two of you were caught up in the in-between, whatever you were before - friends, or something more - he always felt like a priority to you. Always wanted you to feel like a priority to him.

“And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her be there forever, through anything.”

The night of your birthday, the light in your eyes when he gave you those gifts, the soft but beautiful curve of your lips as you told him he was your best friend. The way you were worried he’d get tired of you, and he had promised that he wouldn’t.

“You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much.”

He hopes with everything in him that this isn’t the same - that he isn’t losing you. That his own immaturity and impatience hasn’t ruined the best thing he ever had in his life.

Because he does love you. He’s loved you for a long time, now.

Since the night of his cousin’s wedding, he thinks, when you’d opened up to him for the first time. Back when you laid in his arms in the dead of the night, your head on his chest and his arms around your body, and it finally felt like you were equals. Like he could stop chasing you, like you’d stop running.

He’s never felt the way he feels with you about anybody else. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t think he possibly could.

He doesn’t know why he ever made out like he could move on.

But he’s too familiar with saying things he regrets, now. It just keeps happening. Mouthing off to Cole back in summer, agreeing to be just friends in the fall, telling you that he can’t wait around for you at the end of winter, that he’s trying to move on.

Quinn was right, that morning when he called - he keeps doing stupid stuff out of impulse. Keeps letting his emotions get the better of him, and not giving you a chance to figure things out for yourself.

When he finds the courage to glance your way again, he just about catches you before you look away - a blink and you’ll miss it moment where he’s not even sure if he imagined it, but he keeps trying for the rest of the movie, a lot more focused on the ending than he previously was on his phone.

He thinks when it ends, and the credits start to roll, he’ll be able to find a way to ease the tension - to get you alone and talk it out, but his stupid brother opens his stupid mouth, and things escalate before he can even make sense of what’s happening.

“Stuff like that just doesn’t happen in real life,” Jack huffs, giving his thoughts on how Will chose to leave and go after Skylar, despite their mess of a relationship and how much he hurt her before, “These big love confessions, this whole corny, I gotta see about a girl, thing, why wouldn’t he just be honest about his feelings in the first place instead of trying to sabotage himself? Would save them a lot of trouble.”

You scoff from your own corner of the couch, and Luke’s eyes dart over just in time to catch the distinct roll of your eyes, barely even sparing a glance to Jack as you say, “That’s rich coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack winces as he straightens up, Ellie frowning from under his good arm as she follows suit, and Luke feels his own shoulders stiffen in anticipation of an argument - Jack’s been riled up to have one since he got injured, and you’re walking straight into a trap without knowing it.

But you can handle yourself, he thinks, especially when it comes to Jack.

Only something in you deflates when he looks again, the usual tenacity dissolving right before his eyes, and he watches as your gaze softens, flicking between the couple at the opposite end of the couch. “Forget it, doesn’t matter,” you mutter, your jaw set and your attention diverted back to the screen as the credits roll.

“That’s what I thought,” Jack grumbles back, accepting the swat Ellie gives to his good side to tell him to reign it in.

Luke doesn’t know why he stays silent, the urge to speak up for you is so strong it’s making his fingers twitch, but you sink into your place against the arm of the seat and fold your arms over yourself, like you’re giving up entirely.

“I was just saying, he’s a smartass, he’s hard work and she isn’t cut out for it, it shouldn’t be such a struggle to get somebody to open up, their relationship probably wouldn’t last a month once the movie’s over, if she even lets him back in when he goes to California, that is.”

Luke can see as clear as anything that Jack’s only using the film to vent his own frustrations - that he’s angry, and he’s exhausted, and he’s upset at everybody and everything - but he only understands that because it’s his brother. Because he’s known him his whole life. Because he gets where he’s coming from as a player - and Luke thinks he would be the same, if his season came to an abrupt end when he was on such a high, and all he’d known for the past month was loss and pain. He’d be angry, he’d snap at people, try to get them to hurt just a little bit so that it means he’s not alone. And it’s shitty, but he gets it - if his words were spoken to hurt Luke, he’d probably just shoulder the blow.

But they aren’t.

They’re meant to hurt you.

And when Luke looks over, and you’re staring at the wall with a distant, glassy look in your eyes, your lips twisted to stop them trembling, and your arms wrapped around yourself so tight that your shoulders are all hunched up, he can’t really bite his tongue anymore.

“You’re such a hypocrite,” he spits, eyes narrowing as they focus in on his brother, “You’re hard work, and you’re lucky Ellie isn’t running for the hills,”

“Whoa,” Jack frowns back, lips pouting as he diverts his attention across the room, “Chill out, man, it’s just a movie, I’m just saying my thoughts on it.”

“No one asked for your thoughts on it,” Luke scowls, “You’re being a dick for no reason, you don’t always have to spout your opinion on every little thing like it’s fact and shut down anyone who tries to argue with it.”

He expects to have caught your attention, seeing you move out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t expect for you to push yourself up and leave the room entirely, your feet padding softly against the carpet until the sound of them disappears completely, and the door to the kitchen swings closed behind you.

“Clearly touched a nerve,” Jack mumbles, and even Ellie pushes herself off of him, rolling her eyes until she storms off after you.

Luke almost wishes she hadn’t - wishes that he could be the one to go and comfort you, but after your conversation in the kitchen, before, he’s not sure if that’s what you would want.

And he knows it’s his fault for this wedge that’s between the two of you, after pushing you away and telling you to move on and getting all in his feelings about you potentially doing so, leaving Michigan before the two of you could actually talk about it and neglecting to patch up the now gaping hole in your relationship - but he doesn’t know how to fix it.

He doesn’t know how he can sit around and pretend like everything’s fine.

“You really can be an asshole, you know,” Luke snaps at his brother, using the situation as a cover for the way he wants someone to tell him the same - wants you to say it, for you to tell him that he’s dumb, and an idiot, and that he’s hurting you. He doesn’t want you avoiding eye contact and sitting on the other side of the room and coming to Jersey without even telling him.

“It’s not that deep, Luke-,”

“Seriously?” He scoffs, standing from his own seat and glaring down at Jack, his good arm sprawled across the back of the couch like he’s trying his best to make himself bigger, like Luke can’t see straight through the facade. “I get that you’re having a shitty time of it right now, but you don’t have to take it out on everybody else. You asked me to come with you to try and keep things from blowing up, but all you do is make digs at her for no good reason. I don’t get why you can’t just be nice.”

“I asked you to come with me because I thought you two were friends,” Jack lowers his voice, mindful of the fact that there’s only a wall that separates you and Ellie from the two of them, and he’s obviously on the verge of being in his girlfriend’s bad books after his behaviour. “She was annoyed about something before we even started the movie, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what when she won’t even look your way, Luke. I’m sick of you blaming me for her pissy attitude and not just having it out with her.”

God, he wishes Jack would just butt out of his business, for once.

Why can’t there be a middle ground between his unrelenting cynicism and Quinn’s blind hope?

If there was just one distinct voice for him to listen to, one clear instruction for him to follow, then he’d be able to make sense of everything swirling around his brain.

He thinks that voice would probably be yours, and he’s going to fall apart if you keep it from him much longer.

“I think you two should go,” Ellie’s voice carries softly over from where she’s come back out of the kitchen, “You have that appointment in the morning, Jack, and you have a game tomorrow,” her eyes are cautious as she casts her gaze toward Luke, raising a brow as if pleading for his help in getting his brother out of the way.

“Yeah,” he mutters, cursing himself for not being the one to go straight after you, instead.

Jack doesn’t put up much of a fight other than his usual huffing and puffing as Ellie helps him into his coat, and Luke gives the two of them a second to say their goodbyes as he stands to the side, keeping an eye on the door you’re yet to reappear through. He wants to give you space - knows that he shouldn’t follow you in there to corner you again, but if you peek your head out, maybe he’ll feel a little less anxious. Maybe then there’s hope.

“Could you let her know I got her a ticket for the game tomorrow?” He asks Ellie before he leaves, “I can get you one, too, a couple of the guys from Michigan are gonna be there, I’d love it if she came.”

“I’ll let her know, Luke,” Ellie’s smile is apologetic, but it just makes him feel worse, and he drives him and Jack back to their apartment in the most uncomfortable silence of his life, his jaw set so hard it aches when he’s home, and he storms straight to his room with a dramatic slam of his door.

He opens up your text thread as he lays awake for what feels like an hour, staring at the keyboard and willing some sort of explanation to come to his head as to why he’s such an idiot.

And that’s how he ends up falling asleep, phone still clutched on his hand, and no further clarification on what the hell is going to happen with the two of you.

When Ellie had told you last night about Luke’s invitation to his game, it had felt like a no brainer at the time that you’d skip this one out.

You don’t really know how many more knock backs you can take from him after telling him about the installation - an exhibit you’d seen online months ago, that would only be in town for a limited time following its success in Europe, and Luke had been the only person in mind you’d have ever wanted to go with.

But he doesn’t want to go with you.

He wants you at a safe distance, with distinct boundaries, and while you’re grateful for his attempt to try and lessen the blow of his rejection, you think foregoing the game entirely is the safest distance you could possibly wedge between the two of you.

As friends? He’d asked, almost immediately, like he was rubbing your face in it - like the mere thought of you wanting to go as anything more wasn’t even worth entertaining, anymore. And agreeing had been your last attempt to save face, because the last thing you were gonna do was put your heart on the line with his dickhead brother only one room away. You’re not that much of an idiot.

Plus, Ellie has taken your place - and she said some of the guys from college would be there, anyway. He probably won’t even notice you’re not there, just like how he’s managed to pretty much ignore your existence since he left Michigan.

And you can enjoy your first night of peace during your spring break, the others so far consumed by Ellie - not that you mind, all that much, it’s been kind of nice for the two of you to be away from everything, even though you’re within dangerous proximity to her demon boyfriend.

The rental she found is nice, too - the kind of place you could see yourself living in when you move over this way - spacious but cozy, with a giant TV that you can’t wait to watch your heart-shredding movie marathon on.

You set the space up as soon as Ellie left for the game, blankets thrown onto the couch, an array of snacks on the table, My Best Friend’s Wedding on the screen, and you’re about to settle in when there’s a harsh knock at the door, shattering your illusion of peace in an instant.

You grumble the whole way to the door, making sure the chain is on before you open it - all too aware you’re on your own in a city you aren’t entirely familiar with, and it would be just your luck to be murdered, probably.

But when you open the door, you almost wish it was a masked killer.

Jack Hughes stands on the porch, eyes narrowing as you peer at him through the crack in the door, his hip popped impatiently and foot tapping against the floor.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Are you gonna let me in?” he asks, raising a brow as he huffs out an irritable sigh, “Considering I’m paying for the place, I really shouldn’t have to ask.”

You frown as you move, unlatching the door and giving him enough room to pass you without the risk of bumping your shoulder and agitating his. “I didn’t know that,” you mumble, annoyed even more so now that Ellie had chosen not to tell you that. You suppose it’s your own fault for not asking, but she of all people knows how you are about others paying your way. “That you were paying, I’ll pay you back if it’s a problem.”

“It isn’t.” He rolls his eyes as he stands in the room you thought was actually nice before he arrived, and now you sort of hate it.

“Alright, well you didn’t answer my question,” you glare, “Why are you here?”

“I’m supposed to be checking up on you,” he says, rounding the couch before he throws himself down onto it, kicking off his shoes before he swings his legs up. “Usually when I have a headache so bad I can’t leave the house, watching the TV is the last thing I’d be doing.”

“Yeah, well, some of us are built different,” you scowl, “I’m fine, you can go ahead and crawl back to whatever pit you came from, I’ll let Ellie know you fulfilled your supportive boyfriend duties for the month.”

“Can’t actually,” he shrugs his good shoulder, reaching forward and grabbing the remote from where you left it. “Game’s starting in ten minutes, I won’t make it back to my place in time so you’re stuck with me for the next few hours.”

“Great.”

“Plus, Ellie didn’t send me, Luke did.”

You don’t exactly know how to feel about that. Jack couldn’t be more obvious in his distain for you, and you couldn’t have made it any clearer that you aren’t his biggest fan either, so why Luke would send him of all people instead of just texting you and asking if you’re alright, you don’t know. Especially after the movie last night - Jack is the last person on Earth you would want checking up on you.

“Sorry he wasted your time, then,” you sigh, “I’m gonna go to bed.”

“We both know you don’t have a headache,” Jack calls over his shoulder, “So you can give up the act. You’d really leave a guy in a sling on his own for hours? What if I need a drink?”

“That’s what your good arm’s for,” you smile, sardonically, a quick flash of sarcasm that drops as soon as Jack rolls his eyes, “So lucky that you have two.”

“Please?” He asks, uncharacteristically, the sudden shock of him actually being polite instead of demanding causing you to still, “I don’t like watching the games on my own, it makes me all tense, which makes everything hurt a whole lot more.”

And the sudden vulnerability from him seems to hypnotise you, huffing out a petulant fine and sitting as far away from him on the couch as you possibly can.

You’re leaning against one arm, and he’s leaning against the other, and the two of you sit through the build up and the first ten minutes in complete silence until he notices that you’re actually watching, unable to help himself from being a dick, apparently, and asking, “Do you even know what’s going on?”

“No, I just watch for the hot guys,” you scoff, “Thank god you’re not there to lower the average anymore.”

The genuine laugh he snorts out in response in unexpected, and you side eye him until you can feel his attention is completely diverted, the two of you settling back into the quiet until a play towards the end of the first period stuns the two of you.

Luke has the puck, and he’s going so fast you can barely focus, gliding in between the opposition seamlessly until he’s advancing on the net, and just as he’s about to shoot, a much bigger body slams into him, knocking him back until he collides with the boards and crumples over, and a sickening sense of deja vu creeps up on you so quick it makes you dizzy.

You watch the aftermath wide eyed, the whole thing blurring together as Luke takes himself off the ice, and disappears down the tunnel.

The game carries on, but you can’t move - you don’t even think you’ve blinked in a minute - and your mouth is still gaped open like an idiot, the inside of it drying so much that you feel it all the way down your throat.

“He’ll be alright,” you hear from the side of you, a hesitant, reassuring tone that you don’t think you’ve heard come from Jack, before. You turn your head to meet his eye, and his body is fully angled towards you, his gaze scrutinising and intense. “It’s just a knock, he’ll be back on after the intermission probably.”

“Reassuring coming from the guy who just had to have surgery after a knock.” You can’t help but snap back, little bite in your own inflection, but you ache from the tip of your tongue all the way down to your stomach. It didn’t look like just a knock - you’ve seen Luke take knocks before and never have to go off for medical attention - it looked way worse. And all they’re gonna do for the next 15 minutes is replay it over and over.

You feel sick.

“Lukey’s made of harder stuff,” Jack responds, the same relaxed lull to his voice. “That’s what my dad’s always said, anyway. Quinn would tell you the same, there’s something about him that always just bounces straight back, pisses me off a little sometimes, if I’m honest.”

You should probably know that better than anyone - for all the times you’ve pushed him away. But you’re starting to lose faith in that fact, a little.

“I just don’t want him to be hurt.” You mutter, trying to swallow past the stinging at the back of your throat, gulp down the growing insecurity that maybe you’ve made him weaker, maybe, somehow, this too is your fault.

“My phone’ll probably go off during the break” Jack sits up a little straighter, gesturing out to his cell that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch. “They’ll text me as soon as they’re done taking a look at him. I promise they’d know by now already if it was anything serious. I’d have gotten a call, our medical team are seriously good, they can tell stuff like that in an instant.”

It might be the fact that you’re relying on Jack Hughes of all people for reassurance that forces the tears to start welling in your eyes, your view of him blurring a little - or maybe the fact that he’s actually wilfully giving the reassurance, but either way, you don’t really want him to see you cry.

You sit in an uncomfortable silence as you watch the rest of the period, fidgeting in your place on the couch and picking painfully at the skin beside your fingernails, and it’s only when the last few seconds tick down that you can see Jack shuffle himself in your peripheral, turning until he’s properly facing you again.

“You really care about him, huh?”

You try to blink away the remaining threat of tears before you turn, yourself, meeting Jack’s eye across the couch and trying to muster up some sort of strength to shrug off this awful feeling that you can’t shake. “I’m not the heartless bitch you think I am, Jack,” you denounce, “Of course I care about him.”

He narrows his eyes in a glare, and you can tell he’s biting his tongue, careful not to goad you into some disastrous argument that neither of you really want. Last night had no doubt scratched his itch to lash out at somebody, and you don’t really think you’ll manage a round two.

The two of you stay locked in a heated, silent exchange for a few extended seconds, his jaw tense and your teeth chewing at the corner of your mouth in anticipation.

“Do you love him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you sigh, like it’s instinctual at this point, and you wince, even, once the words come out. They feel wrong. They feel like a bare-faced lie. Like some foreign language you have no business even attempting to speak. “I’m hard work, you know that, he knows that, and I think I’m all out of chances to try and convince him otherwise.”

“He doesn’t think you’re hard work,” Jack replies, “Trust me, I’ve been trying to convince him of as much since last summer, and he refuses to listen.”

“He said it himself to Cole,” you huff, hating how quick the memory comes to the forefront of your mind, hearing him say those things about you like it was nothing, replaying them over and over in your head like they were everything. “I heard it, Ellie heard it, he said that I wasn’t the kind of girl that he would date, and that I wasn’t worth the hassle.”

“And I’m sure he told you after that he didn’t mean any of that,” Jack tries to defend, brows furrowing as he thinks of any way to get his point across. “People say stupid things in the heat of the moment, we know that better than anybody, you can’t seriously think he actually believes that stuff,”

“He had to have been thinking it for it to have been said in the heat of the moment, Jack, he didn’t pull all that stuff out of his ass. He always knew it wasn’t gonna work out.”

Jack sighs your name, his free hand rising to rub at his temple in exasperation, and you wait as he winces, your eyes darting to check for any uncomfortable movements with his shoulder - but it’s something else that’s bothering him.

“I put those thoughts into his head.”

The concept isn’t surprising - you’ve always known Jack hadn’t liked you, always knew he was badmouthing you to whoever would listen, and snarking at you for the entire house to see. It’s what he’d done last night, using the movie as some sort of metaphor for just how fucked up you are, and everybody in the room could see it.

“I told him every opportunity I could get that you weren’t gonna work out, and that you were bad news, and you’d just mess him around until you got bored.” Jack admits, and again, you’re not shocked. He’d said as much to your face. You even thought you’d resolved this whole thing with him last summer, before everything went to shit, but he’s been off with you since then, so you have no doubt his sentiments have picked straight back up where they left off all those months ago. “And every time I did, he’d just tell me to go fuck myself. Still does. I tell him all the time you’re not good for him, and he just tells me I don’t know you. You’re like the only thing we fight about, and we live together for God’s sake, he’s messy as all hell and I don’t give him half as much grief about that as he gives me about being a dick to you.”

“You’re just proving my point,” you huff, “If I’m causing arguments between the two of you, I’m hardly the kind of person he should be keeping around.”

“He loves you too, you know,” Jack offers as rebuttal, raising a brow as if pushing you to fight back on the fact when you zero in on him. “He told Quinn when he was in Michigan. I got this huge lecture off of him about butting in on your business where I’m not wanted.”

You chew a little at the corner of your mouth, the sudden, inappropriate urge to laugh rising within you at the thought of Jack getting a telling off from his big brother.

“I’ve been angry this whole time that he doesn’t talk to me about stuff when it comes to you, but I guess I’ve been giving him a good reason not to.”

And as much as you don’t get along with Jack, the thought of driving a wedge between them - between all of them - makes you feel like crap, so all you can do is carry on fighting him.

“He wants to move on,” you shrug, “And he said some pretty shitty stuff about me back in summer when Cole said he wanted to take me out, he doesn’t think as highly of me as he makes out.”

“You’re gonna sit there and tell me that if a girl came up to you and said they were gonna ask him out, you wouldn’t try and talk them out of it?” Like you didn’t storm off at the mere sight of him with Victoria at that party. Like you haven’t been spiralling for weeks over him liking some girl’s post on instagram. “That you wouldn’t feel like someone was trying to take something from you?”

Of course you’d feel that way, you think.

Luke Hughes might be the only person you’ve ever let all the way in, and if someone were to swoop in and snatch him from your clutches, you’d probably go insane.

You’d do anything you could to deter them - including using Luke’s flaws and self-doubts against him. You’d even stretch them to fit your agenda, exaggerating the depth of them to make sure you really put them off.

You’d tell them he can be really insecure - that he gets in his head about stuff, especially anything that can be considered a comparison to his brothers - and that sometimes it brings out something avoidant and petty within him. You’d tell them that he isn’t serious when he needs to be, and that, 9 times out of 10, he’s going to crack some awkward joke that doesn’t land and he doesn’t really know how to properly resolve tension. You’d tell them that he craves validation, and it can be a minefield sometimes to navigate his need for attention.

You wouldn’t tell them that you love all those things - that he gives you this look when you stroke his ego that makes your heart stop, and that your sense of humour matches his like two perfectly placed pieces of a puzzle, and that he somehow manages to creep under your thick skin when you’re trying to stay mad or upset for no reason other than you think you need to. You wouldn’t tell them that he fills the exact same validation-void in yourself, and that the two of you balance each other out like two sides of the same coin.

And as much as the things he had said last summer crushed you - and for as many times as you’ve replayed them in your head over and over for the past several months since hearing them - you think you finally get it.

Jack Hughes is going to be the last person that you admit that to, though.

“We’re not each other’s property,” you protest weakly, instead.

“Oh don’t come at me with that bullshit,” he exasperates, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, “I’m not saying he owned you, or that you own him, I’m saying the two of you put in way too much fucking work for someone else to reap the benefits of it.”

“You have a lot to say, all of a sudden, for someone who’s been trying to put him off of me for God-knows how long.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong about you.” He huffs, like it pains him to say it, “And maybe last night I was angry about something else entirely, and I took it out on you because I didn’t want to feel that way on my own.”

Oh.

If that’s as close to an apology as you’re gonna get, you don’t think you entirely mind it.

It makes sense, after all, you think. The two of you have always had this incessant need to rile the other up, and you were the easiest bait he had to make himself feel better.

If you’d had a month like Jack just had, you’d probably do the same.

“Why didn’t you go to the game?” He asks, and just as your lips part to respond, he adds, “And don’t insult me with the whole headache thing,” forcing you to press them back together.

You sigh, weighing up in your mind if it’s even worth it to open up to Jack at this point. Sure, he’s making out like he finally sees your true intentions, but does it really matter anymore?

“He doesn’t want me there.”

“Of course he wants you there,” Jack frowns, features curling in confusion. “He got you a ticket, he invited you.”

“It was like a consolation thing,” You huff, thinking back on that conversation in the kitchen, where you’d mustered up the courage to cross some unspoken boundary, and he’d shut you down. “I wanted to do something else together, and he said it was too much, said we should be moving on. Blurring me into a crowd of thousands is the only alternative, apparently.”

Jack snorts out some muffled noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff, and you glare at him as you wait for him to clarify whatever the hell sort of response that was. “You’re both as annoying as each other, you know.”

“Whatever,” you pout, shuffling your body to turn away from him again as you fold your arms over your chest like a petulant child, “He wants to move on, so I’m giving him the space to do that. I’m done with it.”

You don’t know who you’re trying to convince, but you should know better than to think that would ever work on him.

“Right,” Jack snickers, “So done with it that you’re sat here almost crying at the thought of something happening to him.” You scowl, then, because what’s the point in trying to soften your reactions if he’s just going to be an asshole about it. “He’s fine, by the way,” he shakes his phone, then, giving a blurry glimpse of a message thread you can’t even read.

And you thought good news would have lessened the pressure in your chest, this pulsing, swelling feeling that grips at your heart like a vice at the thought of him being hurt - but it doesn’t really go down, at all.

Luke said he wanted to move on. He said he wanted to be friends, and that the two of you should stop blurring the lines.

So why is he sending one brother across the city to check up on you? And why is he telling the other that he loves you?

You weren’t entirely lying, before.

You are done.

And the only way you think you can ease this pain now is to talk it out, with him, once and for all.

Trying to talk to Luke is harder than you ever thought it could be.

Texting him seems out of the question, as stupid as that sounds, but when you open up your messages to try, you’re faced with weeks worth of one-word responses that put you straight off - the thought of him shutting you down one more time almost toppling you over the edge of insanity.

And you could call, but it fills you with the same sort of dread. The last time the two of you spoke on the phone had been when Jack was injured - when you’d offered to be there for him if he needed you and he’d sort of snapped at you.

And sure, emotions were high, but things haven’t really been the same since that conversation. They haven’t been the same since the kiss, but there’s a part of you that doesn’t really want the burden of all the blame on your shoulders for once.

There have been countless opportunities for the you to clear everything up, but there have been chances for him, too, and you’re starting to think that maybe the two of you are far too content to let each other suffer instead of actually communicating your feelings like adults.

And after you spend the whole day after the game you missed dwelling on that fact, you’re grateful for a little reprieve when you get a text from Ethan, in town to talk about his own career, who wants to go out for drinks to toast to everything - to spring break, to your NYU acceptance, his devils contract.

He drops a pin for a bar in Hoboken, and you and Ellie make your way down together, meeting up with him and a few of the other guys to celebrate, and it’s the first night in a while that you feel like you don’t need to stress about anything.

You manage to push Luke to the back of your mind for a while, sat in a booth beside Ethan as he shows you pictures of the apartment he went to look at a couple days ago, his plans to move over here coming a lot sooner than yours, but apparently the building have vacancies coming up in the fall, and the two of you talk about how weird it is that you’re gonna be close, again.

You’re joking with him about his hookup with your sorority sister Megan, threatening to bring her over as your roommate and giggling into your hand through a drunken buzz, when the one person you’re trying to forget for a second appears out of nowhere, standing beside the booth as he looks down at the two of you with an unfamiliar sadness in his eyes. He looks a little run down, dressed in a hoody that stretches across his shoulders, and donning a baseball cap that’s probably supposed to keep his presence lowkey.

“Lukey boy!” Ethan exclaims as he stands to greet him, the two of them doing that brotherly fist bump and hug that all guys do, “Thought you were too beat to come out!”

“Changed my mind,” he shrugs, eyes glancing back at you. “You mind if I sit?”

“Nope,” you shrug, nodding to the opposite side, where he slides in, and his knees knock against yours under the table.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Ethan tells him, winking over at you as he backs away, your eyes wide as you watch him retreat before you look back at Luke, the silence around you almost visible in animated ellipses that dot in the space between the two of you.

“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” He asks, tone surprisingly bitter as his eyes darken, and you feel your defences build despite them usually being so weak in his presence.

“We’ve always been friendly,” you frown, “Since when are you so rude? What happened to hello, how are you?”

“I don’t know, probably since you started avoiding me,” he juts out his bottom lip, leaning into the back of the booth and stretching his hands out on the surface, “Hard to stay nice when you come to town without telling me and send Ellie to a game I specifically invited you to.”

“You told me you didn’t want to hang out with me,” you scoff, uneasy with how quick this entire conversation is escalating. You’re a little tipsy, but there’s no excuse for how he’s so quick to snap at you.

“That’s not what I said and you know it,” he huffs.

“No, I don’t know it, because you’ve been avoiding me too,” you bite back, “Why are you being such a dick all of a sudden?”

“You kissed me,” he leans forward onto his elbows, eyes dark under the shadow of the bill of his cap, and you feel a shudder run through you at the intensity behind his gaze, at the memory the mere mention of it invokes - combined with the rasp in his voice, it’s taking everything in you to fight the urge to do it again. “It was barely 3 weeks ago, and now you’re here, without telling me, and you won’t talk to me, and you’re all buddy-buddy with Ethan all of a sudden-,”

“You pushed me away,” you snap back, eyes narrowing to mirror his, “You told me I was making things harder for you, and that I should move on, and then you started avoiding my calls and sending one word responses to my texts, you don’t get to sit there and be an asshole to me just because I’m hanging out with somebody else.”

“So that’s what this is,” He points over to where Ethan is lingering at the bar, no doubt flashing those puppy-dog eyes to the girl behind it, a charming grin cast her way as you can see her blush from all the way across the room. ”This is you moving on?”

“Ethan and I are just friends,” you frown, watching as Luke’s jaw tenses in response, clenching at either side of his face in a way that would usually turn your mouth dry. “I’m not moving on, we aren’t dating.”

Luke’s eyes are stormy when they meet yours - strained and serious as he weighs up your response. “Neither were we.”

The next breath you take is sharp and jittery, gaze still fixed on his from across the table - and despite the proximity of your bodies, him leaning forward, and you just about doing the same, and the urge you had mere seconds ago to close the gap between you, you couldn’t feel any further apart.

You see his hands shift in your peripheral, long fingers picking at the label on Ethan’s empty beer bottle before his gaze shifts down - guilty and withdrawn. You can’t look away, though - you need to properly look at him, you need to try and see some lifeline you can cling to, here.

He’d pushed you away back in Michigan. He’s been distant, since - too busy for calls, too avoidant for any attempt at a lengthy text conversation. He’s irritated, now - even if he won’t say as much - you can tell by the heavy set of his jaw, and the way his eyes narrow whenever Ethan is too close.

“What were we, then?” You ask before you can think better of it, before some internal part of you convinces yourself that his answer will only serve to hurt you. You’re not going to get anywhere by holding back, anymore.

He’d drank from that cup all those months ago back at that party. Never have I ever been in love. He’d looked you in the eyes as his lips pressed to the red plastic, and he’d watched and waited for you to respond.

And everything that happened after that will never erase the memory of that heated look in his eyes - piercing straight through the flames in the middle of your circle of friends, burning into the very depths of your being and warming you just enough for the months that followed.

All the talk about being only friends, of getting any other feelings out of your systems one last time and pretending to rinse them away - it was that night out in the yard of the hockey house that kept things alive, you think.

Knowing that somewhere down the line, despite everything you put each other through - despite the insecurity, and the jealousy, and the pain - he loved you, and he might possibly be the only guy who ever has. The only guy you ever want to.

“Friends,” He frowns as he continues to pick at the sticky paper, tearing the corner until it starts to peel, briefly glancing up to meet your eye as he asks, “That’s all we’ll ever be, right?”

You gulp, your own gaze dropping to the surface between you, eyes tracing the rings of condensation on the table left behind from the chilled bottles.

“I don’t know if I’m good at being friends,” comes out somewhat instinctively, your brows furrowing as the circles your eyes were mapping seem to hypnotise you into unprompted vulnerability. “I’m having a hard time moving past what happened last summer, I think,” you admit, a rattling breath following, hesitant to do so but needing to get it out, to make him understand that none of this is easy for you - letting him go and moving on isn’t some minor thing he can simply suggest to make things better. It’s not possible. “I feel like it’s always in the back of my mind when I’m with you, like I can’t let it go.”

Spilling secrets by the fountain at the country club, kissing in his car when he’d pick you up from work, pulling over on some deserted side road where no one could see, splashing at him in the lake, the sun rays bouncing off the water and bringing out the sea-glass shade of his irises. Trying on stupid disguises in the thrift store at the mall together, his hands on your waist as you danced together at his cousin’s wedding, defending you to his brother whenever Jack tried to pick some stupid fight with you.

It all plays like flashes from a movie at every given opportunity - the second you give your mind a chance to wander, it travels straight back to those weeks spent in his company, to a time where you’d shared a connection so intense that it permanently altered some deep, previously untouchable part of you.

“I thought that I could just push it down,” you sniffle, “I thought that being friends might help me forget, but I can’t, it just feels harder.”

He mutters your name, softer and quieter than before, but the intention is there to say something as a rebuttal, you can tell by his tone.

You don’t really have much fight left in you, though, not anymore.

“And you were right, back in Ann Arbor, it’s not fair to you.”

“That’s not what I meant-,”

“It is,” you resign, “I don’t know how to be your friend, I don’t know what I want anymore, and I can’t keep pretending and making everything worse for you when it would just be easier if we,”

“If we what?”

“Stopped.” You croak, every muscle in your throat working to resist the words from actually working their way up and coming out. “Whatever it is that we’re trying to be, or trying not to be. So that you can move on, like you want.”

You chance a quick glance up, vision blurred by a thick wall of tears, and meet his startled gaze.

“Is that what you want?” His voice shakes a little as he asks, breathy and reluctant - like he’s bracing himself for your own response to hurt.

It doesn’t really matter what you want, you think. You’ve long lost any right to fight for it - not when it comes to him. You had your chance in summer, to open up about all the things you were starting to feel, and you chose to push them down. You don’t even know why, anymore.

You really thought there would be something left to salvage of your relationship with Luke - something to cling to so that he couldn’t push you away, something that got the two of you back on track, especially after talking to his brother, last night - but now that you’re here, everything just feels wrong. It all feels like a stab in the dark, like you’re no longer familiar with the boundaries of what is or isn’t okay with him, and that leaves you feeling lost, again. Like even the slightest attempt to bridge the gap is one giant wasted effort.

And you know all too well where this feeling gets you - too afraid to put your heart on the line, you hide it away, lock it up and throw away the key so that no one can even attempt to get to it again.

He doesn’t want to hang out one-on-one, away from the safety of using Ellie and Jack as a buffer. He doesn’t want to watch movies like you used to, or talk on the phone, or even be within 5 feet of you, it seems. He’s annoyed that you’re close to his other friends, he’s annoyed that you’re around at all, you think.

He doesn’t want you anymore - he shuts down every thought of being anything more, and he can talk all he wants about blurring lines and still being friends, but you know how this plays out.

He wants to move on, he’s said so too many times now for you to discount it or try and find a work around. And when he moves on, and he finds some other girl, like Yasmin, or even Victoria, who doesn’t push him away, or make his life hard, or knows how to express her feelings without saying or doing the wrong thing, he’ll have no use for you.

His brothers will like her, and he’ll show her off to his teammates, and their relationship will expand beyond a phone screen and the distant, foggy memory of something more. And it will be easy.

And he deserves that.

He deserves so much more than you’ve ever been able to give him. Maybe if you saw that sooner this whole thing wouldn’t be such a mess. Maybe if you’d been more accepting of your blossoming feelings in the summer, and you hadn’t been so insistent on maintaining control, everything wouldn’t have spiralled so far out of reach.

Ellie might have seen your interest, Cole might have turned his attentions elsewhere, and Luke would never have said those things about you to try and deter him. And then these last few months would have been easier, too. Your walls would have long been knocked down, your defences weakened, and you’d have just let him in like you’ve always wanted to.

And Luke wouldn’t have gotten tired of trying, just like you predicted all those months ago.

“I think your brother was right, the other day, about the movie, and people being hard work. I want you be happy, Luke, and you said it yourself, I can’t make you wait around for me to figure shit out, you have enough going on without me making you feel like this.”

You feel a shift when you look at him again, a slump of his shoulders as he leans back into the booth - something like resigned acceptance - and you can’t help but be reminded of the exchange that started this whole ordeal.

Him on the other side of a booth in the restaurant at the country club, a hopeful gleam in his earthy irises and his chest puffed out in what you remember thinking seemed like a facade of arrogance, with something much gentler beneath the surface. Things had been much lighter then. Playful and easy. And you don’t think it’s been like that for a long time.

You did that, you think.

You sank into the dark, murky waters of your own insecurities and you dragged him straight down with you - and now it’s time to set him free.

The silence that follows your words is awkward, maybe for the first time ever with him, in a way that makes your skin itch with a prickly heat. You had been so intent on speaking to him, before, and now all you want to do is leave so that he can’t stretch this out, or leave so you don’t have to sit here and watch him not even try. You want to run. Scream. Cry, even. Do anything but wait around for him to agree.

“I’m sorry,” comes out croaky, and broken, and you blink out the tears that blur your vision, feeling them run their course the whole way down your cheeks until you swipe them away from your jaw.

“Me too.”

You want to tell him he doesn’t have anything to apologise for. You want to tell him that you’re the problem, and that you shouldn’t have led him on for as long as you did - but you don’t really want to keep going in circles with this conversation.

You just want to go.

And you couldn’t be more thankful when Ethan comes back, oblivious to the tension between you and his best friend, pushing another bottle across the table and sliding into the opposite side of the booth, right next to Luke.

“So, Lukey, are you gonna let us in on all your favourite spots around here for when we’re both back in the fall?” He slings an arm over the back of the booth, falling naturally above Luke’s slumped figure, and you straighten up in your own seat.

“I’m gonna go find Ellie,” you say, shuffling out from your own side, smiling meekly when Ethan frowns at you, not even daring to look Luke’s way. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

And then you walk away, because that’s all that’s left to do - and when you find Ellie, she takes one look at you, and she knows.

Eyes welling with tears, lips trembling - a mirror image of the girl she found back in your shared room that afternoon of her party, back in the summer - and she ushers you out of the bar and holds your hand the whole way back to your rental, your head on her shoulder as you try not to sob in the back of a taxi.

For all the times people in his life have called him an idiot, Luke has never felt as stupid as he feels right now.

Watching your teary eyes from across the table, able to do nothing but stare back at them, speechless and spineless as you finally throw in the towel, as you finally admit what you’ve been holding back this entire time.

That you can’t move past what happened in summer.

That this whole time, you’ve been trying to distract yourself from how much he hurt you, how much he fucked up, and all he’s ended up doing is hurting you again.

I feel like it’s always in the back of my mind when I’m with you, you had said, like I can’t let it go.

Like he can never take back all the stupid shit he said to Cole when he was jealous and immature - like he still can’t handle those sort of emotions when he’s around you, and he lashes out when you don’t even deserve it, all because he can’t handle seeing you with anybody else.

He doesn’t even know why he came at you so quick.

All he remembers is seeing a photo on an instagram story of the guys at the bar, of seeing you and Ellie crouched in the front, carefree, giant grins etched into your faces, and all of a sudden he was walking in.

And you were smiling so sweet, your nose scrunching up and your body shaking with laughter as you sat beside Ethan, absolutely no space between you in the booth, and he had felt something ugly consume him before he even had a chance to realise what was happening.

And now you’re gone, and his heart is pounding in his chest, and the sound of your soft voice uttering one final apology is echoing around his head.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asks from beside him, leaning forward until he appears out the corner of his eye, and Luke shakes himself out of the trance you put him under.

He mutters your name, and Ethan’s head tilts in confusion until Luke asks, “Are you into her?”

“Into her?” Ethan’s eyes widen in alarm as he almost chokes on a sip of his beer. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, a pathetic attempt at nonchalance that he can tell doesn’t land as soon as he does it, “You looked close when I came in, and she said you went to the movies together the other week. Got food after, sounded like a date to me.”

“Interesting observation,” he scoffs, “Considering all you two do together is watch movies and eat.”

Luke frowns, especially when he looks over properly, and Ethan is smirking at him. He feels like he could throw up. “She’s my friend,” he says, although he supposes that’s not really true, anymore, but he’s sick of having to explain it to everybody. “I’ve told you like a million times.”

“Mine too,” he snickers, and Luke can feel his blood start to boil a little at the implication that your relationship with Ethan might at all be similar to your relationship with him. “She’s a cool girl.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, a nauseating sense of deja vu washing over him, soaking him to the bone in remorse.

She’s a really cool girl, Cole had said, back toward the end of summer, really funny.

He feels the same swirls of panic stirring in his chest, a stutter to his heart rate that has him holding his breath to try and correct it, somehow.

“We’ve just been hanging out a little more the last few weeks, ever since I took her home,” and the mention of that night back in Michigan makes him feel worse - that swirling feeling evolving into something sinister, catastrophic, even. He’d upset you and you’d turned to Ethan for comfort - you’ve continued to turn to him, since. And Luke had really left you no choice but to do so, so upset at the thought of the two of you together that he shut you out, entirely. “I guess we got closer throughout this year, but it’s mostly been in a group, like at parties or whatever. She’s a lot different to how I thought she’d be, especially when it’s just her, we get along.”

“Yeah,” Luke breathes, monotonous and slow, because he can’t really muster much else.

He could probably cry, if he thinks too hard about it. Could probably break out in a sweat and hyperventilate, and all that’s stopping him is the nails digging into his palm to keep him grounded to reality.

He had you, he thinks, back on that porch outside the hockey house, and he let his own fragile ego get in the way, once again. Just like back in the summer, when he had you, and let this panic and jealousy consume him, turn him into something ugly and cruel, saying things he never meant, or never had any right to divulge.

“I think uhh,” his jaw feels tense as he speaks, like something in him doesn’t want to carry on, but he fights past it, “I think a lot of people have the wrong idea about her.”

“How do you mean?”

“People judge her based on what they think she’s like, but they don’t really get to know her.” He relaxes back into his seat, a little, trying to alleviate the growing tension in his spine. “I’d say she doesn’t really let them, but people don’t try hard enough. It’s like you said, she’s really cool.”

“Funny, too.” Ethan smiles a little, and the look in his eyes brings the essence of tears to Luke’s, almost.

“Really funny,” he agrees, pushing through the way his throat feels like it’s closing up, lips twisting up into some attempt at a smile. “Really quick, not even just telling jokes but like, she can just read every situation as it’s happening. I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation where she hasn’t made me laugh, even if she’s trying to bite my head off or something or I’m not really in the mood to be laughing.”

Ethan nods along, like he could possibly understand what Luke means - but maybe he can, Luke worries. Maybe that’s what you’ve opened his eyes to, while the two of you have been growing closer this year with him being none-the-wiser to your budding relationship.

“And sure, she’s snappy, but she’s like,” he pauses, a breathy chuckle as he fights the swelling of his chest, now, too, “the most caring person I’ve ever met. You feel it, too, even when she is biting your head off or whatever, she’s doing it because she thinks it’s just as much fun for you as it is for her, and she just wants to keep you hooked. And sure, it takes a while for her to warm up, but when she does it’s like, I don’t even know, man, like her smile,” another pause, and Luke smiles a little more, himself, the upturn of his lips coming so naturally that he can’t tell he’s doing it until his field of vision narrows a little, “She has this smile that’s all slow and cute, and I swear it could thaw ice or something corny like that.”

“She’s got a cute smile,” Ethan agrees, but the way he’s looking at Luke makes him feel a little too seen, and so he straightens back up in his seat before he can sink any further. “Not sure it’s worth losing one of my closest friends over, though.”

“You wouldn’t,” Luke gulps, trying to swallow past the growing lump in his throat at the mere thought of you and Ethan together, a feeling that’s achingly reminiscent of how he felt about you and Cole - sick to his stomach. But this had been the problem before - thinking he has any sort of say over how you move forward with anyone that isn’t him. “I just want her to be happy, I know you’d look after her.”

He’d told you to move on. He’d told you he couldn’t wait around for you to figure things out. He’d shut you out, forced you to close yourself off to him, accused you of only wanting him when you think you’re losing him to someone else - and here he is, falling apart from the inside out, once again, at the mere thought of you with anybody else.

He’s a hypocrite, and he hates himself for it - he’s going to lose you because of it. Maybe he already has.

“You’re an idiot,” Ethan scoffs, mouth curving up at one side in amusement. “You’re seriously gonna sit there and say you want me to ask her out? You want me to date the girl you’re very clearly in love with because at least I’d look after her?”

“C’mon, E-,”

“Like she needs looking after?” Ethan’s dark eyes narrow as he levels Luke with an incredulous glare. “You know if she heard you, she’d beat your ass, right? Trying to auction her off like some sort of prize, are you insane? I swear to God, the two of you are borderline painful, you’re as bad as each other.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I honestly thought you were both just being oblivious, or something, but it’s like you’re actively trying to sabotage yourselves, you need to talk to each other, you need to tell each other how you feel.”

“I know that you slept with her,” Luke blurts out, eyes wide as Ethan’s face curls up in horror, “I saw you come out of the house with her the morning after the party,”

“Whoa-,”

“And it’s fine. Not that either of you need my permission,” Luke scoffs, “But I’m not blind, E, she was with you the night Jack got injured, too, she was smiling at you tonight like she hasn’t smiled at me in forever, I just want her to be happy, and if that’s not with me-,”

“I slept with Megan,” Ethan interrupts, “The night of that party, I dropped her off like you asked, I went back to the house, and I hit up Megan because we were hooking up for a while before she got all crazy on me. You remember her, right? The girl with the tattoo of her cat?”

“You were hooking up with a girl who had a tattoo of her cat?” Luke frowns, distracted momentarily until he realises what’s happening.

“She’s in the same sorority,” Ethan scoffs, “What you saw was her sneaking me out of the house because I got stuck upstairs and Megan wouldn’t help me.”

“But the movie, and the pinball,” Luke fades a little, brows furrowing as he tries to piece together whatever the hell he’s managed to fabricate between you and Ethen this entire time - weeks of avoiding you for nothing.

“We just bumped into each other at the IMAX, she seemed a little down, so we hung out after. Like friends do. Like you’d probably know, if you talked to her. You really thought that either of us would do that to you? That girl is crazy about you, Luke, she pretty much cried the whole walk home because you didn’t tell her you liked her.”

“She what?”

“Kept asking me if you’d said anything about being into anyone, she was being all cryptic and weird, I tried to imply you were into her, but clearly it didn’t help.”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head, muttering repeatedly as he remembers that night, remembers what Quinn had tried to tell him, remembers everything from the past 6 months, all at once. He runs two shaky hands through his hair, trying to squeeze at his skull to stop the influx of regret that’s starting to vibrate in there, incessant and relentless, like it will never go away. “I need to go after her.”

Luke pushes gently at his best friend, frowning when he doesn’t budge.

“E, I need to apologise to her, I need to talk to her,”

“Tomorrow.” Ethan advises, “Her and Ellie knocked back like a whole margarita pitcher together, you don’t want to do this when she isn’t in the right state of mind.”

Wrong.

He wants to do it as soon as he physically can.

And he’ll do it on the hour every hour until you’re sober, he thinks.

“Trust me,” Ethan pats at Luke’s leg, a brotherly gesture that does little to calm his nerves. “Take tonight to think about what you want to say, and say it tomorrow.”

Luke hates that he’s right - just like Quinn had been right all those weeks ago.

He can’t do this out of impulse.

He needs to do it right.

When Ellie knocks on your bedroom door the next morning, she’s merely a fuzzy blur through your puffy eyes, and you can barely muster a smile as she walks in with a cup of green tea and a slice of toast for you.

“Thanks, El,” you croak, voice thick with sleep, and maybe dry from the salty rim of the many cups you drank from last night - or the way you cried for maybe an hour until you eventually drifted off.

Ellie had been your literal shoulder to cry on when you got home, letting you sob and finally release months worth of pent-up frustrations as she listened, taking it all in while she stroked a gentle hand through your hair.

You told her everything - about halloween, and christmas, watching movies over FaceTime and spiralling over them alone in your room after he hung up. You told her about texts that made your knees go weak, and calls that lasted until the early hours of the morning, and sleeping in Luke’s arms when you finally saw him in person. You told her about the gifts, and opening up to Luke about your family, and kissing him on the porch back at the hockey house.

Then you told her about the aftermath. About distancing yourself from him to let him move on, about him distancing himself from you because you’re too much of a mess for him to make sense of, and then about that conversation in the bar - about finally letting him go.

She just let you air it all out until it exhausted you - tucked you into your bed where you sobbed into your pillow for a little longer, and promised to talk more in the morning.

And you suppose that’s what this is - breakfast in bed, a soft smile sent your way as she lowers the tray onto the sheets in front of you, muttering a short, you’re welcome, as she perches herself on the end of the bed.

The two of you make a little small talk as she watches you eat, concern in her eyes and hesitance in her posture, and you figure you must have freaked her out a little too much last night - probably still freaking her out, now your face still swollen from all the crying.

“I’m sorry about last night, El,” you sigh once you’ve swallowed your last bite of toast, pushing the plate away. “I feel like such an idiot, you get a free pass to say I told you so, or whatever.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” her lips twist, unsure and uncomfortable, as she shuffles against the footboard. “It wouldn’t be right after what I did.”

“What you did?” You frown, “What do you mean?”

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Ellie shrinks away a little, face scrunching in anticipation of some poor reaction, and all you can hear is the persistent thudding of your heartbeat - still reeling from last night, a little. “I was just trying to help.”

“Help with what?” You blink slow as you watch her, eyes drawn to the way her lips twist and turn, tugged between her teeth as she tries to work through whatever it is she wants to tell you.

“It was sort of Jack’s idea, initially,” she starts, “I mean, I guess I took it a little too far, but he’s the one who brought it up-,”

“Ellie-,” you warn, the anticipation of it all only making things worse.

“He thought if the two of you felt like you were losing each other to somebody else, you’d realise you actually wanted to be together, and you’d stop forcing the whole friend thing and make the next move.”

“I don’t understand-,”

“He said he tried doing the same thing last summer, when he was being an idiot about asking me out. He took some girl from the club on a date, picked someone that he knew you’d find out about, but I guess you never did, ‘cause you’d have told me about it and I’d still have a dent in my head from where it would have hit the roof.” The nervous chuckle she gives does very little to lighten the mood.

“Right,” you nod along, muttering out the affirmation despite the fact that you’d done the complete opposite.

You never told her about Jack and Jessica, the girl from the club last summer - who you and Luke had spied on in the earlier days of your scheming. It was for her own good, though. You didn’t want to hurt her over something that clearly wasn’t worth her time. Jack was being an idiot, that much was obvious at the time - even without the context you now have that he was trying to get caught - and so you feel less bad about lying about the whole thing.

Although, your eye starts to twitch a little at just how ridiculous this whole thing has started to become.

“So he pushed Luke to date this Yasmin girl for the same reason?”

“Not exactly,” Ellie winces, “I think he tried to get him out of the house one time just to test the waters, but nothing ever came of it. And then Jack got busy with the tournament, and Luke came out to Michigan, and I felt like I had to take the reins a little.”

“Take the reins on what?”

Your tone must unintentionally reflect just how tired you are of this whole thing, because Ellie cowers a little, eyes glassy as she skirts around what it is that she wants to say.

“I need you to understand that I felt really bad about the whole Cole thing, okay?” She says, “And then ever since summer, you haven’t really been yourself, you know? Like you don’t wanna come out anymore, and you’re letting school get to you, and you don’t talk to me about stuff, even when I know that it’s bothering you,”

You look down, your own lips pressing together to try and ease the tension elsewhere in your jaw.

You have been a little more reserved, but it’s not entirely because of how your summer ended. And it’s not like you weren’t coping, entirely - you just weren’t running to Ellie like you normally might have.

Maybe it was unintentional, the way you had shut her out, even since the start of summer, but that doesn’t mean it would have affected her any less. Guilt starts to nip away at you from the inside out, her meek response heightened when you lifted your gaze back to watch her.

“And I just thought maybe you needed someone to look out for you, to give you a little nudge in the right direction, I didn’t realise it would have made things worse.”

A nudge - just like the kind of nudge you and Luke were supposed to be giving her and Jack last year.

You’re starting to get a headache with it all, the way you seem to have come full circle in the worst possible way - where the universe throws you Ellie and Jack of all people to try and gain some semblance of order to your life.

It’s tragic.

“What are you even saying?”

“There is no Yasmin,” she blurts out, “I made her up.”

You blink slow, feeling as your face slowly contorts with confusion - lips turning down, brows scrunching together, little creases forming in the side of your nose. “No,” you mumble, shaking your head as she stares, wide-eyed and panicked, back at you. “I saw her instagram. He liked her pictures.”

“I’d imagine that was just some random girl he follows,” she shakes her head with a grimace, “Dumbass likes every post he sees on his feed, I think.”

You gape back at her, your eyes widened in shock and your heart racing in your chest, because what the fuck?

You’ve been pushing him away this whole time to move onto a girl who doesn’t even exist?

“And I know I should have told you sooner, but I got swept up with all of the Jack stuff, and I,” her lips tremble as she stares back at you, apologetic and regretful. “I didn’t realise how bad it got between the two of you. I didn’t know it would end up like this, I was just trying to make things better again.”

You stare down at the empty plate at the bottom of your bed, and all of a sudden you can feel every swallowed bite swirling around in the pit of your stomach. “I feel sick.” You slur out, pushing yourself up off the bed and stumbling towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind you as you fall down against it, and you can hear the soft patter of feet as Ellie follows behind.

“I’m sorry,” she cries through the wood, “I know that I should have known better than to interfere, but I just-,” she hiccups then, and you resent just how much it affects you, guilt and shame swirling around with the nausea. “I wanted my best friend back. You haven’t been the same since summer.”

And you sob, yourself, because you know that’s true.

You’d admitted it to Luke, last night, when you had told him you didn’t think you could ever get over it.

And now you’ve lost him.

You can’t even blame Ellie, either.

She had planted the seed, but you’d been the one to water it - constantly avoiding having to have a difficult conversation with him until everything boiled over, until it was too late.

You could have talked to him at the party, the night you kissed him. You could have told him there and then that you loved him, because you knew it as sure as anything, but you didn’t. You could have told him at any point since then, and you never did. Because you were scared, and insecure, and weak.

Ellie calls your name from inches behind you, soft and shaky, and the thought of ruining everything with her too is too much for you to handle.

You need to get out of the bathroom, need to get out of the house, need to get away period.

You just need space, and you know exactly where you’re going to find it.

Luke has never been more thankful for a day off in his life.

And he’s never been more proactive in one, either.

One of the biggest joys usually comes from turning off his alarm the night before. No morning skate, no practice, no training, no meetings, no game to prep for.

There’s just you, across town, thinking he doesn’t care enough about you to stop you giving everything the two of you have up.

So his alarm had stayed on, shrilling beside his head at 7am, and he shoots right out of bed, not even putting it on snooze for four times before he gets himself up.

He makes breakfast, eggs and avocados on toast, brain food as his mom might say, and starts to think about what he’s going to say to you - making notes on his phone like it’s some dumb presentation - until he feels satisfied that there’s enough of his heart in it to actually make an impact.

He’s done letting his emotions control him.

The two of you are going to figure this out, and it’s going to work out - he’s sure of it. He has to be.

And just as he’s about to leave, Jack appears from his room, also dressed and ready to face the day, quirking his brow at the abnormal pep in his little brother’s step.

“What the hell’s got you so jumpy this early in the morning?” He asks.

“If I tell you, I don’t want to hear a lecture about it.” Luke huffs, because this is the last parade he would ever let his brother rain on, and he’s kind of worked himself up to the point of delusion. Jack just nods in response, and Luke can’t help the giddy smile that breaks out right before he says, “I gotta go see about a girl.”

Jack’s eyes widen, and Luke feels like he’s been punched in the gut when his lips quirk up, preparing himself for the blow of being laughed at by his own brother.

But what Jack says, instead, is even weirder.

“Let’s go then.”

And Luke practically stumbles over himself to get the two of them to his car, the weight of his brother’s approval pushing him further than he ever wanted to admit that it could, his entire body buzzing as he drives them over to the rental you and Ellie are staying in, and he tells Jack about his plan on the way.

He tells him how he’s gonna get you out of the house, gonna take you on a walk, somewhere, where the two of you can finally talk things out, and he’s gonna tell you how he feels. He’s gonna let you speak, gonna give you the time you need to figure things out - he’s gonna lay his heart on the line, and he’s gonna be a man and let you decide whatever it is you want to do with it.

You say you can’t get over the summer, but you don’t understand how much he regrets it, how much he loves you, how he’d never hurt you like that again. And if you turn around, and you don’t feel the same, then he can do whatever you want, but at least he’ll know he tried - at least you’ll know what you mean to him.

Jack gives him pointers, like he’s ever gonna take love advice from a guy who took like 3 years to ask his girlfriend out, but Luke just nods along with a smile on his face, too in his head with the hope that this could finally be it.

And that hope carries him all the way from one side of Jersey City to the other, airy and light, until he’s knocking on your door and waiting for you to finally open up for him - and all of it drains from him the second he sees Ellie’s teary fave on the other side. He’s too confused by the situation to notice when Jack brushes past him to comfort her, and he finds himself looking around for you again, that light, airy feeling growing heavier by the second.

“Calm down,” he hears Jack coo, “It’s alright, what happened?”

“We got into a fight,” she sniffles, “Or I don’t know, a disagreement, I guess. I was gonna give her a little room to breathe, so I went to my room, and then she left, and she’s not picking up her phone.”

Luke feels the colour drain from his face, a dizzying wash of panic flooding his system that causes his chest to swell. He reaches for his phone before he even realises what he’s doing, fingers knowing the way straight to your contact and pressing on it within seconds, the call reaching voicemail before he even lifts the device to his ear.

“It must be off,” he frowns, the swelling worsening with every second that passes. “She just left? She didn’t say where she was going?”

“She was pretty upset,” Ellie tells him, tears welling in her eyes as her face twists with guilt, “I really, uhm,” she runs a hand through her hair as she turns away from him, taking a few pacing steps to distance herself, “I really fucked things up, I think.”

“Fucked what up?” Luke asks, following by instinct to close the gap, trying to get her to look at him just to get a read on the severity of the situation. He’s witnessed a couple of your arguments with Ellie - mostly minor irritations that you come to him to talk you through, and it’s never been bad enough for you to get seriously upset over it. Not like this. And Luke has known Ellie for a long time, too - had seen all the ups and downs of her relationship with Jack before they ever got together. He’s never seen her like this, and dread pools in the pit of his stomach. “What happened?”

“I uh,” she takes in a trembling breath, staggered and shaky and doing little to make him feel any better as he hears it. “I thought I was helping. I thought she just needed a push, or something, like someone to guide her-,”

Luke can’t imagine a world where you would need guidance on anything. Headstrong and self-assured, he can’t picture what on Earth would make Ellie assume you would need her to push you.

“I swear, I thought I was doing the right thing. I wouldn’t have gotten involved, especially after summer, you know, I felt really bad, and I just wanted to try and fix it somehow, but she never tells me anything, so I didn’t realise she was kind of getting there on her own and I think I just made everything worse.”

The mention of summer makes him wince, Ellie’s words all merging together into one long, confusing blur of excuses that don’t quite make sense, but this has to be about him, somehow, he thinks - because you would have told him about anything else happening in your life, something else that might have happened in the summer.

Ellie felt bad about the whole Cole thing - that much seems obvious. Lending her efforts to him asking you out, being the catalyst to the whole thing blowing apart from the inside, out. But how could she ever possibly fix that? Especially considering he was the master of his own downfall, in the end.

“What did you do?”

When Ellie’s eyes meet his, they’re flooded with remorse, round and watery and it does little to quell the panic continuing to rise within him.

“I told her you were seeing somebody else.”

Luke feels time stop, his heart coming to a screeching halt, and all thoughts wiped from his brain until all he can hear is your voice, soft and small and vulnerable as you tell him, “I don’t want to watch you move on.”

“I just thought she needed a wake up call, or something, like if she thought that there was the potential that you were moving on she might have finally realised that holding back this whole time was doing more harm than good, but I don’t know what happened, she just shut down, after-,”

“After what?” Luke asks, although he doesn’t know why, he’s pretty sure he knows the answer to both questions he poses Ellie’s way. “When did you tell her that?”

“Before the party back in Michigan,” she gulps, “Before you left.”

Luke stumbles back a little, hands finding purchase on the back of the couch, needing something to steady him, to ground him before he spirals out of control.

“Jack told me that he’d been trying to get you to move on, that he took you out with the guys, that you were just flat out rejecting the idea of even speaking to somebody else, and I just thought-,”

“You knew about this?”

“No,” Ellie is quick to defend him, quick to take responsibility, for once, “Well, sort of, but he told me not to do it, and I didn’t tell him that I did, so he’s not to blame, here. I thought if I just said that you were moving on then she wouldn’t have believed me, so I made somebody up, but I guess you’re following some girl with the same name on instagram, and you liked a couple of her pictures, and last night she kept saying that you don’t want her anymore, that all she can think about is how much she loved you back then, but you don’t feel the same,”

I’m having a hard time moving past what happened last summer, I think

He thought you meant the Cole thing. He thought you meant you couldn’t look past his mistake.

I feel like it’s always in the back of my mind when I’m with you, like I can’t let it go.

You weren’t talking about the bad stuff.

You were talking about the rest of it.

And now all Luke can hear in his head is little snippets of conversations from the past few weeks. I want to, which he now sees as an admission of your feelings when he had asked you to let him in. Are you moving on? After he had turned you down for that art installation, wedging an insurmountable gap between the two of you while you assumed he was seeing some other girl. He’s hard work and she isn’t cut out for it, and the way you so quickly gave up when it came to Jack’s stupid outburst.

All of that had been with idea of him already having moved on.

All of that, and you still refused to do so, yourself.

Oh no.

“I was just trying to help, Luke, I swear, I just wanted to help her. She just lets things pass her all the time, for as long as I’ve known her, she gets all in her head, and she doesn’t let people in, and she was doing the same with you, and I just wanted her to take something for herself, I wanted her to win, I didn’t realise it would become this huge mess-,”

“Stop,” he huffs, because he can’t let her blame herself, not entirely - he made a mess of this, too. He’d jumped to conclusions, after the kiss. He hadn’t let you speak, hadn’t let you come to terms with what you were feeling. He’d misunderstood your intentions and jumped down your throat, and let his own hurt in the situation stomp all over yours. He hadn’t talked to you, despite all the times he had been urged to.

“Where would she go?” He asks, trying to shake himself into action. “Does she have any other friends around here, did she mention anywhere to you that she might escape to?”

“No,” Ellie whines, “She only came here for the first time in October, the only places we mentioned were lunch spots, I don’t think she ran off in tears for a bagel. The only person I could think of was you, but you’re here.”

Luke wracks his brain through the last few conversations the two of you had - and all he hears is the multiple opportunities he had to clear everything up. The multiple attempts you made to bring things back to normal - to bridge the gap he had forced between the two of you.

Movie nights, coffee shops, the game the other night, the art installation.

The art installation.

“Did she bring her laptop?”

You can’t really pinpoint where your obsession with space started.

It’s probably somewhere between laying awake at night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars your dad had stuck to your ceiling, and a field trip to the Henry Crown Space Center - and the two memories are probably a lot more linked than you care to think about, both providing distractions when you needed them the most in life, but you’ve never experienced anything like this.

You’d found out about this exhibit on TikTok of all places, putting the you in for you page to work when you first started seeing it on your feed, saving every video that came up. Destination Cosmos originated in Amsterdam from what you could find, and you’ve wanted to go for years. It feels like fate, almost, that it would be in New York for one week only while you’re just across the river for spring break, and missing out on it would have been your biggest regret since coming out here - which considering the events you’re actively trying to escape from, is probably saying a lot.

Maybe if you’d have sold it a little better to Luke than just being an art installation, he might have come with you. Maybe if you’d done a lot of things differently, he might have come with you.

As you stand in the centre of the universe, projections of everything you’ve spent your whole life admiring only from afar, chasing something you still don’t understand, you feel smaller than you’ve ever felt in your life.

It’s overwhelming, almost, how lost you feel now.

On your own, in the middle of an exhibit you’ve been dreaming about for years, in a city you don’t really know, but are going to be moving to before you know it, with all other aspects of your life imploding in calamitous fashion around you. The way the images flash across the walls - stars, planets, nebulae, supernovae - make you feel like you barely even exist, and you hate it.

You’ve never felt so alone, so afraid of what comes next, and all you want is for someone to reach out and shake you until you don’t feel it anymore.

And when somebody actually does, when the soft but familiar mutter of your name brings you out of your reverie, and a gentle grip forms around your wrist, you gasp, yanking your hand away like the touch burns.

You have to be dreaming, you think.

There’s no way you haven’t slipped into some sort of coma, or something.

Maybe you missed a low ceiling somewhere on your way into the exhibit, hit your head and knocked yourself out.

Because there’s no other explanation for how Luke Hughes could possibly be standing before you, in front of the most beautiful backdrop of glistening constellations, other than you imagining the whole thing.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, taking in his frantic form - chest heaving with rushed breaths and his baseball cap askew, probably from where he keeps taking it off to run his hands through his hair.

“I uh-,” he pants, blinking slow as if you’re just about coming into focus. “I came to see about a girl.”

You blink back, brows pushing together as he takes another step, “What?”

“Good Will Hunting,” he clarifies, “Declarations of love, I know you hate them but I uhm-,” he frowns, cringes, even, like he’s thinking better of doing this already, and you wait with bated breath for him to string his thoughts together. “I’m doing this wrong, I think.”

“Luke-,”

“I was trying to think the whole way here of some sort of speech, like one giant combination of all the soppy, cheesy movie quotes you love so much. Y’know, like, uhh,” his bottom lip juts out as he takes a second, and all you can do is watch, “Like a megamix or something.”

“A megamix?”

“Yeah, like a little How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days, a pinch of Notting Hill, just this huge shit show of the corniest garbage you’ve ever heard in your life.”

“Sounds great.” You frown, a little lost on how he went from declarations of love to corny garbage in a matter of seconds.

“Probably would be,” he nods as he takes another step, and you fight the urge to retreat, your feet staying firmly in place and your arms wrapping around yourself in some twisted protective stance. “But all I can think about is that one scene in When Harry Met Sally, y’know, when she’s all frizzy and crying on her bed, and he’s there to comfort her?”

“I don’t really remember,” you mutter, although you have a vague recollection. “I only watched it that one time and I was a little distracted.”

“I watched it 8 times.” He tells you, “Could probably talk you through the whole thing.”

“You don’t have to-,”

“So Sally’s just found out her ex is engaged,” he starts, anyway, and you don’t even have time to question why the hell he watched that movie 8 times. Once was enough to scar you for life. “And she’s like sobbing to Harry, and saying all these things about how she was just a transitional person, and she thinks something’s the matter with her, ‘cause her ex never wanted to marry her.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“She says, I’m difficult,” he mimics her voice, somewhat, a soft smile curving at his lips as he recalls the scene, “And Harry tells her, you’re challenging, and every time I watch it, I think of you.”

Ouch.

He must see the way your face drops, because he takes another step, and the distance between the two of you is so small now that you could conceivably touch without reaching - if he stopped making out like you’re a problem, that is.

“‘Cause that’s when they kiss, right?” He asks, and you nod, hesitantly, because you sort of remember it a little better, now. “That’s when he realises how deep he’s into this thing with her, and how right he was that they could never be friends.”

“I guess so,” you pout, your chest clenching at the mere mention of your friendship - the one you had denounced only a day ago, and are still very freshly mourning the loss of.

“And then I think about the other night, about what Jack said.”

You’ve already gone through this whole thing with Jack, you really don’t want to do it, again. Not here, not now, especially. “Luke-,”

“He shouldn’t have said any of that stuff to you, and he was being a world class dick, but he was sort of right,” he tells you, a crooked smile cementing itself into his features as he reaches out to tuck your hair behind your ear as it falls forward, leaving you to watch in confused silence as amusement flashes across his irises, despite the fact that it’s not remotely funny. “You are hard work.”

“Did you seriously come all the way out here and hunt me down just to tell me that?” You scoff, something within you switching as you unfold your arms and reach up to push his hand away. “That all I do is make your life hard, you don’t think I already know that?”

He grabs yours, instead, intertwining your fingers despite your resistance, and smiling even deeper. “When did I ever say I want things to be easy?” He challenges, his other hand rising to the opposite side of your face, cupping at your jaw and lifting your face until your eyes meet, “I love that you’re hard work.” And just as you scoff, just as you try to argue such a ridiculous statement, he continues. “It makes being with you and you letting me in all the more rewarding, like I earned it. I’d like to think that I did, too. I’d like to think we’ve come really far from where we started.”

You gulp down the urge to tell him you agree, still a little confused by this whole speech, where one second he’s comparing you to a sobbing emotional wreck, and the next he’s suggesting you’re sort of a nightmare. Still confused by how he found you in the first place, but it feels too late to ask, now.

“Ellie told me about Yasmin,” he says, and you swear the way your heart skips a beat is wishful thinking, your mind praying that the ground will just swallow you up. You were embarrassed enough without him knowing about it, too - that you got all in your feelings about some girl that never even existed, enough to end up ruining everything with him over what turned out to be nothing. “And Ethan told me about Michigan, about how you were upset that I didn’t tell you how I felt.”

What? You’d been upset he hadn’t told you about Yasmin, who you now know doesn’t exist, not-

Oh, Jesus Christ, you think, too embarrassed to even react. Ethan had been talking about you.

Anybody could see from a mile off that he is into somebody.

“It doesn’t even matter-,”

“Don’t do that,” he pleads, desperation flashing across his eyes, stunning you a little into submission. “Please don’t do that, not about this.”

“Luke-,”

“I love you.” He says, voice sure and steady, a little louder than he’d been speaking before but you can’t really find it in yourself to care. “I’m in love with you. I don’t think I’ll ever not be in love with you. And there’s no Yasmin, there’s no Victoria, there is nobody else and there never will be. That’s what I came all the way out here to say.”

That’s a little better than whatever the hell he was saying about a megamix, you think.

“That there’s only you.” He’s still sure, but quieter now, like a whisper that’s only meant for you to hear. “That I love you, and it matters.”

He’s giving you this heated look, like he can see every single cell of you - like he loves every single cell of you - eyes dark and intense, and you can’t look away, too entranced by whatever hold he now has over you - barely able to even form a cognitive thought, let alone voice one.

“I love that you’re weirdly nerdy about space,” he maintains a hold on your cheek, his touch soft but his presence solid, and uses his other hand to gesture around you, to the spectacle around you - to the vibrant projections of planets on walls that seem to extend light years right around of the two of you. “And that of all the places in New York you’d even want to go during your last spring break, this was the only place on your list. And despite that, somehow I’m the dorky loser out of the two of us.”

You feel your lips quirk up, still gazing up into his eyes, your own wide and watering as you watch him continue.

“I love that you never mind spending time with me, even if it’s just watching movies, or watching hockey, or eating, and you always know what food I like, even though you complain that I eat more than any human should. I love that I never feel too much for you, or too little, or too loud, or like I’m not saying enough. You call me an idiot all the time, sure, but you never make me feel like one.”

Everything around you turns into a blur, now, beyond trying to blink away your tears as they slowly start to trickle from your lower lashes, Luke’s thumb coming to swipe at your lip when one settles there, offering a soft smile that makes your heart melt in place - this warm, sticky sensation spreading between your ribs.

“And I love the way you look at me,” his voice is so soft that it makes you feel boneless, and you think if he didn’t have a hold on your face you might just dissolve into nothing, “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who actually sees me.”

You love that about him too, you think - the first tangible thought you can muster as he does his best to turn you into complete mush in the palm of his hand.

“I love that you make the 600 miles between here and Michigan feel like nothing. Like I miss you all the time, but you always make it seem like you’re here, even when you’re not, as stupid as that sounds.”

It doesn’t sound stupid. Not at all. It’s crazy how much comfort Luke has given to you just through a phone screen for the past 5 months, like he’s been with you the whole time, all those worries about your relationship being too weak to withstand the distance that you had at the end of summer dissipating almost instantaneously.

“And I’m sorry I keep giving you reasons to think otherwise, but I’ve never felt this way about anybody before. I love you so much it makes me crazy, and it makes me do stupid things, and say shit that I don’t mean, but I mean this, I need you to know that, as insane as this whole thing is I’ll say it all again and louder if you need me to.”

Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, the trembling breaths you take to try and alleviate it providing very little relief, and Luke watches you with bated breath of his own, wincing a little in anticipation as he waits out some sort of response.

You reach up to the hand that rests on your cheek and peel it from your skin, fingers clasped around his palm and tugging it away carefully until you can bring it down. You step just a little closer - close enough that you’re looking up, close enough that you can place his hand against the rampant thudding in your chest, and hope that the proximity of him now helps calm you - helps build the kind of courage it takes to stand in front of the person you love and lay your heart on the line, like he just had.

“I love that your version of a declaration of love starts out as you calling it a corny garbage megamix,” you tell him, hesitant but hopeful, like you’re testing the waters, watching as his eyes start to well up too and relief wracks through him in a visible shudder. “And that you watch some movie 8 times on your own because it makes you think of me.”

He huffs out a breathy chuckle, the smile that takes over his face is unwavering and it spurs something courageous within you, fingers intertwining with those on his free hand and smiling straight back.

“I love that every text you send me is a triple text,” you snort, “Like you couldn’t possibly just type out a paragraph, you have to send me every single thought as it passes through your brain. Like I’m the first person you want to come to about anything and everything, it makes me feel like you value me, it makes me feel good. And I love that you make everything lighter, and easier, and you never let me sit in my feelings, or let anybody make me feel bad.” You think of all the times he has defended you - to Jack, to yourself, even. He’d been so sure of you getting into your graduate program, more than you had ever been, and the stress around the whole thing seemed to dissolve whenever he was around. He’d backed you up when Jack went on his weird tirade at movie night, and has apparently been doing so the whole time Jack’s tried to sabotage things between the two of you. “Even if you do agree that I’m hard work.” Your lips twist in amusement as he dips his head a little, but you understand what he meant - where he was going with what he said.

“I love that you make me second guess myself,” you tighten your hold on him a little, “And you make me think differently, think better. I don’t feel afraid or unsure when I’m with you, not about the real stuff.”

He tightens his hold, too, readjusts his fingers where you’re clutching at them until he can move your hands to your sides, pulling back until you’re touching, almost, chest to chest.

“And if you asked me a year ago if I ever thought I’d want the boy I love to hunt me down in a dorky space exhibit, I’d have probably curled up and died from embarrassment at the thought,” you snort, “But I wanted to be here because it reminded me of you. Because you call me a dork, but you never make me feel like one, either. And because I used to want to feel like nothing when I thought of this stuff, but now I know that I don’t want to feel small, or insignificant, or unimportant,” you’re so close now that your voice is like a soft hum, stretching up on your toes and untangling your fingers from his for them to find purchase on his chest, helping you balance better. “I want to feel like I matter, and you’re the one who taught me that I do.”

You break eye contact only to watch the slow roll of a tear down his cheek, one he doesn’t even bother to wipe away, not afraid to show just how much it means to him for you to say all of that stuff back.

“I love you, Luke,” you almost-whisper, but the lack of volume does little to lessen the meaning behind the words, and your eyes drift back up to meet his, “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you.”

“Can’t believe you just outdid my own corny declaration of love.”

“Consider yourself megamixed.”

“Shut up,” he laughs, the sound rumbling all the way from the depths of his chest and into your lips as he presses his own into them, fingers curling around the back of your waist as he pulls your body flush to his, and you think you see the swirling stars even when you close your eyes, a bright burst of colour consuming your brain until it’s all that you feel.

You kiss him without a single care in the world, forgetting that you’re in the middle of an exhibit, and that people might see, or stare, or think that you’re crazy. You love him, and you’re done hiding just how much. He kisses you back the same, with intensity and intention, like he’s trying to cement all those wonderful words he said to you before into the core of your being.

When you pull apart, slow enough that you barely separate at all, you watch as he smiles, swollen lips curved all the way up, the slight flash of teeth, cheeks balling up and his eyes creasing in the corners, and you feel your face mirror his, your noses pressed together and your hands still clutching at the shirt on his chest.

“Y’know,” he breathes, a slight rasp to his voice, “I was kind of right about one other thing.”

“What’s that?” You ask, backing away to give the two of you the slightest bit of breathing room.

“This feels like the perfect place to take somebody on a date.”

Your smile deepens, somehow, big enough to ache a little, and when you rush and stumble out of sheer instinct to kiss him again, his hands are primed to catch you.

And they don’t let you go for the whole 90 minutes you spend exploring the exhibit, where the two of you learn all new things about the universe and everything beyond it, and for the first time in a long time - the first time maybe ever - you let yourself believe that everything is going to be okay from here on out.

School might be hard, but you’ve worked almost the whole way through it with an end in sight, and a you’re building a life for yourself that you’ve never been so excited to live.

Your parents might be shitty, and they might not show up when you need them, but you have other people who do.

You have Ellie, who, for all her faults, has always been there to fall back on. She lets you spend the summer with her, with all intentions to have you stay the whole time, even if the two of you ended up elsewhere, and lets you impose on the holidays - shares all her traditions and never makes you feel like you don’t belong there. She cares so much about you that she goes a little crazy, but you think you’d rather have it that way than not at all.

You have Ethan, and you have Quinn, who both refused to fall for everybody else’s misconceptions of you - who encouraged Luke to persist when you gave him a million reasons to give up, and who were both in your corner without you ever even knowing about it.

And you maybe even slightly have Jack, who was just trying to look out for his little brother, like he’s so used to doing in all other aspects of Luke’s life, and who was willing to admit he was wrong despite how much you know it pained him to do so.

Everything in your life leading up to now might have jaded you a little, might have skewed your perception on what it meant to be loved, but you have Luke, now, to clear it all up.

Luke, who is dorky, and unserious, and loud, and uncoordinated, and acts out of impulse sometimes in ways that hurt you, but cares about you too much to ever leave you behind. And that, yes, he’s someone who doesn’t leave, but he’s also someone who comes back - who keeps showing up for you despite you giving him a million reasons not to.

Luke, who persistently slips in through the cracks of your long-caged heart and cements himself a place so deep in there that you’ll never get him out - you won’t ever want to.

Luke, who you love, and who loves you back, and who tracks you down in the next state over with a bunch of ridiculous movie references and makes you regret ever telling him you were freaked out by declarations like that, because you’ve wasted far too much time now trying to convince yourself you were a cynic.

Luke, who told you all the way back at the beginning of summer exactly who he was - who he was always going to be, and you were just too stubborn to listen.

Luke, who is, and always has been, inevitable.

When spring turns to summer, you find yourself back where it all started, your eyes fluttering open at the familiar sound of tyres rolling across the gravel driveway of the lake house, sun beaming harsh enough through the windshield that you have to squint against it, and your heart hammering in your chest.

It’s been a few weeks since you last saw Luke - when he’d surprised you at your graduation, and had helped you box up all your stuff back at the sorority, and the anticipation of a promise he’d muttered into your lips on your last night together has been the only thing keeping you going while you were back in Chicago with your mom.

The whole summer, he had promised when he invited you to stay, and I’ll even be your chauffeur again.

The thought of coming back to the place you fell in love, with the boy you fell in love with, and getting to experience the beauty of it all through eyes that finally let you truly see it makes your heart do little somersaults in your chest - a feeling that’s only exacerbated when you climb out the car to see Luke sat on the stairs leading up to the front door, waiting for you.

You feel the weight of his crooked grin even from a short distance away, a warm, gooey sensation spreading throughout your entire body as you run straight for him, ditching Ellie to get out the car on her own time and leaping into his arms.

You press frantic kisses wherever you can reach, and he holds you up so that you don’t fall, your legs wrapping securely around him as his glorious laughter rings out into the air around the two of you - your lips against his cheek, and his jaw, and his forehead, his nose, his eyes, even, and finally his mouth, where he matches your enthusiasm like he’s been waiting the whole time to do so.

“You missed me, I take it.” He chuckles, lips moving against yours as the words fall between your lips, and you hum back, kissing him again as a response.

“Get a room, that’s disgusting,” you hear the bitter scoff of Jack as he brushes past the two of you and heads straight for Ellie.

“Don’t listen to him,” Luke mumbles as he carefully lowers you back down until your feet touch the ground, “I got us a room, I even put some things in there for you, do you wanna go see?“

“What about my bags?”

“Your bags can wait,” he smiles coyly as he grabs at your hand - tugging until you’re following him into the house, and up the stairs, a layout you could still follow with your eyes closed. The familiarity of it all makes your heart ache in the best way, a stupid, lovestruck grin taking over your face as he guides you towards his room - your room too, now, apparently, and holds the door open for you to walk in.

It’s pretty much exactly how you remember it, the big window looking out over the pool at the back, the lake in the distance, and a soft breeze causing the curtains to flutter gently.

There’s the bed in the centre of the room, where you slept for the first time beside him, the same navy sheets, and you bet they still have the same soft linen smell to them, the same detergent kept in the laundry room downstairs. There’s the dresser to the side, where he once kissed you so stupid you never thought you’d think straight again. And the en-suite, where you first taken things a little too far with him, not that you regret any of that now.

The summer you’d spent so long trying to squash down is here now, larger than life, impossible to suppress or forget. And the boy beside you is the same.

You can’t fight the smile as you turn to him, his eyes glinting back at you the same way they have ever since that day in the exhibit, a light in them that you don’t think will ever go out.

“What did you put in here for me?”

“Nothing, it was just an excuse to get you up here,” he chuckles, advancing on you before you even realise he’s doing it, hands sneaking around your waist until you’re pressed flush to his body, and he’s dipping his head to kiss you again. “But if you want to go shopping later, we can get you some stuff. Make it feel more like your room, too, add a feminine touch, or whatever.”

“A feminine touch?” You scoff, grabbing at his t-shirt and turning the two of you until you can push him down onto the bed. “You gonna let me paint the walls with rainbow sparkles?”

He scoffs, thighs tensing as you lower yourself onto them, straddling his hips and grabbing at his hands so that they can’t hold onto you like he wants. “If that’s what makes you happy,” he smiles up at you, dorky and adorable.

“I’m happy,” you tell him, leaning in and kissing him slow, and sweet, unable to help when your lips curve up where they are pressed to his. “I will put one feminine thing on the list, although I don’t know anywhere around here that might sell them.”

“What’s that?”

“Pink fuzzy handcuffs,” you smirk, leveraging your hold on his wrists to lift his arms and press them back down into the bed, heart racing at the way he looks up at you - like you’re the entire universe. “So I can tie my pretty boyfriend to our bed.”

And then you lean forward again, pressing the curve of your lips back to his, revelling in the way his laughter ripples out into your mouth - swallowing it down until it swirls like petals in the depths of your stomach, cinematically swept up by a soft breeze, dancing and falling in slow motion.

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

“Definitely.”

A/N: guys I could hardly warn you above for the cheesiest ending you'll ever read in your life without spoiling the whole thing, but if a guy professed his love to me at destination cosmos, I'd melt into a pile of water slime or something. this is honestly so wild, and probably repetitive, and might feel rushed and insane towards the end, but I feel like it needs to be, because these two are insane.

I hope you guys are happy with this lmao, I've had a lot of fun torturing you the past few months!! a lot of LIH callbacks in this final chapter, if you can pick them out ily, it really feels full circle, and like the right ending for both of them, so I'm praying you guys enjoy it as much as the rest!!

Ending this series is bittersweet, because I truly do adore these two idiots, they have a place in my heart forever, and if they have a place in yours, I would welcome any asks/conversations about them in the future!!

Again, thank you. I don't really know how to end this without being a blubbering mess at how much I love you all for getting me here!!! Being able to finish something like this, and be genuinely proud of it, isn't something I've ever done before I came on this site, and your support of my writing, whether it be LIH or OYS or anything else, brings me so much happiness I can't even describe it.

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes angst #*writing #shoutout to megs dolls they’re gonna need a good 30 minutes of privacy #I dread to think what sort of shapes they’ve been smushed into

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ivystoryweaver · 10 months ago

Text

Perfect Fit (Volume 2 of 3)

"And that simmering resentment burns, turning over inside you, fueling…pure lust."

Read Volume 1 || Perfect Fit Masterlist

Pairing: Nathan Bateman from Ex Machina x f!reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Summary: Read volume 1 first. You are staying at Nathan's secluded home, part of an ongoing experiment that involves a lot of sex with him and his lookalike android Nate. But who is who, and are you truly safe?

Content: MDNI, NSFW, you are responsible for your reading. (more below the cut) Nathan Bateman should be warning enough

Content/Warnings: sci-fi horror elements, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, voyeurism, degradation AND praise, creampie, cum eating, spitting, nipple play, impact play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, oral-m rec., anal sex, group sex, dub con related to gaslighting, sex with AI/androids, language, other sci-fi nonsense, violence, wounds, blood, not beta'd

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

"Here, taste this." You offer an oversized spoon to Nate so he can sample the vegan stew you've been working on all morning. The aroma permeates the air around you, and your stomach releases a symphony of anticipatory grumbles.

The android smirks, but it's playful, not condescending, like his creator. "You know I don't eat. Sounds like you need to, though."

"You can taste, can't you?" You challenge, nodding for him to at least bring it to his tongue.

He wets his lips, dark eyes flickering from your face down the curves of your body. "Yeah, I can taste, sweetheart." His tongue darts out to swipe over his plush lips for good measure.

"Jesus, you're as bad as Nathan," you huff, only half serious anyway. Shrugging one shoulder, you sip the stew yourself, humming at the hearty flavor. "More for me."

Nate regards you carefully for a moment before dutifully reaching into the cupboard for two bowls. "I want to, you know... Eat."

"I'm sure Nathan could make it happen," you nonchalantly reply. "I mean, there are certainly fluids that come out of your body as it is."

"Nicely put, sweetheart," Nate chuckles, presenting the bowls to you. "Nathan couldn't have said it better, I'm sure."

"Fuck you," you tease, bumping him with your hip, nodding toward the twin bowls he's offered. "Why two? Nathan eating with us?"

"You never know."

Nate was right. Determining what Nathan would or would not do, or where he might even turn up was a bit of mystery lately. You were starting to believe you all lived in a modernized house from the board game Clue - complete with mysteries and secret passages.

Nathan disappeared and reappeared at the oddest times.

But there's Nate. He's...softer. He smiles more than Nathan - laughs, even. There's a tender warmth in those earthy eyes. Or Nate's letting you think there is. Or perhaps Nathan's letting you think it. You can't be entirely sure.

Life is like this lately. Nate cooks with you, talks with you - not just at you - plays Scrabble with you, sometimes even Uno - your favorite. (Nathan doesn't even consider it a real game). You work out, swim, hike, fuck - like, a lot, watch movies, take baths...

Nate does everything a regular person might do, except use a digestive system. If Nathan really is trying to pass him off as human, you're not sure why he has withheld this particular function from his creation.

And your role as Nathan's employee has never been more ambiguous. In fact, you haven't done any actual work in a few weeks, unless spending copious amounts of domestic and coital time on camera was in your job description. (Knowing Nathan, it was.)

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

Nate has been venturing into your bedroom at night anytime he wants. You haven't told him no. In fact, you usually roll over and play with your toy.

This is what Nathan wants, right? For you to 'use him', to see if Nate can pass as a human? All while Nathan watches.

So you give him a show. This is apparently your work, although it feels like extended holiday.

Forget sleep. You can sleep whenever this weird, once-in-a-lifetime fuckfest ends and you are flown out of here, back to your humdrum life.

In the meantime, there's a very eager cock hard and ready as you sink down and slowly start to ride him. The stretch of him inside you pulls a moaning sigh from your lips.

Nate's hands rove all over you - thick fingers gripping your thighs, pushing up over your abdomen to cup your breasts. He likes to make you feel good - that's what he tells you anyway, as his thumbs swipe your sensitive nipples.

And this is a possible way you think you're able to tell Nate apart from Nathan.

Nathan is always about Nathan. Oh, he knows what he's doing in bed and you like everything he does. But it's for him. Everything is, always.

Nate seems different.

Probably all in your head, but as he pushes the pad of his thumb over your clit, you can't find it in you to care either way.

Besides, you keep proving Nathan wrong, at least by your own estimation, and that brings its on brand of pleasure. See, you've figured out that Nate's ego, although nearly a match for his maker's, is his weakness - or, if not a weakness, then it's at least a foolproof way to determine which "twin" is bottomed out inside your cunt.

Rolling over with him still inside, you relax while he pleasures you eagerly.

"Show me how fast you can move," is all it takes for a clearly non-human Nate to turn into your personal vibrating toy.

He looks like Nathan - feels just as good, with the same thick cock - the expanse of his defined shoulders, toned chest, corded neck that seems to invite your tongue to lave over it hungrily - but...Nate is ultimately a machine. He has more stamina and he can move in ways his master cannot...when Nathan allows it, of course.

At your urging, Nate's cock plunges inside you and you verbally "coax" his setting to high. Your Nathan-shaped toy makes you scream in ecstasy as he vibrates your pussy through a rapid orgasm, your body shaking with a euphoric rush that keeps you happily entangled in this experiment. While building toward another, Nate abruptly powers down.

The muscled weight of him pins you to the bed, leaving you not only unsatisfied, but trapped. You call for help, but you hear nothing for the next few seconds.

"Nathan, I know you're watching, you asshole," you huff, finding it a little difficult to breathe underneath the android's dead weight, let alone yell. "Get him off me." You hope Nathan's watching, anyway. You haven't laid eyes on him in a week.

You almost tremble with relief as Nathan strolls in a couple minutes later, shirtless, with black joggers hanging low on his hips.

"Something wrong, babydoll?" He casually taunts, pushing his wire frames up his nose. He gestures dramatically at his creation. "Your little toy malfunction?"

"Nathan, come on," you practically wheeze.

He snorts, and with a determined head shake, rolls the android off your body - Nate's inanimate form thumping on the bed beside you.

Then that damn question - your weakness: "You okay, sweetheart?" Easing down to hover over you, Nathan cages you in with his muscular arms, mustering a puppy eyed countenance that could almost count as concern.

"Like you give a shit," you somewhat playfully whine, squirming underneath him, pounding your fists against his chest in a dramatic pout - when in actuality, you're thrilled to see him. "You did that on purpose."

"That so?" He volleys, dark eyebrows shooting up patronizingly as he drags his fingers through your soaked folds. "He's been malfunctioning - you know this." His middle finger plunges inside you effortlessly while his thumb languidly toys with your clit.

You make no effort to stop him. If he's going to manipulate you, you might as well enjoy it - your mantra. Or maybe your excuse to endure it all.

"I don't know 'this'," you refute - your words weakly attempting to sting as your body shifts receptively to meet the thrusting of his fingers, moaning deeply as he slides two more fingers inside you and curls them forward, into that spongy softness deep within. "Where have you been? Do you seriously spend all day watching us like a TV show?"

Yanking his digits right back out, Nathan smacks your wet cunt as a warning. The sting jolts your body, as pain skitters along every nerve ending, but you crave his attention so desperately, your pussy drips, yearning for friction.

"You know how busy I am," he warns, but you moan at the rough stimulation of your clit as he smacks you again.

"Fuck me or get out of my room," you snarl, shoving at his shoulders.

He actually laughs. "Such a needy whore." He tuts condescendingly before shrugging his bare shoulders. "You don't want answers - fine, I'll put my mouth to better use."

You naturally assume Nathan plans to eat you out but he climbs back up your body and rests his elbows on either side of your head, holding his weight off you. Reaching up with his fingers, he pulls his wire frames off his face and tosses them on Nate's bare, inanimate chest.

On any other man, these stunning, deep brown eyes would melt you on the spot. And they almost do now as he holds your gaze, touching his forehead to yours.

"I have missed you," he murmurs, rendering you speechless.

Then he kisses you.

And...fuck, it's a good kiss. The heat of his breath ghosts your cheek as his fuzzy beard tickles your chin. His lips - a scandalously soft contrast to the rest of him - invite yours open, into a tangle of breath and the wet thrust of his tongue over yours.

His thumb traces the contour of your jaw with deceptive tenderness as he settles on top of you. You part for air and he stares down into your eyes, his prominent nose brushing against yours. His mouth meets yours again and you feel the weight of his clothed cock push against your drenched cunt.

He knows you like to be kissed. And how you like it.

He kisses you and kisses you and grinds the soft cotton of his joggers over your clit, dragging, agonizingly slowly, back and forth, sending sparks of pleasure and desire surging along every nerve ending as he shares your breath, cradling your face and licking into you so hotly...

And he keeps you here for an eternity - steadily grinding, making out with you like a teenager in his bedroom.

If he's taking scientific notes, which he always does - he will note that it takes you 27 minutes to come like this. He never gives you anything else, but his mouth and the steady tickle and drag over your clit as he dry humps you.

He controls the pace, because, of course he does. And you remain at his mercy, willingly.

Your back arches in rapture and he tears his mouth from yours to watch you fall apart underneath him.

Then he gets what he wants when you moan and whimper his name.

His name.

Okay, personal vibrating fuck toys aside, this was pure paradise. Your chest heaves as you attempt to catch your breath - your chest rising and falling deliciously as you come back to yourself.

"Goddamn, you're beautiful," Nathan groans appreciatively.

When your eyes finally, lazily peel open, you find him standing on his knees over you, joggers shoved down past the swell of his ample hips, jerking himself to the sight of you attempting to catch your breath.

Out of habit, you reach for his cock to help finish him off, but he gently brushes your hand away. "Just lie there," he instructs, vigorously working his dextrous fingers over the heavy length of his weeping cock. "Look fucking perfect, babydoll. Stay right there. Gonna come on your tits."

You moan his name again, locking eyes with him and thrusting your breasts out purposely before reaching to toy with your nipples, rolling them between your fingers.

"Such a dirty slut," he grunts, wetting his lips at the sight of you fondling yourself. It only takes a few more strokes for him to spill his thick ropes of cum all over you, as promised, delicious sounds rumbling out of his broad chest as the warmth of him coats your skin.

Wetting your lips, you take advantage of his split second of sated vulnerability and decide to tease him, spreading his cum all over your breasts with your fingers.

"Better clean you up," he says, before commanding Nate to power on.

Malfunctioning, your ass. Nathan probably powered the android down on purpose earlier.

"Suck her tits. Clean her up," Nathan commands, nodding toward your chest.

Nate complies, gazing down at you briefly before lowering his lips to your nipple and swirling his tongue over the pebbled flesh, swiping through a glob of Nathan's spend.

Nathan chuckles, amused, before easing down to capture your other nipple. Both men latch onto your tits, swirling their tongues and sucking you vigorously.

"Oh my god," you moan, writhing underneath them, wondering how you could possibly want anything more after a couple of orgasms this evening.

Nathan starts up again, reaching for your cunt, knowing how overstimulated you are. He's been testing your limits lately. Before you can protest, however, Nate pulls off your tit with a pop, easing up to nuzzle your neck and breathe on your ear.

"You okay, baby?"

You smile at him adoringly, Nathan notes - then responds, naughtily cramming four fingers roughly into your pussy.

"Nathan, hold on," you gasp, reaching for his arm. "It's too much. I need a second."

Slowly removing his hand, he scoffs, pinching your nipple hard with his free hand, causing you to hiss in surprise.

"Give her a damn second," Nate echoes, earning a glare from his maker.

Nathan immediately powers him down again; only this time Nate doesn't land on top of you.

"Would you stop that?" You huff, working your arm free of Nate's deadened grasp. "Your god complex, I swear."

Nathan stares at you blankly for thirty straight seconds. You're unsure if you've ever heard him shut the hell up for this long while fully conscious.

"Have fun with your toy," he spits, stalking out of the room.

You groan in frustration. Nathan is such a child sometimes. Nate was only trying to listen to you - to watch out for you.

All right, maybe you haven't been fair to Nate. You've been using him as a life-sized vibrator, but he really does seem to care.

Your mind briefly drifts to the dozens of times he's drawn you a hot bath, washed your body in the shower, made sure you had plenty of water to drink, used a damp cloth to clean you. His aftercare game is next level. He likes to whisper on your neck and hold you while you fall asleep.

Ugh, what is happening to you?

The notion of you having feelings for an android is just...not okay. Also, the idea of you having feelings for a narcissistic mad scientist like Nathan is nothing short of a recipe for disaster...or maybe heartbreak. That is, if your heart is even in it.

Is it?

At first, there was nothing about Nathan you particularly cared for on a personal level - aside from his genius. He's not even really your type.

Obnoxiously rich? Not your style. Narcissistic? Hell no.

Every word out of his mouth makes you roll your eyes. The fact that his gorgeous hair is shaved off while he has an annoyingly long beard is ridiculous nonsense. The reasoning for him wearing wire framed glasses of all looks, and doesn’t wear contacts, or hasn’t had LASIK surgery with his wealth, is absurd.

Probably doesn’t trust anyone to touch his eyes. Altough this won’t stop him from sticking his dick into damn near anything, especially if he invented it.

Sometimes the mere sound of his voice makes you tense up. No one loves the sound of his own rambling more than he does. He probably stands in the mirror and talks to himself. He probably has Nate repeat back to him everything he just said simply so he can hear the sound of his own voice.

He knows everything about everything. A maven. But not. He actually really knows. It’s infuriating.

He’s perfect. He’s active, he’s healthy, his body is a machine as much as Nate’s: eat, sleep, fuck, exercise. But instead of seeing the need to exercise as a of human deficit, (whereas Nate was built to be perfect), Nathan sees it at some sort of basic human function. He performs it without question and it keeps him in excellent condition.

Other times, you could listen to him talk for hours but you hate yourself for giving him the pleasure of your undivided attention. You like to imagine a world where he might actually value you as more than a warm body or a sounding board - something to reflect Nathan back to Nathan - but you know it will never happen. And right when you convince yourself that you are worth more than all this -

Worth more than exhilarating hikes in breathtaking nature, healthy food, stimulating conversation and work, plenty of rest, a near perfect sexual companion?

Wait, what were you complaining about again?

At any rate, right as you start to remind yourself how dangerous and self-centered Nathan really is, he always shows you tenderness - asks your opinion, checks to see if you’re okay.

Even then, he’s always right. He’s the doctor who prescribes exactly what you need to get you back into “working condition” for him. It’s always about him.

And that simmering resentment burns, turning over inside you, fueling…pure lust.

Fuck this.

Grabbing an oversized t-shirt from the end of your bed, you yank it over your head, and follow.

"Nathan, wait!" You call, jogging down the hallway after him, but he's already out of sight.

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

You find him the next morning in the kitchen, looking a little more bundled up than his typical short sleeved polo shirt or too-loose tank top.

"I'm going for a hike," he announces, taking what appears to be the last swig of a protein shake.

He washes the glass out in the sink before leaning against the counter. Folding his muscled arms over his chest, he gives you a once over. "Wanna come?"

You stare at him for a moment. "You...want me to come hiking with you?"

The question is barely out of your mouth before he groans. "Why do you make me repeat myself?"

"Because...I never see you anymore," you return his condescension, as if it should be obvious. "I don't even do any work for you, or with you. What am I doing here, Nathan?"

He glares at you over his wire frames, dark eyebrows arching pointedly before huffing out a sigh and pushing his glasses back up his nose. "That's what I want to talk to you about. Come on."

Nathan's not kidding about taking a hike. You climb a steep trail, thankful that he encourages eating healthy and staying active. If you had been sitting on your ass all these months, your climb would be quite a struggle. But the view from the top is nothing short of spectacular.

A magnificent waterfall cascades from where you are - a piece of heaven itself - dropping dramatically to craggy rocks below. The two of you sit, enveloped by the roar and refreshing mist the waterfall grants you. And, as if listening to nature itself speak, Nathan is, for once, quiet.

You take the rare and unrestricted opportunity to watch him, unguarded. He really is quite beautiful, beneath the constantly shifting, condescending eyebrows, glasses that are sexier than glasses have ever seemed to you before, and his bushy beard. Damn, he wears it all well.

You continue on this way, in ethereal comfort, unwilling to be the first one to interrupt this unexpected serenity.

After a while, he turns to you and holds out his hand. "Ready to head back, sweetheart?"

You can't help but smile at the conundrum that is Nathan, allowing him to help you up.

"It really is beautiful here," you comment on the hike back down. "Definitely different than being surrounded by androids."

He spares you a glance over his shoulder, but doesn't reply for several more minutes.

"I have to be here, for my work," He informs, nodding around you. "It's...balance."

"The artificial versus the natural?" You question, expecting a condescending remark.

Instead, he regards you with warmth, allowing you to catch up to walk beside him, instead of following his lead.

"Something like that."

"Hmm..." You nod, keeping step with your complicated, brilliant, mysterious boss. "What am I doing here then?"

He rolls his eyes but one corner of his mouth curls. "Upsetting the balance."

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

Of course an interlude like this with Nathan eventually turns sexual. It is your primary connection to one another, after all, beyond even that of employer/employee.

He takes a quick shower and suggests you soak in the tub while he makes dinner. You don't even make it to dessert before he's all over you.

Which reminds you...Nate has been powered off since yesterday. Maybe Nathan wanted you all to himself.

Perhaps that’s wishful thinking.

As if reading your mind, however, Nathan explains that Nate needed some recalibrating. You mistakenly assumed this would involve you as an employee, but Nathan has other ides.

"Just say the word and I'll leave him off," Nathan flippantly suggests...while he's balls deep inside you.

Breathlessly gasping, you respond to the fusion of your bodies joined, moving perfectly in sync after doing this too many times before. Nathan knows every expanse of skin- every dip and valley. He knows full well how caressing your hip bone causes you to shift against him - creating delicious friction. Fingertips rake across your abdomen tracing each and every insecurity, igniting you with desire and confidence, even.

Nobody has ever known you like this, touched you, pulled you apart so expertly. Truthfully, you couldn't and did not know ecstasy like this even existed. And the bliss of sexual gratification feels so much like lovemaking that you don't even know what to think or feel anymore. You only know that you crave him, every day, all day.

And you're somehow meant to be here with him, in this wild experiment, existing in this chaotic sci-fi bubble. Your body fits his so well that sometimes you feel like - androids aside - you really were made just for him, to fit him perfectly.

"He's your experiment," you counter, finally answering as you roll your hips to meet his expertly timed thrusts.

"Don't tell me you miss him," he groans, gripping your hips and driving into you deeper, eyes darkening at the challenge.

Your back arches off the bed as he hits that spot you love. "I missed you, Nathan," you pant, pushing your hands over the breadth of his sculpted shoulders to tangle behind his neck as you pull yourself against the solid heat of him, your bodies pressed together at every point. "That's the truth. I've missed you."

Answering you with his mouth on yours, he kisses you while you fall apart for him and keeps going until he's coming inside you.

He collapses beside you, panting against your cheek, his hefty thigh slung across yours as you come back to yourselves.

"Are you happy here?" He quietly whispers against your skin.

"Yes," you breathe wholeheartedly. "Most of the time. Is this really what you wanted when you brought me here?"

He huffs out a sardonic chuckle. "Sex? Obviously."

"No, I mean...'upsetting the balance' - what you said earlier." Scrubbing your fingers over his fuzzy hair, you silently curse the warm, fizzy yearning inside you. "I don't think anything could ever upset your balance. Always in control."

Rolling onto his back, he stares up at the ceiling. "You haven't noticed this all revolves around you?" He circles his finger in the air.

"Mmm...sure seems that way when I don't see you for a week," you smart off, already missing his touch and attention.

"That's why you have Nate," his eyebrows shoot up playfully as he props up on his elbow to face you. "Someone to play with."

"Well he's not you. No matter how much of a genius you are."

"Shit," he huffs, amused. "I don't know if I should be flattered or crushingly disappointed in my work."

As if on cue, Nate saunters into the room naked as the day he was invented.

"Somebody missed me?" He teases, sounding a lot like his creator.

With a smug smile, Nathan motions to your naked body. "Somebody missed me. You not up to the challenge? Can't keep her satisfied?"

Climbing off the bed, Nathan walks around to stand right where your face is. "Open that pretty mouth for me," he commands, ignoring the android for a moment.

Nate groans, clearly annoyed by Nathan's condescending dismissal - but the emotional response only manages to please his creator. Every time Nate acts human, it serves to stroke Nathan's ego a little more.

To your surprise, he beckons the android over, instructing him to be the one fuck your mouth. You're so curious to see what Nathan has in mind that you comply without protest. The sight of your naked body draped across the bed, head hanging off the edge, tongue out, has Nate hard instantly. Nathan watches eagerly as you start sucking off his creation.

Nate seems to have gotten over his brief moment of attitude as you take his cock in your wet mouth and get to work.

"So pretty like this, sweetheart," Nate praises you. "So good to me."

Your body warms at the encouragement - such a sharp contrast to being called a whore all the time - which also makes your pussy quiver, to be fair.

Moving around to the other end of you, Nathan traces his thick fingers over the curve of your ass before spreading your cheeks apart and spitting on your tight hole. You moan around Nate's cock, knowing what's coming. You have no objection to being used by these two, and your pussy could use the break.

Nathan pushes his thumb past your tight ring of muscle, teasing you and opening you up for the intrusion of his cock. You're used to him playing with your ass by now, but the stretch always gets to you. After applying some lube, he eases slowly inside, groaning at how tight your ass always feels squeezing him.

Full of cock on both ends, Nate strokes your cheek, praising you while Nathan calls you a greedy whore (again).

"She's not a whore," Nate protests. And this is the first time you hear a full out argument between an android and a human.

Nathan laughs out, nodding down toward your writhing, naked body between them. "Look at her. She's getting nothing out of this - taking it up the ass while your fake dick is cutting off her air supply. Who would let us do this besides a cum dumpster whore?"

As if that's not the meanest thing he's ever said about you, he punctuates his declaration by spitting on your cunt before slapping you there.

And you moan.

Nate roughly pulls out of your mouth, jarring your head as he does.

"You can't actually want this," He accuses. "Not from this piece of shit anyway." He gestures at his creator, who smirks triumph, or perhaps he simply finds Nate's display entertaining.

Gripping your hips, Nathan thrusts into your tight hole faster, spearing you so hard that you know you'll be sore.

"Nathan, it's..." You trail off, your voice a pathetic whine.

"Feel so good squeezing my cock, babydoll," He encourages, licking his lips at the sight of your wildly bouncing tits.

"You're hurting her," Nate lowly growls taking a brave step forward.

"She wants it," Nathan argues, spanking your cunt a few more times in rapid succession, the stinging sensation making your clit throb as you shriek in surprise. "Do your goddamn job and put your cock back in her mouth."

"My job is not to hurt her," Nate passionately defends. Instead of giving his creator anymore of his attention, he eases down beside your bucking body, brushing his fingers over your cheek.

"Do you want him to stop?"

Nathan laughs at him. "You're pathetic."

You can't help yourself. Something about Nathan's dismissive treatment of you, railing your ass while Nate tries to defend your honor has you right at the edge. Or maybe you just like an audience. Nathan’s always known how to push your buttons. Your eyes roll back in your head and you feel like you could come again, with the slightest stimulation.

But you glance between them and you know this is different. Something is way off with these two.

“Wait,” you huff, realizing this has all gotten a little too weird. “Nathan, wait.”

With an annoyed growl, he pulls out of you, hands landing on his hips as he takes his 'ready to lecture you' pose.

“You two need more time alone?” He bites, glancing between the two of you. “A week wasn’t enough?”

"Why don't you fuck off?" Nate snaps, shoving Nathan's shoulder. "She doesn't even know what you're really doing here."

You scramble to your feet, eyes wide and worried. "Nathan?"

"Can you believe this?" Nathan scoffs, but not really to you. He seems to be talking to himself. "Fucking unreal."

Nate shoves him again and Nathan immediately powers him down. Nate hits the ground with a bone-crunching thud and you gasp out, hands covering your mouth.

Seeing you truly disturbed gives Nathan pause.

"What is going on here?" You demand, stalking across the room to grab a robe to wrap around your naked body. "Why are you and Nate at each other's throats?" Kneeling down beside Nate, you roll him over, checking to see if he's...damaged.

You glare at Nathan. "Answer me."

Gesturing animatedly, he huffs, "You saw him. I told you you he needs recalibrating."

"No. You two were having a dick measuring contest - "

"I didn't see you complaining about my dick," he bites back.

"Stop avoiding the question," you scold. "What is going on here? What's Nate talking about? What don't I know? Why am I really here if not to work? What do you want from me?"

When he hesitates, you let out an annoyed sigh, more frustrated with your own expectations than with him. "Nevermind," you sigh, stalking toward the bathroom. He really is going to continue stringing you along, you suppose.

Normally, he isn't one to follow, or play emotional volleyball. He doesn't need to chase you because you're always available to him. But something draws him to you this time.

"Sweetheart, what the fuck?"

You ignore him, barreling through the bathroom door and closing it behind you. He barges right in, uninvited. Amidst all the weirdness, he's maintained an impressive boner.

"I left you alone for a week, with Nate - that doesn't make you happy." He talks demonstratively with his hands, despite the fact that he's stark naked and you're attempting to splash water on your face. "I spent an entire day with you - no androids for two days - that doesn't make you happy either. Why are you being so damn cryptic?"

You can't believe what you're hearing. Turing off the faucet, you glare at his reflection. "Why the hell do you care what makes me happy? Since when does that matter to you in the least?"

"What makes you think it doesn't matter? I just asked you tonight if you were happy."

You shrug him off as he reaches out for you.

"You know what, Nathan? Forget this. I-I need to leave. I need a break from this place. You're never going to tell me the truth about anything."

He scoffs as if you couldn't possibly be serious. "You can't leave."

You shove past him, out of the bathroom. "What do you mean I can't leave?" You demand, gathering some clothes so you can get dressed.

Nathan reaches for his own pants, jerking them up his legs agitatedly. "You know exactly what I mean. You're stuck here for now, sweetheart."

Ugh, you're in no mood.

"Get out of my room." You point to the android. "And take him with you."

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

The next day, Nathan is absent. But so is Nate. You can't seem to find them anywhere and the silence chills you to the bone.

So you pack your suitcase because you're done with this bullshit. You want to be here, but you've lost all objectivity and you need a break if nothing else. It's been fun and wild, but there are some serious warning signs starting to freak you right the hell out.

Another day passes and you see no one.

On the third day, Nate comes to your room in the middle of the night. He slides into bed with you while you're tossing and turning.

"Are you okay?" You whisper, although there's no reason to keep your voice down as Nathan is surely listening anyway.

"Are you really going to leave?" Dark eyes bore into yours as his hands grip your hips and pull you flush against his body.

"I don't know," you answer honestly. "I don't see any point in being here anymore. Not if I'm not going to work with Nathan and the two of you are going to pretend I don't exist."

"I'm not doing that," Nate insists, touching his forehead to yours. "I can't help it if he powers me down. I missed you."

And he kisses you, passionately.

Your body tends to automatically respond, but this has all gotten too bizarre.

"Nate, stop, hold on," you protest, gently pushing him off you.

"I know you want to leave," he confesses, nodding toward your packed bag. "I just...I wanted to spend one more night with you."

You actually consider it. Then against your better judgment, you do.

Because you're leaving. And because at least a piece of your heart belongs to Nathan. And Nate was Nathan's gift to you.

Nate fucks you so slowly and sweetly that you cry - maybe from overwhelm, or from confusion, or because it's over. Maybe because you think you'll never be with Nathan like this again.

He carries you to the tub when you finish, lets you soak, washes you, pats your exhausted body with a fluffy towel and wraps you in a luxurious robe.

"You must be hungry, sweetheart," he whispers on your ear, dragging his palm up your thigh as he helps you work lotion into your skin.

Sometimes this man is pure heaven. Except...he's not a man.

"Why are you so good to me?" You murmur, laying your head on his shoulder.

He finishes moisturizing one leg and switches to the other, a little smile pulling at the corner at his lip. "You know why."

You chuckle, even as he tickles your foot teasingly. "No, I don't."

Locking eyes with you, he pauses. Wiping his hands clean, he touches your cheek. "I was made for you."

Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes. "As an experiment?"

"I don't care why," he shakes his head. "I love you."

You falter, your gaze dropping. "How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure," he insists, lifting your chin up so you'll look at him again. "And I know you feel for me too. Don't you?"

He keeps searching for your gaze.

"Nate...I-I can't."

"But why?" He presses, his voice soft and pleading - warm brown eyes softer than you've ever seen his, or Nathan's.

Wetting your lips, you shake your head. "Because, you're a...machine."

His eyes go cold. Silently he stands up, eyes raking over your body. His hands land on his hips, making him look just like Nathan. "You think I'm not real? That because I was built I can't feel things?"

"I didn't say that," you protest, rising to join him. "I-it's my fault really. I've let this go on too long and for too far. This was supposed to be fun. An experiment, I thought. But I'm so confused."

Feelings will definitely make this far messier than it needs to be. Of that, you're certain, because of the strong feelings you harbor for Nathan. Which is why you desperately need to get out of here.

As if things couldn't get more awkward and disconcerting, Nathan decides to grace you with his presence.

"Nathan, what do you want?" You groan. "And where have you been?"

Smugly folding his arms over the breadth of his chest, Nathan nods to the android. "Didn't want to miss the big love confession. Don't let me stop you."

"Don't be an asshole," you huff, realizing he must have been watching, as fucking usual. "I am seriously over this. Get out unless you're here to tell me about my ride home." Or unless he plans to confess something too?

"I told you. You're not leaving." Dark eyebrows arch over his wire frames.

"You can't keep her here," Nate interjects, stepping between the two of you protectively.

"Nate, please, I'm fine." You turn back to Nathan. "What is really going on here? Why are you two having some kind of pissing contest?"

Nate frowns, confused, but Nathan rolls his eyes.

Just then, the power switches off, bathing your room in an eerie red light.

Nate springs into action. "Get your bag. Time to leave. Now."

Nathan tries to power him down but it doesn't work. "What have you done? What the hell have you done?" He barks at his android, seeming truly frantic.

Even though Nate seems inclined to help and protect you, it's Nathan you turn to in your confusion. "What's wrong?" If Nathan feels out of control of a situation, it can't be good.

But before he can answer you, the glint of a silver blade catches your eye. Nate brandishes a weapon and forcefully shoves it into Nathan's bare chest.

"Can't power me down, can you, asshole?" He snarls, pulling the blade out with a bloody squelch and thrusting it back into his abdomen even as you scream, horrified.

The next few moments rack your body with fear as tears burn your eyes, clouding your vision. You sink down beside Nathan, sobbing, pressing your hands down over the bleeding wound on his chest. The knife remains in his abdomen.

"What did you do?" You cry, flinching when Nate turns his gaze to you. Trembling in fear, you inch back, wondering if you're next.

"Nate, please," you whimper. "Why are you doing this?"

"Not to you," he passionately returns, reaching out for you. "I could never hurt you. I - I did this for you. I love you."

"This is not love," you cry. "We have to help him."

"Why? Don't tell me you love him."

Your shoulders shake as you lean over Nathan, blood oozing between your fingers. There's no one around for miles. Nathan's going to die and you're going to be stuck in this weird ass mansion with the robot who murdered him and who knows how many other robots.

A moaning sob rips out of you as you realize how foolish you've been, letting Nathan toy with you all this time instead of demanding more answers or insisting on leaving.

"You do, don't you?" Nate shakes his head disbelievingly. "You love him. After everything he's done to you. Fucking unreal."

That phrase niggles at the back of your mind, but you're too horrified to realize...

"Hey...it's okay." Nate kneels down beside you, reaching for your hand. You whimper and shrink away, assuming he means to kill you too.

So much for loving you. Asshole.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Look..." Nate reaches for the knife embedded in Nathan's stomach. Instead of yanking it out, he cuts deeper, dragging the knife across his abdomen, all while you scream for him to stop.

A wave of nausea roils throughout your body as he peels back a bloody layer of skin to reveal...machinery.

In fact, past the initial layer of skin, there's not much blood at all.

Your vision blurs and the world goes black.

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

Thanks for your patience! I always write an extra chapter than I intended. It's my signature move. I'm sure you're used to it by now. xoxo

P.S. I know we love soft Nathan and funny Nathan (I certainly do) but in this story, I wanted to explore the genre more closely related to Ex Machina and what I fully feel the film's Nathan Bateman might be capable of. (Or Nate??) Thanks for reading!

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