#i had so much fun writing this thank you

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I hope you take this as the compliment it is intended to be, but you strike the same chord of irreverence-as-love, jokes-to-showcase-sencerity that I get from Chuck Tingle, and I adore both of you.

You have bestowed the greatest honour upon me.

[bratbarzal]

The Secret of Us (LH43) 1/3

aka the sequel to let it happen

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 21k (oops)

I felt it, you held it, do you miss us? wonder if you regret the secret of us.

General Warnings: angst (lol), a severe lack of proofreading, mentions of injuries, a couple of angsty flashbacks with avoidant behaviour and fade to black type smut

A/N: just want to say thank you guys for liking this so much 💖 seeing all the comments and the messages and people recommending this to others and the sweet things you're all saying (even if I betrayed you lol) made me so unbelievably happy!!! I could never let these two go out like that, I enjoy writing this dynamic way too much, and I also have way too much discussing this fic with people!! shoutout to the let it happen film club lmao!!! I hope you guys enjoy this sequel, and I hope it lives up to LIH, they really are my babies!!

and I know what you're thinking, maggie how could we ever trust you again after let it happen??? you can't!! and you shouldn't!!! but I wouldn't do that to you twice.

or would I???

I wouldn't 😌

OR WOULD I?!?!?!?! 😏

You need to start getting more comfortable saying no to people.

It’s something you tell yourself all the time, that being a people pleaser is going to lead to your downfall - it’s something you’ve always known.

So why you would ever possibly agree to attend a football game with your sorority sisters after weeks of hiding away in the safety of your childhood bedroom, you have no idea. You’ve spent the last 4 weeks alone convincing yourself to grow a backbone, and you’ve only been back in town a week. 7 whole days and your resolve has crumbled to pieces.

And now you’re squeezing yourself through a crowd of sweaty, yelling men to find your seat in the cramped spaces of Michigan Stadium, after already being packed like a clown into the back of your friend Molly’s car, and your head is throbbing, already.

A football game.

You at a football game.

It’s absurd.

Dressed in team colours with a ridiculous yellow M painted on your cheek like you’re some sort of local.

It’s your own version of a living hell, and you can’t wait for it to be over.

“Are you guys always sat this low?” You yell out to Molly as the rest of your friends amble in, surrounded now on all sides with no way out.

“Aren’t the seats, great?!” She yells back, louder than you, causing you to wince a little at the shrill sound in your ear.

The seats are not great, but you wouldn’t be happy anywhere in here.

You can barely even see the field, the sidelines packed with God-knows-who, and your back hurts already, and all you want is to go back to the version of you that was first asked if she wanted to come with. A version of you that should have told Molly straight up that you’d have rather sat at home plucking at any remaining body hair with a pair of pointed tweezers than to come to a Michigan Football game.

“Oh, look!” Molly jumps, and you’re assuming she’s just going to point to her boyfriend, following her finger with a bored gaze. You’ve seen him, before. You don’t need to see him again.

Only Molly’s finger doesn’t point to her boyfriend.

It points to the sidelines - to a group of guys stood with a shorter girl with curly blonde hair.

Ellie’s down there, dressed in team colours, too. She’s stood next to Jack, who’s stood next to Quinn.

And you don’t even need to look past Quinn to know who’s gonna be stood beside him.

It’s way too late to go home, now, you fear.

Not when Molly is digging her phone out and pressing immediately on Ellie’s contact, and you can see the whole situation unfold in front of you. 

Ellie never has her phone on silent, and when it rings, it rings loud - a high-pitched, horrific tone that honestly sets off your fight or flight, and you can see the immediate reaction the boys have to it chiming in her hand. 

She answers, instantly, and you can hear Molly’s side of the conversation, guiding Ellie to where your group are up in the stands, waving like a lunatic until Ellie finds you all - and, as if your life isn’t bad enough, she then starts gesturing at you.

“Look who I managed to convince to come with!” She yells, still pointing like you’re some circus attraction, and, if you could remember what the ground felt like, too long in the stands, now, that you miss it, you would honestly want it to swallow you up.

Because obviously Ellie isn’t the only one looking.

Jack is looking.

And Quinn is looking.

And you know, once again without looking yourself, that the person beside Quinn now has his eyes on you, too.

The weight of them takes you back in a dizzying flash, and all of a sudden, you’re back in the lake house, sobbing into your hands until you were pulled into the soft embrace of your best friend.

“Hey, you’re crying, what’s wrong?” Ellie cooed as she came over, throwing her arm around your shaking frame and rubbing a hand up and down your back. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” you tried through shaky breaths, attempting and entirely unconvincing smile, like it would at all mask the flood pouring down your cheeks, “Go back to your party, I’m just being dumb.”

“I’m not gonna leave you like this,” she told you, “What's going on, is it Luke?”

The mere mention of his name brought back the onslaught of tears, your face scrunching as you tried to hold them back, but it was no use. Every single part of you ached with regret, your throat, your chest, your limbs - and all you wanted to do was curl up and cry it out. “I fucked it all up, El.”

“No,” she reassured you, “He fucked things up, he should never have spoken about you like that, it wasn’t fair. Not if the two of you are into each other, he shouldn’t be saying things like that.”

“He was right, though,” you sobbed, “I’m a mess, I just ruin everything good, I don’t even know why.”

“Aw, babe, no-,�� 

“I told him I’d go out with Cole. I don’t even know why, I just wanted him to stop trying to make things work, he kept trying to tell me that he didn’t mean any of it, but I know he did.”

“Do you?” She asked, “Want to go out with Cole?”

“No, of course I don’t.” You shook your head, although you didn’t know how obvious it was, especially to everybody else, how little you wanted to be with anybody that wasn’t Luke. “I just want to go back to this morning, before I heard him say any of that stuff.”

“Why don’t you come downstairs, huh? We can find him, and the two of you can try to talk again-,”

“I can’t,” you refused, the thought of trying to communicate your feelings while you looked the way you did - eyes red raw and face all swollen - filling you with anxiety. “Can you just tell people I’m sick if they ask? I know it’s your birthday but I can’t go down there, Ellie.”

“Okay,” she had agreed, although the worry in her eyes made you feel even worse - missing your best friend’s birthday party because you were too chicken to face your feelings?

What sort of friend does that?

“I’ll come check on you, though. And tomorrow, you’re gonna have a serious conversation with Luke, alright? You can’t keep pushing people away, it isn’t good for you.”

“I know,” you sniffled, “I promise, I’ll try tomorrow.”

But trying had been futile. Luke wanted nothing to do with you - he could barely even look your way. He didn’t come downstairs for breakfast the next day, and when he finally did, he turned straight back around. Every time you tried to talk to him, he would shut you down, and by the tenth day of trying, you’d given up, entirely - booking yourself a ticket home, packing your things up one night and leaving the morning after. 

The following weeks were spent wallowing back home with your mom - texting Ellie, waiting for him to reach out, even though you knew he wouldn’t. Watching sad movies, staying inside, spending your days alone, while your mom was at work, and trying not to miss him so much.

And coming back to Michigan had only been made easy by the fact that he would be gone - due to go back to training in Jersey, and the two of you wouldn’t cross paths.

It won’t hurt as much, you had thought, if you didn’t have to see him.

But now here Luke is, following Ellie’s gaze as she waves up to you in the stands, stood on the sidelines of the football game you’d only attended to finally get yourself out of the house - still in Michigan, stood at the end of the path you thought no longer led to him. 

This might be the first time he’s met your eye in a while, and there’s a visceral feeling that shoots straight through you - your heart falling into an alarming, irregular thump that reverberates through your entire body, and it’s a strange sensation, like the slowing of time, the blurring of everything around you but him. 

His arm is held to his front with a sling, and you try to ignore the way your stomach turns at the sight of it. It’s nothing to do with you, he doesn’t want you to care. He doesn’t even want to talk to you, and you don’t want to talk to him, either - not anymore. Not after almost 6 weeks of silence - of forcing yourself to think about anything but him, like you even could.

You offer a tight lipped smile and a wave to Ellie, and try to ignore his presence for as long as you can, try to watch the game, to focus on your friends in the stands beside you - only, he keeps looking back. Craning his neck, surveying the crowd as it fills up just to find you, and your heart starts to hammer in your chest every time you catch his eye.

What happened to him avoiding you at all costs? What happened to ignoring your attempts to talk, the knocks at his door, the pleading, persuasive looks you’d try to give him when it all got a little too much in the end. 

Why can’t he just let you slip away into nothingness, like it would be so much easier to do?

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket as you’re trying to focus on the game, the desire to flee growing by the second - cramped and claustrophobic in your seat, dying for a drink and a minute of reprieve away from the crowd, away from Luke and whatever weird telekinetic powers he has on your heart.

Luke: can we talk?

Luke: I’ll be at the closest concessions in 5

You slip your phone back into your pocket without responding, and by the time you look back down to where he had been stood, he’s gone. 

You should be relieved. 

Maybe if you ignore his message, he’ll stop looking at you.

Maybe this is where it ends, and you can finally let each other go - too far gone to fix, nothing left to say.

Only your legs are now moving, side stepping Molly and the other girls, along with the rest of the people in your row, and your mouth is apologising to those you bump into, and your feet are carrying you down the stairs to where you know he’ll be, sneakers squeaking against the sticky floor as you search for him in the small concessions queue.

He stands taller than most, waiting by the counter, facing the other way, and you take the second that his back is turned to you to reconsider.

Stuck in place, staring at broad shoulders you’d once spent tracing the freckles between while he slept, and wondering which might hurt more - walking away or hearing him out. 

He turns before you get the chance to choose, his eyes meeting yours , widening in surprise, as much as they can, considering his current predicament, and he immediately heads your way.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” Luke just about says as he precariously holds onto a plastic cup between his teeth, offering you the one in his free hand - what you assume is diet coke with ice sloshing a little over the rim and onto the already sticky floor. 

“Can hardly leave a one-armed man to navigate the concession stand on his own. Not one with your appetite, at least.” Your brows furrow when you notice the distinct lack of snacks in his hold, but you figure he prioritised using what little carrying capacity he had to get your drink. “Do you want me to hang around while you get something to eat? I can hold your drink,”

“I don’t have much of an appetite,” he says, clearer now that he can hold his cup in his hand instead of his mouth. “I’m on some pretty strong painkillers, can’t eat without feeling sick.”

“Oh,” you frown, eyeing the sling that holds his other arm. He had been fine when you left the lake house - and even last week, in Ellie’s story on instagram, he hadn’t seemed injured then. It must be a recent development, and so close to the season, for him to be out in public wearing a brace, it can’t be good. “What happened?”

“Took a pretty bad hit on the ice,” he shrugs with his other shoulder, lips turning down like he’s trying to play it off, “Been telling myself it’s karma.” The way he chuckles is distant and noncommittal, and not at all like all the ways you’re used to seeing him smile or laugh. His eyes don’t squint, his mouth barely turns up, barely pushes those tell-tale folds into his cheeks that you used to press at when he was close enough to do so. Back when being in such close proximity made your heart thump in a different way.

But maybe that’s for the best.

Maybe one of Luke Hughes’ signature crooked grins might have made you do something stupid, like touch him again. You’ve worked too hard to push away the feeling of wanting to for the past month. 

“Karma for what?” You ask instead, head tilting to survey the damage, like you’d even be able to see anything through the thick yellow hoodie he has on. It’s better than looking him in the eye, you think.

“For what I said to Cole,” he tells you, the shame that lines his words doing little to alleviate the way they so quickly jab at you, all the memories of that day and that conversation rushing back at you full-force. Memories you’ve worked really hard to suppress. “For hurting you. I probably deserved to get hurt, too.”

“I’d never want you to be hurt, Luke.” You say before you can think better of it, narrowed eyes meeting his finally, watching as they soften slightly, let your words sink in and melt like warm butter, seeping into his every pore and breaking down his hardened exterior. 

“Me neither,” he almost-whispers, “For you, I mean. I wouldn’t want you to be hurt.”

You nod, momentarily pressing your lips together, your focus dropping to a patch of lint on his hoody, clenching your free hand into a fist behind your back to save yourself from reaching out to pluck it off. 

“Is that all you wanted to see me for?”

You don’t want to be rude to him, but it’s hard, especially when every instinct in your body is telling you to push him away - to keep him at arms length where he can’t pull you back in. 

“No,” he utters quickly, his feet shuffling as if he wants to step forward, reduced the metaphorical distance you’re trying to force between the two of you. “I was hoping we could talk.”

You just about save yourself from having your jaw drop wide open.

You’d tried to talk to him last month, before you left, and he had wanted nothing more to do with you. 

“In the middle of a football game?” You frown, daring to glance up - taking notice of the panic in his eyes when he reads you like a book, can recognise your retreating form from a mile off, by now.

“No,” he blurts out, “No, I mean later, if you’re free. Somewhere else.”

“I don’t know-,”

“We’re having a barbecue back at the house,” he interrupts, a look on his face like he couldn’t possibly accept no for an answer. “Like an end of summer send-off thing, you should come over, I know the guys would want to say goodbye properly.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you finish your earlier thought, “Besides, your family probably all hate me.”

“Why would they hate you?”

“Because of what happened with us,”

“Oh,” He frowns, “No, they don’t hate you, I promise, not even Jack.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you scoff - when he had helped Ellie move rooms back in the sorority house last week, he could barely even muster a smile to send your way. He hadn’t been his usual stand-offish self, but he had hardly been friendly, either. You didn’t expect laughs and hugs and welcome-backs, but after the two of you had kind of made up back at his cousin’s wedding, and things were finally solid between him and your best friend, you thought some kind of bridge had been built.

Apparently not.

“I didn’t tell them.”

“Oh,” you don’t know whether you feel relieved or disappointed. He can’t have been that heartbroken about the whole thing if he never told a soul, right? Even you told your mom when you got home - granted, she was a whole bottle of rosé deep into the night and seconds from falling into a wine coma, but you still at least acknowledged your feelings to somebody. 

What did he do, just bottle all whatever feelings remained up and send them off down the lake? Enjoy the rest of his summer like you never happened?

“I didn’t think you’d want me to,” he continues, “You never really liked me talking about us with other people, so I didn’t.”

“Right,” you nod, biting your tongue to save from throwing out a bitter, thanks. You spent the last month watching heart-wrenching sad movies in your bed all day and he just went about his life like the two of you were nothing That’s fine. That’s cool.

“Ellie’ll be there,” he tries again, like she won’t be attached to Jack’s hip all night and you’ll be left on your own. “And a few of the Michigan guys, if you need a ride back to campus. I’d offer to drive you, but,” he nods down to his arm, “Or you can stay, your room is still free.”

Yourroom. Like you have any claim on any part of his world, still.

“I’ll think about it,” you tell him, because you can’t fully bring yourself to say no to his face. It’ll be easier when you’re back home, later, and can just ignore his texts, if he even cares enough to send any. “I should get back.”

“I can walk you back,”

“You shouldn’t be in a crowd with your arm,” your head shakes and you step back, your body language saying more than your lips even dare. “It’s fine. Thanks for the drink.”

“No problem.” He chews at the corner of his lip as he watches you retreat, like he has more to say. 

Despite spending the last month doing everything in your power to wipe your thoughts clean of Luke Hughes, you want nothing more than to hear it - but where you’ve been suffering and relating every pathetic, sad song you hear back to him and fighting every urge to reach out through fear of rejection, he’s been ignoring your entire existence. Repressing whatever feelings he may have had and neglecting any instinct he might have had to reach out, too. 

“Promise me you will?” He calls out when you’re a little ways down the tunnel, causing you to turn back to see him in the same spot, “Think about it, I mean. I’d really like to talk to you.”

Your fingers tense at the mere mention of a promise tumbling from his lips, your pinky sending signals to your feet to run straight back to him, practically itching to reach out and link with his. Instead, you nod, eyes darting to the big M that stretches across his chest, easier to look at that and lie than into his hopeful gaze. 

“Sure,” you tell him, because you can hardly make a promise you can’t keep. 

Not to Luke.

You’re not coming.

Luke realistically knew as much when Ellie arrived on her own - immediately going over to Jack and sparing Luke a glance out of the corner of her eye as she whispered to his brother.

But it’s taken him almost 2 hours to really come to terms with the fact - to stop keeping an eye on the door and whipping his head around any time a newcomer enters the house. 

He should have known when you refused to make a promise to him - not like you owed him anything in the first place. Should have known when the few attempts you made at joking around with him like old times, you’d barely mustered a smile - that familiar glint in your eye that shone only for him watered down into a dull gaze you refused to hold. 

God, he’s an idiot, he thinks.

He should have spoken to you when he had the chance - those few times you had tried to offer an olive branch, pushing a pre-poured glass of juice his way at breakfast or making space for him on the couch he’s now conveniently slumped on, all alone.

It feels a little like a lost cause now, trying to reignite some sort of spark between the two of you - not when you won’t even hear him out.

He’d felt a bit of hope when you’d met him at the stadium, thinking his text might have been left on read - and even though he’d made the effort to buy you a drink, he hadn’t entirely expected you to turn up. 

He thinks maybe that had been the first thing to throw him for a loop - arranging a meeting on a whim and you actually making an appearance. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t form a coherent sentence, or relay any sort of confidence in himself or what he was trying to sell you on. 

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t convince you to come.

He can’t blame you - your last 10 days here at the house had been miserable, on his account, and if he was in your shoes, he wouldn’t come back, either. He wouldn’t hear himself out, wouldn’t forgive himself.

The night of Ellie’s party should have been where he drew the line at avoiding you - the initial aftermath of your fight still sizzling, too hot to touch while the both of you were still reeling.

The morning after, he had been hungover - throwing back drinks like nobody’s business just to drown you out - and there was no chance of having a serious conversation, then, even though he had woke up alone in his bed wanting nothing more than for you to be there.

He’d gone downstairs sometime in the early afternoon, ignoring his growling stomach until he couldn’t do it any more , and had trudged into the kitchen only to find you there with Cole.

The bitterness within him fought violently with his need to puke, and he stormed back up to his room, no longer having any sort of appetite, and stayed there for the rest of the day.

The days that followed were no better - avoiding you at every given opportunity, ignoring your pleading eyes, leaving no chance for you to speak to him, despite all the times he could see that you wanted to. He’d leave every room you entered, turn away from every conversation you joined, and the final nail in the coffin was probably the time he ignored you knocking on his bedroom door one night, the soft call of his name feeling like a knife that twisted in his gut. 

You were gone the next day - your bedroom door open and the room empty when he walked past, your seat at the table vacant when he came downstairs for breakfast, and he seemed to be the only one who didn’t know. Ellie seemed unbothered, already having moved into Jack’s room, Quinn was drinking the green tea you had bought, that no one else was supposed to touch, Alex probably wouldn’t have cared either way, and Cole was already talking about meeting up with some other girl.

“Wow,” Luke had scoffed, throwing himself into the chair beside Cole’s and sneaking a peak at his phone screen, suddenly feeling a burning need to call the guy out. He was to the entire reason you called things off with Luke, and now he was talking to someone else? “Her bed isn’t even cold and you’re already moving on, huh?”

Ellie had glared at him from across the table, and Jack had frowned too, no doubt wondering why after 10 days of complete silence about the whole thing, he was daring to bring you up now.

“What are you talking about?” Cole chuckled, leaning back in his chair and raising a brow at Luke, who just said your name in response, with a pointed stare. “What about her?”

“Thought you were ending your summer with a girlfriend.” 

“Dude, where the hell have you been?” Cole snorted, amused, if anything, “She couldn’t have turned me down quicker if she tried. Man to man, don’t ever follow instructions from that one,” he pointed over to Ellie, “She led me on a wild goose chase all summer just so that I’d help her get her guy.”

“Hey!” Ellie called from across the table, “It’s not my fault you have no game. And I would have gotten my guy just fine without your help.”

Before Cole could retort, spurred on by the way Jack was chucking by her side, Luke frowned, straightening in his chair. “She didn’t want to go out with you?”

“No, but before you say anything, it has nothing to do with my game, alright? She’s into someone else, I guess.”

“Someone else?” Luke’s eyes darted over to Ellie, who just rolled hers in response, turning her attention back to Jack before she excused herself from the table.

“That’s my guess,” Cole shrugged, “She said she wasn’t into me like that, but come on.”

Wasn’t into him?

That wasn’t what you had said to Luke.

“Sorry man,” Luke offered, absentmindedly, head craning to see which direction Ellie left in. “As you were.”

He jogged out of the kitchen and up the stairs, just about catching her before she disappeared into her and Jack’s room. “Hey, wait,” he had called, watching as she let out a heavy sigh and turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. “She turned him down?”

“Did you not just have this exact conversation with Cole?”

“Ellie, c’mon,” he pleaded, desperation creeping up inside - feeling a little too much like guilt, and causing a serious discomfort in the pit of his stomach. “She said she wanted to date him.”

“You’re so unbelievably stupid.”

It didn’t quite hit the same as when you said it, shame washing over him at the way Ellie was glaring at him. 

“She heard you tell him that she wasn’t girlfriend material, and that she would just be hard work, and not worth his time. Lucky for you, she didn’t hear the bullshit you said before that.” Regret formed like a heavy ball in his gut, the weight of it almost pushing him to keel over. “She said whatever she had to to get you off her back because it hurt her less to push you away.”

“I don’t-,”

“And you’re the dumbass who just let her do it.”

That’s not fair, he thought. What was he supposed to do, just watch you move on without a care in the world, cheering you on with a stupid grin on his face while his whole heart crumbled to pieces at the thought of you being with anybody else?

“I’m not a mind reader, Ellie,” he tried to defend himself, “I can’t keep pushing at a door that won’t open.”

“My God, do you have a peanut for a brain, Luke?” She had shoved at his chest, “She’s been holding the door open for the last ten days, and all you’ve done is walk past it. She wanted to talk to you, and you wouldn’t even look at her!”

“I wasn’t ready! I thought she-,” 

He had thought you had taken Cole up on his offer of taking you out - had thought that’s the conversation he had stumbled into the day after the party - and he didn’t want to risk hearing anything about it, or seeing it in action.

“She said it didn’t matter.”

You had said that - he had asked you straight up, so there was no confusing it, but when he tried to remember, he can’t picture your eyes as you did. He must not have been looking, he thought, or maybe you weren’t looking at him. Either way, how’s he supposed to muster up a clear idea of your intentions if he can’t remember the look in your eyes as you spoke them. 

You couldn’t lie to him - you never could, even in the beginning, pretending to be aloof, pretending you weren’t into him, he could always see through you, back then, so why didn’t he try harder when it was something he didn’t want to hear?

“She’s really gone home? Not just back to Ann Arbor?”

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie scoffed, folding her arms across her chest, “Chase her down?”

“I don’t know, if I have to. We need to talk.”

“She’s probably back at her mom’s by now, she left pretty early. And I think it’s for the best if you leave her alone, Luke. She gave you a hundred chances to talk.”

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t just leave things like this, I made a mistake, I need her to know that, I need her to know I’m sorry.”

“It’s better if you both just cool off a little. She’s hurt that you’ve been ignoring her, it isn’t fair to keep playing hot and cold with her feelings.”

“That’s not what I-,”

“I know.” Ellie sighed, leaning against the wall and giving him a pitiful look as she finally took in just how panicked he had become, running hands through his hair and shifting between his feet. “Just give it time, that way you can both think about it, think about what you want to say without just saying things and not meaning them.”

And that’s all Luke has been doing since then.

Thinking about what he wants to say to you - thinking about how to fix things. All without knowing when it is that he would even see you again, or if you’d be willing to listen. 

He’d distracted himself with it - his mind stuck on just how bad he had messed things up, and it had put him into a rut - so much so, that he ended up hurting himself in training, an injury that would have him out for a good couple of months. And he had meant it, when he told you he thought it was karma, because he deserved a reality check, he thinks. It had shifted things into perspective, at least - because now he could stay in town a little longer, could try and make amends before he had to go home and properly start his season.

And when he’d noticed Ellie scanning the crowd back at the game, had followed her beaming smile all the way to you in the crowd, he thought his heart had stopped.

It had been 4 weeks since he’d seen you last - almost 6 since he’d spoken to you. Since he’d touched you, or kissed you, or seen you smile, and when your eyes meet his from the stands, widened and hesitant, he could tell you were feeling the same.

An insurmountable longing for something the two of you should never have thrown away.

He saw the truth, then, even as you looked away and diverted your attention back to Ellie - the truth he was too hurt to notice all those weeks ago back in your room in the lake house. 

That you felt the same way - you always had - you just weren’t used to it. Weren’t used to loving someone, or having them love you.

But he can’t quite tell if you still feel it.

He can’t expect you to, not with how reserved you’ve become.

He sighs, sinking into the cushions of the couch, legs stretched out and head thrown against the back as he squints against the light - the noise around him dwindling to a constant buzz. 

He’s too caught up in his head to notice when Ellie sinks down beside him until she nudges at his side, and he slowly looks her way.

“If it helps at all, I could tell she wanted to come.”

Luke snorts out a humourless laugh, eyes rolling. “If she wanted to come, she’d be here.” He says, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“She doesn’t really open up to people,” Ellie sighs, and he can tell from the way she’s looking at him that’s only divulging this from a place of pity, although he guesses that’s better than her saying nothing at all. “It took us years to get to where we are, and even now I’m not sure she lets me all the way in, and we’re supposed to be best friends.”

“I feel like I don’t even know if she was ever into me in the first place,” he mutters, tracing at a scratch in the surface of the table. Even if he had thought different, back in the stadium, he can’t be so sure now that you haven’t shown. You’d have come if you still cared. “I’m still confused by the whole Cole thing-,”

“That was my fault,” Ellie interjects, “I thought I was doing the right thing, I didn’t realise that you two were-,” her teeth clash as she bites down, as if to stop saying the word, together. “Whatever you were. And she just got all in her head after she heard you saying all that stuff, it’s what she does, keeps her cards close to her chest until she loses them all.”

“That’s the problem, El,” Luke groans, “If she really liked me, she would have told you. If she was ever serious, you’d have known something was up. She wouldn’t have hidden it from her best friend and told me that she was gonna go out with Cole after all.”

“You know she turned him down, Luke, he said himself, she was into someone else.”

“Yeah, or so he assumed,” he grumbles, recalling the feeling he got when Cole had said as much, back on the day you left.

“And you know on my birthday when she overheard that conversation, she’d literally just told me that she liked you. That’s big for her, Luke. It might have taken her a while but she got there in the end. It’s your own fault for having such a big mouth and ruining it.”

“I told her I didn’t mean it,” he can’t help how whiney he sounds, lips pouting and a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told her I was sorry.”

“And then you ignored her for almost two weeks until she had no choice but to leave. You don’t get to claim the moral high ground here, I’m sorry.”

“So what am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me.”

“You just have to give her time, don’t give up again.” Ellie nudges him a little too forcefully, the sharp jut of her elbow in his ribs causing him to wince. “Really think about if there’s a version of you that could be friends.”

“What if I don’t want to be friends, what if I don’t wanna keep taking one step forward and three back?” 

“Then think about if you’d rather be nothing at all.”

“She hates me that much?”

“I don’t know, she stopped talking to me about it.” Ellie huffs, leaning back a little more into the couch. “But I’d take that as a no. If she hated you, neither of us would hear the end of it, trust me.”

He knows that’s true - all the odd comments you’d drop about Jack back in the beginning of summer. He knows you never hated Jack, but there was always a clear dislike, and you were never shy about voicing it to anyone willing to listen.

If you’re not talking about him at all, it means one of two things. You either give so little of a shit about him that you don’t see a use in bringing him up, or you don’t want to show vulnerability by admitting how much he hurt you.

He knows what he’d put his money on.

“Can’t you talk to her for me? Put a good word in?” He pleads, rounding his eyes in the hopes that Ellie’s pity extends to doing him a solid - he dedicated his entire summer to getting her and Jack together, after all.

“I think it’s best for the both of us if I stay out of her love life. My meddling is what got you guys into this mess in the first place.”

Luke sighs as he resumes his previous position, neck thrown against the back of the couch and eyes cast to the ceiling. 

Your room is right above - the bed on which you’d kissed him that first time, away from your scheming at the mall, still made and empty. The bed where you two would lay atop the covers, watching movies on the old staticky TV, sharing snacks between you and spouting commentary into the night.

He wonders, then, if you’d watched anything since the last time - before you left - and it’s that thought that has him pushing himself up and making his way up the stairs. 

Despite the amount of time since you were in here, it still kind of smells like you - like melon sunscreen and passionfruit perfume - and he casts a glance around for anything that might remain.

There’s nothing, though. No loose hair ties, forgotten jewellery, not even a book left behind.

And then he checks by the TV - the shelf below it housing a DVD player, and he powers it up just to press eject.

After a few seconds, a disc spins out.

Silver Linings Playbook, with Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence.

He might have seen it once or twice, can vaguely remember some of the storyline, but it isn’t until everybody has left the house a good hour or two later that he thinks he should watch it - if it’s the last movie you watched before you left - just to get an idea of your headspace. 

When he’s lounging on his own bed, the movie playing on his TV, Jennifer’s Tiffany saying to Bradley’s Pat, “I used to think that you were the best thing that ever happened to me, but now I think that you might maybe be the worst thing. And I'm sorry that I ever met you.” And it turns his stomach in a way he isn’t prepared for, tears pricking at his eyes at the thought of you watching this and thinking the same.

And then Pat responds, and Luke sits with the line for a good minute, pausing the movie as he ponders the response, "Good for you. Come on, let's go dance.” 

He wonders if you smiled the same way - soft and small, hopeful that one day the punches you throw to defend yourself are met with the same resistance, with a hand that grabs at them, and instead of fighting back, just pulls you closer.

It’s almost by instinct that he pulls his phone out, loading up the same app he always does when he’s watching a movie, ready to fill in a review when it gets to a part that resonates with him.

And there you are, on his friends feed - the last movie you logged being an hour ago, La La Land, which you had unsurprisingly given 5 stars, and had reviewed with just a quote - It’s pretty strange that we keep bumping into each other. Maybe it means something.

And he grins, really and genuinely beams, for what feels like the first time in a while, a small chuckle rumbling up from his chest as he checks for your review on Silver Linings - the same quote he loved so much sitting there under your 5 star rating. 

He doesn’t want to be nothing, he decides, then, like it was ever in question. 

And he realises it’s up to him to do something about it.

Luke’s first thought when it comes to fixing thing is to text you.

It’s simple, and it should be easy, but he sits staring at your name in his phone for 30 minutes trying to think of what would be best to say.

A casual, hey, in the hopes that you’d just instinctively type it back.

A call out, like, Bummed you couldn’t come over the other night, thinking you might have been feeling guilty.

A question, or even an invite, along the lines of, Do you want to meet somewhere? Because leaving someone hanging on an invite is just plain cruel.

But then he feels like he doesn’t want to force your hand - weirdly inspired by that La La Land quote you loved so much, about bumping into each other.

Only orchestrating a chance encounter was hard when you weren’t going out. Ellie had mentioned everybody going for drinks at one of the bars on campus, and you never turned up.

She told him your favourite coffee shop, and despite him hanging around all day one time, like a total creep, he didn’t catch sight of you once.

You weren’t with Ellie when he bumped into her at the mall, or at the diner, when he had gone for burgers with the guys and seen a few of your sorority sisters on the other side of the restaurant.

And even when Ellie had told him to come over to the house, that she’d take him into town to pick up some suits, because he was still in his sling and couldn’t drive himself, he had been disheartened to find out you wouldn’t be there - that you had a morning class, and Ellie hadn’t even seen you.

He settles for looking at the cute photo of you and Ellie on the mantle, greek letters painted on your cheeks, beaming smiles as you looked straight into the camera, and he still gets that twinge in his chest even looking at a photo.

A twinge that only grows when he hears a gasp from behind him, and he swiftly turns to see you at the bottom of the staircase, looking back at him, alarmed and surprised.

Luke’s eyes trail slowly up your bare legs, his throat going dry as they land on the oversized shirt you’re wearing - his shirt, he’s pretty sure, although he knows it’s probably best not to comment on that - before cutting up to your face, wide eyes staring back at him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, stepping back toward the staircase where you rest your hand on the bannister, putting as much distance between the two of you as you can without completely retreating up the stairs. 

“I uh-,” he stutters, losing his train of thought as he stands there with his mouth agape, taking you in.

He hadn’t been prepared to see you, that much is clear - and especially not like this, dressed in his shirt, which you’ve obviously slept in, hair a little messy, skin bare of any makeup. It reminds him of those mornings in his bed, waking up before the rest of the house, your body bathed in the soft glow from the rising sun, trading sleepy kisses until you would sneak back off to your room.

It makes him yearn for that, again, and feelings like that need some kind of forewarning, otherwise they serve nothing but to make him ache.

“I said I’d drive him to an appointment,” Ellie says as she emerges from the kitchen, car keys in hand, “I though everyone had class this morning, you’re not gonna hand me in for having a guy in the house, are you?”

“I’m not a snitch,” you frown, tugging at the ends of his shirt, “I slept in, I didn’t think anyone else was here either.”

He didn’t exactly need the confirmation, considering your current state, but knowing you slept in his shirt makes the heat creep up his neck, his chest puffing as he really takes in the meaning of it.

So many things about you are screaming that you want nothing to do with him, but you’re sleeping in his old Michigan shirt, one you’d borrowed when your shoulders were burning out on a wakeboarding trip one day, he’s pretty sure - one he never even realised you kept.

“Do you need a ride?” She offers, stepping beside Luke, close enough that in order to look at Ellie, you pretty much have to look his way too, and every time you glance at him, he catches you. “We were gonna go get a drink before, so we’re heading your way anyway. Or you could come with, if you’re skipping."

“Uh, no,” you decline, without even thinking about it, Luke’s chest feeling a little tighter at just how quick you are to avoid being near him. “I’m gonna go to the library.”

“I could still drive you. I doubt you’d mind a detour, would you, Lukey?”

“No,” he breathes out, almost immediately, eyes staying on you. “I don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” you offer Ellie a tight lipped smile, “I’ll walk.”

And that’s that - your figure retreating back up the stairs before Luke has anything to say about it, his shoulders slumping as Ellie offers a friendly pat to his back.

“C’mon then, I need to stop for gas, you’re paying.”

He follows Ellie out to the back of the house, where the girls usually park their cars off the street, and just as he’s climbing into Ellie’s Mini, he glances up to the one of the windows, just in time to catch the quick shift of a curtain.

“Don’t worry,” Ellie says as he adjusts the passenger seat, folding his long legs into the limited space, an assured smile sent his way before she starts up the car. “I’ve got a plan.”

“What happened to no more meddling?” He huffs as he buckled himself in.

“I can’t sit back and watch my best friend become boring trying to avoid you, Luke,” she sighs, “It’s borderline painful.” 

—

You don’t know when managing your social life became Ellie’s full time job - as if the two of you aren’t tumbling into the depths of your final year of school with very little direction or guidance - but you’re growing tired of it, quick.

First, it had been, you’re coming to the bar and I’m not taking no for an answer, except, she had taken no for an answer, she just relished in making you feel bad for it after.

Then it had been, I need your opinion on halloween costumes, and she had insisted you join her at the mall, but you had an appointment with the careers counsellor that you really couldn’t miss, and she had to settle with sending you photos, again adding incessant messages about how she wouldn’t let you turn down the next invitation out.

Never mind trying to avoid bumping into Luke during his extended stay, avoiding Ellie was becoming a real task - slipping out before she can corner you in the mornings and staying out most of the day.

She caught you off guard, the other day, though - inviting Luke around. Sure, you were supposed to be in class - would have been, if your alarm had gone off on time - but still, bringing him into your space was like crossing a line, breaking an unspoken rule.

She’s supposed to be on your side. She isn’t supposed to be bringing the guy who hurt you into your house and driving him around town like his personal assistant, all from the good of her heart.

She’s just trying to kiss up to Jack.

At least, you thought so, until she sent you a text later that day - a bunch of pictures of Luke in different suits, tailored perfectly to his lean figure, shirts that stretched taut across his broad shoulders and pants that clung perfectly to his hips, followed by the message, thoughts?

You had many, but none that you could possibly sent to her - only replying with a question mark until she apologised, claiming they were meant for Jack’s approval.

It became clear then, what she was doing - flaunting him in front of you until you burst at the seams, like one of those jackets looked like it was going to do in a few of the pictures from the back of Luke in the tailor shop. Sending you those had been no accident.

And that’s why you were sceptical when the weekend rolled around, and she was begging and pleading for you to go with her to a party at the hockey house - promising you that he was finally heading back to Jersey, and definitely wasn’t going to be around.

She’d buttered you up with groans of, I feel like I never see you anymore, and, school is stressing me out, already, I just want to let loose with my best friend!

And it was the promise that she’d let you wear a skirt you’ve been eyeing in her closet for the past two years that sealed the deal - a vintage Diesel mini that she had thrifted and guarded like her whole life depended on it. 

You can’t help it, anyway - it’s been so long since you’ve been out like that - probably summer being the last time - and you need to let loose too.

And that’s how you end up walking hand in hand through the front door, Ellie having styled your hair, the two of you looking like a million dollars, and it’s the first time in months that you aren’t disturbed by the feeling of eyes on you.

You kind of feel like your old self - confident, self-assured, like there isn’t a soul on earth who could possibly make you doubt yourself.

You wish the universe gave you at least five minutes to sit with that feeling before you saw him. 

Before you saw Luke, sling-free, bottle in hand, leaning against the wall, talking to Victoria Anderson, a girl you know he has history with - a girl you have history with, yourself.

You hate how quick the switch within you flips - the slight slump of your posture, the tension in your jaw, all your self-worth seeping from your pores like your body is actively trying to kill it.

Your hand slips from Ellie’s, immediately heading in the opposite direction to where Luke is - making a bee-line straight for the kitchen, straight for a drink.

Ellie is hot on your heels, grasping at your arm to keep up, “I’m sorry,” she calls after you.

“You said he wouldn’t be here,” you grumble, shoving through the swinging door and heading straight for the line of bottles on the counter. 

“What am I, his keeper?” She scoffs, trying to play it off as a lighthearted joke, but you can see it in her eyes that she knew. “I don’t know where he’s gonna be at all hours of the day.”

“You said he was going back to Jersey.”

“Yeah, well, I must have got my days mixed up!”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, pouring out a shot from the first bottle you find without even reading the label, and throwing it back before you can think twice. You pour yourself a proper drink, after - a vodka with diet coke - and sip at it just to cool your nerves, trying to calm yourself down.

You don’t want to be mad at Ellie - whatever she’s doing, she’s doing it because she cares - but you’re so tired of overthinking this whole thing. All you want is a break from it all, and no one is willing to give you one.

“I’m gonna go find Ethan,” you tell her, figuring you can kill two birds with one stone - ask him about the class you missed the other morning, and avoid speaking to Luke, “If you want to make this up to me, I need you to tell Luke to steer clear, okay?”

“Fine,” she scowls, rolling her eyes as she has to pour her own drink.

You storm off back toward the door, and just as you get close, it swings open, the edge of it knocking straight into you - into the hand holding your freshly poured drink, which is now dripping down your front.

Your whole body tenses at the sensation of the liquid seeping through your shirt, only momentarily thankful that you hadn’t added ice before you remember the coke - remember the vintage skirt, with the light denim wash.

You hear Ellie groan from behind you, and you squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes that you’ll magically gain some sort of time travelling superpower - a rewind button, like Click.

“Are you okay?”

Of course it had to be him, you think - because you’ve somehow unsettled the entire balance of the universe, and this is how it’s decided to repay you, your eyes opening to find those concerned, grey-green eyes peering back at you. 

He takes the empty cup that’s being squished in your grip and tosses it into a trash can to the side before you feel a hesitant hand on your side, watching as he surveys the damage.

“And here I thought that skirt couldn’t get uglier.”

Victoria’s piercing blue eyes gleam back at you, a sinister smirk plastered on her lips, and you’re lunging before you even know it until a strong arm curls around your waist, the heat of his skin slipping straight into the gap between your skirt and t-shirt, and sending a shiver straight down the spine that’s now pressed to his front.

“Hey, c’mon,” he warns, pulling you back with enough force that there’s a good couple of feet between you and Victoria now, and her eyes narrow at all the points he’s touching you. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You think you only let him guide you away to piss her off - and it isn’t until he’s ushering you into the small downstairs bathroom and closing the door behind him that you realise how little consideration you put into that.

You watch as Luke retrieves a towel from the small cupboard by the door, forgetting he probably still knows this place like the back of his hand, and starts to work at the front of your t-shirt before you snatch it away.

“I’ve got it, thanks.” You snap, entirely frustrated with the whole situation than you think you are with him, a small swirling of guilt immediately bubbling up inside you. 

You dab at the skirt, first, hoping there’s some way that it’s salvageable, or Ellie’s going to murder you. You lean against the counter by the sink, and glance down at the damage. It looks just like a water stain, for now, unfortunately placed, but you won’t know for sure until it dries, and dabbing at it with a towel isn’t really going to fix that.

“Did she hurt your hand?” Luke asks, low voice breaking the silence you were starting to cherish, and it’s only then that you realise where the door hit you. Your knuckles ache a little, but you can still flex your fingers, so you figure they’ll just be bruised tomorrow.

You do wish you could have bruised them another way - maybe with a fist to Victoria Anderson’s smug grin - but you’re supposed to be a pacifist, so maybe not. If anyone’s going to break that pattern, it would be her - your rival in every way ever since you came to Michigan. Academically, in all the same classes, socially, in opposing sororities, and even romantically, with her somehow always looking out for the same guys.

She’d even been at one of the parties back at the lake house, with her hands all over Luke - you remember hearing her shrill laugh and feeling like someone had just drug their nails down a chalkboard, all semblance of peace instantly lost. 

You’re brought out of whatever fiery daydream even her name elicits with the touch of Luke’s fingers to yours, the soft brush of his thumb over your knuckles as he checks for any real damage.

“I’m fine,” you croak out, dazed a little by the feeling before you tear your hand away, “It was just a knock.”

“You want me to kick her ass?”

You blame the shot you took for the way you snort out a laugh - caught by surprise and unable to even consider the reaction, slipping straight back into your unguarded self around him - like the walls you’ve tried so hard to rebuild just dissolved. Not even a knock or a tumble of bricks, just them fading into nothing like magic.

Luke smiles back, soft and hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to fade away, too.

And then there’s that silence you thought you wanted - heavy and tense, and it’s too much for you to handle, so you slip past him, wordlessly, and head straight back to the door. 

And just as your fingers grasp at the handle and you prepare yourself to pull, a large hand lays flat on the surface beside you, trapped by a warm chest closing in on your back.

It’s quiet for a minute, the dull thump of the bass from the music somewhere else in the house now distant and fading, and the room feels charged way beyond the atmosphere of the party you’ve been away from a little too long.

You see the bend in his elbow before you feel his breath on the back of your neck, and you can feel the distance closing - an inch or two now, so close that you have to stay vigilant not to take even the slightest step back.

“Luke,” you breathe, your throat stinging in preparation for some sort of hurt, and your lip trembling until you start to chew on it.

“Just one more minute.”

“You have to let me go.”

“Please, I just want to talk.”

You turn, slowly,  and you don’t know why you do it to yourself, because it’s inevitable you’ll fall prey to the pleading look in his eyes. Your back falls against the door, and you’re craning your neck to look up at him, blinking slow as his eyes flicker between your own.

Every passing second feels like a minute, and just as you’re about to give in - to tell him to go ahead and talk, the door vibrates behind you, a fist banging into the other side.

“Please tell me the skirt is okay!”

You press a hand flat to his chest and push, wedging some much needed space between the two of you - enough that you can swing the door open and face Ellie, and save yourself from plunging into whatever rabbit hole that would have taken you down.

“I won’t know until it’s dry, but if it’s bad, we’ll take it to the cleaners, okay?”

“Ugh,” Ellie groans, grabbing you by the hand and dragging you back to the kitchen for another drink, “I’m so running her ass over the next time I see her on the street.”

You look back at Luke, still stood in the doorway, watching the whole way until you disappear around the corner, and it’s only when you can’t see him anymore that your heart rate returns to an acceptable speed.

You successfully manage to avoid Luke for a good couple of hours, almost forgetting him, miraculously, despite being in a house filled with his closest friends. There’s even a point where you think he might have left, until you stumble out into the backyard to a group setting up a small fire to keep warm.

You’re too buzzed to comment on the legality of it, so far gone that the thought of campus police coming around barely even crosses your mind, and you throw yourself down into one of the camp chairs with a drink in hand as the group discuss how to pass the time.

You can’t remember who suggests Never Have I Ever, too distracted by the figure settling down on the opposite side of the fire, long limps stretching almost comically out of the small chair, meeting your eyes for a moment before you look away at the arrival of Nick, who comes with cards in hand. 

You’d usually make some sort of comment about how juvenile it is, but there’s this part of you that’s probably trying to cling a little to that, lately, so you let it pass, leaning almost sleepily back into your chair as it kicks off.

The game is pretty tame compared to other times you’ve played it, stuff like, never have I ever crashed a car, and, never have I ever broken a bone, coming from the top of the deck, and there’s only a few complaints about it needing more spice before it gets to Ellie’s turn to pick, a few people down from you. 

“Never have I ever,” Ellie drags out before picking a card, flipping between her manicured fingers and smiling slowly as she reads the rest, “Been in love,” she coos, turning it to show the rest of the group with a love-struck grin.

A chorus of groans sing out from around the circle, Luca reaching to swipe the card from Ellie as she takes a big chug from her red cup. “That’s so lame,” he huffs, “Pick another, this isn’t the Ellie show. We get it, you're happy, doesn't mean the rest of us should suffer.”

You glance down at your empty cup as the two of them start to argue about the rules of the game, Ellie grumbling how she didn’t write the cards, and Luca retorting with how she could have at least gone off-script to make it a little more interesting.

If you had any semblance of your inhibitions, any control of your reactions, your gaze would have stayed on the last few drops swirling around the base of your drink. Your eyes wouldn’t have trailed up slowly, past the dancing flames of the makeshift-campfire, and fallen onto another cup at the opposite side of the circle.

It wouldn’t have watched intently as long, slender fingers raised to bring said cup up, pressing to parted lips, the contents gulped down as you stare at the movement of his throat around the liquid.

When you dare to look higher, you find him already staring back at you, piercing green eyes burning hotter than the fire between you, and your own throat goes dry as you watch. 

And of course he makes a show of it, squaring his shoulders and swiping a thumb across his bottom lip to make sure there's no residue. No evidence of all that he had just admitted to. Nothing but the memory of it burned already into the back of your retinas, lingering like an ache all the way down your spine.

No one else seems to notice - but you suppose that’s just how things go between you and Luke. One more secret to add to the ever-growing pile.

Your hand trembles as if it wants to copy him, but you’re thankful for the last shred of dignity you have that tells you that even if you wanted to drink - even if you could play it off as assuming the question had been vetoed, and you were just quenching your thirst in the brief break in the game - there’s nothing left. Even if you wanted to drink - which you brain is so loudly telling you that you don’t - you can’t.

And when Luke’s gaze shifts, lowers painstakingly slow as everything else fades to background noise around the two of you, you don’t know why you find yourself tilting your cup when his eyes land on it, making a show of just how empty it is.

“You’re not gonna drink?” Ethan frowns from beside you, a nudge of his elbow knocking at yours and bringing you back down to earth with a painful splat.

Why would he assume that?

“What?” You ask, frowning as you meet his chocolate brown eyes, the reflection of the flames basking them in a warm, melting glow. 

“He said never have I ever been kicked out of a bar,” he chuckles, quirking a brow as your face morphs from one of confusion to one of recollection. “I know for a fact you have.”

“Oh, right,” you laugh, nervously, the reaction coming out more like a stuttered breath as the panic swirling in your chest dissipates just the slightest. “I’m running on empty. I’m gonna go get a refill.”

Ethan nods as he shuffles a little to let you out of the circle, watching with narrowed eyes as you lift yourself from the chair and edge your way out of the group and back towards the house.

The kitchen is thankfully empty when you get back inside, sliding the door shut behind you to block out the noise, your thoughts overbearing enough without still being able to hear everyone yelling out in the yard.

You move almost on autopilot, heading for the row of bottles on the counter and reaching straight for the vodka you’ve been mixing with diet coke all night.

You pour out a measured shot first, swirl it in the cup before lifting the it straight to your lips, leaving little room to think much more about it, and throwing your head back.

The liquid burns the whole way down - all the way from the back of your mouth, past your aching chest, and into the pit of your stomach, pooling there in a nauseating bubble of heat and regret - and you don’t know entirely if the need to drink was just to quench your thirst, to alleviate the warmth spiking up your neck, to quell the rampant beating of your heart, or to play along with the game. With Luke’s game.

Maybe some mysteries are better left unsolved. 

He wasn’t in love with you.

You think you’d know. He would have told you - he’s hardly shy about voicing his opinion, you learned that the hard way. 

He’s just being cruel, now, you’ve convinced yourself - probably payback for earlier, for leaving him in the bathroom and telling him to let you go. One final act of defiance, because he has to have the last word.

God, why would you even play along?

You shouldn’t have even looked his way - should have kept your eyes down, then you wouldn’t still be feeling like your whole body is on fire. 

Your eyes dart up at the sound of the screen door opening, and your heart thuds in your chest at the sight of who walks through.

You hold your breath as he slowly makes his way toward you - cautious steps carrying him toward the counter where you stand, and he places his empty cup on the surface beside yours, 

“You can’t avoid me forever.”

“I don’t have to avoid you forever,” you shrug, circling around him and trying not to let him trap you again, “I just have to avoid you until you go home.”

“I don’t want to go home without us talking,” he grasps at your wrist before you can fully get past him, levelling you with a tired look, one that says he’s resigned to his fate, but he can’t rest until he tries one last time. “Please.”

“Luke,” you groan, the remnants of intoxication slowly fading into exhaustion. 

“Just one conversation.” He begs, “Then you can be done with me, I’ll leave you alone.”

Your lips twist as you try not to give under the weight of his softened, pleading gaze. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that - and he’s technically surpassed the efforts you had made back before you left the house toward the end of summer, now almost 3 weeks since you had turned him down back at the football game. 

And do you really want him to leave you alone? You’re not entirely sure. Maybe talking to him can help you finally figure that out. 

“Fine.” You acquiesce. “One conversation.”

“You want me to walk you home?” He asks, his voice soft and low, a tilt to his head that makes his curls shuffle and a caring glint in his eye that makes your legs feel like jelly. It’s probably for the best if he does, you think, you’re at a serious fall-risk now. Tired and buzzed, a lethal combination.

You nod, wordlessly, watching as he seemingly tries to fight a small smile, straightening up to swipe your cup, stacking it with his own and throwing it in the trash. 

“C’mon, I already gave Ellie a heads up, I’ll come back for her.”

You soften a little at the thought of him considering her - even if it isn’t about you. If it’s on Jack’s behalf, and he’s just being a good brother, him looking out for your best friend is still sweet.

You let him guide you out of the house, and it’s quiet in a way you can’t stand, walking side by side down the otherwise empty street.

“You’re out of your sling, then?” You don’t know why you feel better to make small talk - but waiting with bated breath for him to say what he’s been trying to for so long now makes your heart pound almost painfully against your ribcage. 

“Yeah,” he flexes his arm a little, as if to prove a point. “I’m back in Jersey at the end of the week, will probably be doing no contact training for a while.”

“How long until you’re playing again?”

“They’re saying it’s looking like November,” he tells you, “Which sucks, but at least I don’t need surgery like Jack.”

“Do you miss it?” You ask, conscious of the way your steps are slowly turning toward his and trying to straighten yourself up. “Being back in New Jersey with your team, with Jack?”

“Jack doesn’t give anybody a chance to miss him, you should know that by now.” He grumbles, "In my texts 24/7 like it’s his second job.”

“Ellie’s too,” you tell him in a breathy chuckle, crossing your arms over your torso just to keep your hands busy with something as he shoves his back in the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know where he finds the time,”

“He doesn’t need time, he’s annoying to his very core.” Luke scoffs, “I do miss the guys though, but there’s a couple group chats. And I’d probably miss the guys here if I was back there.”

“So either way you’re missing somebody?”

He gives an affirmative hum, kicking a rock down the side of the curb, figuring you don’t quite realise just how true that question rings to him. The sorority house is at the end of the path, now - closer than either of you really anticipated, and you almost start to panic, like the walls are closing in on you, like you’re running out of time.

“Listen-,”

“Look-,”

You both stop in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at each other wide eyed until you press your lips together, and gesture for him to carry on.

“I miss you,” he says, plain and simple, like it’s all he can muster up - and if you’re honest, it’s all you want to hear, an acknowledgement that without you in his life, there’s this gaping hole that no one else can fill. “I know that if I want to fix things between us, that I should give you this huge speech about how much I fucked things up, and that I should have trusted you, and listened to you when you tried to talk to me, and I do think all those things. I know those things, but I’ve been trying to figure out how to say them without it sounding like some bullshit excuse, and I figure I just need to be honest with you.

“I feel like the whole time we were together, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know, like I could never just be in the moment with you because I felt like it was gonna end. And I think maybe you were doing the same.”

It’s crazy, you think, how well he knows you.

“And neither of us were ever gonna be ready to be anything more, because we weren’t even acknowledging that this thing between us probably wasn’t healthy.”

You’re quite thankful for the sting in the back of your throat, because you don’t know what you’d say to that, if you could speak.

It hurts to hear it, but he’s right. 

“I just wanted to believe it was a good thing for as long as you’d let me, and when you said you’d have dated Cole, and that you’d have thrown it all away, and I just left without a fight, I-,” he blinks, like he’s trying to rid himself of the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, like he doesn’t want to give in and let them shed. “I don’t know, I thought it was best to avoid you all together than watch you put that final nail in the coffin, or whatever.”

“You know I never went out with Cole, right?”

“I know. He told me before he left for training camp. The day you left. Almost considered running after you to apologise for being such a dick. Even thought about flagging you down in departures at Wayne County.”

You let that thought sit for a moment - Luke chasing you down like something out of one of the romantic comedies you would watch together - like the angsty movies you watched after you went home, laying on your bed and wishing the two of you could have had a happy ending. 

“Probably for the best you didn’t chase me through the airport,” you tell him with a wistful smile, “declarations of love freak me out,”

“I thought they might.” He chuckles, breathily, his heart not entirely in it.

“I also took the greyhound.”

“You know serial killers get those things, right.”

“You watch too many movies.”

His eyes flicker to yours, then, knowing and amused - like a new inside joke has cemented itself into your dynamic. 

“I don’t want to be nothing with you.”

It’s a weird statement, almost nonsensical, but you get it.

It’s what you’ve been trying for ever since you left Michigan, after all, and especially after you returned.

You let the thought settle for a moment, your lips twisting and your eyes tearing up as you watch him wait for a response.

“You really hurt me, Luke.” Your voice trembles as you say it, and you think you’re only part spurred on by liquid courage, the rest of it probably the incessant need to open up to somebody.

“I know,” he practically whispers back, choked up as much as you are. 

“I don’t think I can do that again.”

He nods, pressing his tongue to the side of his cheek like he’s trying not to press you on it, stepping back ever so slightly and huffing out a deep breath.

You almost think he might retreat, entirely - accepting your reluctance this final time and letting you go, just like you’d asked, earlier.

“What about if it’s not,” he shakes his head, sighing as he tries to think of the best way to say it, “What if it’s not romantic, between us?”

“You really think we could be friends?”

“You don’t?” He asks, wincing a little like the thought of anything else is painful.

“We’re hardly gonna see each other,” you tell him, “Is there really any point in keeping it up?”

“I’d like to try.”

You don’t know what concept hurts you the most, the thought of trying and failing, or not trying at all. Either way, you lose him.

You wish, for a moment, you were in any way good at math - that you could work out the statistic for the other option, the one where it actually works.

The option where neither of you get hurt, and you get to keep him.

You imagine that it’s slim.

“I don’t know, Luke,” you sigh, unable to shake the heaviness of your doubt, “It feels like we’re just stretching out the inevitable, here.”

“I don’t think so,” he fights back, taking that step forward that he just took back, “Just friends, it doesn’t have to be anything more than that. Hell, if you want to build up to friends, I’ll take that, too. Just not nothing. I miss you too much to be nothing.”

You miss him, too. You missed him the past 3 weeks while he’s been in town, and the two of you have somehow managed to avoid seeing each other for the most part. You missed him for the month you were back at your mom’s house. You missed him those ten days over in the lake house, when he was still technically right in front of you the whole time.

“Can I think about it?”

“Yeah!” He nods, eagerly, the slight etching of a smile spreading across his lips. “Yes, you can think about it.”

You nod back, then, hesitant and before you can do something stupid, like wrap your arms around him as a goodbye, you step away.

You bid him goodnight, offering a thank you for walking you home, and you retreat into the safety of the house, watching through the window by the front door until he disappears back down the street. 

The start of your semester passes in a chaotic blur, and you very quickly, and very frantically, find yourself panicking a little about the what’s-next of it all.

With the last few months of your headspace occupied entirely by a certain brunette, you realise quickly that you really need to knuckle down and figure out what you’re going to do with yourself once school is over.

And that’s what brings you to New York City in the middle of October - one of your very few prospects for the aftermath of your college career discussed over iced teas in Midtown, Manhattan, before you’re crossing state lines through the Holland Tunnel and scrambling to get ready in the hotel room you and Ellie had booked.

You don’t know how you managed to hide all of your efforts behind a veil of secrecy, but Ellie had been all too distracted by you agreeing to accompany her to Jack’s team halloween party in Jersey City, and so she had little brain power left to question where you disappeared off to, or why you’d possibly have any sort of appointment anywhere near here as soon as you told her she could pick up a costume for you.

You should have known it would be something ridiculous, evidenced by the poofy yellow dress and cartoonish crown she had left on your bed for you to change into. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, fully dressed, she’s stood in her Princess Peach costume - the colour palette a lot more complementary to her than the yellow is to you, but you can hardly fight her on it now - especially knowing Jack is out there somewhere dressed as Mario.

You don’t know how it slips your mind that he and Luke play for the same team, or that they’re brothers, or that he could possibly at the same party, dressed as Luigi. Not until you and Ellie are walking into the party a little after it starts, and you meet his eye for the first time in a couple of weeks, your mouth falling agape as you realise just what Ellie has done.

You don’t even have a second to call her out before she’s prancing off to some far side of the room with Jack, all over him after their own extended time apart, and you literally have no option but to sidle up to Luke, tail between your legs, cringing at the entire situation as you stand beside him in a room full of his peers after you had only just shut him down not long ago.

Thankfully, it’s Luke - and he would rather choke than make you feel uncomfortable about it.

He offers an easy smile, amused, even, as he greets you from the tall table he’s occupying, handing you the beer he just opened for himself and reaching for another from the table behind him. 

“I don’t even know why I agreed to come with them, I knew they’d just split and make out in the corner,” you roll your eyes, taking a swig from the bottle and grimacing a little at the taste. “I don’t even know anybody.”

“You know me,” he shrugs, “I don’t mind keeping you company.”

“Yeah right,” you scoff, “You literally just came back, the last thing you need is to be lumped in a corner with me all night when you’ve hardly seen your teammates for months. I’m just gonna duck out in a little bit, no one will care.”

“I’ll care,” he chuckles lightheartedly, the ease in which the statement slips out and the certainty in which you feel it sends a slight shiver down your spine. “I’ve been back in training for a week, trust me, I’ve already had enough.”

You sigh, trying to ignore the convincing look he’s giving you - head titled, a lopsided smile and eyes filled with hope.

It was only just under two weeks ago that you told him you didn’t want to be friends, so you can’t really understand why he’s so intent on you sticking around. He should be personally ordering you an Uber back to your hotel and pushing you out of the door, but he’s giving you this pleading pout now that’s making you think his night would fall to pieces if you left so soon.

The thing is, you’re not that great around people you don’t know, not lately, anyway - especially not when those people are all big, bulky high performance athletes (and Jack) and their drop dead gorgeous partners. You feel like an intruder, like you don’t belong, and you can’t imagine anything happening to change your mind.

“I still feel like such an outsider at these things,” Luke huffs, elbows resting on the tall table in front of you, his body leaning onto it in the absence of any stools nearby until he’s more around your height. “This is the first time Jack’s brought anybody with him so I can’t exactly stick to his side like normal.”

You frown.

Is he serious?

Luke has never been the type to stick to his brother’s side - not from what you’ve seen, anyway, and you’d pretty much spent your entire summer observing the guy - you’re way past the point of trying to deny that, now.

“Isn’t that Seamus over there?” You point to the opposite side of the room, where you’re pretty sure you recognise another of yours and Luke’s previous classmates. “Aren’t you two friends?”

“We got into a pretty heated discussion during Thursday Night Football the other night, we’re on a break.”

You almost forgot how quick Luke can be, the slight quiver in the corner of his mouth giving away his attempts at deception, but you’re hardly in any position to call him out on it.

He’s trying to do you a favour, after all.

“In fact, I need you to stay for my protection. He might be out for my neck, you can’t let me die in a Luigi costume, that would be cruel.”

You snort as you take him in in his entirety, from the ridiculous hat, to the stretched out one-piece outfit topped off with a pair of white sneakers.

“Speaking of, aren’t you supposed to have a moustache?”

“It’s in my pocket, didn’t want to make Jack feel bad, ‘cause he can’t grow one and all,” he mutters, reaching into the front of the outfit to retrieve the stick-on prop, the back still taped up and in-tact. 

“Right,” you scoff, taking it from his hand and peeling the tape, “Jack can’t grow facial hair.”

You reach forward and press it to his upper lip, holding it in place until it sticks, careful not to actually touch his mouth in the process.

“I can grow it,” he rolls his eyes, “I just don’t suit it.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug as you pull back, admiring the results and trying not to laugh, “I’d say you suit it just fine.”

You reach into the pocket of your own dress to retrieve your phone, and snap a picture just to show him, pressing your lips together as you see his eyes widen in horror.

“Delete that,” he huffs, and you just about manage to stop him before he rips the thing off.

“No,” you whine, “Keep it on, it’s funny!”

“I don’t want to look funny, I want to look cool and hot.” He huffs, frowning when he seemingly realises how ridiculous that sounds.

“Halloween costumes aren’t supposed to be hot.”

“Easy for you to say, Princess,” he gestures down to your dress, and you once again have a visceral reaction to how natural it is for him to say things like that. You feel your ears going warm, and you break eye contact just so that he doesn’t see straight through you.

“I meant to say, sorry about this,” you gesture down, too, all of a sudden feeling every fibre of the costume that’s covering your skin, “I don’t know why I didn’t connect the dots sooner when Ellie said she and Jack were doing Mario and Peach. She just said she’d get me a costume, I didn’t think that we’d be-,”

“A couple?” 

“Yeah.”

“It’s no big deal,” Luke shrugs, sipping at his drink with a nonchalant frown. “S’just a costume. Besides, what else could you have been? I don’t think they sell sexy Goomba outfits.”

“Please,” you scoff, swatting lightly at the blue overalls stretched across his chest. “Don’t be ridiculous, if anything, I’d be sexy Toad.”

“Hmm,” he considers, with a long glance down your figure. “That might have actually worked.”

You feel the heat creep back up your neck before you can regulate yourself, not concealed at all by the sweetheart neckline of your dress, or the way Luke’s eye linger on any exposed bit of skin.

You press your lips together and divert your attention to Jack and Ellie in the corner, feeling every extended inch of Luke’s presence beside you, your heart thumping at the mere proximity of him, and you start to chew on your bottom lip. 

“Can’t believe we tried so hard to get them together,” you mumble, watching as they start to kiss, “They’re disgusting.”

“Absolutely revolting,” he agrees, “We were out of our minds all summer.”

You know he’s referring to the scheme you two kept up, you’re the one who even brought the topic into conversation, but you can’t help the instinctive way your chest starts to ache again at the mere mention of summer.

The two of you had talked about this, back in Ann Arbor, before he had come back to Jersey. You’re supposed to be over it, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. You swallow thickly before reaching for your drink and chugging down the contents, avoiding his gaze as he watches you.

The thought of leaving crosses your mind again, but there’s a larger part of you that has missed this - missed him, maybe - a little too much, and those weeks back in Michigan last month had only served to weaken your resolve.

Keeping your distance had been a giant failure from the second you started to attempt it, and Luke is persistent - that much has always been obvious - so denying him any sort of contact is just pointless, now.

You had thought, back when he had dropped you off at the house the other week, that turning down his offer of friendship had been the right thing to do. You’d told him you would think about it, but it was always going to end up in rejection.

He’s in Jersey, you’re in Michigan. He has a really hectic schedule and career, and you’re supposed to be putting your head down and studying for your final year.

He broke your heart, and you broke his right back.

But you realise that you were naive to think that your paths would hardly cross.

Your best friend is dating his brother. You have so many mutual friends that you can hardly avoid him when he’s back in town. And beyond all that, you miss the versions of the two of you that just got on - before it all got messy in the summer. 

The banter, the inside jokes, the deep understanding of how each other worked.

And you had regretted it since - turning his offer down. 

Bringing it back up again is daunting, though. Opening yourself up to him, to say that you’d been thinking about him this whole time, and feel a deep, ever growing pit in your stomach now at the thought of being nothing, just like he had said he felt.

“Listen,” you start, with all intentions of figuring it out as you go along, only now feeling a serious urge to fix things, somehow, before you go back home, tomorrow, “I-,”

“Hold on, I gotta introduce you to someone. Hey, Pesce,” he calls out to his ever so-slightly taller teammate as he passes nearby, waving him to stop by the table the two of you are at before he walks away. He introduces you both by name, and you don’t miss the silent interaction between the two of them as he does, wide eyes and wiggling brows, a telepathic taunt from Brett and a wordless warning from Luke. “She’s my friend from back in Michigan, and he’s been my rehab buddy.”

You allow yourself to be distracted by that - not Ellie’s friend. His. Not a plus one of a plus one, or an outsider hovering around the edges of a private party. Someone he wants his teammates to know.

You like it more than you ever thought you would.

You feel your lips turning up into a natural smile, and a weight lifting off your shoulders - 7 words erasing the need for an entire conversation, already.

You probably could have told him to go fuck himself and that you hated his guts back on the street outside your sorority, and he’d still be out here calling you his friend.

Persistent.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you tell Brett, reaching out to shake his hand, matching his firm grip and meeting his steely gaze. 

“You too,” he smiles back, “I’ve heard-,”

“Lukey! Finally got a girl to notice you, huh?”

Another of Luke’s teammates approaches the table, and the absolute comedy of being introduced to a bunch of people in ridiculous costumes isn’t lost on you as he comes closer, a gigantic, teasing smirk almost overshadowed by a glaring red headpiece he wears.

“Nice to see ya, Curtis,” you watch as Luke embraces his other teammate, a wry, crooked grin on his face as he rolls his eyes fondly, and you try to ignore the weight of Brett’s discerning gaze on you. When he introduces you this time, Curtis shows no sign of recognition at your name, offering you a kind smile and extending his hand for you to shake. 

“Not talking your head off, is he? We’ve tried to train it out of him, but he’s a stubborn thing,” he chuckles, ruffling Luke’s hair like he’s petting an excitable puppy. 

“I’m used to it by now,” you shrug back, smiling when Luke scoffs, returning to your side.

“Nice costume,” Curtis looks Luke up and down, and it’s like you can see him trying to formulate a joke in his head, your lips twisting as you notice Luke anticipating the same, watching with a raised brow and a bored roll of his eyes. “That might be the closest we ever come to seeing you with facial hair.”

“Big talk coming from a dude dressed as shrimp.”

“I’m obviously a lobster, Luke.” 

“Obviously,” Luke mimics back like a child, his face sour and his lips pouted as his older teammate just laughs in his face. 

“C’mon, man,” Brett claps a hand on Curtis’ back, “Enough bruising the kid’s ego, you owe me a drink, remember?”

He knocks his free fist against Luke’s as he passes, offering you a wink and a nice to meet you before he’s guiding Curtis over to the bar and leaving the two of you alone, once more. 

“Sorry about them,” Luke mutters, “I could save them both from a burning building and they’d still treat me like their annoying baby brother.”

“It’s cute,” you shrug, sipping at your drink and catching his eye as they narrow toward you, clearly taking further offence at your choice of adjective. “They do it ‘cause they love you, Luke, it’s sweet.”

You try not to react to what you’ve just said - try not to think of that sentiment in the context of your own interactions with Luke, lightheartedly poking fun at him just to get a reaction because he can be so gut-wrenchingly adorable. 

It’s not the same.

But you can tell he’s thinking it too, looking at you with eyes that see straight through you, and a tilt to his head that’s almost mocking. 

“I uhm,” he sighs, stepping back a little closer to you and leaning down on the table so that he has to look up to meet your eye, “I told Pesch about you. About us.”

You blink back at him, waiting for him to say more - not really knowing how to respond, because you kind of had a feeling anyway. Brett has the worst poker face you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“It’s just been me and him training together, and we were getting to know each other, and you know how it is, he asked me about how I spent my summer, and about girls, and there’s just you for both, so it sorta just came out. Plus, I kinda felt like I had to talk about it with someone or I was gonna go crazy.” 

You look down, giving a slight nod of understanding - because you do get it. 

Also, the confirmation of something you’ve been wondering is kind of a relief. He hadn’t started anything with anyone else after you left, or back in Michigan, when you were making everything so hard on him.

There’s just him for you, too.

And it’s really hard, having one person consume your thoughts in such a way when you have no outlet to properly talk it through with anyone.

You never felt like you could talk to Ellie about any of it, and having all these feelings fizzing up inside you for so long is starting to make you feel like a volcano on the brink of eruption. 

Luke had done the sensible thing, finding an unaffiliated third party and seeking advice from someone with no bias. No scathing comments from his brothers, judgement from any of the guys back in Michigan or pitiful looks from your best friend.

“I didn’t say anything bad,” he assures you, “Not that there is anything bad, I promise I don’t think poorly of you or anything, and I wouldn’t go around telling random people if I did, especially not my teammates, I don’t want you to think-,”

“Luke, it’s fine,” you place a hand on his forearm, his eyes snapping up to meet yours at the slightest touch, wide and alarmed, like he feels like he’s digging himself into a hole. “I get it. Sometimes I feel like I’m gonna go crazy, too.”

“You do?” He frowns, like that was the last thing he expected you to say. 

You had told him you were hurt, so it can’t come as that much of a surprise that you feel some type of way about everything that went down between the two of you.

You’re not that heartless.

“What did you say to him?” You ask, hoping to engage with his incessant need to talk, rather than any attempt to eke information out of you. “About us?”

“Just that I didn’t like how we left things,” he tells you as you lean beside him, “It’s hard, not knowing where we stand, or what it’s gonna be like when I see you again. I still get the urge all the time to text you, even about stupid things. Someone was telling me about this Matthew McConaughey movie the other day, and I thought of you. Wanted to ask if you’d seen it.”

“It’s probably safe to assume I’ve seen all the Matthew McConaughey films. Even the bad ones.”

“It wasn’t on your Letterboxd.”

You swat at his bicep, your lips turning slowly into a grin as you can’t help but laugh at how little he cares about hiding his intentions.

You’d caught onto him monitoring your account somewhere between him coincidentally watching Notting Hill a couple days after you did while he was back in Michigan, the five star rating he gave to Call Me By Your Name, and him somehow knowing all the most obscure but gut-wrenching quotes from all the movies that really tore your heart out - writing them in his reviews like he was talking to you in some secret language that only the two of you spoke.

I think I’d miss you even if we never met, from The Wedding Date. 

I’ll do anything to make you happy. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it, from Past Lives.

There will be a piece of you in me always, from Her.

All movies you had listed after going home from the lake house - had laid in bed with teary eyes and trembling lips for the most part, and associated all those same quotes with him, too. And even without you putting them in your own reviews, he just knew every time which part of the movie made you think of your relationship.

You’d even tried baiting him out with Barbie, the other week, snorting to yourself despite your heartache when you imagined him seriously typing out, I only exist within the warmth of your gaze, without it, I'm just a little blonde guy who can't do flips, and hoping you would see it.

If anyone else had done it, it would probably have been corny. You’d have blocked them, the level of perception and lowkey invasion of privacy making your skin crawl - but Luke seeing you was different. Him being on the same wavelength - feeling the same feelings, thinking the same thoughts - was something you couldn’t ignore. 

“You’re not supposed to admit to cyber stalking me, you idiot.”

“What?” He chuckles, rubbing at his arm, “I missed watching movies with you.”

He shrugs at that like it’s nothing, but you can feel your cheeks go warm even if his don’t. You missed watching movies with him too - missed the long stretch of his legs far surpassing yours on top of the sheets, and the way he’d hold out candy for you to get some every few minutes. 

“Plus, you were stalking me, too. Why else would you be watching The Mighty Ducks on a Saturday night?” 

“I thought it might teach me about hockey.” You frown, although you’d been all too caught up with just how cute those movies were. You still know very little about the sport, but you can still appreciate the charm of a young Joshua Jackson.

Luke smiles, lopsided and gentle, but you know by now that’s his version of cocky - the kind of smile that shows you that something you’ve said has scratched at his ego, and he’s banking it somewhere in the back of his head.

“I can teach you,” he says, his voice an octave lower as he leans in - and you know he isn’t doing it on purpose, but it makes the hairs on the back of your arms raise, how he almost purrs over to you. “Can give you a crash course if you want?”

“Now?”

“Nah,” he sips at his drink, “Another time. Need an excuse to text you remember?”

“You can text me whenever,” you tell him, chewing at the corner of your bottom lip as he smirks at you, “Just so you know.”

You don’t tell him that you’ve been waiting for him to do it, anyway.

That for those first few days after he finally left Michigan, every buzz of your phone had your heart rate doubling. 

The first instant you had started to regret your decision, you had been hoping he would still try to change your mind.

You don’t tell him you started following a random team update account for news on how he was getting on with his injury, because he wasn’t letting you know, himself, or that you once spent an hour reporting people trolling him or talking smack in the comments just for something to do.

“What about FaceTime?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

To say you were planning on leaving as soon as you had arrived, you enjoyed yourself way more than you thought you would with Luke and his teammates - in fact, you’d probably go as far as to say it’s one of the best nights you’ve had since the summer.

Luke had introduced you to pretty much everybody, flitting around the room and making the rounds, and it had been nice to see how normal and nice everybody was - instantly making you felt like you belonged, to the point where you figured out that Luke had only said all that stuff about feeling like an outsider because he knew that was how you felt, knew it would tug at your heartstrings and make you stay.

You know from how close he is with the guys back in Michigan that Luke loves his teammates, but seeing it in action for the first time had been sweet. Seeing the other guys ruffling at his hair, play fighting, throwing their arms around him and indulging him in his corny jokes kind of made you feel less tense about the way you’re so instinctively affectionate with him. 

Even after what had happened toward the end of summer, and swearing off any sort of romantic connection since, you still want to touch him, still want to be near him, and while you don’t think his teammates exactly have those same thoughts, it makes you feel a little more normal, how much they all love him. Makes you feel less like you should be wedging all this distance between the two of you - because if they all love him like this, then why can’t you?

You don’t even realise that Ellie and Jack have long snuck off until you get a text to say not to come back to the hotel, and that Jack’s bed is freshly clean for you to sleep in. The thought of it is gross, but you figure that two athletes will have a comfy couch, so you’re not all that bothered in the end.

Plus, it gives you more time with Luke - to have a proper conversation, to figure things out. So, when it’s time to leave, and he ushers you out of the bar with a hand on the small of your back, you let him cross the boundaries of being nothing, and lean into his touch until you’re out in the cold, wrapping your arms around yourself as he shrugs off his jacket.

“Put this on,” he demands, throwing it to you and watching as you catch it with a clumsy grip, “We’re walking.”

“Walking?” You ask, stumbling to catch up with him as he starts to make his way down the street, his long strides making it incredibly difficult, especially in the stupid costume heels you’re wearing. You ease into his jacket as you move, shaking your arms until your fingers just about peak out of the ends, and relishing the warmth that encapsulates your body.

“Yeah, it’s 10 minutes. I know that sounds like a lifetime in campus terms, but I’m assuming you still know how to walk.”

You scoff as you pretty much jog to keep up, taking rushed, small steps until you just about make it to his side. “I don’t have a car, remember, I walk everywhere. I just assumed we’d be getting an Uber or something."

“S’good for you,” he shrugs, “Clears the mind. And it’s only a few blocks back to the apartment. I can show you all the best breakfast spots for you and Ellie to visit before you leave tomorrow.”

“But it’s dark out.”

“What, you’re scared of the dark, now?” He looks down at you from the corner of his eye, his height advantage meaning you can so clearly see the amused way in which his mouth curves up on the side closest to you. 

“I’m scared of being abducted in a back alley and brutally murdered so that my organs can be sold on the black market.”

“That happens more on the other side of the river,” he hooks a thumb in the general direction of what you assume is the Hudson, but it could be anywhere for all you know. This is your first time in New Jersey, and your brief expedition into Manhattan in the morning had done very little to clue you in on the lay of the land.

“Murder is an international issue, Luke, I don’t think they draw the line at what state they do it in, look it up.”

“You watch too much TV,” he chuckles, “Who’s gonna mess with you when I’m around? Look at me,” he gestures down to his ridiculous costume, “I’m the picture of intimidation. You don’t think I’d protect you from the black market organ thieves?”

“You’re dressed like an Italian plumber, you dork, and you’ve got arms like toothpicks, they’d probably kill you first just for fun.” You retort, grabbing at his arm to bring him back to your pace. You almost can’t believe that in the brief expanse of one evening, you could possibly have returned to this level of comfort, but you’re trying not to think too hard about it - especially with a mind partially loosened up by a couple of drinks. “Could you at least slow down? Your legs are like twice the length of mine.”

“Aw,” he pouts, “Do you want me to carry you?”

“Don’t joke, I’d pay good money for a piggy back right now.”

“Shame I’ve got such toothpick arms then, isn’t it?” he fakes an exaggerated smile, and you narrow your eyes until he drops it.

You huff as he carries on, thankful at the slightly slower pace he seems to have adopted, and the way his chin keeps jutting in your direction to check on how well you’re keeping up.

“What about a fireman’s carry?” You suggest, looking up at him with pleading eyes and pouted lips.

“The best you’ll get is me giving you my gloves to wear as socks and I’ll carry your shoes for you.”

“And if I step on glass, cut into a vein and bleed out?”

“I suppose then I’d carry you.”

This feels familiar.

Feels comfortable and right, and when you look back on those nights in September when you had seen him - at the football game, in the living room back at the sorority, and the party at the hockey house, this is what you’d felt like you had been missing.

It doesn’t have to be awkward, or charged, or tense between the two of you. 

Maybe it can be like this again.

Like it was in the beginning, before everything got messed up.

“I meant to ask earlier,” he nudges at you with his elbow, “Ellie said you had an appointment over in Midtown,”

“You’re such a stalker,” you snort, shaking your head with a wry smile as you glance over at him, “Literally the snoopiest guy I’ve ever met.”

“Snoopiest?” He scoffs, “It’s called curiosity. I can’t wonder what my friend did with their day, now? I’m snoopy?”

“There’s a masters programme at NYU,” your eyes dart down to the floor as you start to tell him, figuring that you’ll feel less nervous if it just feels like you’re speaking in general, instead of confiding in him. There’s also a part of you spurred on by his immediate adoption of you being his friend - still reeling from the ease in which he had been introducing you as such to everyone all night. Opening up to him is just as easy, and now that you’re embracing the dynamic, it’s like the pieces that form all the resistance within you are shifting out of place, creating a bunch of cracks for him to seep straight into. “One of my sorority sisters has a cousin who’s in her final year, she set up a meeting so that I could talk about my application.”

“You’re applying to NYU?” He asks, quickening his step until he is a little ahead of you, turning on his feet until he’s walking backwards, giving you no chance of ignoring his presence anymore. 

“I’m thinking about it,” you shrug, “It isn’t a done deal, so don’t tell anybody.”

“I can keep a secret,” he promises, and that same ache starts to form in your chest again, at just how well you know that to be true.

“Plus, it’s a long-shot, so even if I did apply, I probably wouldn’t get in, and I don’t want to get Ellie’s hopes up that I’ll be sticking around.”

You have a job lined up elsewhere already for when you graduate - an entry level role in a PR agency over in Chicago, close to home, close to your mom - but the more you’re considering it, the less sure you are. The job would be pretty much you getting taken advantage of for being a recent graduate, and furthering your education could help secure something bigger and better. But throwing away a sure thing seems stupid, and you don’t really want to do so if you don’t have something else secured.  

“Getting into the NHL is a long shot, and you’ve just spent the night in a room full of people who made it happen,” Luke tells you, ducking his head a little lower until you look him in the eye, “Don’t underestimate yourself, you’re really smart, you’ll get in if you do end up applying.”

The way he says it is so sure - so different to anybody else, who you feel like is just saying it to make you feel better. Luke believes it, you can see it in the way he looks at you, confident and certain of your abilities more than you’ve ever been in yourself.

“I don’t think you can call you getting into the NHL a long shot, unfortunately,” you tell him, your lips twisting in the corner as you bite back a smile when he starts to frown. 

“Not you too with the nepotism stuff,” he scoffs, only partially feigning offence.

You swat at his chest, “Hey, I’d never,” you gasp, “I meant ‘cause you’re so talented.”

“I bet you did,” he snorts, falling back into step beside you, a little closer this time, your elbows knocking as you continue to walk. “Haven’t even played yet this season, what would you know about my talent?”

You think it’s the way he’s leaning in a little that seems to hypnotise you, rendering you a speechless, practically-spluttering mess as you struggle to form words or a single, coherent thought. You wonder if this is how he felt, all those times when you turned on the charm and innuendo and purposely tried to push his buttons. Defenceless and weak. 

“I’ll tell you what I do have a talent for,” he straightens up a little, increasing the space between you so that you feel like you can at least breathe again. “Important old man voice. If you ever need to put someone down as a phoney reference.”

“I’ll bare that in mind when the NYU admissions board loosens their policy on Kevin McAllister level schemes, thanks,” you chuckle, your smile lingering when he returns it, cheeks folding into a lopsided grin. 

“Hey, give a guy some credit, there’s a little Ferris Bueller in there too.”

“Yeah, ‘cause schools love Ferris Bueller types.” You scoff, “You’re such an idiot.”

You glance over to see him pretty much beaming in response, and, if you were a betting person, you’d put all your money on knowing his exact train of thought.

You have a tell, after all, you remember, for when you’re enjoying yourself more than you think you should be.

Walking back to his apartment gives the two of you a little time to properly catch up - away from tense conversations and teary admissions - he tells you about his training, you tell him about school, and it feels like seconds pass before he’s ushering you into his building with that same guided hand on your lower back, the heat of his touch felt even through his jacket, and into the elevator. 

You stand by his side as it slowly ascends, hands buried in the warmth of his jacket pockets and ever so often meeting his eye in the reflection of mirrored doors before you glance away with a flush to your cheeks.

Every time you look back, he’s smiling a little, soft and small, but sure of himself in a way that makes all those hardened parts of you melt a little inside. 

There’s something different about him that you can’t quite put your finger on - something in the way he carries himself, around his teammates, around you, even just in general - like he stands taller, somehow. Like here in Jersey, he makes a point to hold himself up a little more, and it makes you cherish the version of him you had, those months ago - vulnerable and raw.

You hadn’t appreciated at the time, just how much of himself he gave to you - all the little quirks and insights you got to see - but you appreciate them, now. 

“I had fun tonight,” you tell him, smiling instinctively when he meets your eye, “Thanks for not letting me leave.”

“Thanks for not leaving,” he chuckles, the doors opening in front of you and that hand going straight to your back again until he’s guiding you towards his apartment. “It’s been nice just talking to you again, I missed it.”

“Me too,” you admit, because there’s really no use in keeping it bottled up when he’s so freely opening himself up to you. He so easily tells you that he misses you, and wants to speak to you, and it enjoys your company, so you not doing the same only feels like you’re doing yourself a disservice - especially when admitting as much back to him earns you one of those cute, crooked smiles he’s so good at giving. 

He holds open the door for you and you have to brush past him to go in, but your hesitance to touch has long dissipated throughout the night, so you don’t entirely mind when he follows you straight in, and you can feel the heat of his presence.

“Are you wanting to go straight to bed?” He asks, hand on your waist as he passes you and heads for the kitchen, flicking on the lights under the cabinets and getting two glasses down from one of the cupboards.

“I probably should,” you huff, despite wanting to stretch this out with Luke - your mind going back to I miss watching movies with you, and considering flopping down onto the couch and putting something on, for old time’s sake. “Is your couch comfy? I don’t really want to sleep in Jack’s bed.”

“You can sleep in mine,” he offers, before he even has a second to consider it.

“Oh, I don’t know-,”

“I’ll go in Jack’s, it’s fine,” he nods down the hall, gesturing you to follow as he carries two glasses of water, knocking the handle to the room on the left until the door opens and letting you go in first. 

The sheets are the same as on his bed back at the lake house, and it’s the first thing that takes you aback, a familiar grey-blue comforter that you already feel the softness of from across the room, and a cream throw haphazardly thrown across the top. 

You can tell the sheets aren’t entirely fresh - slightly crumpled, and not-very-neatly made, pillows askew - but if you’re sleeping in Luke’s bed, weirdly enough, you would probably prefer it that way.

“Sorry, I should have tidied up a little,” he chuckles nervously as he passes you to place a glass down on the nightstand. 

“It’s fine,” you shrug, stepping forward just to fall down onto his bed - the mattress plush enough that you already feel yourself sinking into it, tension easing away from your muscles. 

You’re kind of glad you kept an eye on him, watching his gaze shift to the way your dress now rides up on your thighs, and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows thickly before looking away.

“I’ll just get something to change into then I’ll get outta your hair,” he mumbles, trying to busy himself with something else as a distraction. Just before he can pass you to his closet, you reach out to grab at his wrist, and it’s almost like muscle memory is forcing you to do so - something within you not allowing him to get away.

He’s in front of you now, close enough that you kind of have to crane your neck the whole way to look up at him, and you watch as his eyes drag slowly from the point of contact to meet yours, every movement he makes unhurried and purposeful. 

“I just wanted to say thank you again, for tonight,” you start, speaking without any real plan as to what you want to say, but wanting to keep him just a little longer, “For keeping me company, and letting me stay in here-,”

“It’s no big deal-,”

“And for not letting me push you away.”

It might be the first time you’ve ever owned up to it - being the master of your own downfall, or the downfall of your relationship with Luke, and anything you still could have been after the fact - and it isn’t easy, admitting that you’re the problem.

But you feel like you owe it to him, as a reward for all this resilience in the face of your constant rejection. He’s been nothing but patient, and you’ve been nothing but hard work, and you’re willing to admit, now, that you’re done with it.

He smiles, eyes knowing, the relieved, breathy sigh he gives dissolving all the guilt that’s building in the depths of your gut, and sinks down beside you on the bed, his thigh brushing yours as he settles in. 

Hours ago, being this close would have terrified you. You’d have shut down, turned away, shuffled across the sheets until there was a healthy distance between the two of you, but you don’t move. You just turn, a little, to be able to meet his eye.

“Are you saying you’re done with that?” He asks, a little hesitant, assuming, probably, that you won’t be entirely open with him.

But you nod, chewing at the corner of your bottom lip as he presses his own together, eyes darting a little lower.

“So we’re friends?” He asks, his voice low, the depth of it causing a weird vibration to wrack down your body - a buzz that won’t go away, now that he’s this close, and he’s looking at you the way he is. 

“If that’s what you still want to be.”

The thought of him changing his mind makes you a little dizzy, an ache growing in your chest again at the thought of being nothing - but you’d deserve it, you think, after all the times you turned him down. 

It would hurt, but, as always, it would be your own doing. 

“And we won’t ever be more?”

The pleading tone in which he asks makes the back of your throat go dry, and all you can do to respond, now, is shake your head. Slowly, and hesitantly, but it shakes all the same, tears welling in the corners of your eyes as you take in his resigned acceptance.

And then, something shifts.

A subtle shake of his head, as if he’s fighting an inner monologue, and then an assured switch in his demeanour - a tilt of his head as he surveys your reluctance, and the swipe of his tongue to wet his lips, like he’s preparing to fight back.

“If I kissed you right now,” he asks, voice still low, eyes lower, pinned to the curve of your lips as they part as if by instinct, “Would you tell me to stop?”

“Luke,” you warn, no more than a whisper as you watch his lips too, “We can’t.”

“That’s not what I asked,” his eyes trail slowly up until your gazes meet, and his head tilts again in question, blinking heavily before he asks, “Would you push me away?”

Your lips form around a response that you can’t even think to give back, opening around an answer you’re not ready to give at all, and all your body wants to do is deny. You fight the urge to shake your head, but you think that it’s a losing battle, especially considering how much your brain feels like it’s being rattled around anyway.

You don’t know what you do to make him move forward, but you figure by now you don’t actually have to do anything. He can probably read your mind at this point, spurred on no doubt by the way your eyelids flutter closed when he’s close enough, and the tip of his nose presses to yours, slow, heavy breaths falling into the decreasing space between the two of you. 

You should stop him. You know that.

It isn’t good for either of you, letting this carry on, leaving the edges of your relationship so frayed that even the smallest tug could pull the whole thing apart, thread by thread. 

You should tell him to stop, should push him away, should hold a lighter to the loose ends and singe them together to prevent further damage. You’ve only just settled on friends, and now you’re not sure, again.

But the second he gets this close, you’re not in charge, anymore.

It’s like some force of nature takes over, brings the two of you together like tectonic plates meeting, and causing unfathomable destruction to both of your hearts in the aftermath.  

His kiss is so instantly tender that it hurts already, tears prickling at the seams of your scrunched-closed eyes, and all you can do is push through the pain. You kiss him back, lips closing around his again and again as your faces smush together, and you start to feel the passion consume him - something takes over almost like an urgency, where you’re clawing at his the front of his costume and he’s clutching at your waist, doing anything physically possible to close whatever gap still sits between you.

The pressure of his lips is almost bruising, now, but you like it that way - soft exhales puffing out from his nose so that he doesn’t have to part to catch his breath, fingers pressing so hard into your flesh that you hope they leave a mark.

He tastes just how you remember, and it takes you back all those months to summer - to stolen kisses over centre consoles and making out in his bed when everyone else was out. There’s a part of you that feels giddy with it, just like you had then, partaking in something so precious that was just for the two of you, and it starts to distract you from what this actually is.

A mistake. 

You pull away instead of pushing, bringing your chin back until your lips part with much effort, a hmmph and a furrow of your brow, and you can’t bring yourself to open your scrunched eyes, not yet, but you know when he’s going to chase.

“Luke,” you whisper in warning before your eyes flutter open and you peer up at him through your lashes. He looks so soft, you think, despite all the ways he tries not to. Despite the sharp line of his jaw, and the hardened look in his eyes. You feel your walls crumbling at just the sight of him - defenceless to his charms, once again, because how much could Luke possibly hurt you? “Friends don’t do that.”

“Maybe our friendship starts tomorrow,” he hums back, “Maybe we get this out of our systems one more time.”

And it’s sitting on the precipice of that feeling you’ve been chasing since July that has you considering it - ever so close to finally getting closure on whatever the two of you were, or could have been.

Getting it out of your system sounds healthy. Sounds like a clean slate, a fresh start, and you have no doubt that if you’re going to be friends with Luke Hughes, that it’s exactly what you need in order to do so. 

Because, if you’re honest, it’s that exact thing that’s been holding you back this entire time - closure. With such an abrupt end to what the two of you had, how could you ever possibly close that chapter mid-sentence? How could you ever move on?

“One more time,” you try to sound stern, try to convince yourself of your own words, “Then we have to let this go.”

“You got it.”

“No more Luke, I mean it.” You have to push down this feeling of impending doom, or you’ll never get anywhere, but you need to warn him one last time, just to be safe. “Strictly friends after tonight.”

“I already agreed, can you please just let me kiss you again?”

“Okay, fine, just,” you huff, hands splayed across his broad chest and pushing until your bodies part, his butt shuffling back on the bed. “Take the costume off, first, I’m not feeding into whatever dorky cosplay fetish you probably have.”

You’re only part joking, but it’s the only way you know how to relieve the tension a little, and your nerves start to dissipate at his reaction.

He chuckles, with the kind of cocky smile that makes your heart jump, reaching behind himself to unzip the back of his costume with an affectionate shake of his head. He stands, then, to shuck it off, the whole thing dropping off of him until he kicks it across the floor, towards his laundry hamper, then stands in just his briefs, which are slung low on his waist. “You can keep yours on, I don’t mind,” he tells you when you’re distracted by the taut, defined lines on his stomach, eyes trailing slowly up to meet his, gleaming back at you.

“You’d love that wouldn’t you,” you scoff, watching as he draws closer, shuffling back a little on the bed to accommodate him, “You absolute freak.” 

“You can’t sit there and pretend you don’t want me to call you princess again.” He smirks, bending down until his hands are on either side of your hips, and you’re leaning back with your fingers pressed into his sheets and your head craned back to meet his eye, “Saw you getting all flustered about it, earlier.”

“Shut up,” you huff, curling a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down into you - the two of you colliding in a clumsy, messy kiss. His body crawls over yours, encapsulating you entirely in an intoxicating warmth, and you find yourself melting into his every touch - large hands running down your sides, settling on your waist, and the other easing its way under the skirt of your costume. 

You put both hands to use too, one remaining behind his neck, scratching into the grown out curls that sit there and tugging when he starts to tickle up your thigh, the other on the warm skin of his chest - the rampant thud of his heart beating against your palm.

One more time, just to get him out of your system.

And then you can be friends.

What could possibly go wrong?

another a/n: I'll try to finish the next part asap!! thank you for reading, I know this was long lmao!! would love to hear your thoughts!!!!

[notherpuppet]

Presale Open!!

Link to “My Deer Nanny” Let’s Dance Acrylic Standee:

[blindmagdalena]

i'm thinking about john killing someone in front of his s/o, but that was about to kill them so his violent is seem a protectiveness. to be seem bloody and not be feared....

18+ 2.7k homelander x reader, established relationship, gore, blood, morally grey reader? shower sex, fingering, praise kink, breast play, dirty talk, rough sex, count down, needy/possessive/yandere HL, reader is nondescript with f!anatomy.

Homelander is breathing shallowly, eyes wide—wild—blood dripping from his chin and from the stray strands of hair that fell forward when he lunged. He's elbow deep in a man's sternum, and his other hand is wrapped tight around his broken neck, the bones like fragments of glass poking out from beneath rapidly cooling skin.

It all happened in an instant. One second, the man currently in his hands was grabbing you by the hair, a knife swinging wildly towards your throat, and the next he was dangling from Homelander's grasp, heart slowing against his knuckles.

He laughs through his teeth, licking his lips reflexively. The blood is sour, contaminated with god knows what, but that hardly takes away from the thrill of the moment.

It's been a while since he held the gaze of someone whose life he just claimed. Long enough that he forgets where he is, and who he's with.

He drops the man to the ground like a wet sack of potatoes, innards spilling out from the hole his arm leaves behind. In the man's hand, Homelander sees something that sets his teeth on fucking edge: strands of your hair ripped from your scalp in that limp, dead palm.

"You stupid motherfucker," he growls through a crooked sickly smile, lifting his boot to crush the hand like it were nothing more than an insect. The man's heart has long since stopped, but the rapid pound of another is still loud in his ears.

Yours.

Slowly, he turns around to look at you. You're cradling your skull where you'd been grabbed, tears gathering in your wide glassy eyes, the shock of it all catching up to you. You're staring intently at the corpse, watching blood pooling out from beneath it.

You've never looked at him with fear in your eyes before, but that's precisely what he sees when your eyes meet his. It makes him bristle internally. What was he supposed to do? You were in danger, and the way you screamed will follow him into his nightmares.

He could have lost you just now. You could be the one soaking in a puddle of your own blood, losing your life to the press of nothing more than a flimsy metal blade. While Homelander has always been logically aware of your humanity and the tender vulnerability that entails, nothing has ever put it so viscerally in the forefront of his mind as a freak incident coming so close to erasing you from his life.

He did what he had to. You'll understand. You have to understand.

"Hey," he says, hands raised to you placatingly, as if coaxing a spooked wild animal. The blood just makes his crimson gloves look glossy. He blocks your view of the body. "Hey, it's alright."

Your terror is palpable in the race of your heart and the sour smell of adrenaline coursing through you.

He reaches for you with the hand that isn't drenched in viscera, but before he can take hold, you beat him to the punch, throwing yourself into his arms, your own wrapping tight around his middle, hands clasping together beneath his cape.

Caught off guard, Homelander's arms hover awkwardly for a beat before he returns your embrace. He'd been certain that he was the source of your fear after a display like that.

"He just-he tried to kill me," you rasp, tears overflowing, spilling down your cheeks, wetting his suit further. "Yeah, yeah he sure did. S'alright, he's not gonna hurt you again," he coos, stroking your back with one bloodied hand, the other cupping the back of your neck. He kisses the top of your head as you cry, working the shock and fear from your system. "Ssshhh, shhshh."

Looking over his shoulder once, he lifts you up into his arms and takes off gently into the night sky, keeping you gathered close as he flies, carrying you far away from the mess spilled all over the pavement.

Not his problem. His focus is you.

With your face buried in the crook of his neck, he can feel your tears rolling down into the collar of his suit, can smell the sea salt sweetness of them. He's never let you see that side of him before. When the shock wears off, will you see the moment for what it was?

Will you realize how much he enjoyed it?

Landing on his balcony, your arms are still tight around his neck. Neither of you have said a word since take off. He's not sure where your head is, other than the fact your racing heart has slowed to a more natural—albeit still nervous—patter.

Inside, he sets you down gently on your feet. Your balance wavers, and he settles you with his hands on your hips, staining your clothing with smears of dark blood.

He's almost afraid of breaking the tenuous quiet, but he needs to know where your head is. When you glance away, are you looking towards the door, planning your escape?

His hands tighten reflexively on your hips, and your eyes spring back up to meet his.

"You okay?" He asks quietly, warily.

"Yeah," you say, though it's hardly convincing.

"You're in shock," he says, touching the side of your face. Enough of the blood has been wiped on your clothes that it doesn't transfer much to your skin. "You remember what happened?"

Maybe your distress will leave you malleable enough for him to shape the incident just right. Make sure that you remember first and foremost that- "You saved me," you say, cutting his thoughts short. "That man was trying to hurt me, and you... you saved me."

His brows lift, surprised to hear you say it first. "Yeah. Course I did."

"You were so..." You trail off, gaze moving along his features.

Apprehension prickles from his spine all the way up to the back of his neck. He's accustomed to being scolded for his brutality by Madelyn, or looked on with thinly veiled disgust by Maeve.

They're both long gone from his life now, yet he finds himself waiting with bated breath for your response, his throat tight under the gripping hands of the ghosts of his past.

"Amazing," you exhale, banishing his specters with the sweeping wind of your breath. "God, I've never been that scared in my life, but you reacted so fast. No one has ever protected me like you do," you say, cupping his blood spattered face in your palms, smearing it into thin pink swaths across his skin with your thumbs.

He breaks into a slow, pleased smile. "Well, you've never been with anyone like me before."

"No," you agree. He can still feel a slight tremor in your hands, your body still coming down from the adrenaline high. "And I never will."

That strokes his ego deliciously. He likes the finality in your voice, the dreamy way you're looking at him, even as the smell of blood hangs heavily in the air. He almost kisses you before he remembers he's got the blood of some random thug all over his face.

"I need a shower," he says, lips close enough that his breath teases yours.

"Me too. Guess we'll have to share," you say, feigning resignation.

He grins. "Uh oh."

In the bathroom, Homelander makes quick work of undressing, but you're faster. You're already in the large shower, steaming water pouring down from above. He steps in with you, letting the water wash over you both. The water turns pink as it carries the blood away, and then sudsy as you both soap and shampoo the mess of the day from you bodies.

Once he's rinsed, he slips in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I love you," he says at your ear, trailing kisses down to the lobe, to your neck. He loves the feel of goosebumps rising against his lips.

"I love you, too," you respond as you have a thousand times before. Maybe more. He stopped counting when he was sure you'd never stop.

"How much?" He prompts, hungry for more. Your praise and assurance after a moment of such uncertainty has only made him desperate for more. He wants to wring more pretty words of admiration from you, hear more of just how good he is to you.

He can't help but color your answer with a slip of his hand between your thighs, toying with your clit.

The touch earns a shivering sigh from you. "So much. More than I can stand sometimes," you say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"I thought you'd be scared of me after seeing what you saw... What I'm capable of," he murmurs, pillowing the reminder with deft, wet fingers. "Are you?"

You shake your head. "No, m'not, mmm... You'd never hurt me," you say, breath hitching as his fingers slip in further, fingertips stroking the lips of your pussy.

"Never," he echoes, his other hand slotting over your throat just to feel each noise you make. He pulls you back flush to his body, presses his hardening cock to the curve of your ass with his a shaky groan. "I liked it," you admit quieter, moaning when he slides his middle finger inside you. The confession stirs something primal in him, makes him growl out a rough little noise against your skin, grinding his cock into you.

"I wanted to rip his fucking guts out for touching you," he says, working another finger into you, savoring the slick, velvet feel of you around them. "For trying to take you from me." His words make your cunt quiver. He can't help himself, has to pull them from you just to taste you, sucking the nectarine sweet flavor from his fingers, rolling his tongue between them, hungry for every ounce of it.

He moans around his own fingers when you reach back and take his cock firmly in your hand, jerking him slowly. "I want you inside me," you say, your legs spreading slightly, back arching into him. "Touch me until yours is the only one I remember."

Fuck. Yes, that he can do.

You let go of his cock, and he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding himself between your wet, soft thighs. You close your legs, earning a breathy noise from him as he rocks between them, the warm, wet heat of your cunt a tease along the top of his cock.

"Take me," he murmurs fervently at your ear. "Wanna be in you, feel you, fuck you, make your pussy mine."

Shuddering against him, you reach down between your legs. Pressing your fingers to the underside of his cock, you push it up as he moves forward, the thick head of it catching on your entrance and splitting you open in one long, slow thrust.

Christ, you're so fucking tight. He can feel your muscles contracting, flexing, pulling him deeper. Your cunt feels made for him.

No one will ever take you away from him.

His right hand goes across your chest, cupping your left breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger while he braces you tighter to him. He rolls his hips slowly at first, relishing the tight, slippery pull of your cunt before he begins to pick up a proper pace.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He grits out, the slap of naked skin against skin loud in the shower. "Tell me how good it feels."

"Feels like being fucked by the fucking sun," you moan, gripping his arms, useless for anything other than taking his cock when he holds you like this. "Hot, you're so hot inside me, and I can feel... I can feel you holding back, it's like you're vibrating," you say, voice catching with every solid thrust. "It's like... it's like getting as much as I can take from something so much bigger than me."

He doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it isn't that. The idea that you can feel the true gravity of his power behind each restrained thrust drives him wild, makes him want to give you more, but he knows he can't. Not without breaking you. Sweet, frail, human thing that you are.

If he could, he would break you apart, fuck you until you fall to pieces in his hands, and then he would put every single fragment back where it belongs, but he can't. If he breaks you, he will lose you.

He needs you to survive him.

"Fuck, fuck," he rasps, holding you that slight bit tighter, lifting you nearly off your feet as he arches his back, lifting and dropping you onto every thrust of his hips. "M'gonna come," he says, voice reedy. "Come with me, let me feel you. I know you're close, can fuckin' feel it. Touch yourself for me, sweetheart."

Immediately, you drop a hand to your clit, the tips of your fingers brushing where he's pounding into you. The touch must be electric because you jolt against him. "I am, I am," you whine, rubbing yourself, the pleasure making you squirm.

"M'gonna count us down, alright? And you, mmmgh, you're gonna come with me," he says, already fighting to hold himself back. Your cunt is only getting tighter the closer to release you get, making it hard for him to stay focused.

"Five... four," he manages to say, desperately holding onto his final tethers of control. You're beyond speech now, reduced to nothing more than desperate, needy noises as you finger your clit, not even bothering to try and hold yourself up while Homelander mercilessly bounces you on his cock,

"Three... two..." His words are strained, balls drawn up tight, cock throbbing in the slick grip of your cunt. He needs to come so bad it makes his toes curl, but he won't let go until he feels you coming undone.

"One..."

One, two, three more thrusts, and you're screaming his name, knees curling up, your whole body tightening like a vice. The spasm of your orgasm rips his clean out of him, has him gasping into the crook of your neck.

He comes so hard his vision goes white, every movement halting, his focus purely on the ardent pounds of his cock emptying deep inside you, flooding you so thoroughly that the excess spill back down his shaft, his balls, mingling with the hot water and making him shiver from head to toe.

When he can, he takes in a deep, shuddering breath, easing his hold on you, though not by much. You're all but limp in his arms, panting, head lolled back against his shoulder. He lets the water run on the two of you a little while longer, savoring the aftershocks of your release before gingerly slipping out of you.

Carefully, he rubs the water between your thighs, tenderly cleaning you, kissing your neck, your shoulder.

"That was..." You trail off, words half slurred, and then you just laugh softly, the marvel clear in your voice.

He laughs, too, his own voice frayed. "Sure was."

The two of you put as much effort as it takes to get dry before making your way to bed, slipping beneath the cool sheets and rapidly warming them with your bodies, Homelander's in particular. He's always run hot, and you seem extra appreciative for it tonight, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his arms.

"I love you," you mumble sweetly.

Homelander draws the covers up over your shoulders before slipping his arm around you, drawing you into the warm, safe circle of his arms. "And I love you," he purrs, gently rolling his knuckles up and down your back.

You look peaceful, he thinks, watching as you begin to drift to sleep. He's sure it helps that he wore you out so thoroughly, but still, he'd anticipated that the shock of the evening would still have you worked up. It could be that you're still processing, that the trauma will return in nightmares that follow you into the night.

Maybe the threat of a rat simply makes less of an impact when you're cradled in the jaws of a lion.

Regardless, should you sleep fitfully or peacefully, he will be here.

No force in this would can keep him from you.

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.

[rebelspykatie]

Part 5 - Steddie Angst Finale - Happy Ending!

ao3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

He settles back on the bench, apprehension clouding his features. “When you kissed me, I panicked. You’ve become such an important part of my life and I didn’t want to lose that. Something shifted in our relationship and I didn’t know what to do. It’s not an excuse for how poorly I treated you, it’s just the truth. I went into fight or flight mode, but I’m sorry for how I reacted that day.”

Steve hugs the blanket tighter. “You’re forgiven.” And he says it so simply. As if this hasn't been uniquely painful for Steve.

“It took me a while to make sense of everything. It never occurred to me that what I felt towards you was anything more than friendship. I know now how stupid that was.” He wants to reach out and touch Steve, connect them somehow, but he’s wrapped so tightly in the protective cocoon of the blanket, Eddie’s not sure how to reach him. 

“It’s always been different with you. Everything I felt came on so slowly I didn’t even realize it until it was too late. The thought of losing you scares me, more than most things- and I’m scared of a lot of things these days.” 

That gets a subdued laugh out of Steve. He’s all too aware of how much is out there to be afraid of. 

“I didn’t have a lot of examples of love growing up. Wayne’s been single my whole life. My parents were fucked from the start. My grandparents hated each other after having their kids.” Eddie shakes his head, “And I’m not using that as an excuse either, I just, well, I didn’t recognize what was right in front of me, man. I never had any romantic fantasies because I didn’t think life was going to give me any.”

At that, Steve finally leaves the comfort of his cocoon. One arm snakes out and takes one of Eddie’s hands, squeezing tightly. 

“But falling in love with you was so easy.” Eddie flips his hand over and laces their figures together. “You’re my best friend, but you’re so much more than that. It was there the whole time, I just didn’t recognize it for what it was.”

Steve’s eyes rake over his face, taking in Eddie’s sincerity, a soft smile appearing for the first time since they stepped out into the frigid cold.

“I think about you all the time. You’re the first person I want to call when anything happens. You’re the one that holds me when I wake up screaming from a nightmare. You know that I like to put ketchup on my eggs, and the way I can’t stand black coffee in the mornings, so you add extra sugar just to make it bearable for me and get the ketchup out before I even ask.” 

The smile on Steve’s face is growing wider by the second. 

“You have my entire heart. You know me inside and out probably better than anyone but Wayne. Hell, Wayne already figured this all out long before I did. Lectured me and everything. Called me a late bloomer,” Eddie scoffs, “as if he has any room to speak as an old bachelor who’s never settled down.” 

“Well, he did have his hands full,” Steve chides. 

“I want to argue that I have never done anything wrong, but we all know that’s not true. I probably put every gray hair on his head.” 

“Probably,” Steve agrees. He shifts a little closer to Eddie, “so where does this leave us?”

“I’ve laid it all out there. Ball’s in your court.” Steve ducks his head, but Eddie tips his too, still meeting his eyes, “I’ve been miserable without you. Every time you’ve pretended to be okay and had to walk away because I hurt you, it felt like a knife to the gut. That alone was enough to tell me we were never just friends. I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out, but if you’ll have me, I’m all in.” 

Steve reaches up with his other hand and cups the side of Eddie’s face, one cold thumb mapping the curve of his cheek. “Eddie, I’ve been all in.” 

With those few words, a lump forms in Eddie’s throat. He wasn’t sure how this would go, but here Steve is, offering an olive branch. Eddie leans in, pressing their foreheads together, closing his eyes and absorbing Steve’s heat, breathing in the same air. “You were never the problem, Steve. Not now, and not before.”

Steve breath hitches. The thumb stops its slow tracing of Eddie’s cheek. 

“You read everything right. You’re so much smarter than people give you credit for, sweetheart.” He hopes that Steve believes him. “I’m the fool. You were right there all along. One of the best things to ever happen to me and I almost lost you.” He pauses, “I haven’t lost you, right?”

Steve pulls back and shakes his head slowly, eyes meeting Eddie’s. 

“Good, because I haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you again.” A steamy bubble of air escapes between them before his lips meet Steve’s. It’s a short distance, but it feels like Eddie is reaching across miles.

It’s delicate and sweet, their mouths moving together and hands gently curling around each other despite the awkward angle on the bench. They’re a little too cold to get too into this, even if their body heat is trapped between them and Eddie feels like he might implode. He’s all too aware that anyone could come outside at any time. 

A part of him hopes that this erases the memory of how Eddie reacted the first time. A clean slate might be too much to ask for, but at least he can pour all his affection into this one moment and show Steve that he meant what he said. Just like the first time, Steve takes all the air with him. Rips it straight out of Eddie and leaves him panting, clinging to the lapels of Steve’s coat, if only that could bring him closer. They could freeze to death out here, but at least Eddie would die in Steve’s arms. 

When they separate, Eddie takes in the flush to Steve’s cheeks, and he’s not sure if that’s from him or the cold, but his pink, kiss-bitten lips are all him. It makes him want to dive back in and get another taste. But he also wants to memorize the look on Steve’s face. There’s an incandescent glow that Eddie’s never seen up close. And it’s never more evident than in this moment how much Eddie fucked up. He could’ve been putting that look on Steve’s face every day. How stupid was he? 

Nothing he can do about that now except move forward. 

“I’m gonna flirt with you for the rest of my life and it’s going to mean something, Steve Harrington.” He takes both of Steve’s hands in his and holds them in their laps. “I can promise you that.”

“Are you promising me forever?” Steve’s mouth has curved into a bemused smile, but there’s something fragile about it, like Eddie could break him. Like he holds Steve's heart in his hands.

“You’ll have me as long as you want me, Steve,” Eddie says, heartfelt and laying as much of himself on the line as he can. Maybe Wayne wasn’t so far off with his comments about love. 

“So forever, then?” 

Eddie’s breathless from that quiet declaration, but he manages to get out, “Forever, then,” as fireworks erupt in the distance and they start a new year, and perhaps a new life, together.

[xxcallmemaryxx]

Vessel x GN reader.

Vessel and you with very obvious oral fixations hehehehee

It’s kept a secret. At first.

It begins with kisses. So many kisses. Always, all day, any chance either of you get. Your lips are always red and puffy when Vessel is around because you just can’t stop kissing him.

He eventually takes it up a few notches, when your lips tire and you just can’t keep up with him anymore, he gives you a few moments but he doesn’t want to stop. So he keeps going, moving down your jaw and making his way to your neck. He finds very quickly that your neck is his favourite place to bury his face. His lips wreaking havoc on the skin that resides there. But he just… can’t stop.

He cops it too. When he is fresh out the shower and his skin is warm and dewy. He crawls into bed, probably expecting an early night with you. But no, he’d be so so wrong. Because the moment you get your hands on him your lips are glued to his stomach. The soft pouch of skin that sits just above his waist band… fuck… your mouth waters just looking at it. You kiss and nip and suck at the beauty that is him. Leaving your marks all over his soft belly with a smile.

He starts to lose his mind a little. Always fighting a constant urge to drop everything and get his mouth on you. He sees the same look in your eyes. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger on his waist when he walks around without his top on. He loves to mess with you. Pulling his pants down just a little further than normal, letting them hang lower on purpose just to see if you’d crack. You never do. You’re stronger than he is.

But he’s nothing if not patient.

You don’t expect it. At all. Vessel knows this. But it’s his turn to cook dinner tonight, he’s stood at the stove stirring a pot of sauce he’d made. He wants you to try it but he stops you from reaching for a spoon. Your confusion disappears when you look at him and he’s already got two of his fingers, dripping with this sauce, hanging expectantly in front of your lips.

His smirk puts the word ‘smug’ to shame.

You hold eyes with him. Because if he wants to play this game then by god you’ll make him watch every minute of it. But your confidence diminishes the moment you wrap your lips around his fingers, and he knows he’s got you. Your eyes give you away immediately. Your pupils blow wide, and your eyes glaze over, telling him everything he needs to know about the state he’s got you in right now. By now the sauce that once coated his fingers is long gone but neither of you make any moves to pull away. He lets you enjoy this. Clearly awakening something within the both of you that he is just dying to explore.

To exploit.

And it’s then that Vessel has the small realisation that maybe his desire to have his mouth on you all the time extends beyond just wanting to kiss you. And he has an inkling that perhaps this little desire sits snug in your brain too.

He gently pulls his fingers from your beautiful lips, a string of saliva keeping the two of you connected as he reaches over to flick the stove off. You don’t even have time to wipe your mouth clean before his lips are on yours again. Dinner is immediately forgotten. His mouth will be occupied with someone much more delicious.

[1caru]

About the Sword of Koholint Island. you know, the level two sword? I like to call it Dream Weaver. the dream world equivalent to the maser sword. the thing is, once someone draws it, it's theirs till death. and i like to imagine traveler with the other links getting ambushed, his sword gets sent flying and he's about to be struck down but then *flash!* a most familiar sword appears in his hands.....a sword that while it saves his life...brings back memories he finds too painful. and suddenly he's telling the gang about Marin, the island, and what he feels is his greatest crime... just to feel less....hurt inside.

does that sound like a thing? like a cool idea?

I'm so sorry it took me so long to respond to this! You caught me right at the beginning of one of my busiest college semesters yet lol

I love your idea, here's a short fic about it to make up for the wait!

(tw: panic attack)

"Can I get some help over here?!" Legend yelped, narrowly ducking under the swing of a darknut's blade. One of the Rancher's monsters, if he recalled correctly. He could hear the young man dramatically sharing the tale of how he had once faced down four of them at once, light from the campfire dancing excitedly in his eyes as he talked about how thrilling it was to hone his swordsmanship against such highly skilled and armored foes.

Legend had decided that the man was a lunatic.

"Give me a second!" Wind responded from a platform above Legend, "I've got a few more bubbles and floormasters to clear out!"

"No problem, take your time," Legend grumbled, bracing his shield against another heavy blow that made his teeth feel like they were going to rattle out of his skull. He sidestepped the next attack, trying to keep all the darknuts in his line of sight. One was still in full armor with a claymore, the other two had lost most of their armor and were wielding broadswords. Legend narrowed his eyes, focusing on the one that looked the most injured. He could probably take it down in another hit or two, as soon as he found an opening.

The darknut, unfortunately, was smart, and was generally keeping it's distance from him. The other sword-wielding darknut recognized Legend's plan and suddenly lunged forward in an attempt to catch him off guard while his focus was elsewhere.

Fine, guess that one was going down first then.

Legend dodged and quickly struck at the opening as hard as he could, causing the darknut to stumble. He pressed the advantage, raining down blows until the darknut finally collapsed and disappeared in a small cloud of inky smoke.

"Vet, look out!"

The other wounded darknut had closed the distance and attempted to use the smokescreen to help it run Legend through. The Vet simply grinned at the predictable strategy. He readied his sword to fell the monster.

Something bit into his shoulder, and the cold, unnatural sensation of a curse spread from the wound. His sword dropped from his grasp.

Right, Wind had mentioned bubbles.

Legend managed to raise his shield just in time, but the angle of the impact still sent him crashing to the ground. He caught a brief glimpse of his tempered sword's orange blade as it spun by him. He scrambled away from the remaining two darknuts and blindly, frantically, felt around for his weapon, praying for the bubble's curse to fade by the time he found it.

One of the Sailor's arrows flew by his head, pinning the bubble to the ground. It's curse lifted from Legend's shoulders.

The darknuts towered over him, their blades raised.

His fingers grazed a hilt, and the Veteran's heart lept.

He snatched up the blade and plunged it into the wounded darknut right as a battle cry sounded from the platform above and the Sailor dropped onto the head of the other darknut, his own sword sliding right into the gap in the monster's armor right by it's neck. Legend rolled out of the way of the darknut he had just slain as Wind jumped off of the remaining darknut, and together the heroes hacked off it's armor before finally taking it down.

They stood there in the now silent room for a moment, catching their breath.

"Well, that sucked," Legend groaned.

Wind had the audacity to giggle in response. "At least we managed to get out relatively unharmed! …You aren't seriously hurt, right?"

"No, just a lot of cuts and bruises, no big deal," Legend responded dryly, "I would like a nap, though."

"Yeah, a nap sounds good," Wind sighed. "Oh, you dropped your weird orange sword by the way, here!"

"Huh?"

Legend turned to find the tempered sword lying in Wind's hands.

"Where did you pull that other sword from anyway? It looked like it just appeared out of thin air!" Wind asked excitedly. "Is it magic?"

"But, I thought I-"

Legend looked down at the sword in his hands.

The very

very

very familiar sword…

Waves crashing on the shore. Seashells and sand between his fingers. Hair as fiery as the setting sun, and a smile just as radiant. A new blade to help him along his journey, the smell of sea salt forever ingrained in the leather handle.

It was a dream.

It was always a dream…

…

…Was this also… a…?

"-et, hey Vet! Link!"

Who was…

"Link, buddy, you gotta breathe, okay?"

Breathe…

His chest hurt.

"In and out, okay?"

He tried to take a breath, and almost immediately choked. He coughed violently, his chest burning.

"Hey, hey, you're okay. Just try again, okay Link?"

He managed one tiny breath. Then another.

Still too fast, way too fast, he wasn't doing it right, his heart was fluttering like a bird in a cage-

"You're doing great, buddy, take your time. Breathe like I do, okay?"

Someone was holding him. Their chest rose and fell against his cheek, slow and steady, an anchored ship riding the choppy waves. He held on as tightly as he could and listened to the rhythm.

In, out. In, out…

Slowly but surely, Link's breathing began to even out. He exhaled slowly, the motion shaky but relieved.

"Hey, buddy, you back with us?"

Oh, the Sailor was holding him.

"Y-yeah," Legend answered hoarsely, "Sorry to make you deal with that-"

"Hey, hey, none of that," Wind interrupted, holding Legend tighter, "We've all gone through stuff like that, you know? I'll always be happy to help you."

Tears began to gather in Legend's eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. "Okay," he said softly, "Thank you, Sailor."

Wind hummed happily. "Are you ready to get out of here, away from… well, whatever sword that is?"

Legend froze, suddenly catching sight of the blade that lay on the ground by their feet.

It was still there. He hadn't hallucinated it. Why was it still there?

He broke away from the hug, instead holding Wind by the shoulders so that he could look the boy directly in the eyes. The bright blue tunic was soft beneath his fingers in spite of the fairly thick layer of dust and grime from the battle that covered it. Body heat seeped through the fabric. Worry and confusion swam in Wind's eyes.

Legend braced himself.

"Sailor… this might sound like a weird question, but… are you real?"

"I- what?"

"Please," Legend begged, "Just… tell me. Are you real?"

Wind placed his hands over Legend's. "I believe I am. Why do you think I might not be?"

The Vet glanced back down at the sword, still lying on the ground next to his usual tempered blade. "That sword… it's from one of my adventures. In that adventure, I met and grew close to a lot of people. But… it was all a dream. None of it was real, not the island, not that sword, not a single person except me."

He looked up at Wind, eyes frantic. "That sword shouldn't exist, but it does! You can see it, I can see it, but it was just a dream! It was only ever a dream! So please, tell me, what does that make you?"

Wind simply stared back at him in shock.

Legend's shoulders slumped.

"Please…"

He bowed his head in defeat, tears beginning to drip down his cheeks.

"Hey, Vet, hold on," Wind said gently. "Don't give up, we don't have proof either way yet."

"Why's that?" Legend croaked.

"Well, you know, I also had an adventure in a dream. Maybe."

Legend's ears flicked in surprise.

"It was the domain of the Ocean King, a kind of whale deity I think."

Legend's head shot up at that, his eyes wide.

"It was a separate place from my own Great Sea, and no time passed while I was there, but you know what? I had a friend there who was able to come with me back to my world, even though he was from the Ocean King's domain. Do you think, maybe, that sword did something similar?"

"I…" Legend trailed off uncertainly, "I don't know. I didn't think that was possible."

Wind thought for a moment. "Oh, do you have some way to check whether you're awake or asleep? And don't say that you stab yourself or something!" he added quickly, "Because I won't allow that!"

Legend nearly laughed in spite of himself. "No, I don't do that, too risky." He removed his hands from Wind's shoulders to dig through his item pouch, eventually coming up with a small, worn ocarina. "I have a song that can wake anything, even a deity."

Wind giggled softly. "I guess I should have expected that from you. Well, go ahead and play it!"

Legend hesitated, staring at the ocarina.

"Sailor, if… if we are sleeping, and this song wakes us up… we might never see each other again. We might never see the others again either." His hands shook. "I-I'm not ready for that."

A soft, encouraging smile shone on the boy's face. "Veteran, do you wanna know something? I don't think either of us are asleep. I believe this whole adventure has been real. I believe the Champion's cooking was real, and I believe the Captain's playful banter with you was real, and I believe Sky's excitement when we asked about his wood carvings was real."

He cupped his hands around Legend's, holding the ocarina with him as if he was making a wish on it.

"I believe the Smithy's annoyance when that like-like almost ate his shield was real, and I believe the Old Man's smile when he saw Miss Malon again was real. I believe the magic that the Traveler used when he refused to give up on our Rancher was real, and I believe that the strength that the Rancher showed when he returned from the brink was real. I believe that all the time I spent with you, and all the time you spent with us, all of it was real, Veteran. I believe that with my whole heart."

Legend let out a shaky breath as he met Wind's earnest gaze.

"Trust me," Wind said, "Play it. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Slowly, very slowly, the Veteran brought the ocarina to his lips.

"I'm holding you to that promise," he muttered softly, and he began to play.

The Ballad of the Windfish broke the silence of the dungeon, it's notes echoing off the vast stone walls in an utterly beautiful and haunting way. Legend nearly fumbled some of the notes as he felt the song's magic begin to flow, but Wind rested a comforting hand on his leg to steady him.

Trust.

The two heroes closed their eyes as the music washed over them. The notes climbed higher, higher, then…

They stopped.

Silence.

Legend opened his eyes to find Wind smiling back at him.

Nothing had changed.

Legend let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and pulled the boy into an embrace. He buried his face in Wind's shoulder, whispering thanks to the goddesses over and over.

Wind held him just as tightly. "I told you, I told you!" he cheered, bouncing up and down a little in excitement.

The Vet pulled away just enough to give Wind a watery grin. "You did. Thanks, kid. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"Hmm, I'll give you a pass on calling me a kid this one time," Wind teased. "Oh, sword's still there, by the way."

"So it is," Legend hummed. "…I think I'm too exhausted to further consider the implications of that right now, though."

"Me too," Wind agreed as he rose to his feet and offered a hand to Legend, "Want to go find the others and leave this problem for future us?"

Legend looked at the two swords for a moment, then carefully ran his fingers over the Koholint sword as if to confirm it was still real. He sighed and sheathed the tempered sword on his back before picking up the Koholint sword. As soon as the thought of where he would store it crossed his mind, it vanished in his hand. He blinked in surprise, then tried willing it back into existence. It reappeared right back in his hand. He vanished it again, and turned to take Wind's hand.

"Yeah, leaving this for later sounds good."

[buttdumplin]

I’m still on the latine reader train and fucking of course I had to do one of their baby’s ears getting pierced. The boys all react a little differently, but boy, are they amazing fathers.

cw: poly 141, gn!reader, latine reader, piercing mentioned but not described, baby is nicknamed Bug word count: 3k

It’s not something you’d spend a lot of time thinking about, getting your baby girl’s ear pierced. Hell, it wasn’t something you had a hard opinion on even before she came into your lives. But one day, something stirs in you. She’s around 5mos old, trying her hardest to roll over in the center of a nest of pillows her fathers have piled up around her, when you make the call. And while your partners are all understanding and loving, Kyle is the one you approach.

You plop down on the couch next to him, pulling his arms around you to make him hold you. Testing the waters, you spread small, quick kisses on his cheek. It’s a clear gauge of his current mood, and it has him squinting down at you. Not judging, more curious. He knows you’re about to drop something. 

“I’m thinking about getting Bug little golden studs.”

“That would make a lovely heirloom for when she gets older, something she can keep on her.”

“No, I mean la voy a llevar down to the piercer this week.”

His arms stiffen around you, and his lack of immediate response makes you turn to look at him. Kyle’s eyes are locked on the baby, his face perfectly neutral in a way you know he’s mastered for his job, like this was also somehow a threat to national security, to life as he knew it to be.

 “Vida mía… are you sure?” concern finally creeping in to scrunch his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I’m worried arracadas would snag on something as she’s learning to move more.”

It’s his turn to look at you, and all Kyle finds on your face is the stillness of peace that comes with having made a decision. 

“We’ll wait to tell the others,” he knows better than to ask and it has you throwing a big, beaming smile his way. All he can do at this point is return your kisses and ask you to share a link to the shop you want to take your baby girl to. 

You got to bed excited that night, thrilled by Kyle’s support. He, on the other hand, stays up late hidden in the bathroom, digging up as much info as he can on the shop to make sure it’s a reputable place. He’s reading every single review folks have left on both the individual piercers and the place itself, and he’s pinching in on every picture to zoom in and look for even the smallest sign of something wrong. A single picture of misaligned piercings would be all that it takes from him to call it all off. But he finds nothing. No skeezy people in the shop, no questionable client pictures, and the shop even has their health and safety certifications on proud display. Well, at least it seems like you chose a good shop.

The next day, Kyle is driving you down to the shop, hands tight on the steering wheel. He wants to be there. He has to be there. Pleased with all his digging and research on the shop, he holds Bug and coos down at her as you run through the details with the piercer. He’s straining his ears like never before, just to try to catch the piercer saying a single thing that sounds off so he can haul you both out of the shop and back home. But again, everything checks out. 

His voice is low and rough as he says, “I’d like to hold her as you do it, if that’s alright.”

You know he’s just trying to look out for Bug, trying to maintain some type of control in this terrifying moment, so you just kiss his shoulder and nod at him. Kyle doesn’t say much else. He sits still with his little girl in his arms, eyes wider than usual, taking in every detail he can.

Are the needles and jewelry sterile? The piercer’s pen marks look even on her little ears. Are the piercer’s hands shaking? This close to her little face?

It all happens quickly and nearly painlessly. You’re pretty sure Bug only cried out from how tense Kyle’s arms got as the needle came closer, scared just from sensing his fear. As the piercer finishes cleaning off your little girl’s ears, you hear Kyle release what must have been a held breath. The strain around his eyes immediately warns you of the blistering headache he just gave himself. 

You take his hand gently, “All done.”

He nods shakily and presses a kiss to the top of Bug’s head.

He’s never been so proud of his baby girl before. She faced off with something sharp and pain, and she barely batted an eye. Even after, it was almost like nothing had happened. Bug went back to babbling away in an attempt to talk to the piercer, who was kind enough to carry on a short conversation with her. It makes his heart swell with an unbelievable amount of hope. She’ll be able to face the entire world itself by the time she’s grown.

Kyle spends the drive back home in the backseat, looking for any signs of discomfort as your little girl sleeps, her little hand locked around his finger, his smile completely stuck on his face.

~

Simon is the only one home when you get back. He sits in the living room, putzing around with all of Bug’s toys and rugs, clearly waiting for you to get home and preparing for some play time. There aren’t any Baby and Me classes that day, at least as far as he knows. So it must have been something else that pulled you from the house.

He greets both you and Kyle with a soft kiss and a little hum, then reaches for the carseat, “How’s our sweet girl?”

Her gurgles answer him, and she gives him a big gummy smile as he pulls her from the seat. You and Kyle slowly move to put the key and car seat and jackets away, keeping a careful eye on Simon. He lays his baby girl down in his lap, helping bicycle her little legs with big, tender hands. And everything seems fine. Simon is clearly happy to be spending time with Bug again, and you and Kyle both let out a not-so-subtle sigh of relief. The sound of it, unfortunately, is bigger than it should in the room, taking up all the space left open by Simon’s absolute silence. Your eyes go wide and meet Kyle’s, his own reflecting the slight worry in yours, and you both sit on either side of Simon.

“Cariño, are you alright?” you plant a kiss on his cheek, Kyle’s arm finds its way around Simon’s back.

Now that you’re next to him, you can see the little quiver of his lower lip and the tears gathering on blonde lashes, eyes locked in on the little golden studs. His stuttered breathing is the only thing to break the silence.

“She’s so little,” he chokes out, “It must have hurt her so bad.” His tears finally fall as his fingers hover near the baby’s ears. 

Kyle presses himself against Simon’s side, “Oh, sweetheart. She’s alright, just look at how happy she is to be with you now.”

“Le dolió más a Kyle than it did her, and he just held her through the whole thing.”

Simon immediately remembers all the times he’s held his baby girl as she’s gotten her shots, how she’s squirmed and cried til she was purple in the face, and he takes another stuttering breath, “What if it makes her scared of jewelry, what if she comes to associate it all with pain?”

You can’t help but smile a little at the stark differences of the picture before you. Simon’s big frame hunches over the baby and his large, scarred hands gently hold her, his face growing ruddy as more tears fall and he starts to sniffle. Meanwhile Bug is wiggling away happily as she lays against the warmth of his thighs, little fists swinging around, feet kicking excitedly at the sound of Simon’s voice. 

“I think she’ll be glad she won’t have to heal those piercings as an adult,” you say, carefully wiping his tears away. 

Simon chuckles at your comment, taking a tissue from Kyle to clean up his nose, “Yeah, I suppose it is easier now since she’s still sleeping on her back.”

“Plus think of all the jewelry we’ll get to buy her as she grows, toda chipleada.”

Simon gives a full laugh at that, his hands returning to bicycling Bug’s legs. His chest moves with the deep breaths he finally allows himself, his little girl’s infectious smile catching on his face too. What a beautiful, softhearted man he is. He turns to give you each a kiss on the forehead as you and Kyle lean against him, “I’ll have to start tucking away some more money for that then.”

By the time he’s bringing Bug down to the ground to get her moving and playing with her toys, his tears have stopped. A few sniffles pop up every now and then, but he’s smiling, his big, brown eyes warm with love as he plays with her. Simon slowly moves to lay down next to her, mimicking her as she lays on her tummy, his head resting against his folded arms. His eyes flick to her ears every now and then, as if he’s trying to keep an eye out for a potential reaction. But the more pressing matter turns out to be how hard her little hands grab at his face, pulling at his lip until he’s giggling too. He doesn’t flinch a single time. He never will, not with his loved ones. They’re the people he trusts with his entire being. 

~

Johnny’s the next one to come home, arriving just a couple of hours later. He comes in the door to find you’re all working on setting up lunch: Kyle is on table duty and sets out drinks, you’re finishing up shoving doritos into the sandwiches, and Simon is still in the living room with baby Bug. Johnny smiles so big his face hurts a little. There are few things he loves as much as just seeing his little family. He could have the single worst day at work, but coming home to yall? That fixes his entire world. 

He stands by the door, where he can see all of you, and throws his arms out, “My loves, my dearest ones, I am home.” 

You all turn to smile at him. Normally, you’d all come up to greet him with a kiss. It’s a cute little ritual he’s come to love. But you’re all understandably occupied, so it’s his turn to make rounds. He steps to you and Kyle in the kitchen first, pulling you both into his arms so he can place light, lingering kisses to your mouths.

“Feeling your lips against mine once again has righted the world,” his big declarations of love will never truly end, but yall well know just how ecstatic he is to be home again. He’s quick to steal a couple of chips from you, shoving them into his mouth before you can reprimand him. Kyle receives a quick swat to his bum and he chases after Johnny a couple of steps, mirth lighting both their faces.

Johnny jogs over to join Simon on the floor, giving him a careful kiss as well.

“Our sweet Bug, trying so hard to roll. What a perfect little-”

And you know he’s clocked it. The sunshine gleaming off her little studs catches his eye.

“What’s this?” he rises back to his feet, eyes darting to each of your faces.

 Simon is the first to try to address his concern, “She’s alright, love. Watch, she’s moving about like nothing happened.”

“No. No. She’s too small to be dealing with this,” Johnny’s pacing the room, hand in his hair as his eyes continue to bounce between your faces. He keeps looking down at his baby girl, the little gold in her ears still shining, her happy little babbling only stopping as she tries to pull Simon’s finger into her mouth. And still, Johnny paces. 

 “It’s perfectly safe for her age, and the shop was of the highest quality,” Kyle says, stepping into the living room as Johnny continues to wear a track into the carpet. The technical reassurance has him pausing for a moment, the hand clenched in his hair relaxing a fraction. 

“But why?” Johnny’s voice climbs a little higher. He’ll never shout at any of you, but the emotion has to come out somehow. “She’s so young. This could have waited.”

More and more questions and rationalizations sprout from his mouth as his pacing picks back up. He brings up his sisters, he brings up his ma. None of them got piercings until they were much older. Then they could pick what they wanted and where. He briefly mentions consent, worried that this means he’s also overstepped as a father. And at one point he just says the word “baptism” and lets out a long groan. Still, he paces. His eyes turn electric with the sheer need to understand. He’s spiraling.

“Johnny, it’s cultural,” you cut through his rambling. It stops him in his tracks. 

“Cultural?”

You give him a nod, and his shoulders ease down from their tense clench. 

“Well, why didn’t you say so? We’ll have so many cute options for her once they heal,” he says with a smile once again adorning his face, plopping down to join Simon and Bug. “Is there a sandwich for me too, or should I make my own?”

 You let out a breathless laugh, the boys look up at you from the floor, smiles toothy and proud.

Kyle covers his face with his hands for a moment, mumbling something to himself before going back into the kitchen, “Yeah, we already have one for you, you brat.”

~

When Price arrives home, he lingers by the door for just a moment, taking in all the sounds of his family chattering and giggling away. He’ll never say it out loud, at least not unless he’s directly asked, but the sound alone of all of you happy and healthy and safe rejuvenates him, adds another 5 years to his life every time. He smiles a little to himself as he puts his shoes into the rack, mindful of where he stores his pack too. You’ve been kind enough to help figure out a system to keep all their shit straight and easily accessible for coming and going, and he tries to reinforce it so much with the other boys that he’s not about to fuck it up.

He’s still smiling as he joins the rest of you in the living room. Price is expecting the usual big smiles and lunging for hugs, but instead, he’s met with all of you trying to talk over each other. Kyle’s on the floor with Simon, both with a hand to help Bug sit up, and you and Johnny are shoving and trying to push the other behind. He can make out Johnny saying the word “cultural” over and over again, but the rest is jumbling together. 

Price raises a single hand, immediately silencing the room, “You can all explain what exactly is going on, one at a time, but first I will make my rounds.” 

He makes his way around the room, carefully bending for a kiss from each of you. Truly, of all the rules yall have put in place, this is one of Price’s favorites, the greeting smooches for everyone when they come in the door. It gives yall a chance to reconnect, and it really helps him settle back into the peace of his role as a father and partner. He gets to focus on his family in these moments, and he wouldn’t trade that for the fucking world.

As he picks Bug up to give her her own little smooch, the commotion starts again, making him raise his hand once more. He looks over his sweet little girl, taking in her excited little noises and smiling in return.

“Gold looks beautiful on you, Bug,” he murmurs as he gives her another smooch, enjoying the little squealing his facial hair causes. 

You let out a little whoop and the rest of the boys give a joyous little cheer as well, immediately launching into how they can use this new development to best spoil their precious Bug. And that’s all there is to it. At least in that moment.

Later on, as you’re all getting ready for bed, you notice Price is still in the nursery. He’s messing with the baby monitor, turning it on and off a couple of times to check the battery, bringing it in as close to the crib as he can. All he needs to do is tap on it to check the mic to complete a full system check. And just as you’re about to call him to bed, he does just that. He turns at the sound of your chuckle, his face so pink you know it’s spread all the way down his neck.

“You bought the top-of-the-line monitor, remember, corazon? Todo ese dinero on fancy walkie-talkies,” you press the words against his chest as he holds you close.

“Can never be too sure.”

A couple of hours later, you’re trying to untangle yourself from the too-warm cuddle puddle and all the entangled legs when you notice Price is no longer in bed. But you hear it before you get too far in your search for him, his gravelly voice humming a song through the baby monitor. 

You walk into the nursery to spot him on the big rocking chair, his legs up and reclined as possible, Bug sleeping against his bare chest. 

“She’s wounded,” he croaks as you run your fingers through his hair, “she needs her daddy to heal.” 

You don’t bring attention to the way his voice is choked up with tears, “Claro que sí, papi.”

“You were her age when you got yours?”

“I was younger.”

“And it didn’t hurt?”

“Never.”

He goes quiet, relishing the feeling of her little back rising and falling under his hand as she breathes.

“Can we take her to the guest room? Sleep with her? At least for tonight?” his nervousness seeps into his voice as he asks.

You grab the baby monitor with you as you walk him towards the guest room, just so the boys don’t panic when they wake up. Thank god yall regularly maintain the guest rooms, it makes settling the pillows and bedding much easier this late at night.

Price shakes his head when you motion towards the center of the bed for him to lay Bug down. Instead, he climbs in alongside you, keeping a sleeping Bug on his chest.

“Just for tonight,” he whispers, “Just for tonight.”

In the morning, Kyle’s voice wakes you, “I don’t know how Bug does it. She sleeps better through his snoring than any of us.”

AN: Once again, HUGE fucking shoutout to @mikichko for encouraging this and also giving us Price's precious line of "she's wounded, she needs her daddy to heal." I can't thank you enough, Kiko.

[sickficideas]

Ooooh since you're doing dandadan now, can I request general headcanons for sick okarun and momo? Like who'd get sick more often, how badly would it affect them, symptoms, caretaking etc? Whether or not it's related to your current wip :)))

YES!!! absolutely anon i am happy to start talking about them...!!!!! You gave me a lot to work with and I tried to include everything you mentioned but if you ever want anything more specific from these feel free to come back !!!! 👽👽💖💖

PS I'm fighting demons on whether to call him Okarun or Ken but he's Okarun for this post since that's what you've called him lol

- Okarun is definitely sick more often but only as a result of his body not being able to handle his Yokai form. Like random high fevers, awful body aches, nausea, tinnitus, nosebleeds (i think even worse things like coughing up blood or absent seizures from over using it)...he's kind of a baby about it, he has a very low pain tolerance and fevers are so overwhelming for him with all of his senses being muddled 😭😭

- Momo isn't necessarily sick often but her similarly her newfound powers give her the gift of frequent headaches and migraines 👍 they don't hold her back most of the time, she just pops a ton of pain killers and moves on (after complaining), but bad with migraines she's huddled up in her dark room and just praying it goes away 😭😭😭

- Momo's fevers don't get as high and aren't as frequent as Okarun's, but the fever really messes with her abilities. She can't use it properly with Any higher temperature, but she gets really weird visual and auditory hallucinations too and she has a hard time distinguishing them from reality. This Deeply concerns Okarun any time he notices and he'll usually pick up on her hallucinations before he realizes she has a fever 😭 she hears him ask her something when he didn't even speak and he's on high alert all of a sudden like, miss Ayase I didn't say anything are you okay what's wrong?????

- Okarun does a good job taking care of Momo if she's sick but he's a tiny bit overbearing (to the point where she might snap and accidently scare him off...she Wants to be taken care of she's just very easily embarrassed) and also Horribly worried. Especially if she's acting weird or quiet he Might cry and she has to comfort him and he feels guilty about it. Vicious cycle lol

- Momo is similarly the overthinker of all time, she's watching all of his movements and focusing on everything he says and does when he's sick because he won't verbalize how he's feeling to avoid worrying her. Dummy. So she tries to figure it all out herself. She takes good care of him though and tries to make sure he's not too overwhelmed 🥺🥺

[hoshiina]

pairing: akatsuki hyoga x gn!reader (no prns)

request: i wanted to request something of hyoga with a s/o that's reserved just like him, and that even though they were always together, everyone assumed that they were just close friends and nothing more. however it turns out they're married! and everyone is surprised by this; especially moz and homura who thought they knew hyoga to an extent at least lol

warnings: hyoga is very sweet, that's truly about it he's just insanely sweet.

wc: 1100

The two of you were deeply in love. You knew he loved you and he knew you loved him back— and that was enough for both of you. After all these years, there was of course still lots to talk about, but hardly a need to talk about anything. As long as you were together, you couldn’t ask for any more. You had originally met each other at the same dojo, so often people found you training together and naturally as you did things together, you were close to similar people.

The two of you did share a living space and sleep together so while originally you assumed people would catch on that you were a couple rather quickly, considering the lack of affection you display in public the two of you soon realized they probably thought you were just roommates. However, there wasn’t a true need to bring it up all of a sudden, not to mention it would be slightly awkward after all this time— so you figured you’d just wait until someone asked.

Now, behind closed doors he would kiss you first thing in the morning and you would tell him you loved him before you slept each night and there was no doubt that the two of you were terribly in love. And that was perfectly fine.

Yet, if there was one thing that saddened you from time to time, it would be the missing ring on your left hand. 

Hyoga wasn’t one to wear his ring often, all the way back from 3700 years ago, but you were. You had it on all the time— to the point where you could hardly get it off your finger. Although you loved that it showed you were his and he was yours, you truly just loved the way it made you feel safe. It was nothing extravagant, and you asked for it that way. You wanted something that you could keep on while training, that wouldn’t get in the way, so it was just a band with a small diamond engraved in it. To many it truly wasn’t much, but to you, it meant absolutely the world. To you, that little ring made you feel like Hyoga was with you wherever you went and in danger, he would come flying. You absolutely trusted he still would, but your hand did feel empty without the ring.

It was as if he read your mind. It was early in the morning when the two of you were taking a break while training alone. He carefully took off his gloves and took your left hand and the gentle touch made your heart flutter.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He didn’t reply, but he took out a ring and slipped it right onto your ring finger. It was just a band, no diamond, no gem. Just a band that was exactly the size of your left-hand ring finger.

“Sorry it’s nothing more,” Hyoga said softly, then laughed a little. The look on his face was soft and gentle, one that he would only show you. “Perhaps this is worse than it was without.”

You were in love with him, you had always been and yet you had fallen all over again. He was the one for you and he will always be.

“No, I absolutely adore it!” you said, immediately pulling your hand back just in case he took it away. He chuckled again and you slowly brought your hand back out to look at it on your hand. You loved it so much you couldn’t have the words to express it. The largest diamond in the world couldn’t possibly compare to this simple hoop of metal on your ring finger. “How… did you?”

“I asked Senkuu and Kaseki helped make it,” he said. “It was a slight hassle trying to get your ring size again.”

“When did you get it? While I was asleep?” you asked, absolutely impressed.

“Yes,” he said. “I was afraid to wake you up a couple of times. Also it didn’t help that you sleep on your side a lot.”

“Okay, but aren’t you going to tell?” Senkuu suddenly said.

“Tell what?” you asked, ignoring the fact that you didn’t know he was listening in.

“No.” Hyoga said firmly, purely out of embarrassment.

“He made the ring himself,” Senkuu said. “Late at night, after you were asleep, for multiple nights he was working on it.”

Your head spun back to look at him. “No way,” you said.

In all of your years of being married, you had not seen him look so flustered ever.

“He got it perfect in a few tries though. Considering the tools we have to work with that itself was an insane feat,” Senkuu said, and started walking away. “Okay, sorry to bother, I’ll leave you be.”

“I love you so much,” you said to Hyoga, looking directly into his eyes.

“It’s just a piece of metal really, so I thought it’d make me feel a little more part of it if I made it,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

“Why weren’t you going to tell me?” you asked.

“It’s embarrassing,” he said. “Also, it was just for my self-satisfaction… it doesn’t change the fact that it’s just a band.”

You didn’t even bother to reply because you knew that he knew you didn’t think that for a second. You knew that he knew that made you love the ring a million times more now. Perhaps that was why— perhaps he felt bad if that made you feel like you had to keep it on. How terribly silly— he could have found it on the ground some random day and you would still have it on for the rest of your life if he had given it to you.

“Thank you,” you said, giving him a kiss. “I’ll protect it with my life.”

“Please do not,” he said, returning the kiss. “It’s supposed to protect you.”

BONUS

From that moment on, you realized you did want people to know you were married to him after all. You were so insanely proud to have him as your husband, not to mention you didn’t need anyone else falling for him either. He was in love with you, he would spend nights making a ring for you— not anyone else.

So later that day when you were having a meal with Homura and Moz, you made sure to flaunt your brand new ring, surprising them both.

Hyoga stayed silent, but it was obvious he was your partner.

Today, it was absolutely obvious that the two of you were in love.

[bitingdrivers]

👔 2 times max saw daniel without his suit (a very loose definition of the word ‘without’) and one time daniel saw max in one. bones au, maxiel, 1.4k words. also, there's a smallest vaguest mention of death and viscera, be prepared!

1

Max makes his way through the floor, passing agents who are going home after a long day. Without people the floor looks empty yet cluttered at the same time – dozens of identical desks covered in papers, files, and dirty mugs. 

The office is dark when Max finally reaches its glass doors, an old lamp painting the room with orange light. 

Daniel is sitting at his desk. His suit jacket is draped over his chair, the shoulder holsters are a stark contrast to his white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

He is drinking. The whiskey looks like amber in the warm light of the lamp. 

“Daniel,” Max says as he enters the office. “Are you okay?” He tentatively moves further into the room. 

Daniel looks up at him and breathes out “Yeah. It's just...harder. When it's a kid.” His voice is hoarse. 

Max nods before sitting down in the chair opposite him. “Yes, I understand–” 

“No, it's-” Daniel groans, rubbing his face. “I have a niece and a nephew. They are close to the age the victim was. It was just…hard. Seeing his skeleton. So small.” His voice is barely a whisper at the end.

Max didn't know Daniel had a niece or a nephew, but he supposes it's normal. Maybe he would be an uncle too, if he still talked to his sister. If he knew where she even was. 

He looks out the window. It's so quiet he can hear the sounds of the street below.

“I-I was at Waco. Branch Davidian compound. I helped identify children who had been killed in the fire. 17 of them,” Max says watching headlights pass by like shooting stars.

“Are you saying you get used to it?” Daniel says. His knuckles are white from gripping the empty glass.

Daniel’s collar is unbuttoned, his tie a little loose. Max looks back out the window. 

“No. I'm saying you'll never get used to it.”

The reflection of the lamplight in Daniel's eyes looks like the stars as well.

2

“How long will this take?” Daniel is sitting on the table in the bone room. His suit is covered in pieces of flesh, cartilage, and bone. 

“As long as it takes to remove all the evidence.” Max helps him remove the jacket and puts it in an evidence bag. 

Daniel moves to start unbuttoning his shirt, but Max stops him. “Don't touch anything, Daniel! You might compromise the evidence.” Max loosens and takes off Daniel's tie. It has honey badgers printed on it. It's not completely ruined by the viscera, so Max hopes Daniel will get it back. 

“So. Uh. Do you think it was suicide? The guy tries to rob the bank, but it doesn't work. He blows himself up to escape the jail?” Max can see Daniel's throat bobbing as he unbuttons his shirt. 

“Carlos said the bomb was triggered via two-way radio. He probably had an accomplice,” Max says as he takes off Daniel's shirt. “Maybe we can track the sig–Oh.”

“Wh-what? Is there goop on me?” Daniel jumps off the table and swivels his head around to check his back. 

“No, no. It's just, I didn't know you have more tattoos,” Max is used to seeing the three on his pinky and the rose on his thumb, and sometimes he catches a glimpse of “free,” “love,” or the cupid inked on his forearms. Now Max sees Daniel's tanned and muscled torso, his smooth chest and, more importantly, his tattoos.

“Oh. Yeah, I had a lot of fun in my youth.” He looks at the astronaut on his left shoulder with a fond smile. 

“You say it like you're an old man,” Max chuckles and drops to his knees. He is about to undo the belt when Daniel jerks back. 

“Woah–uh. Wha-what are you doing?” Daniel stammers, looking down at Max. His eyes are big.

“There's more evidence on your pants. I of course need to remove them too,” Max explains. Daniel pauses, looking into Max’s eyes. Then he nods and looks away. 

Max quickly makes work of Daniel's belt and the pants fall down. There are more tattoos – colorful and big – wrapping around his thigh. 

Max wants to ask more about them when he looks up and. “Daniel. What?” 

“Huh?” Daniel looks down at him. Max can see the tensed muscles of his thighs. Daniel's knuckles are white from gripping the edge of the table. 

“Why do you have… Bring pink?”

Daniel looks at his boxers. Then he exhales and his face relaxes. “Oh. Yeah. These are my… favorites. Don't like to be boring, you know?”

Max is glad to see Daniel’s big smile is back. “You remind me of this bird–” Max tugs at the pants pooled at Daniel’s ankles so he can step out of them, “–Cinnyricinclus leucogaster.”

Daniel makes a confused noise.

Max stands up and moves to put away the pants. “Violet-backed starling. The males have this bright violet plumage to attract mates.”

“Hah, yeah. I'm all about attracting mates.”

When Max turns around, Daniel is looking right at him. 

+1

The building is mostly empty as Daniel makes his way to the lab. This case was not the easiest one, so he is glad that it's finally over. He spent the last few hours going through all the paperwork to make sure the guy will be locked in prison for the next 15 years. 

It has become their tradition to go for a drink after closing a case and Daniel is excited to get himself a beer and listen to Max explaining to him the details of this case as if Daniel is hearing about them for the first time. 

Daniel is just rounding the corner to the glass doors of the lab when he notices Charles talking to someone. Daniel can only see the back of the man – his broad shoulders hugged tightly by a black suit jacket and long legs clad in matching trousers. The man is nodding to Charles’ words when Charles notices Daniel and says hi to him. 

The man turns around and – it's Max. His hair is gelled back, the crisp white shirt is unbuttoned in the collar. Daniel can see the hollow of his throat.

Daniel has never seen Max in a full suit before. In the lab he usually wears a pair of tight jeans and his blue lab coat paired with a basic t-shirt underneath. And outside of the lab he just swaps the coat for a black bomber jacket.

The one time Max had to testify in court, he simply put on a blue shirt that Charles produced seemingly out of thin air. Daniel thought he looked good in blue and even told Max that. Max thanked him and then said that an attorney told him once he should always wear blue when testifying because it disposes the jury from his, apparently, “cold and unpleasant personality.” Daniel hopes this attorney loses every case she gets. 

“Hello Daniel.” Max’s voice brings him out of his thoughts, and Daniel notices an expensive-looking watch on Max’s wrist when he lifts his hand in a little wave. 

“Bones! You look smart tonight.” Daniel tears his eyes away from the way Max’s jacket hugs his waist.

“I thought I always look smart?” Max asks, tilting his head. 

“No-uh. I mean yes. It's just a figure of speech. Means you look good.” Daniel has to loosen his tie a little bit. Maybe they already turned off the building's air-conditioning for the night. Probably so, Max looks a little flushed too. “Should we go somewhere fancy instead of the Founding Fathers then?”  

“Oh. I am sorry Daniel, I can't go with you tonight. There's a party with the university's sponsors and Lewis made us all go,” Max says, looking something between annoyed and sad. 

“Yeah, he threatened us with taking away our parking spots. Very authoritarian of him,” Charles huffs, rolling his eyes.

Now that Daniel is looking, Charles is also dressed in a suit.

“Oh. That's fine, I can survive one night without a glass of beer. Probably better for my liver, right?” Daniel chuckles and rubs his neck as Max furrows his brows. 

Daniel opens his mouth to say something else, although he's not sure what exactly, but Lewis’ voice interrupts him. 

“Alright, everyone ready? The car will be there in 5, we should move.” He claps his hands and moves towards the exit. 

“Have fun tonight, Bones,” Daniel smiles at Max, takes one final look at his suit and turns away. 

He will still go to the bar, but now he won't be listening to Max’s chatter and he definitely will be drinking something stronger than beer.

[agentpeggycartering]

Buck/Tommy + 41 (comfort food), please!

Thank you for the prompt! Also, I had a bit of a chuckle because I'm not sure if you're aware or not, but I gave @mmso-notlikethat the same prompt the other day! Anyways, here you go! Enjoy!

"I know it's not your grandmother's recipe," Buck starts, placing a tray bearing a bowl and a glass of water onto Tommy's lap where he's laying in bed, propped up by all the pillows Buck could find, tucked in with the coziest blankets. "But it is Bobby's recipe, and that's the next best thing when it comes to comfort food. Or, at least, it is is for me." Buck stammered, realizing how his statement might come off.

Tommy chuckled, then broke into a coughing fit. He reached out towards Buck, putting a hand on his forearm. Buck waited, patient but concerned, rubbing Tommy's back until the fit passed. When he finally stopped coughing Buck picked up the water glass and handed it to Tommy. He took a few large sips and then carefully placed the glass back onto the tray. "You didn't upset me, baby. I appreciate the thought, and the soup is the perfect comfort food because you made it for me with the secret ingredient." Tommy said, voice going soft.

"Wait. How do you know the secret ingredient? This is Bobby's special recipe, he only told me the secret ingredient a few months ago, and I had to beg him for weeks before he relented!"

"Love." Tommy said, taking pity on Buck. "The secret ingredient is love."

"Oh!" Buck said, his own expression melting. "You sap. Yeah, it's made with lots of love." To illustrate his point Buck leaned over and pressed a kiss to Tommy's temple.

"Evan. Stop. I'm gross and you're going to get sick." Tommy protested, doing his best to squirm away from Buck, turning his head to cough into his elbow. Buck once again rubbed his back through the coughing.

"I'm pretty sure that ship has already sailed. Or do you forget what we were doing the other day?"

[libraryofgage]

The Wish Job (One)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four | Five Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One | Two1 0th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One | Two Queen Clarisse Renaldi One | Two | Three Leverage Crew One (you're here!)

This fic was line jumped! If you'd like to learn more about line jumping (getting to see your favorite fics updated sooner) you can read this post

I had a lot of thoughts for this AU, actually, so I'm really glad it got line jumped so I was forced to put them down into words lol

Steve becomes one of Nana's foster kids, but he spends a majority of this series with the Leverage crew working a job (as the name of this series suggests), and they fill similarly parental role.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

----

After his father's arrest, everything is a blur. Steve can remember flashes, sure, but nothing concrete. Nothing more than two FBI agents in the door of his classroom, the cold steel of interrogation room chairs, an agent's ponytail with split ends, a kind smile but clammy hand on his elbow, the broken A/C of the car when he finally left the FBI office, and the slippery feel of the garbage bag he's given to pack 14 years of a life he'll never see again.

Nothing comes back into focus until he's faced with an older black woman, standing outside a two-story house. The man with a kind smile but clammy hands introduces her, but Steve doesn't actually hear the name.

"You can call me Nana," the woman says, looking at the man like she doesn't know why he's still there when his work is obviously done.

"Well, uh, Steve, feel free to call if you need anything. We'll keep in touch," the man says, nodding before half-running down the walk way.

"Never liked him," Nana says, clicking her tongue. "Too damn squirrely for my tastes. Now, Steve, come inside and we'll go over some ground rules."

Steve follows her mechanically, gripping his trash bag tightly and wondering far too late why he wasn't allowed to pack his own suitcases. The house is a cacophony of noises: feet running across wood floors, a TV blaring from the living room, shouts coming from every direction, a microwave beeping while the oven timer rings, a crash from the next room over that makes Steve wince.

Nana stands in the doorway, takes a deep breath, and then shouts at the top of her lungs, "Y'all had better stop all this racket right the fuck now before I cancel pizza night!"

The house goes silent, and Steve feels his shoulders tense even more. He hates the silence. Silence means anger, and anger means punishment. He clenches his jaw, trying to keep himself small as Nana nods and leads the way into a dining room.

A girl appears in the room shortly after, carrying a mug and a soda. She places the mug in front of Nana and the soda in front of an empty seat, gesturing for Steve to sit. "Welcome. I can take your bag, if you want," she offers, looking at the trash bag with bright eyes.

"Don't make trouble, Breanna," Nana says, dismissing her easily.

Steve watches her leave before sitting. He licks his lips, opens the soda as quietly as he can manage, and waits for Nana to take a sip from her mug before saying, "Thank you for taking me in, ma'am."

"I said to call me Nana, none of that ma'am business unless you're in trouble, and you're not in trouble," she says, waving her hand dismissively. "Now, the rules. No complaining about sharing a room. No TV remote access after seven because that's when my shows start. We all eat dinner together on Wednesday night. You go to school every day unless you're sick, and you tell me when you're feeling sick. You got all that?"

"Yes, m....Nana."

"Good. Now, I know you're used to a fancier living than this, but I expect you to adjust without too much complaint. You still get your own bed, and whatever you brought is yours to keep, but money is tight. We save where we can, and I expect you to help with that. Turn off lights, use less water, unplug things when you're not using them."

Steve nods again, inexplicably feeling a little better as Nana speaks. She's not treating him like a spoiled brat, but she's not coddling him, either. She gets another boy (an older one named Hardison) to give him a tour of the house. He shows Steve the mezzuzahs on each door and the Kaaba directional marker in each room---"We're a multi-denominational household, kid, Nana will get whatever you need if she doesn't have it already," Hardison says, grinning widely at him---and makes sure he knows which spots are good for hiding when he needs a few minutes.

He ends the tour at Steve's new room. It has two bunk-beds, three of the bunks with rumpled sheets and one bottom bunk devoid of sheets altogether. Hardison gives Steve blue sheets, welcomes him, and then leaves Steve to unpack by himself.

It's new, it's unfamiliar, it's terrifying. Steve hopes, despite himself, that it's not a temporary stop.

----

"I don't care! He can't stay!"

"We're already in London, Hardison. We can hardly send him back on a plane by himself."

"Isn't that how he got here in the first place? He's 17, not seven."

Steve moves his gaze from Hardison to Sophie to Eliot, feeling like he's watching a tennis match. He's sandwiched between Nate and Parker, a hand on his shoulder holding him back from trying to defend himself. Not that he's upset about it. Keeping everyone from turning their frustration on him sounds like a great idea.

"Yeah, and how did he get here?" Parker asks, dashing Steve's hopes right as they're forming.

He shifts uncomfortably as everyone looks at him, ducking his head and staring at the floor. A small part of him is frustrated, angrily protesting the familiar move when its usual target has long been absent.

"Hey, give him some room," Hardison says, moving forward to push Nate and Parker back a few steps. He stands at an angle to Steve, leaving him plenty of room to move away if he wants. "Nobody's angry, kid. Well, I'm a little mad, but only because you could be putting yourself in danger. So, how'd you catch up to us?"

Steve wonders for a brief moment about whose wrath he'd rather endure. In the end, he decides Breanna is scarier than Hardison, so he lies. "Nana and I overheard you on the phone with Parker at Hannukah dinner, and then Nana said she gets worried about you sometimes," he says, meeting Hardison's eyes before glancing away. He makes himself small again, but it's on purpose this time, broadcasting shame as he adds, "I still have, um, access to my savings account...from my....from them. Enough for a plane ticket and cab ride, at least."

"Aww, Nana worries about us," Parker says, smiling brightly as she nudges Eliot with her elbow. "That's sweet."

"If it weren't a lie," Sophie says, her lips pursed and her eyebrows raised slightly as she walks closer to Steve. She taps his shoulder, his temple, and his hand. "Lowered head but not as low as before. Shoulders drawn in but tense to hold them there. Fingers twitching just slightly. Impressive, I will admit, but I'm a professional, darling."

Steve sighs and lifts his head, his shoulders relaxing some as he frowns. "You didn't have to call me out on it," he mumbles.

"Breanna got you here, didn't she? Ain't no way you'd lie to protect anyone else."

"She could ruin me, Hardison."

"I can ruin you, too, did you forget about that?"

Steve considers him for a moment before shrugging.

"Well," Nate says, clapping his hands together and pulling everyone's attention to him. "Steve is here now, we might as well use him. Sophie, give him an Italian accent and some suede shoes."

"I can already speak Italian," Steve says, "and I have my own suede shoes to match a Cesare Attolini suit." He feels something like guilt twinge in his stomach when Hardison glances at him. Steve's mother may have forfeited custody of him, but she still sends gifts every now and then. Steve usually sells them, slips the cash into drawers and wallets and couch cushions so they can be discovered by Nana and his foster siblings.

The suit and shoes, though? Steve couldn't bring himself to sell them. If there was one thing he missed about life before Nana's foster home, it was the clothes. It was the way his clothes made him feel like a better version of himself, a version everyone would admire and approve of. So, yeah, he'd kept the clothes and shoes his mother sent him two months ago, and he'd packed them for this trip just because.

He'd glad they seem to be coming in handy.

After processing his words, Nate blinks, a smile growing on his face like he's discovered a treasure he won't be letting go of any time soon.

----

Tag List

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[the-broken-pen]

I adore your writing style! If you want could you do something about a hero with wings?

The villain rounded the corner into the alley just in time to watch the hero nudge the boot of the body in front of them with their foot, face considering.

“For a hero, you kill an awful lot of people,” the villain pointed out, and the hero turned to stare at them, blood splattered across their pure white wings.

“What, that?” The hero kicked the boot of the body strewn across the concrete below them. “This is community service.”

The villain tipped their head at the body. “Does he know that?”

“I think he’s figuring it out,” the hero grinned, and the villain could do nothing more than stare at them, slightly dumb, for a second.

“How the fuck are they still calling you archangel when you keep murdering people in broad daylight.”

The hero shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t even know why they started calling me that in the first place, to be honest.”

The villain made a mocking face at them, and the hero made one back. “Oh, with the pure white wings and dazzling face, I wonder.”

The hero clasped a still bloody hand to their chest. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you belong in a jar of formaldehyde.”

The hero dropped their hand, sighing. “Funny, because everyone else keeps writing fanfiction in my honor. And trust me, they have very strong opinions on my appearance.”

The hero’s grin couldn’t be described as anything other than catlike, pleased and sharp. Their wings cocked behind them.

“I’m sorry, you read fanfiction about yourself?”

“Don’t be jealous, there’s plenty about you, too.”

The villain spluttered. “I’m not jealous–”

“Sounds like it.”

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t bring that douche canoe into this,” the hero said, looking up. “His ego is the size of the titanic and I am doing my very best to sink that fucker.”

The villain gaped at them. “That is not very ‘innocent angel baby of the media’ of you.”

The hero kicked the boot of the body once more, and the villain winced. “Will you stop that–”

“Oh, sorry,” the hero looked down at the body. “Do you mind?” They turned back to the villain , gesturing with their thumb over their shoulder. “He says he doesn’t mind.”

“Archangel,” the villain repeated. “Fallen angel, saint of the city–”

“Listen, people will excuse anything if it comes from a pretty package.”

“What, so you use your pretty face to get away with murder?”

“No, I commit murder, and I happen to be pretty, and for some reason everyone is plenty fine with excusing the murder because of that fact. I’d be doing it regardless,” the hero confided. “My murderous tendencies continue whether or not I am forgiven for them.”

“What, so you just murder anyone you feel like?”

The hero gasped. “I’m not a monster,” they said, the corner of their mouth twisting into a wry grin. “My mother raised me right.”

The villain got the sense they were on the wrong side of an inside joke.

“That was decidedly not an answer to my question.”

The hero groaned. “You’re absolutely no fun right now. No, I only kill bad people. I’m a good samaritan.”

“I think we need to redefine your idea of what that term means.”

“Okay, if I was going around killing anyone who annoyed me, I would have a way longer rap sheet. Like people who cut in line. Not to mention how fucking annoying it is when someone decides to DIY a summoning circle in their basement and I have to handle that mess. Do you know how annoying it is to get magically butt dialed by a white woman on a random ass Tuesday?”

The villain blinked. “Uh. Can’t say I do, no.”

The hero ran a hand down their face in annoyance, smearing blood behind as they went. The villain cringed, but it didn’t seem to bother the hero in the slightest. 

“It’s really fucking annoying.”

“You also swear a lot,” the villain noted. “Not very heroic.”

“I think we can both agree I remain very firmly planted in the vigilante section of the spectrum,” the hero gestured with their hands to some imaginary chart. The villain squinted at them. “Also, what are you, the language police?”

“Uh,” the villain said, and the hero smiled innocently at them. There really wasn’t anything to say to that. “No?”

“Tell me, you pick up lots of girls with that suave demeanor of yours?”

The villain bristled at that. “You–I–ugh,” the villain groaned. “Did it hurt?”

The hero’s head tipped slightly to the side, endlessly amused. “Hmm?”

“When you fell from heaven,” the villain continued, and it was quite possibly the dumbest thing to have ever come out of their mouth, but this entire conversation bordered on a level of unhinged they hadn’t thought possible. 

The hero blinked once, twice, then burst into laughter, doubling over. Their wings ruffled in a way the villain had long since learned meant amusement.

The villain flushed. 

“You really think I fell from heaven?”

“I don’t know,” the villain said defensively. “It’s just a dumb pick up line–”

“You said it with an awful lot of certainty, though,” the hero countered, and the villain wished they had something to throw at them. 

“What was I supposed to think, with a name like Archangel and blinding white wings?”

The hero shrugged one shoulder.

“Have you ever actually met an angel before?” the hero asked, then amended, “other than me?”

“No,” the villain admitted.

“They don’t go around killing people, that’s for sure. Bunch of stuffy–”

Lightning cracked across the sky, and the ground rumbled slightly.

The hero groaned, wings tucking in. Blood flaked onto the ground. “What, you’re both pissed at me?”

A gust of wind whipped past them, hurtling down the alley, there one second and gone the next, and the hero let out a sigh. “Sorry.”

They did not sound sorry.

“Both?”

The hero looked back at them, and this time when they grinned, it was slightly sheepish.

“Yeah,” they said. “God, and, you know. My mom. Raised me right, remember?”

The villain was an idiot.

“You didn’t fall,” the villain confirmed, and the hero nodded their head. “Though I’m sure you absolutely would have earned that by now, if you were going to.”

The hero reared back, like they were about to spit something rude, but the villain continued before they could.

“Please, please tell me your father isn’t Lucifer,” the villain said, and the hero rubbed a hand across the back of their neck.

They laughed slightly. “Uh. About that.”

“Oh my god,” the villain said, and the hero didn’t even look upset about the reference. “You’re from hell.”

“You could call me an avid climber,” the hero offered, and the villain just looked at them.

“You’re an angel from hell,” the villain said.

“Technically, I’m an archangel from hell. So like, the media wasn’t exactly wrong with that one.”

The villain could write a killer memoir about this.

“This makes so much sense.”

The hero frowned. “I don’t like the implications of that.”

“You literally kill people.”

“Bad people,” the hero corrected. “We’ve discussed this.”

“I feel like that violates some sort of cosmic rule. There has to be some rule that breaks.”

“What?”

The villain gestured vaguely. “You’re self supplying your hometown.”

The hero laughed at that. 

“This really is not that big of a deal.”

“You’re a nepo baby.”

“And you’re awfully comfortable saying that to a literal child of satan.”

“If you wanted me dead, I would be.”

The hero weighed their head from side to side. Their wings moved behind them, as if they, too, were considering. “True.”

The villain found themself rubbing a hand over their brow. “You kill people, and you get away with it because you’re pretty, and people think you’re a child of god. When actually, you’re a child of Satan, and you crawled your way out of hell to wreak havoc on my life.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly why I did it,” the hero said dryly. “To fuck with you.”

“I would not put it past you,” the villain countered. 

“You were not my reason,” the hero said. They slid a step closer, hand curling into the villain’s collar, and the villain's mouth went dry. “But you are awfully pretty.”

“You’re literally an angel–”

“Which means it’s high praise,” the hero murmured, wings curving over the tops of their shoulders, and up close they looked even softer than the villain had thought they would. Their eyes stayed firmly planted on the villain’s lips, and the villain had no idea how they had gotten here but they were confused about it and also not quite mad–

“If you’re trying to woo me to distract me from the fact that you’re a dark angel, it’s not working.”

“Isn’t it?”

The villain swallowed. 

“You know, all that fan media includes you,” the hero said casually, and the villain’s heart skipped a beat.

“What?”

“You really thought I read it just for me?” the hero grinned, stepping back, hand falling away from the villain. “Oh, please.”

The villain opened their mouth to say anything, then closed it, then opened it again.

The hero’s eyes were laughing at them.

“Maybe the bloodshed is partially because I want your attention,” the hero mused. “Or maybe not. You’ll never know, will you, human.”

They said it like an endearment.

“You–”

The hero nodded. “Yeah. I tend to do that to people.”

“I don’t–”

“If it means anything,” the hero said as they went to move past the villain. They tucked themselves against the villain, lips brushing the shell of their ear. Their feathers skated down the villain’s bare arm, and they shivered. “My mother approves.”

The villain’s face was hot. They shuddered out a breath. The hero released them, continuing their path down the alleyway, and the villain spun to watch them go.

The hero paused at the mouth of it.

“Oh,” they snapped their fingers like they had remembered something, but their grin said this had been planned. “Her name is Lilith, by the way.”

The villain’s brain short circuited.

Lilith. The mother of all monsters. Lilith, the wife of Lucifer. Lilith, someone who apparently approved of the villain.

‘I’m not a monster. My mother raised me right.’

Oh, this little shit.

The hero laughed, vanishing around the corner, blowing a kiss as they went. The villain could have sworn they had a halo, wings still splattered with blood, and in the arch of the sunlight they were every bit the fallen angel the media thought they were.

“Oh, you beautiful, monstrous, wretched thing,” the villain murmured, but it was fond. “Only you could make damnation look like divinity.”

[plutoenjoyer]

Hii, how do you think the members would react when they realize that a friend of their crush also has a crush on her? I hope you understood me 😣

hi anon!!! thank you so much for being my first request<3 so sorry this took so long 😭 i hope you still enjoy though its so so late !!!

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xdh — finding out about a friend's crush on you (+ confessing)

genre: fluff as always, light angst (i love to see a man in emotional turmoil)

tags: drabble, ot6, female reader, jealousy/light possessiveness?, pining, starting as friends, friends to lovers, reader is shorter than them, confessions

warnings: none

note: reader is some sort of employee or person that works in their building or around the area for added context ... they see you often even if not directly working with them basically (vaguely gestures). and the friend is kiiiind of rude anyway so he doesnt deserve your time in the first place

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gunil — tries to be respectful, succeeds. (and then fails)

perhaps he's very comfortable in his role as "the responsible one" as the eldest of the group. he tries to embody a role-model for his bandmates when he can, there's a very caring and deeply responsible part of him that naturally comes out. he is not known for being selfish. that being said, when he finds out one of your friends has a crush on you there is a deep urge in him to find you immediately and just confess all the feelings he's kept buried in him for months. it bothers him like mad, because he knows that he shouldn't get in the way of anything or anyone you might be vying for. what if you felt the same way about that friend? what if he made it difficult for you to choose him after confessing? what if he ruined his friendship with you when you didn't feel the same way? there were just so many uncertainties and not enough safety for his comfort, so he chose to suffer in silence, as he was used to doing.

there was a familiarity in being alone with his thoughts that he wasn't sure if he could find the courage to leave behind just yet.

he sits with this feeling for days. he tries to convince himself that he's simply content to see you at all, and wants to be happy for your happiness, though it is so clear to his bandmates that he's not his usual self lately.

it's not until he sees you with said friend that he can't help himself anymore. he hated that you were laughing with him, but he hated his lack of conviction more. he makes up his mind to tell you as soon as he gets the chance because the fear of rejection meant so much less to him than watching you get taken from him right before his eyes without doing anything about it.

and you—you're none the wiser about it all until gunil confronts you that night as you're heading home. the intense look on his face is something you've never seen before, passionate and desperate underneath the warm ambient light of the dimly lit room. it illuminates his face in a way that strikes through your heart. you always found him to be attractive, but tried not to let your feelings unfurl further since you knew that there was not a chance he'd feel the same way, not with all the projects and people he manages on a day to day basis. he was just too busy for romance. but right now in this moment, the way that his eyes are narrowed with a seriousness that you haven't seen from him before sends a shiver up your spine. and not just towards anyone, towards you.

he steps closer to you. you're basically backed up against the wall, your heart beating out of your chest. he's so close you finally get a good look at how his dark eyes are trying to find something in yours—answers. you can't help yourself from putting your hands on his chest and bicep to steady yourself.

"i... i have something to tell you." he speaks so lowly and so desperately it mixes in with the sound of his sharp breaths.

you can barely hear him because all you can focus on is the gentle curvature of his beautiful lips. he notices this, because with his hand he pulls your chin up in order to angle your face to meet his eyes, forcing you to see what sort of distress you've put him through.

for the first time in a long time he's wanted something, no, someone for himself, and you're about to find out what.

jungsu — tries to be respectful, fails immediately

jungsu is the sweetest guy ever. he's always looking out for others and wants the best for him. after finding out about your friend's crush on you, though, something takes over him. you wonder why he's suddenly being so much more attentive and sweet, way more than normal. comedically and somewhat pathetically (in a sopping wet dog with glassy eyes kinda way) offering to carry your things, buying you sweets, praising you—it was even a little much at times. you were starting to get a little annoyed, not because you didn't like it but because you were wondering why the hell he started acting like this out of nowhere.

it's not until you're out shopping with him that you start to connect the dots. you run into the friend-in-question and he sparks up a conversation with you, both of you completely unaware of the growing panic and jealousy growing in jungsu's mind.

to your surprise, the usually soft-spoken and patient guy interjects whatever you two were talking about and grabs your hand, hastily pulling you away into some other random store. at first you're worried that you did something to offend him, but then you notice the embarrassed pout on his face as you two slow down near some unassuming accessory store. he's chewing the inside of his cheek, wondering what possessed him to be so rude (he knows exactly why, he just couldn't stand watching you two get along and got swept up in his emotions). the people already in the store make some shifty glances at you two, some of the aunties even shaking their heads, going 'gosh, another lovers quarrel', but it doesn't reach your ears by how hard you're trying to figure him out right now. he has no explanation for himself, simply looking aimlessly at the assortment of necklaces on the racks and refusing to meet your eye. he doesn't let go of your hand.

"i-i'm sorry, i just ..." he's struggling so hard to find the words. he really should just come out and say it but that would mean confirming his feelings for you right here and now, and there was no way you'd accept considering what reckless thing he did just now. "you ... i just didn't want ..."

a beat of silence, and then a resounding 'oh' pops into your head as you finally realize that it was actually your friend that was the problem for him. you smile at his shaking visage. how cute.

what happens next is in your hands, the same ones that are fit so perfectly in his warm, nervous palms. you're glad the group of aunties left before you could do this.

the air feels electrifying. you pull him closer and stand on your tippy toes and he's watching you do this so adorably but it doesn't compute in his head until he finally feels the plush feeling of your lips against his, and suddenly he feels right again. this is what he's been waiting for this whole time.

gaon — gets clingy

jiseok has always been physically clingy. he shows his love and affection by quite literally hanging onto you, through hugs or wrapping his arm around yours. it is very casual and very natural for him to do that with people he loves. emotionally, however, he's a bit more withdrawn than expected. he likes his alone time. he likes you more. but, he is so painfully unaware of it. so when he finds out that your friend has a crush on you, the petty side of him that simmers at the surface of his mind really comes through without him doing it intentionally. it becomes an increasingly common occurrence for you to receive a text from him that goes along the lines of "are you busy friday? :)", or "there's a new movie i wanna see, can we hang soon?" because he thinks you'll genuinely enjoy what he had planned for you, and not because of any other reason.

this, of course, is his way of getting you away from that guy who's trying to get with you. honestly, he thinks he's boring and won't treat you right. there's really no one in your circle that he deems worthy for you.

you're more than happy to spend time with him. but it starts to get to a point where you're wondering 'what are we' when he starts to get a little more clingy, more so than his usual friendly self. his hands linger a little longer on yours, his eyes seem to follow your every move and he's smiling at you in a way that holds so much adoration that your heart starts beating faster.

when you text him that you can't hang because you feel bad you keep blowing off the friend-in-question, who had asked for your time today already, he sulks like crazy. he knows he shouldn't be so childish about it but it sucks because you're his best friend and you're wasting your time on him and he's going to confess to you and then you're gonna start dating each other and then you'll get married and go away forev—oh. oh man.

he quickly grabs his jacket and runs to your place before you can even think about leaving for your outing.

you see him show up to your front door and almost collapse to his knees, leaning an arm on the frame of your front door. "what the hell— jiseok?! are you okay?" and he's heaving so hard he can barely speak, "yeahi'mfineILOVE. YOU. ohgodmyribs. DON'T. GOTOHIM. i just. foundoutiloveyou. stay. right here". you can barely believe what he's saying, not only because he's huffing and puffing, but because you really had no idea he felt the same about you. the silence worries him because he looks up to see your confusion, or worse, hesitance, and through his labored breath and takes your hand in his. on one knee as if asking for your hand in marriage, "stay with me. please," and you can't help but laugh when it finally all clicks. this is such a dramatically jiseok way to profess feelings to someone. you're definitely gonna bring this up again.

but for now, with a bright smile, you give his hand a reassuring squeeze, "come in. let's get you some water."

o.de — kicks himself into action

finding out is a wake-up call to him. he kicks himself for getting complacent. it's not that he didn't think other guys would be into you or anything, just that he didn't think it would happen so soon. he put off his feelings for you constantly because he feared ruining things between you two, but now that there was another guy in your radar it meant that he had to be on high alert. he immediately starts thinking about the best way to confess to you, and fast because who knows if this guy is going to sweep you off your feet out of nowhere.

he's trying to plan something grand and a little cheesy because he thinks, no, knows that you deserve to be appreciated. he would yell his love for you from the rooftops if he could. he's thinking about it so much that you stop hearing from him for a couple days. his absence lingers in the air around you and you start to wonder why it feels so heavy without him around, because wasn't he just a friend?

you get your hopes up when your phone pings with a text—but it's not from seungmin. there's a dull ache in your heart when you see it's from the friend-in-question. you're disappointed but don't want to take it out on him, so you say yes to dinner. you go with him, and clearly he's trying to make a move on you by spoiling you with a nice meal and compliments, but you just can't get your mind off of seungmin and what he's doing right now. you end the date, which was more just like him talking at you, by rejecting him. you're wondering if he was just friends with you to try and get a chance with you, and it hurt a little.

then, it happens. your phone buzzes as you're about to leave the restaurant. it's seungmin. as soon as you pick up he sounds out of breath and desperate. "where are you right now?!" and you answer honestly, about the date and how it ended, and how you missed talking to him. "stay right there, i'm coming."

he picks you up from the restaurant, having drove there in a hurry. there's roses and chocolate on the dashboard as if he were going on a date himself and you know immediately who it's for by the look on his face and the slight sheen of sweat like he'd been worried sick about something.

there's not even a moment that passes while in the car before you both can't help yourselves anymore, having the first real taste of what you two felt for each other, sealed with a kiss.

junhan — withdraws himself

junhan has always been quiet, but you were starting to love getting to have late night conversations with him about life itself, your place in the the universe and who's your favorite character in dungeon meshi. he seemed to open up when he was around you and you loved getting to pick apart his mind. you felt that you both were able to keep up each other's intellectual abilities, and it was refreshing.

so when he suddenly reverts back to the shy personality he had when you first met him, you know something's wrong. you're trying to figure out how to confront him about it without making him curl back into his shell even more.

in his mind, on the other hand, he's doing you a favor. after finding out that your friend has a crush on you, the one that is so much more extroverted and good at holding up conversations, he thinks its best that he takes a step back so he wouldn't be taking up space in your life that could be reserved for your friend. he throws himself into work even more so than before, using it as an excuse to avoid you so it doesn't hurt as much when you inevitably start dating that stupid guy. but that doesn't mean he stops watching and analyzing, watching to see if that guy really, truly was good enough for you.

and of course, he wasn't. call it intuition or just plain logic, junhan noticed how he very often seemed to talk over you. it bothered him to know that there's a possibility that you'd be happier with your friend, but it bothered him more to think about you unhappy with him, because at least junhan would actually notice if you were.

that wouldn't do at all. while junhan is very rational he absolutely does not mess around when it comes to you. the friend-in-question is busy chatting away while you're forced to listen to him. you think he's a nice guy, but he was the type of person who was more used to talking at someone rather than to them. you never really felt heard when speaking to him, unlike with junhan who took every word you said into account, making sure you knew your thoughts mattered to him.

junhan, with tingling fingertips and an audacity that could only be stirred up by the thought of losing you, calmly walks up to you two. you wouldn't have guessed it took all his courage to ask "can we get drinks tonight?" and you're over the moon at the mere suggestion, "is that even a question?! of course, i haven't seen you around in ages!". your eyes light up with excitement, unable to stop yourself from excitedly rambling about how you really wanted to talk about some new manga that dropped during his absence. junhan smiles at you, half because he knows this feels right, like you both were meant to be together in this moment, and half because he loves the way that guy's stupid grin drops when he sees how happy you are to see him.

"so it's a date?" junhan says with a radiant smile, almost as if the guy standing next to you didn't exist. he was enjoying taunting this guy a little too much, he thinks to himself. your jaw drops a little at this unexpected confidence, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want it to be. and so you shoot a quick, very obviously awkward glance at the so called 'friend', thinking about who you knew would treat you right, and turn back to say:

"it's a date."

jooyeon — makes it everyone's problem

when jooyeon finds out about your friend's crush on you he cannot stop from complaining about him to his bandmates. jiseok rolls his eyes hearing the groans from jooyeon, going for the millionth time this week that "he's just not right for her" and "he's not even good looking" and "she's way out of his league!" to lying in bed upside down with his head hanging off the edge groaning into his palms, "but what if she likes him though?! do you think she does?! is that why she hasn't been around lately? aghhhh, girls are so confusing. this sucks. wanna play league?" in which jiseok replies with a sigh, "dude, you could just text her and figure it out for yourself right now." and leaves before his head explodes from how much of a baby joo gets when he's frustrated about something.

when he's finally alone, jooyeon gets to sit alone with his thoughts. just pure and utter him, not the shining jooyeon on stage with his bass, and the thought of you, beautiful and kind, and how much he misses the sound of your pretty laugh. you're constantly on his mind. sometimes he finds himself idly smiling about some dumb text you sent him or the one time where you tried singing along to his strumming and it wasn't good but you gave it your all. it was just so you. you're his friend, yes, but he didn't realize how he felt something so much more for you until the idea of you not being around him anymore became a very real possibility.

the thought of you not being in his life wasn't even in the question for him. it breaks his heart to think of such a thing happening, that he wouldn't be the one making you happy but some other, boring, loser of a guy ... but he doesn't let the others know that part. deep down he's more insecure than he lets on. whatever exasperated complaining he lets out barely scratches the surface of the sort of emotional vortex swirling in him at this very moment thinking about you dating someone else.

when he sees you he makes it so unbelievably obvious, everyone around you two is betting on the moment that you finally realize. you're wrapping up your lunch together when he brings it up. "stoooop hanging out with him, he's boring and he only plays fps games, i mean come on," he's basically begging you like a kid.

you snort at him, "and you know almost every pokemon. he's not doing anything wrong, we all have things we really like." you're saying this to defend your point but in reality you also thought it was annoying that that was all he talked about with you and didn't seem to care about what you liked at all.

"yeah, well." jooyeon grumbles, pitifully tucking his head into the crook of his arm, leaning onto the table. he doesn't make eye contact with you, just pouting cutely. "heard he likes you, too... he's not special." the last part is almost unintelligible from the way he buries his head further into his arm as he says it.

that piques your interest. "oh? what was that? after the first part?" you know exactly what you heard but you just can't help yourself from teasing him.

"'ts nothing."

"joo." he refuses to meet your eyes but you see the tips of his ears reddening.

"i gotta get back to practice."

"joooooyeon. lee jooyeon. jooyeon of xdinary heroes. did i hear correctly? 'he's not special?'"

he's already walking off.

"joo, you know i'm going to the same place as you!" you shout after him. quickly, you shove your things into your bag and catch up to his rather hasty speed. you're giggling because you can read him like a book. that cute little pout on his face is all you need to see before you go to grab his hand mid step. he jolts a bit, not expecting your touch, before he eases into it and finally looks you in the eye.

"you ..."

shifting your hand so your fingers interlock, you smile at him, looking him in the eyes with earnest, "i like you, too."

in a few moments he's trying to stay cool and ends up failing miserably by how the corners of his mouth refuse to stay still. he can't help himself from breaking into a grin at those words. he would get to it later, be able to grandly profess his love to you like how he had imagined it going in his head, but for now he was content with this. simple and happy with your hand enveloped in his larger one.

it's by no means a scene out of a drama, but it was perfectly enough for the two of you.

(later that night jooyeon is so completely over the moon about being chosen. it feeds his ego BAD. you have to take him down a peg by telling him how he hasn't really properly confessed to you yet, and you are very entertained by how he stutters and struggles to say it to you directly after such a grand display of confidence. oh, joo ...)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

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thank you for reading! <3