#i wonder what dress up game will come up with it first

[eliasmelody]

He Doesn’t Say I Love You, He Says…

Tag: RAFAYEL x f!reader, Mutual pinning, fluff, short fic Warning: grammar & spelling

“Oh how sweet is time for allowing you and I to live in the same lifetime.” - Love and Wine

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

You let out a soft chuckle, unable to hold back your amusement. He turns his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a curious expression.

You two just emerged from the ocean, the cool waves retreating behind you as you step onto the shore. Dress clings to your skin, heavy with seawater, droplets cascading down in shimmering trails.

Rafayel drapes a towel over your shoulders, the fabric cool and slightly rough against your damp skin. He moves with quiet focus, gently patting away the seawater clinging to you, his touch careful, almost hesitant.

"What’s so funny?" He asks, his voice laced with curiosity.

You shake your head, still grinning. "Nothing. Just… you."

His brows raise slightly, intrigued. "Me?"

You nod, but you don’t elaborate. The words are there, lingering just behind your lips, but saying them out loud feels like crossing a line you’re not sure you’re ready to step over.

"Oh, how weird destiny is…" You murmur, a hint of wonder in your voice.

Taking a moment to admire him, a warm smile spreading across your lips. There’s something about this moment, as if the universe had conspired to bring you both here, right now.

"Out of all the infinite roads I might have taken, fate has led me here…"

Eyes soften as you gaze at him with quiet admiration.

"To you."

He holds your gaze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as your words sink in His lips part slightly, as if to respond, but no words come. Instead, he exhales a quiet, breathless laugh, one of disbelief, maybe, or something deeper, something he isn’t ready to name.

A faint flush creeps up his cheeks. After a brief pause, he dares to glance at you again, his eyes flickering with something soft and uncertain.

"You say that like it’s a good thing." He murmurs, his voice quieter than usual, almost careful.

You tilt your head, smiling softly. "Isn’t it?"

His throat bobs as he swallows, his gaze searching yours, as if trying to find some trace of hesitation, some sign that you don’t truly mean it. But all he finds is sincerity, steady, unwavering.

And that terrifies him.

Because if destiny really did lead you to him, what happens if he isn’t meant to keep you?

But as he looks into your adoring eyes, something shifts. He doesn’t like hearing "Happy Birthday." He’s lived too long, heard it too many times, it lost meaning long ago. But you… you make it feel different.

You don’t just speak the words. You give them weight. You give him meaning in a way nothing else ever has.

And for the first time, he isn’t afraid of destiny.

Because if fate brought you to him, then maybe, just maybe, it intends for you to stay.

And that thought doesn’t terrify him at all.

"You should know that a Lumerian never parts with their greatest treasure."

Because no matter what destiny has planned, no matter what twists and turns the future holds…

"And I would sooner let the ocean take me than lose you."

Because you are his fate now, his most precious treasure, one he’ll never let slip from his grasp.

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦ Art work and char: belong to Infold Game ✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

Our Shayla 😭💜 Small fic cause school is back baby

[heartsriki]

LOVE SOUNDTRACK⌇음악

FLIRT ALERT! series⌇NI-KI | Prev

pairing ᝰ ni-ki x fem!reader | word count: 2k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ friends to lovers, lots of beating around the bush, no other warnings I think.

synopsis — Riki creates a playlist for you, each song reflecting your shared moments. As you listen, you uncover his hidden feelings and the confession tucked within the final track, leading to a sweet, music-filled moment where your love story plays out in perfect harmony.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊the ot7 series is done :( BUT NOW I CAN WORK ON LONGER AND DETAILED PROJECTS HURRAYYYY, hopefully yall like those when they come out!

The playlist shows up on your phone one evening without warning.

You’re sprawled across your bed, textbooks pushed to the side, a half-empty coffee cup perched precariously on your nightstand. The dorm is quiet except for the distant murmur of voices in the hallway. You’re mid-scroll through your music library when you notice it—For Y/N.

Your thumb hovers over the screen.

Weird. You don’t remember making this.

Curious, you tap on it, and the first song begins to play.

A soft melody hums through your earbuds, and immediately, something tugs at your memory. You know this song. It’s the one that you played in your dorm last winter, the night you and Riki sat by the window watching the first snowfall of the year.

You close your eyes, and the memory comes back in vivid detail.

“You think it’ll stick?” you had asked, blowing on your hot chocolate. The glass pane beside you was fogged up from the warmth inside, but beyond it, the snowflakes swirled under the streetlights.

“Doubt it,” Riki had said, drawing random doodles on the glass window like a kid. He had been watching the snow too, his expression calm. Then, he smirked. “But hey, if it does, I’ll let you abuse me with snowballs as a reward.”

You had laughed, rolling your eyes. “Like I need your permission for that.”

Now, lying in bed, you wondered about the playlist and its meaning.

Wait how did it even get on your phone?

The next day drags by in a haze of half-heard lectures and restless thoughts.

You barely remember getting dressed, barely remember grabbing your bag, and now you’re here—seated across from Riki at your usual table in the campus café, fingers curled around a cup of coffee that’s gone lukewarm.

And he says nothing.

Not a single word about the playlist.

You watch him, searching for any sign that he’s waiting for you to bring it up. But Riki is as casual as ever, scrolling through his phone between bites of his croissant, occasionally glancing up to make some offhand comment about a ridiculous campus rumor or the professor who showed up to class with the worst fashion sense ever.

Meanwhile, your thoughts are a tangled mess.

The playlist. The songs. What do they mean?

Your heart slams against your ribs just thinking about it.

Does he know you listened? Does he want you to say something?

You grip your coffee cup a little tighter, clearing your throat. “So… did you do anything interesting last night?”

It’s a test. A chance for him to bring it up naturally.

Riki hums, still staring at his phone. “Not really. Just played some games with Jake, went to bed late. You?”

You blink. Your fingers tighten around the cup.

Seriously?

He’s going to act like nothing happened?

Your eyes narrow, and you wait—wait for the moment he cracks, for the smirk, for the teasing remark, for anything that shows he knows exactly what he did.

But nothing comes.

“Just slept,” you mutter, forcing yourself to take a sip of coffee, even though it tastes bitter now.

The silence stretches between you.

It’s unbearable.

Your mind races through possibilities. Maybe he sent it by accident. Maybe it wasn’t meant for you at all. Maybe—

Riki stretches lazily in his seat, his hoodie slipping off his shoulder. “Oh, by the way,” he says, and for a second, your breath catches. Finally.

But then—

“Wanna grab ramen after class?”

You stare at him, your stomach flipping.

That’s it? That’s all?

Your grip tightens on your cup as you force a nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

Riki grins, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside you.

And as he goes back to his phone, casually sipping his drink, you realize—

If he won’t bring it up, you might just have to.

but of course Riki doesn’t bring up the playlist over ramen either.

You sit across from him in the crowded little shop just off campus, the air thick with the scent of broth and spices. The steam from your bowl curls between you, but it does nothing to chase away the tension sitting heavy in your chest.

You’ve been waiting—waiting—for him to say something, to acknowledge what he sent you. But instead, he slurps his noodles like it’s just another night, like he didn’t put together an entire playlist filled with memories.

And it’s driving you insane.

“You’re quiet today,” Riki remarks, his chopsticks hovering over his bowl as he watches you. His tone is light, but there’s something in his gaze—curious, a little teasing. Like he knows something is up.

You set your spoon down a little too forcefully. “Am I?”

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a smirk. “Yeah. So weird too. You usually don’t shut up.”

Your jaw tightens. Unbelievable.

If anyone else had made that comment, you’d have thrown a napkin at their face. But right now, you can barely focus on coming up with a comeback.

Your stomach flips just remembering it.

The worst part? Riki looks normal. Like none of this is affecting him at all.

Fine. If he wants to play it cool, two can play that game.

You lean back in your seat, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

Riki quirks a brow, tilting his head slightly. “That’s new.”

Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks. Say something. Bring it up. Ask him.

But just as you open your mouth, he reaches over, stealing a piece of your fish cake right off your plate.

You slap his hand, scowling. “Excuse me?”

He just grins, chewing obnoxiously. “What? You looked distracted. Figured you wouldn’t notice.”

You do throw a napkin at him this time.

And just like that, the moment passes. The conversation shifts to something else—an upcoming test, some campus drama, a new game he’s been obsessed with.

But underneath it all, the tension lingers.

Because you know the truth.

Riki put together that playlist for you.

And no matter how hard he tries to pretend it’s nothing, you know.

The only question is—when are you going to make him admit it?

That night, you give in.

You’re lying in bed again, phone resting on your chest, screen glowing softly in the dark. Your thumb hovers over For Y/N, heart hammering like it’s some kind of forbidden secret.

Riki still hasn’t said a word about it.

But you can’t let it go.

With a quiet breath, you press play.

The next song starts slow, familiar guitar chords filling your ears. The moment it plays, you recognize it—it’s from that weekend trip to the beach last summer.

Your lips part slightly as the memory washes over you.

The sun had just started to set, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. You and Riki had been sitting in the sand, sneakers discarded, the distant sound of waves blending into the music playing from his speaker.

“If I had to pick a favorite sunset, this would be it.” You had stretched your arms behind you, leaning back, letting the breeze tangle in your hair.

“You say that every time.” Riki had scoffed, but his voice was softer than usual.

“Because it always feels true in the moment.”

He hadn’t responded right away. You remember that part clearly. He had just looked at you for a second, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, instead of saying anything, he had reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before quickly looking away, pretending like he hadn’t just done it.

You had pretended, too.

Now, lying in the dark, you exhale shakily.

You’re not imagining this. You can’t be.

These songs—they’re not just random picks. They’re moments, his moments, things that must have meant something to him.

And the more you listen, the clearer it becomes.

You need to talk to him.

The next day, it happens by surprise.

Because of you.

You’re sitting outside the café on campus, staring at your untouched drink, mind replaying the song over and over, when Riki slides into the seat across from you with a lazy grin.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he teases, stealing one of your fries without asking.

You don’t respond. Just stare at him, long enough that the grin fades slightly from his lips.

“What?” he asks, chewing.

“Why won’t you admit that you made it?.”

His chewing slows. “Made what?”

You inhale sharply. “The playlist.”

Silence.

Riki freezes for half a second—so quick you almost miss it—before he forces a shrug, looking off to the side. “Yeah, so what? I made it.”

You blink, caught off guard by the casual admittance. “So what? You weren’t ever going to bring it up?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t know I had to.” Then, before you can say anything else, he pushes his phone across the table toward you, screen lighting up with his music app. “Just—listen to the last song.”

Your stomach twists. “Riki—”

“Just listen.”

And the way he says it—quiet, firm, almost nervous—makes you reach for his phone without another word.

You hesitate for only a second before pressing play.

The song starts slow, just like the last one—soft piano notes trickling in, delicate and familiar. It takes only a few seconds before you recognize it.

Your breath catches.

This song—it’s from that night.

The night it rained.

You remember it so clearly now, like the memory has just been waiting to resurface.

You and Riki had been caught in the sudden downpour, running through the empty streets, your shoes slapping against the wet pavement. You had been laughing, breathless, soaked to the bone, and Riki had grabbed your wrist, pulling you under the awning of a closed bookstore.

“We suck at checking the weather.” You had panted, pushing your dripping hair out of your face.

“No, you suck at checking the weather,” Riki had corrected, shaking out his arms like a wet dog.

You had rolled your eyes, shivering slightly. Without a word, Riki had tugged off his soaked hat, shaking off the rain before draping it over your head.

“Riki—”

“Just wear it,” he had muttered, avoiding your eyes. “Protects you from the rain a bit.”

The moment had stretched between you, heavy despite the laughter that had just filled the air. You remember how his fingers had brushed against yours when he adjusted the hat, how close he had been, how the rain had clung to his lashes when he finally looked at you.

And now—this song.

It had been playing from the small speaker outside the bookstore, blending into the sound of raindrops and your pounding heart.

Back in the present, sitting across from Riki in the café, you slowly set his phone down.

He’s not looking at you, gaze fixed on the table, fingers tapping against his cup.

Your chest feels impossibly tight.

“This song,” you whisper. “I remember it.”

Riki lets out a quiet breath, barely a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? thought you wouldn’t with your short term memory.”

Your heart stutters. “Why—” You swallow. “Why put this one last?”

Finally, he looks at you. There’s something in his expression you can’t quite place—something cautious, something vulnerable.

“Because that’s when I knew.”

Your stomach flips. “Knew what?”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s frustrated with himself. Then, he meets your gaze, eyes steady.

“That I liked you.”

The words hang between you, weighty and real.

“Me too” you responded.

Series Taglist — prev

@saphiranishimurashan @elairah @baribaaari @m1kkso @letwiiparkjay @jellyluv4eva @manuosorioh @moontyun @mbsnow @taesanoreohair @tiny-shiny @glimmerinaaa @e-r-i-15 @starbyeol1512 @seyoungiesleeps @vrusha01 @enhaprettystars @luv-rizzimura

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, March 2, 2025

Silent Hill 2 update: If you sneak over to my Patreon, you can watch the first commentary video already (I'll be replacing it with an updated version). I’m still working on the timestamp writeup (links, sources, etc.) and, uh, that updated version with some corrections at the end. I’ve also been formatting the writeup for Tumblr and, uhhh.... it’s like four posts. It’s honestly just embarrassing. But I know what the carving on the church door you might not even notice says, I know why all the oscillating fans are turquoise blue, I’ve found a thematically relevant Goya painting hidden in a shop you don’t even have to enter, and now we all have to suffer for it. 

The second video’s been recorded but isn’t uploaded anywhere, and I’ve finished taking notes for the writeup. I’m taking so long that I might honestly just clip out a few excerpts and put them on my YouTube channel (I have a YouTube channel) (in theory).

(Yes, watching other people play video games IS a valid way to enjoy them, and it’s how I got into playing in the first place.)

Meanwhile: I just wanted to address the idea that medication obscures your real personality, and I ended up writing a memoir.

Reblogs of interest

It was a bad week for celebrity deaths: Roberta Flack ("Killing Me Softly"), after two years diagnosed with ALS; Michelle Trachtenberg (Buffy, Gossip Girl), after a prior liver transplant; and then, under circumstances that still haven’t been explained, Gene Hackman and his wife Betsy Arakawa.

Now, it’s important to know about the political protests happening in the U.S. (and I hope people run HARD with “Impeach President Musk” for maximum in-fighting), but it was “Vermont insults” that gave me the most joy.

"NASA released the clearest pictures yet of our neighbours in the solar system"

What Queen Nefertiti may have looked like in real life, improved

Microsoft is shutting down Skype

Joann Fabrics is going out of business (+ online alternatives)

“YOU FREAKS CRASHED THE DASHCON SITE AND THEN SOLD OUT THE TICKETS IN UNDER 30 MINUTES” (“I need you all to understand this is a post from February 22, 2025”)

“Help your local library; get books out even if you know you can’t read them all!”

Ursula K. LeGuin: “As you read a book word by word and page by page, you participate in its creation”

This full-series retrospective of Animorphs, however brief, is so unhinged that I went and legally downloaded the entire set of books. 

“Good night to only the team names at the Seattle women’s hockey club” (personal favorite: Rink Pony Club)

Sometimes I wonder what the Victorians would think of “naked” dresses. Anyway, I really like Elie Saab

All they know is charleston, shake cocktail, eat hot chip & lie

“stop what you’re doing right now and look at archaic period terracotta fox scratching its head”

“The bath house duck spirits from Spirited Away, taking a dip in this lava lamp”

Tumblr: Where “Pelican Childcare” is inherently funny

Crow Time: Business bird

Gorgeous Dominique Ramsey art with a Langston Hughes quote

Grocery cats (“but then you scroll down and it’s like oh, there’s a team of cats ringing up that lady’s tea and jam”)

Look this bunny in the eyes and you will understand why I tagged this “become ungovernable”

“where is that cat with the kind and reassuring face”

Paint me like one of your French bears

Hi. 1 quastion

Video

LOTR film fandom has been going strong for 20+ years and we’re not gonna stop now (re: Pippin’s song in Return of the King)

Zelenogorsk is sand bathing

The sacred texts

Periodic reblog: this massive catalogue of parody lyric tweets

“The neurodivergent urge to do this,” or: the origin of a very popular reaction pic

Personal tags of the week

Wet Beast Wednesday is worth a look, plus the newest Beneficent Chain Post (happiness will come to you. “When You Least Expect It. Probably Late March”).

[gifti3]

I like some of the makeup changes theyve done in time princess but some of them unfortunately do look worse (on my doll anyways)

Dress up games seem to struggle with making makeup work for all skin tones and the only solution ive seen is in life makeover where we have the option to change parts of the makeups color and brightness (and even then the options are too limited imo)

[scorpiosbite]

when drew watched actress!reader’s sex scene for the first time

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── drew’s been binging game of thrones ever since that fateful day madelyn forced him to watch the show, what was meant to be a normal binge session turns into him being the horniest he’s ever been. making the anticipation of meeting you even heavier.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place during the filming of obx 4, before madelyn informed the obx cast that they were going to meet you when you came to LA.

drew could not tear his eyes away from the screen of the tv in his moroccan hotel room. he thought that after watching game of thrones consistently, now nearing the end of the first season he would become accustomed to see you in costume, but every time you came onto the screen his breath was taken away. seeing you in that the sliver waist length wig that looked like it was your real hair, the sheer fabric floor length dresses with the daring cuts that exposed more and more of your soft skin, and the intricate dornish jewellery with the subtle targaryen detailing made him feel like a teenager once again with how quickly his pants tightened. and it wasn’t only how you looked, it was also your performance. you were an astonishing actress, he would forget that you weren’t actually visenya in real life, that this world didn’t actually exist and that you were just acting. he was so captivated by you.

“the last dragon, that’s who you are visenya, the last targaryen left in the world, perhaps if you favoured your mother in looks, you would escape the pressures of the targaryen name, but you do not, you look just like rhaegar only with the tanned skin of elia.” you rolled your eyes and drew felt his heart jump. surrounded by the hanging gardens of sunspear in dorne, you paced with aggression, your sliver hair swishing behind you, your dress billowing as you stared down your costar. “have you come to lecture me of my responsibilities as the last targaryen, jaime? all while your bastard son sits my throne? and your sister puppets him from behind.”

“we are only married because your father knew that once i take back my throne i will come after the lannisters for your family’s hand in my mother and brother’s murders. he thought that if we were married that i would not harm you and your name would live on through my womb. but i am no fool, targaryen women have been known to kill their husbands, who is to say my coin wasn’t flipped on the side of madness. that is the saying is it not? when a targaryen is born the gods flip a coin, greatness or madness.” you now stood face to face with the man, staring him down with a smug expression and drew was once again struck with your talent as an actress, your body displayed the anger and frustration that your character felt despite the facade of arrogance on your face. then suddenly your lips connected with his, the actor who played jaime slid his hand around your waist, the cuts of your dress allowing him to touch your bare skin, your hands went to his hair and drew had never felt so jealous of another man.

jaime picked you up with ease, walking backwards to a chair sitting down with you spread on his lap, and drew thought that he would do anything to have you like that. the camera filmed you from the back, jaime’s hand caressing your exposed back down to your ass, and drew squeezed the covers of his bed in response. the camera cut to a mid shot of both of you from the side, you broke the kiss your face still so close to his, lips brushing together as you spoke in a hushed tone. “i want you to fuck me, jaime.” drew groaned at the lust in your voice, and wondered if that was what you sounded like in real life. jaime’s actor groaned in response to your statement and drew felt sympathy for the man, because he knew that if he was in that position instead of him he would be unable to stop himself from cumming in his pants, professionalism be fucked.

jaime’s hands trailed to the back of your neck and the camera cut to back to the shot of your back, closing up on his hands as his hands pulled at the strings holding your flimsy dress together the camera seemed like it was handheld making the shot feel all the more intimate, the material fell and jaime tugged the dress off of you leaving you completely bare but drew could only see your back and up, but then, the camera cut to a wide shot, and drew gasped as your entire body from the back was exposed. jaime’s hand coming down to squeeze the supple flesh of your ass and drew felt his cock harden at the sight. the camera cut to an over the shoulder shot from jaime and your bare chest came into view, this time drew couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him, your hands tugged at the strings of jaime’s pants although the camera kept on you, your hands out of the shot.

you sank down on jaime’s cock and a whine-like moan escaped you, drew felt like he was going insane, he couldn’t stop himself as he tugged his boxers down, his hard cock springing up to slap against his stomach. his hand wrapping around the thick length, squeezing, pearly beads of pre cum leaking out. drew flicked his eyes back up to the screen and you had your head thrown back as you bounced on jaime’s cock, drew knew that the pleasure on your scrunched up face was fake, that the melodious moans that were escaping your pretty lips that were hung open were fake, but the way your tits were bouncing was real and drew couldn’t stop himself from tugging his cock in time with the movements of your hips, your head tilted back down to gaze down at jaime your eyes so fucked out and drew wished that it was him you were looking at. that it was him that could run his hands all over you.

you spoke breathlessly “targaryens used to feed their enemies to their dragons, i don’t have a dragon yet, perhaps i shall just eat you myself, husband.” jaime groaned in response, connecting your lips back together and drew sped up his movements his hand stroking with fervour, the squelching sounds echoing through the room, his other hand coming down to squeeze at his balls, his eyes still glued to you on the tv. drew was close he could feel it and as your body shuddered and you collapsed into jaime’s lap, drew came with a deep groan. cumming all over his chest and stomach. drew threw his head back against his headboard, he felt just a little bit pathetic, that he didn’t have the courage to message you but he could jack off to you doing your job, but god what he would give to have you like that.

TAGLIST: @sunnybunnyy2 @percysley @wearemadeofstardust0 @idgasb @pinkpantheris @emmaaas-posts @grace-sully @chimmysoftpaws

you guys are not believe the fucking writers block i suffered while writing this for it just to turn out so shit but nevertheless I hope you enjoyed!

[foldingfittedsheets]

Most parents I think worry or wonder when their kid might finally start repeating swear words they hear. The tale of my initiation into the world of cursing was the subject of family lore however.

First, to set the scene, my nana spent a lot of time with me when I was young. She lived with us briefly and I firmly cemented my place as number one favorite grandchild by climbing up into her attic room to cuddle on the regular.

She’d take me on errands and watch me when my parents were at work. She even once lured me away when she ran into my dad watching me at a store. She didn’t think he was keeping a close enough eye and called me over to her a few aisles away.

I happily complied since I loved and recognized her, then we watched my dad for several minutes before he finally looked down, saw me missing, and panicked. “That’ll teach you to keep a better eye on her!” My nana scolded him, convinced that every babynapper was slavering for her precious redheaded grandbaby.

So one day my mom had me in the car. We were driving along and from my back seat I chirped, “Can we play pretend?”

My mom smiled, imagining I’d start narrating some silly adventure or something. “Sure.”

“Shit shit SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

My mom sat stunned in the front seat, baffled momentarily by the stream of cursing.

After careful questioning it was pretty obvious what had happened. My nana had sworn up a storm in front of me but didn’t want to come clean about it to my parents when I started repeating it. She’d instead invented a fun game and the rules were that I could only curse when we were playing our special pretend game.

My mom was furious, and my nana got a sound dressing down both for the cursing but more importantly for the lying.

My favorite time telling this story though was to a girl in high school. She listened with wide eyes then asked, “Did your mom fire her?”

“What?”

“Your nana? Did she get fired?”

“My…. Grandmother? Did my mom fire my grandmother??”

“Ohhhhh. Not the nanny then.”

[trashwithvariety]

so this has probably already been talked about in great detail since the end of the show (hannibal) but I just did a rewatch and I can't shut up about it. the incredible level of subtle details in this show is already insane but I noticed it much clearer in my rewatch during season 3 part two how quickly we see Will change.

during *The Great Red Dragon*, Will is back to mostly his pre-Hannibal self. We see him married with a family out in the country with his dogs and more specifically his clothes (I am going to be very specific about what he wears in this because it's these details that are so subtle but make his change so much more crispy). He's wearing very practical, warm weather clothes, looks like an outdoorsman.

like, reminder that this ↓

is how he shows up to meet Hannibal again for the first time in years. Glasses, coat, clearly clothes he would not think twice about wearing anywhere, kind of like how he dresses in season one. It's also in his expression and his stature (which bless Hugh Dancy for his portrayal of Will because I don't know who else could have done the subtle changes so eloquently)

now let me take you to the episode directly after (And the Woman Clothed with the Sun) he first sees Hannibal and has to come back to talk to him

i'm sorry??? Immediately with the crisp button down, tucked in, with the top buttons undone, hair slicked back, NO GLASSES and look. Look at how he stands and his expression and how comfortable he is, hands in pockets.

okay further evidence. And honestly arguably the scariest piece

it's the dead-eyed stare for me. We all know what happened to Chilton after this, and it's the fact that he knew what he was doing. God, Will was never more like Hannibal than he was at the end of season three. Clothes are not much different on purpose because he's playing the game now.

Sidebar that in almost all the scenes that he's bitchily talking to Bedelia, he's also very well dressed as if he's taking Hannibal's place in his manipulation of her.

By the time we see him in The Wrath of the Lamb, he has already decided that he wants Hannibal back. Vaguely suggesting to Jack to use Hannibal as bait for the Dragon, as if he didn't very well consider all the outcomes would likely lead to Hannibal escaping. The way they're looking conspiratorially at each other in the back of the van. How Will isn't even remotely surprised he walks out unscathed or how he doesn't question letting him drive them to wherever they're going to meet the dragon.

And once they get to the cliffside house, and they get settled and Will?

His shirt is tight, his expression is the SAME as the one Hannibal had in episode ONE season ONE, as he watches Hannibal BLEED OUT and wonders probably what they will do.

There are plenty of ways everyone that worked on this show displayed how Will was changing but I loved how they used his clothes to do it and how Hugh used his expressions to differentiate pre-Hannibal and post-Hannibal Will.

I could write a dissertation on this show it's insane and I will never shut up about my murderous gay husbands.

[lovebugism]

Kissing eddie just as you’re both about to get out of the car and now he’s got a problem cause he’s hard, and all your friends are waiting for you and you’re both a little late and Eddie we really gotta hurry up! what’s the issue? and the poor boy is bright red to his neck over how gone he is on you

ty for requesting :D ps: i'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure over this prompt –– when eddie's about to leave for a show, you make sure he knows exactly what he's missing out on (established relationship, st4 canon divergence, allusions to smut 18+ | 1k)

“How do I look?” Eddie wonders aloud as you trail down the creaking porch steps behind him. He plants his feet on the gravel driveway and spins on the heel of his sneaker to face you –– already bare-faced and clad in your pretty PJs for the night, a striking contrast to the lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin standing before you.

You pause on the second-to-last step and reach for his face. Eddie leans instinctively into your warm touch as you swipe your thumbs under his eyes, gently smudging his dark liner a bit more. 

“Like a rockstar,” you answer with a proud smile.

Eddie scrunches his nose sheepishly in response, ‘cause he has nowhere to hide with you cradling his blushing face like this. He’s still not immune to the way you look at him, even after all this time. “You’re just sayin’ that,” he mumbles, kicking a lone rock with the toe of his show.

You hum in agreement as your hands fall from his face. “Yeah. ‘Cause it’s true.”

“To you, maybe,” Eddie scoffs, trying hard to ignore the pang of anxiety in his chest. “No one else seems to think so.”

He never used to be nervous performing before Vecna tried to kill him. It was the world that was scared of Eddie Munson, not the other way around –– until it nearly ended, anyway. Now, just leaving the house is enough to induce a panic attack. A part of him is always distantly fearful that a stranger’s face will turn out to be the dark wizard’s, back to life and hiding in plain sight again.

“Hey,” you scold, only partially playful. “I think the crowd of five drunks who watch you perform every Tuesday would agree with me.”

Despite the ice-cold apprehension making his limbs feel numb, Eddie manages a breathy chuckle. “You’re right. We could bomb, and they’d still act like we were playing Madison Square Garden or something.”

You soften then, as though sensing his worry. “You’re not gonna bomb, Eds. You guys are gonna do great. Just like always.”

“Sure you can’t come?” Eddie wonders quietly, blinking up at you with a pair of chocolate button eyes that are hard to say no to.

“You know I can’t… I have an early morning tomorrow,” you coo sympathetically, fighting back a smile when the boy’s rosy bottom lip juts in a pout. “But I’ll be right here when you get back, okay? And I’ll make sure to heat up dinner when you’re on your way. So you have something to soak up the alcohol and adrenaline with.”

You tilt your cheek to your shoulder, squinting suspiciously when Eddie’s frown curls into a cheeky grin. He reaches for you with a pair of ringed hangs and squeezes at your clothed hips. “Just like a good little housewife, huh?” he croons mischievously.

You roll your eyes at him ‘cause you’re not a housewife by any means. 

You live in a trailer with his uncle, for one. And you work five days a week, for another. Besides, you’re not even his wife, which you think is usually the first step. (You have no idea Eddie’s already picked a ring out for you. Or that he plans on keeping that a secret until he plays enough shows to afford a house). 

You decide to humor him, anyway. 

“Sure,” you monotone with a slow nod.

Eddie’s grin widens.

“C’mon on, Munson! We’re gonna be late!” Jeff lisps from the passenger side window of the van. The rusted tin can is parked a ways down the drive, packed to the brim with all their band equipment like a perfect game of Tetris.

You lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his mouth.

“Wear that dress I like when I get back?” Eddie murmurs lowly.

You hum with your lips pursed to the side of your mouth, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmm… I was kinda thinkin’ about wearing nothing, actually,” you answer, shrugging innocently. “You know, for easy access and whatnot.”

Eddie warms all over. His wild head starts to swim at the visual –– one he’s seen a hundred times before that he’s not quiet sure he’ll ever get over. “Have mercy…” the boy mumbles under his breath.

“Just try not to think about it too much while you’re gone…” you lilt knowingly, smoothing both your hands up and over the lapels of his leather jacket. “All alone… Naked in our bed… Trying to get myself off while I wait for you…”

Eddie stares at you with heavy, lidded eyes. He can’t take the chocolates of them off your lips as they curl into a mischievous, tightlipped smile. “How ‘bout I just stay home?” he offers lowly.

A resounding honk blares from the van in a wordless answer. 

Gareth leans out the driver’s side window, face screwed and sandy curls wild. “C’mon, Eddie!” the boy yells like an impatient younger brother. “Put your dick in your pants already so we can go!” 

Eddie’s head swivels back to face you again, chest deflating with a grieving sigh. 

“You have to go,” you tell him, soft and sympathetic, as you press another kiss to his pout. “Have fun, honey,” you croon and step back from him –– knowing exactly what you’re doing as you trek back up the wobbly wooden porch steps.

Before you shut the front door behind you, you flash the boy a curt wave and a pretty smile. It takes a world of strength to keep from following behind you. 

In a perfect world, Eddie would already have the door bolted shut with you pressed against it by now. He’d have your oversized shirt balled up at your ribs and your shorts pulled down to your ankles and his mouth licking over your pretty cotton panties.

He shakes his head in a physical attempt to remove the sinful thoughts from his brain as he stalks back to the van. He keeps his head bowed as he goes, trying to hide his reddened cheeks behind his wild curls. Gareth watches from the window as Eddie tugs at the crotch of his jeans, trying to un-strangle his hard cock like a teenager.

The boy leans between the front seats as Eddie climbs into the driver’s side, slamming the screeching door shut behind him. “You’re pathetic,” Gareth teases through a fit of boyish laughter.

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles.

[littelovelunette]

G!p Sevika cream pieing you, or cumming on your face, tits, back, stomach, mouth. Just alot of cum play hihi

Creamy

Contains Sevika G!P, drug use during sex (?), smut, blowjob, no protection, hair pulling, praising, doggy style, cream pie, cum play, aftercare

Sorry, I got carried away... This is so long...

"Baby, I have an interesting somerhing for you," you said. You and Sevika were both at Last Drop, and you had a little idea for an innocent prank that wasn't all too innocent. You had been down to the market and found chocolates that enhance libido.

You were aware Sevika had a naturally high libido as it was. But what was the fun in just letting it be as it was? You've experimented a lot in the bedroom with her and couples weeks back when she fucked you hard and rough under the influence of Shimmer, even if you did pass out it was amazing.

Today, you had different plans. TABS chocolate. Sevika obviously had no idea was that chocolate even was because let's be real, she doesn't care about chocolates.

"Are you gonna keep staring?" Sevika asked as she looked at you, cards in her mechanical hand as she took a sip of her drink.

"Here," you smiled and gave her a broken piece of the chocolate. Sevika raised a brow at the sight of the chocolate held out by you. "Chocolate? For me?"

You nodded with a smile, Sevika sighed and shook her head. "Whats the catch?"

"There is no catch, I just wanna give it to you because I've had too much already," you lied smoothly.

"Doll, what did I say about you having too many sweets?" Sevika said with a warning tone but despite that put the glass of alcohol down to take the chocolate.

"I'm sorry, I was just having a little craving," you said with a little grin.

You watched with sparkling eyes as she ate the chocolate. Now it was time to wait and watch the magic unravel.

The game continued, but you kept an eye on her. At first, nothing seemed different—Sevika played her cards, drank her whiskey, and exuded that effortless dominance.

But then, after a few minutes, you noticed a shift. The way she adjusted her seat, her tongue running over her teeth in thought. The brief pause before she took a sip of her drink, her fingers flexing against the rim of her glass.

Then, the glance. Subtle at first. A flicker of those sharp, dark eyes toward you. Another sip, slower this time. The way her throat moved as she swallowed.

You hid your grin behind your drink.

Sevika placed her cards down, winning the round with a smirk, then turned toward you, leaning in slightly. Her voice dipped lower, silkier. “That wasn’t just chocolate, was it, bunny?”

A slow smirk tugged at her lips. She finished her drink in one smooth motion and stood, rolling her shoulders. “Cash me out,” she told the dealer before turning to you. “You coming, or are you just going to sit there grinning like an idiot?”

"Mhm, coming," you got up, putting an arm in hers, pressing your tits against her through the thin fabric of your dress.

Sevika felt that, but didn't react. She didn't give you the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. Instead, she grabbed the cash and walked with you. Her steps were sharp and long making you have to run beside her to keep up with her pace.

"Don't go so fast!" You complained breathlessly making Sevika chuckle under her breath. "I hope you won't say the same in bed." You huffed a sigh at Sevika's words.

"Strip." Sevika said as you both reached her apartment bedroom. You blushed but complied, taking the straps down of your dress followed closely by your underwear.

You wondered what Sevika would be like under the influence of TABS chocolate although you were sure she was animalistic as it was even without the chocolate. Maybe this would get rougher that you'd anticipate. But to be frank, who'd turn down rough sex if it's with Sevika?

Sevika pushed you to your hands and knees by your hair making you wince, tears already appearing in your eyes from the sudden tug of your hair. You could smell the intoxicating smell for Sevika's cock.

It made your mind go all hazy and mushy, you slowly grabbed onto the shaft at the base. It was already leaking precum and throbbing in your hand. You could tell it was probably so sensitive by now.

"Fuck." Sevika cursed as she made a makeshift ponytail using your hair, holding it using her mechanical hand. "Ready to suck daddy off?" She asked with a smirk and you nodded, staring up at her with puppy eyes.

Sevika didn't miss a beat shoving her huge length down your throat with a new sort of force that made you gag when it hit the back of your throat. Sevika didn't relent, as if you gagging only made her hornier she started pumping her cock in your mouth successfully throat fucking you. You had to grab onto her thighs to steady your balance as you inches closer to her cock.

You couldn't breathe and you didn't want to. Right now all you needed was Sevika's huge veiny dick and you had that settled deep in your throat. You gasped a little as she shot her semen right in your mouth with no warning.

Sevika reached her flesh hand down to your mouth, smearing the cum on your face. "Yeah? Like that? Looking so pretty."

"Mmmph..." You could only let out a small muffled whine with your mouth still so full of cock. Sevika pulled it out slowly letting her shaft slap against your cheek getting your face even more soaked in her semen.

"Swallow." Sevika ordered and you did, swallowing down the thick liquid, "Now open." She held your bottom lip by her thumb of her flesh hand, opening your mouth up to check whether you've swallowed all of her cum. "Good girl."

Sevika picked you up with ease and laid you down on your back flat. She looked down at your clean shaven pussy, "Looks like someone prepared good." She taunted and you blushed looking away. Sevika didn't mind if you kept your pubic hair trimmed, shaven or waxed. It didn't matter to her.

Sevika pulled your legs open and thrusted her huge length inside breaking you out of your thoughts. "Oh my gosh!" You screamed and let out a loud moan.

Sevika laughed at the sight of you so surprised at the sheer length of her hard dick and started thrusting deep making the tip kiss your cervix with each powerful thrust.

It wasn't long until you were crying and babbling for her to stop but Sevika was nowhere done with you. Her cock continued to thrust in your raw, sore pussy as her thumb rubbed and pinched your clit making you buckle your hips at whatever contact your poor swollen clitoris got. Sevika's thrusts started getting sloppy. "I'm gonna fill this tight cunt up. Knock you up." She said through her heavy breaths and pants before she shot her loud in your tight cunt making you close your eyes in bliss.

"Daddy's cum..." You babbled mindlessly and Sevika grabbed a hold of your perky nipples, pulling them with a laugh. "D-daddy n-no not so rough please..."

"You like daddy's cum, don't you?" Sevika pulled her cock out and made you get on your hands and knees on the bed so she could pound you from behind. Sevika shoved her cock inside making your breath hitch, the new position making you feel tighter and her cock bigger.

"Fucking tight pussy." Sevika cursed out under her breath before she bit her bottom lip and started thrusting hard into your pussy making you clench onto her desperately trying to keep her warm, huge length tucked deep inside.

Hours passed and you both have been fucking like rabbits. You can't get enough of Sevika's semen. Your body was drenched in it by now and so were the sheets. You didn't care whether you got to cum or not but you needed Sevika's semen all over yourself for some reason. You just needed it. Needed it so badly.

"Daddy, can't, anymore," you managed to let out broken words as Sevika let go of your body, cumming the last time on your stomach and tits, a little on your face too. "Yeah? You're all spent?" You nodded weakly at her question. "C'mon then."

Sevika helped you up with ease and took her mechanical arm off, letting it rest on the bedside table so she could join you in a hot shower. It wasn't a problem, usually, her having her mech arm on during the shower but Sevika preferred to shower without it.

She helped you inside the shower room, settling you on the bathroom counter as she took out the shampoo and shower jel out of the cabinet. She took the tanktop she had on through the whole time with one hand, with practised ease.

You got off the counter, a little imprint of your ass left on the counter... Due to the semen.

Sevika saw it, smirking a little, she grabbed your ass tightly with her flesh hand and kissed you against the shower wall. You kissed her back, slowly turning the shower tap on using one hand, letting the water cascade down on the both of you while you both continued kissing.

"I guess we can tick off kissing under the rain." Sevika joked making you laugh a little. It was rare when she joked about something which actually seemed funny to you. Other than stupid, silly dad jokes. But you liked it in here now.

In Sevika's... Well, arm, right now.

[rafesangelita]

hi victoria!!! i love ur pogue!sweetheart!reader and i was wondering if u could do a lil hurt/comfort thing where one of rafes friends tells reader she talks too much/is too loud and she gets super upset? i’m a super big crybaby and i talk a LOT and i’d love to see how you write how rafey defends n comforts her :,)

warnings: protective!rafe, topper and kelce are pretty mean in this one >:(, rafe defends you <3, sight angst, fluff, rafe being the king of reassurance

a/n: i have personal beef with anyone who tells ppl to quiet down when they’re excited for something, or just naturally outgoing. also idk how to play poker so excuse the way i explained it if it’s incorrect lol

before you, friday nights were always reserved for rafe and his friends, the group of them either going out for a beer or staying in and betting money on card games. but now? rafe spent his friday nights buried inside of you, both of you laughing and kissing each other in the dark until one of you fell asleep first. and rafe wouldn’t have it any other way. his friends however, weren’t very fond of your boyfriend choosing you over them.

which would explain their impromptu visit while you two were mid-makeout session. “so this is why she has you locked away, huh?” you jumped, rafe covering you with a throw blanket as he slipped his shirt on. “what the fuck, guys?!” rafe glared at kelce and topper, your skin hot with embarrassment. “you left the door unlocked, playboy.” topper pushed a twelve pack of beers into rafe’s chest, the pair of friends walking to the kitchen.

“are you okay, baby?” rafe leaned down, wanting nothing more than to sucker punch his idiot friends for making you feel mortified. “i’m in my bra and panties!” you whispered, scrambling up from the couch and running up the stairs to rafe’s bedroom. rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing under his breath before meeting topper and kelce in the kitchen. “y’all should’ve called me or something.” his tone was harsh, kelce holding his hands up defensively.

“she has you so pussy whipped bro, would you have even answered?” no, the answer was no. “it doesn’t matter, you two shouldn’t have walked in like that.” topper scoffed, popping open a can of beer. “chill, man, we just came to see our boy,” kelce slapped rafe’s shoulder, “and beat your ass at poker.” he added. rafe laughed, muttering a ‘not a chance.’ before going upstairs to check on you. “y/n?” you were fixing your disheveled hair, your lips still swollen from your previous activities.

“hey..” you turned, rafe pulling you in for a hug. “why don’t you come downstairs? be my lucky charm for the game we’re gonna play.” you shook your head, recalling topper’s words from earlier; ‘so this is why she has you locked away, huh?’ locked away? really? “i better not, you should go have your ‘bro’ time, i know it’s been awhile..” you smiled, hoping he didn’t catch the way your gaze faltered. he did. “i want you with me.” he pecked the tip of your nose, your eyes shutting momentarily.

“what if they don’t, though?” rafe was already dressing you, waving off your words. “well then they can leave.” he shrugged. you sighed, letting him walk you downstairs where topper and kelce had the game set up on the table. “the girl scout is joining us?” you didn’t miss the way topper exchanged looks with the boy on his right. “yes, she is. is there a problem?” kelce mumbled a ‘no.’, followed by an awkward clearing of his throat.

rafe pulled you onto his lap, the guys starting the game as you rested your head against his chest. you didn’t know a thing about poker, your lips quirking every time your boyfriend shouted excitedly. “there’s no way!” topper slammed his losing cards on the table, “i have nothing!” kelce was getting frustrated, the chances of him winning decreasing with each turn. “if i flip this card and it’s right, i take all of this.” the guys had already put in well over four hundred dollars, the tension in the room incredibly thick.

“with this money we’ll get you that mixer you been wanting, how does that sound?” you nodded, both you and rafe leaning forward in anticipation. as soon as rafe turned his last card over, you screamed, jumping up as topper and kelce heads fell down in defeat. it was the first time you had even opened your mouth tonight, and kelce wasted no time in shutting you down. “calm down, do you really have to be so loud?” your smile dropped, along with rafe’s. “forreal.” topper glared at you before pushing the money in your direction.

“what’s up y’all’s asses? she’s just cheering,” rafe pulled you to his side, “just a reminder that you two came here on your own accord and interrupted us, not the other way around.” in that moment you felt like a little girl again, always having someone to tell you to quiet down and suppress your excitement. you couldn’t help the tears from welling in your eyes, their judgmental looks making you want to disappear. prior to you and rafe being together, topper and kelce had always been nice to you, but all of that seemed to go out the door when your boyfriend stopped participating in their little get togethers.

“we hardly see you anymore, bro, we just don’t understand why she can’t lay off sometimes.” topper looked over at you, his jaw ticking as rafe laughed bitterly. you couldn’t believe your ears. if only they knew how much you encouraged rafe to hang out with them. “has it ever occurred to you that maybe i rather spend my time with my girlfriend than hanging out with you two? get the fuck out of my house.” topper and kelce looked like they were at a loss for words, both of them apologizing to you under their breath.

“and not that it matters anymore, ‘cause you two are so convinced that she has me trapped in her evil lair somewhere, but she encouraged me to come down here by myself before i dragged her along with me. you don’t even know what you’re talking about.” rafe basically pushed them out before shouting, “and i’m keeping the beers assholes!”

rafe shut the front door, making sure to lock it this time before he scooped you up in his arms. “don’t cry, sweetheart, they’re both idiots.” you sniffled, laughing softly. rafe smiled at the fact that he knew how to make you feel better. “talk my ear off while i order that mixer, i love hearing your voice.”

[sheyfu]

yappologist degree holder ༊*·˚

𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗥 𝗩𝗢𝗜𝗖𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 about you.

feat. dan heng, aventurine, luocha, jing yuan, gepard, jiaoqiu, argenti and moze (gn!reader)

cw. ooc (very); jiaoqiu talks a lot; [slight] sexual innuendos

note. TRYING SOMETHING NEW GRAHHHHHH i dont think i captured their personalities correctly but 🙏🙏 WE BALL LAMSDOASDI i hope you guys enjoy it >:DD reader is identified as [name] and uses they/them prns (GANG I TRIED MY BEST LAMSDOAMSD) if you see me use fem prns in this piece please tell me <3 lmk if you'd like a pt. 2 w other chars (WOMEN ASHDUASHDUH)

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ DAN HENG

about [name] [name]? what about them?

chat: significant other  [name] is my significant other. aside from the express, they’re one of the only ones keeping me grounded whenever i become… “emo”. their words, not mine.

chat: sleep sleep is something i found hard to come by; everytime i closed my eyes, visions of my past appeared. but now that [name] is by my side, it has become easier to fall to a peaceful rest.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ AVENTURINE

about [name] through a game of life or death is how [name] and i met. hm? unconventional you say? well, it’s one of the reasons why i fell for them.

chat: bet betting has become an integral part of [name] and i’s life. while it’s not a common way of expressing your love for someone, it’s how we do things. whether those bets entail having to have the other run errands or even give your own life up, it sends spikes of adrenaline up our bones resulting in a very fun game of cat and mouse.

chat: loss there are seldom games i lose — and most of the time, i still somehow come out as, partially, a winner. but for some reason, whenever i offer a game of chance against [name], i seem to lose every game we have. i can’t lie, i get somewhat annoyed at how i can’t seem to win a game against them. but then again, life would be dull if it were just an unending series of wins.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ LUOCHA

about [name] [name] is a travelling merchant i’ve come to know over the past years of my journeys as one myself. if i didn't have anyone to rely on before, i've got my dearest to thank now. 

chat: bargain as a merchant, it is important for me to know how to bargain, especially when deals presented to me are severely unfair for me. i must admit, i wasn’t very good at striking fair deals when i was starting off my path as a travelling merchant. but over the years, [name] has taught me a lot about this art. by observing their ways of negotiating, i am now able to attain very fair and valuable trades. 

chat: aromatherapy with [name]’s upbringing as an herb specialist, i get to experience their family’s aromatherapy service. with every scent i am presented with, i am able to clear my mind and slip in the embrace of solitude and calm. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ JING YUAN

about [name] [name] is someone who can ease my troubled mind with an embrace; the calm in my storm, the light of my life, and the heart of my soul.

chat: birds when little birds flock to my head, my spouse wonders if im this character called… snow white… *sigh* i am not sure as to who that is due to my upbringing as a military leader — i had no time for these trivial tales. but whenever they tell tales about this... gizney? no.. bizney? not quite right either.. ah yes, disney princess, the intent of me being dressed with robes of royalty are reflected in their eyes.

chat: mimi what was once a kitten, has now grown into a ferocious little lion. i remember when i first got her, [name] was all over the poor thing — smothering it with their love and words of praise — mimi didn’t complain though, she let herself get spoiled. and even up until now, she’s still that same, little spoiled lion she is. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ GEPARD

about [name] [name] is my significant other – how i was able to catch their eye? i don’t know. sometimes, i doubt my ability to love, especially with my role as the captain of the silvermane guards. but whenever those thoughts appear in my mind, [name] is there to quell my uneasy mind.

chat: family the way [name] treats lynx makes me feel… funny. i can’t really describe it but my heart beats whenever they entertain my little sister. oh, and don’t even get me started with how serval treats them. *sigh* what should i do to ease this beating heart of mine?

chat: de-stress ways on how to de-stress? well, after a long day i am usually greeted with the embrace of my beloved once i step into our abode… then after that i’m littered with- o-oh.. apologies. i was supposed to give advice. let’s start over again, shall we?

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ JIAOQIU

about [name] [name]? you want to now about them? well you see, as general feixiao’s doctor, it is important for me to have assistants whenever patients visit the clinic in a time when i am tending to duties involving her – this is where my dear [name] comes in. they’ve been with me from the start; us being classmates in the medicinal school we attended and all that. they’re easily one of the very dearest people in my life. most people only know them as my assistant due to their preference of upholding a “low-profile”; of course, i am very much alright with it. but when time comes and they’re ready to reveal our bond to the world, i’ll be the happiest man in the whole entire cosmos.

chat: sweets  oh? you liked the sweets i gave you? well, you have my dear [name] to thank. they’re quite the connoisseur when it comes to making them. speaking of sweets, i forgot to mention we have a pastry shop in aurum alley. if you’re able to drop by, i’ll consider giving you a bundle of sweets, and probably other pastries, free of charge.

chat: coriander whatever you do, please do not hand me a bunch of coriander. i will absolutely lose my mind having to deal with a coriander-obsessed lover. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ARGENTI

about [name] my love for [name] transcends even the distant stars of the cosmos. my heart, my soul, and my own being belong to them. 

chat: roses roses are my beloved’s favourite flowers, as they are mine. every morning, i wake from my peaceful slumber to see my dear tending to the beds of flowers with a gentle smile on their face that makes me fall in love all over again. *sigh* i miss them so much, trailblazer.. please bring me back to my ship. i would like to sink into my lover’s embrace at this moment. 

chat: baking my beloved takes time to make my preference for thick baguettes each and every morning. while it warms me to receive such a valuable gift, i am not sure if i am deserving of their unconditional love for i am just a mere knight of beauty, idiotically searching for the goddess i’ve devoted myself to.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ MOZE

about [name] i am [name]’s lover. i am bound to them by fate and affection which is why you shouldn’t come close to them — unless you’d like to request an audience with the weapon in my hand.

chat: shadow [name] gets frightened whenever i appear randomly — jiaoqiu tells me it’s a normal reaction as he too, gets startled whenever i show my face to him. although.. im not quite sure how my sudden appearance has them stunned...

chat: cleaning [name] and i share the same hobby of cleaning. whenever i am relieved of my duties assigned by the general, i watch them- no. they tell me of the rather… unconventional ways of cleaning our abode.

tagging: @ayrastv, @whatisnerotypical, @lia-loves

🐈‍⬛: thank you for reading! reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!

if you'd like to be part of my taglist, please access the gform below! thank you and hope to see you <3

© sheyfu on tumblr

[shuafiles]

poison [l.dh]

MDNI, 18+

SUMMARY | you and haechan have a love for drama, so when things start feeling too predictable, you both devise a plan to keep the spark alive. but as real emotions creep in, you start wondering if you’ve taken it too far.

PAIRING | boyfriend!haechan x afab!reader

CONTENT | smut with no plot, mean girl reader, billionaire haechan, some degrading insults, haechan is a loser for reader, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, fluff! honestly just reader getting lowk insecure and haechan getting mad that she thinks he wud replace her when he's so sickeningly in love with her

WORDS | 3.9k

A/N | inspired by blaire and chuck from gossip girl !!! not totally but kinda.

spotted. lee haechan’s eyes scanning the crowd for his next target. the loud music almost deafening. sweaty bodies on the dance floor. the smell of liquor filling the air. he leaned against the bar, swirling the ice around his drink, when he locked eyes with the woman standing across from him, clad in a tight red dress that caught his attention. she seemed to have been looking at him for a while because once he finally caught her eye, her lips formed a smile, slyly sending him a wave. this was perfect.

haechan raised his glass with a slight nod, making her presence known to him. with hips swaying in confidence, she strolled over to him. she leaned against the bar, yelling out her drink order to the bartender—as if she didn’t come here for one reason only. he nearly missed how she fixed her hair as she looked at him from the corner of her eye. this was all part of her game. good thing haechan loved to play.

haechan smirked, turning his body to face her. “put her drink on my tab.” haechan spoke, loud enough for the bartender to hear, nodding at his request as he continued making her drink.

“you didn’t have to.” the woman said, tucking her hair behind her ear. she gave haechan her name, but he was too disinterested to ask her to repeat it, nodding to her words.

“haechan.” he tilted his head towards her, his eyes dancing over her frame long enough to reel her in.

“i know you.” she giggled, sliding close to him, arms nearly brushing one another. “think everyone in this room does.”

of course, they would. who wouldn't? haechan was the youngest billionaire in the city, the type of man people dreamed of being or fucking. he knew she wasn’t the first person to be drawn by his reputation, and she definitely wouldn’t be the last.

“so, you’re just here… alone?” she asked, placing a hand on haechan’s arm. a bold move. biting her lips as an invitation.

haechan raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a knowing smirk. it was almost too easy. he inched closer to her, the gap between them being dangerously close, enough to keep her hooked. “depends,” his voice low, gaze dropping to her lips. “who’s asking?”

she leaned closer, eyes flickering to his lips, sending him an invitation to take things further. “what if we went somewhere more private?” her voice low and sultry, breath fanning against his skin, her body language insinuating that she wanted more than just small conversations.

“what if i have a girlfriend?” haechan teased.

she let out a laugh as if to brush off his words. “lee haechan doesn’t do girlfriends.” she replied, a playful look on her face. her fingers sliding up his arm. tilting her head until she was close enough to his lips.

just when her lips were mere inches away from his, a loud and commanding voice sliced through the air.

“what the fuck!” there you stood, arms crossed with fire in your eyes as you stared at the scene in front of you. the woman pulled back from the sudden voice. haechan leaned back against the bar with amusement in his eyes. the game was about to get even better.

the women froze, eyes blinking. her expression shifting from flirtation to confusion. “is… something wrong?” she asked, throat dry as you marched towards them.

“yes, actually.” you spat, voice sharp but controlled, the perfect volume to make her squirm. “care to explain why your nasty hands are all over my boyfriend?”

blood drained from her face, her body stepped away from haechan. face flooding with embarrassment as she looked between you and haechan. “wait–i…i didn’t know!” she stammered, voice faltering as she tried to gather herself.

haechan, playing the part perfectly, put his hands up. “baby, i tried to tell her i have a girlfriend. i was just being polite, and she came over to me.” he said, a pleading look on his face that barely concealed his grin. you could see him trying to suppress his laughter, but you kept your angry expression, not wanting to break character.

“i’m so sorry! oh my god, i didn’t– i wouldn't have–” she stuttered, 

“next time, maybe check if he’s single before you start whoring yourself at him.” you shot her a pity look; lips twitching into a sarcastic smile. you watched as her face turned crimson, bowing her head in apology. you tsked at her. “well? get your cheap perfume-smelling ass out of here!” waving your hand in exasperation.

she muttered an embarrassed apology before backing away and hastily disappearing into the crowd. the moment she was out of sight, haechan wrapped his arms around your waist, laughter escaping his lips.

“hi.” you greeted him by placing your hands on his chest, a flirty smile plastered on your face.

“hi, baby.” haechan kissed your temple. “you are way too good at this.” he murmured, eyes filled with amusement as he pulled you close.

“oh, please.” you slid your hands up to his shoulders, leaning into him. “you were practically begging for me to come and save you.”

haechan chuckled, his fingers tracing small circles on your back–a small habit of his. “maybe. but admit it, you enjoyed every second of it.”

you rolled your eyes, but the smile on your lips gave your expression away. “fine. but next time, maybe don’t let them get too close.” you tilted your head. sending him a warning glare.

haechan leaned forward, lips brushing against one another.. “don’t worry, princess. you know i only want you.” his voice dropped to a low, teasing whisper. his words sending sparks to your stomach. you love it when he’s like this, so loyal and so needy for you.

this game was your very own taste of poison—a mix of jealousy, excitement, and danger. it was intoxicating, the way it made your heart race, the thrill of testing each other’s limits. but along with the thrill, there was lingering pain every time you saw haechan in the arms of another woman. but you decided to shake it off, after all, it was you who he was coming home to.

you closed the gap between your lips, savoring his taste. he reciprocated your eagerness, his grip on your waist tightening as his leg went in between your thighs. your dress nearly hiking up from the contact.

“what do you say, let’s get out of here?” haechan mumbled against your lips, his hand reaching for the hem of your dress to pull it down and avoid exposing you to the crowd. you were his, after all. no one else’s.

-

“hi, princess.” haechan greeted you with a quick, soft peck on the lips as you entered his penthouse. his cologne filled the air, blending with the subtle scent of leather and warm spices that filled the room. it had been a few days since you saw him, and something about the way he looked now—so comfy and domesticated—made your heart flutter, even after all this time.

“so,” haechan started as you both settled down on the couch. “there’s this new lounge downtown that opened up, i hear it's pretty popular. want to check it out? have some fun?” his lips curled into a smirk, brows wiggling slightly as his arms rested on the couch behind your back.

you tried to fight off the way your eyes nearly rolled behind your head. right. the game. it’s not like you hated it, in fact, you were the one who suggested it at first. before you met haechan he had this playboy image attached to him, a reputation for never settling down, always chasing after a girl. you heard the gossip, the way people talked about him like he was some forbidden fruit that you taste once and never again. the games, in some sick twisted way, were a way to keep him off his feet while reminding him that he belonged to you.

deep down, you couldn’t help but feel that he’ll never be satisfied with just you.

“baby?” haechan pulled you out of your trance, watching you with worried eyes. “are you okay? do you not want to?” his hand reached for the ones in your lap, caressing the skin lightly.

you tried to force a smile, shaking your head. “it’s not that.” chewing on your bottom lips as you tried to think of the words. “sometimes i just wonder… if these games are all we have.” you admitted, head low as you avoided his gaze.

haechan’s eyebrows furrowed, gaze sharpening as he watched you.  “what do you mean?” his voice softened.

you took a deep breath, looking down at your intertwined hands. “i only suggested this because… because i was scared?”

“what are you scared of, princess?” with his free hand, he grasped your chin with his thumb and index finger, tilting your head to face him. his eyes flickering all over your face. cheeks burning from his intense gaze.

you stayed silent for a second, pondering of what to say. “i was scared you’d get bored of me. you had this reputation, haechan.” you started, his expression turning sour from your confession. “i-i didn’t know if i was enough to keep you interested, and i thought if we kept things exciting, you wouldn't go back to that life.”

something shifted in haechan as soon as you finished talking. his soft, warm look had vanished and got replaced by something sharp, something angry. he dropped his hand from your face, his jaw tightening as he stood up, turning away from you. you heart dropped at this state, worried you offended him.

“are you serious?” haechan ran his hands through his hair. “you think i’m only interested in you because of… because of these games?” he turned to face you.

you swallowed, a wave of regret washing over you. “i didn’t mean–“ you stood up, facing him. his frame towering over you.

“do you think that low of me?” haechan’s jaw clenched, he couldn’t believe the words that came out of your mouth “do you think i’d get bored and… leave you for someone else?”

“haechan, that’s not what i mean.” you reached for his hand, but his body was stiff, still, he let you hold his hand. “it’s just– i don’t know… you never really settled down before. i thought you needed something to keep things interesting.”

“after everything we’ve been through, you still think i’d leave you the second things get a little… normal?” his voice raw, the hurt evident in his tone. you have never seen him this upset, so vulnerable. you felt like shit.

haechan has never once shown you anything to make you doubt his love. it was rooted in your insecurity that you think he’d get up and leave.

“i just,” you paused, carefully studying his expression. his forehead creased from the way his eyebrows were furrowed. your thumb drew circles on the back of his hand. “didn’t want to lose you.”

“i know you’re worried because of my… past.” his voice grew softer, his other hand reaching for yours. “you know that’s not who i am anymore, y/n. you changed that. do you even realize that?” his gaze burned into you, his frustration turning into assurance. “if you think i need some damn game to stay interested, then i guess i have to remind you.”

“remind me what?” you questioned, his fingers tugging you close to him.

“of how much i love you.” haechan leaned down, his body’s warmth engulfing you. “of how you’re the only girl for me.” his lips crashed into yours. you gasped at the sudden movement before shutting your eyes and feeling him against you.

his hands grasped your hips, pulling your body close to him. his leg in between your thighs, and you were thankful you decided to wear a skirt today. his grip on your hips tightened as you moaned against his lips once he slipped his tongue past your mouth, making sure to cover every corner. you couldn’t help but grind your hips against his thigh, needing some sort of friction. he noticed you were getting needy, so he pulled away, smirking at your flustered state before grabbing you by the hand and guiding you to his bedroom.

haechan wasted no time pushing your body down on the soft mattress, yelping when he suddenly stripped your skirt and underwear off of your body in one swift motion. your bottom half completely bare as he shamelessly stared at your dripping pussy.

“hyuck!” you whined. you were half-naked, yet he was still fully clothed. he let out a chuckle before grabbing you by the thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. his fingers grabbed the hem of your top before sliding it off you. leaving you bare and ready for him.

haechan pressed a quick kiss to your lips before he sunk to his knees, his face right in front of your glistening core. he leaned forward, taking a whiff of your scent, letting out a groan once the smell hit his nostrils. “can’t believe you think i’d exchange this for anything.” he wrapped his arms around and over your thighs, holding you steady as you squirmed underneath his touch. “guess i have to show you how much i need you, princess.” he murmured before attaching his lips to your clit.

haechan sucked on the bundle of nerves, lapping his tongue around your folds. your hand gripping his hair, pulling him close to you. he had you planned out like a map, knew all the tips and tricks to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head. he darted his tongue out to your entrance, making you buck your hips upward.

“o-oh god.” you cried out, back arching against the mattress. you needed him. craved for him.

haechan hummed against your pussy, his cock growing harder with every moan you released. he loved it when you were weak from his touch—in this case, tongue. he pulled away from your cunt, a string of saliva forming. he retracted one arm from your thigh, bringing his fingers up to your clit. your legs twitching once you felt his long fingers gliding along your folds, feeling your slick mixed with his saliva. without warning, he sunk two digits into your wet hole. lewd sounds escaping your lips as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

“how could i–” haechan curled his fingers, making your legs close from pleasure, but his grip prevented you from doing so. “ever get bored–” he inserted another finger, relentlessly fucking your hole, stretching you out in the process. “of my sweet sweet slut–” he increased his pace, making you cry out of pleasure. “when you take my fingers this good?”

you trembled against him, stomach contracting from the immense pleasure he was giving you. he knew you were close once he felt you clench around his fingers. he took this as a sign to return his lips to your clit, sucking harshly on the bud. matching the movement of his tongue with his fingers. your grip on his hair tightened, your hips pushing down to meet his touch. his fingers effortlessly sliding in and out of your core, curling it with every thrust.

“h-hyuck, so close, please.” you moaned, your head lifting to face him. his eyes meeting yours, smirking once he saw your face twisting into pleasure. his ego growing once he saw how hungry you were for him.

“you taste so good, baby.” haechan grunted, pressing his tongue flat on your clit. desperate to bring you to your climax, he increased his pace. the sound of your pussy squelching reached your ears. “come on, baby. cum on my fingers.” with his encouragement, you came hard on his fingers. a string of curse words escaping your lips, hand gripping the sheets beneath you as you threw your head back against the bed.

haechan’s movements halted, pulling his tongue away from your clit. reclaiming his fingers that were buried in you, each digit covered in your cum. he wasted no time cleaning his fingers with his tongue, tasting your sweetness till it was no more.

he pulled his body away from you, making you frown as you tried to catch your breath. he stripped himself out of his pants and shirt, discarding them somewhere in the room. you kept your gaze on him, his tip red and angry, slapped against his stomach. you propped yourself up by your elbows, climbing higher on the bed to give him some space. he flashed you a sweet smile, climbing in between your legs. his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss, getting a taste of your cum from his tongue.

“on your stomach.” he mumbled against your lips. you pulled away, your face burning with anticipation. you twisted your body, laying flat on your stomach. he grabbed one of his pillows, prompting the soft material beneath you. your ass on full display for him, making him groan. he wrapped his fingers around his cock, pumping his length while his free hand took a handful of your ass, squeezing the skin, pushing your hips against his hand. “my good girl.”

haechan leaned down, pressing soft wet kisses on your back, legs straddling the back of your thighs. “stick your ass up a bit for me, baby.” following his instructions, you hiked your ass up for him. “god, you’re too perfect.” he gripped his cock with one hand, lining himself up to your entrance before sinking inside you. he hissed as your pussy perfectly swallowed him like you were made for him. “jesus–how are you still so tight for me?” he shifted his hands to the swell of your ass, gripping on it.

“fuck, hyuck.” you moaned as you adjusted to his size. you seemed to always forget how big and thick his cock was. “you’re so big, baby.” your walls were burning, but soon enough, the discomfort slowly turned into pleasure as you felt every inch of his cock.

haechan almost growled, desperate to move. you turned your head to the side, catching his eye. you gave him a slight nod, signaling him to move, which he does gladly. he started to move his hips against you. “god, baby, you take my cock so fucking well.” his hands flat on your ass as he started to increase the pace of his thrusts. you lifted your hips to meet his thrusts, making him grunt. his hands moving to grip your shoulders, steadying himself as he buried his cock deep into you. you couldn't help the moans that slips past your lips as the tip of his cock repeatedly kissed your cervix. “your pussy was made for me.”

haechan’s hand moved to collect your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tugging on it with every thrust of his hips. your breath came out in short gasps, tears welling your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure.

“f-faster, hyuckie.” you managed to gasp out. stars clouding your vision as he increased his speed. you arched your back, pushing your hips down on his cock. his hand moving down to your throat, pulling your body flush against him.

“i’m all yours, baby.” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “never doubt my love for you again.” you grew weak at his words, legs shaking as he continued slamming his hips against yours. “lay on your back.” he pulled out of you, nearly feeling lonely from the empty feeling. following his instructions, you laid on your back—secretly loving the way he bosses you around.

he positioned himself between your legs, leaning down to attach his lips to yours. you moaned into the kiss, arms flying around his neck to pull you close to him. he aligns his cock back to your entrance, easily slipping it in. your face scrunching in pleasure as his thrusts gradually increased pace. his lips detaching from yours before trailing kisses down to your chest.

haechan’s mouth met your breast, entrapping the bud around his lips before sucking it. his hand giving your other breast all the attention by circling the sensitive nub with his fingers. your back arching from the sensation, pushing your breast further to his face. his cock pounded deeper into you as he felt you clench around him, your orgasm forming at the pit of your stomach. he released your nipple, making a popping sound in the process. “is this what you wanted?” he smirked, watching you writhe beneath him. “to remind you that you’re the only girl that gets to feel my cock?” his hand sliding down to your clit, pinching it, making you gasp. “to fuck you dumb til you can’t speak?” your mind was getting hazy, you merely nodded at his words, lips parting as he fills you up perfectly. “look at me, baby.” he commanded, your gaze meeting his. his eyes dark, filled with hunger as he stared you down. “i love you.”

the familiar knot formed in your abdomen as his fingers continued to circle your clit while simultaneously slamming his hips into yours. his thrusts in perfect rhythm as you neared your climax. he continued whispering the nastiest things in your ear, making sure to get it into your head that he belonged to you, and you only.

“i-i’m gonna cum, please, hyuckie.” you managed to whine out, tears forming your eyes.

the consistency of his thrusts getting sloppy as his orgasm starts to catch up. “does my pretty little slut want me to be filled with my cum, hm?”

“yes, please.” your nails digging into his shoulders. “want your cum in me.”

haechan leaned down to kiss you once more. your release washing over you with a few more thrusts. your body trembling as you came all over his cock. your walls contracting triggering his own orgasm, his cum releasing inside you. his body collapsing on top of you as he pulled his cock from you. his cum trickling down your pussy.

your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, sweat sticking to your bodies. haechan detached himself from you, landing on the spot next to you. he turned to face you, eyes searching yours. “this isn’t just some passing thrill for me, y/n.” he reminded you, hand reaching out to caress your cheek as you faced him with soft eyes. “you’re the person i want to build something real with. i belong to you, you belong to me.”

you could see how much he meant his words, how deeply he felt for you.

“i love you, haechan.” you whispered, leaning into his touch. he pulled your body close to him, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head.

“i love you, too. no more games, okay? just you and me.”

just the two of you, raw and real, was more than enough.

[luveline]

I know you’re asking for Spencer fics… While I adore single dad!Spencer… How about some single mom!reader and Spencer? 💕

You and your daughter work your way into Spencer’s life one chess game at a time. fem, 1.3k

It all starts with, “Hello.” 

Spencer looks up, and he finds any word he could’ve said dead on his tongue. You smile at him oddly gentle, and he assumes he’s got something on his face your afraid to point out.

“Hi,” you say, unperturbed by his lack of response. You keep your head ducked but seem friendly enough as you lick your lips. “I don’t know if you’re busy, but I was wondering if you’d play chess with my daughter. You don’t have to say yes, but she’s really polite and she won’t cheat, and she really wants to say hi.” 

Spencer looks behind you, where your daughter stands a ways away pretending not to watch. She could only be three of your years old —if she can play chess, she’s a prodigy. She has on stripy tights and a dress, a vinyl coat open over the top, her hands wringing together. 

“Okay,” Spencer says. 

Your smile is even nicer, then. Relief and thankfulness aimed fully at him. “Thank you.” 

You meander back to your daughter and bend down to whisper instructions too quiet for Spencer to hear. Shy, your daughter shimmies forward, then walks proper steps when you encourage her with your hand behind her shoulder. “It’s okay,” you whisper, “let’s say hi.” 

The chess boards are built into the tables at the park. Spencer sits on one stone stool, and your daughter makes herself comfortable on the opposite one. You kneel beside her without worry, knees on the dirty floor. 

“Hi,” your daughter says. She has a high voice, reedy, like she needs a drink. 

You rub her arm. 

“Hello,” Spencer says. “Have you played before?” 

“Me and mom play.” 

“So you know the rules?” 

“Some,” she says. 

Spencer’s only human. He does think about the horror of being trapped opposite of a toddler for the next half an hour bumbling through the steps, but it’s not as though he has other things to do, and, really, he loves people. He’s scared of talking, that’s all. 

“We play a lot on my phone, where it tells her what moves she can and can’t do,” you say. “But it’s okay. I have practice, I can be the phone.” 

Your daughter laughs like this is the funniest thing on the planet. “You don’t look like a phone,” she says. 

“That’s nice of you, but that’s ‘cos you’ve never seen my wires.” 

She laughs again. 

“I know all the rules, too, don’t worry,” Spencer says. “Are those your pieces? Or we can play with mine?” 

“Sofie has her pieces, it’s okay, we don’t wanna lose yours.” 

You let your backpack slip down your back and unveil a chess board box with sellotaped corners. The sleeve inside is unhurt, and you put it in the middle of the table. Spencer takes initiative and grabs the purple ones. You and Sofie arrange the pink ones in a mirror. 

Sofie is surprisingly good at chess, considering her age. Sometimes Spencer ends up playing against you, your advice murmured in her ear, and every time you smile at him he feels a little nauseous.  

He lets her win, of course. The first few times, at least. Over weeks, you and Sofia occasionally see him in the park playing chess, some days in the middle of a game with someone else, other times alone. Sofie comes up to him increasingly confident to ask for the next game, and Spencer realises he’s somehow made two friends. 

“Spencer!” Sofie shouts, tumbling over the grass bank to stop on the end of the retaining wall bordering the chess tables. You’re just behind her, looking tired. 

“Sofie, hi!” 

Sofie jumps down off of the wall before either of you can stop her. “Spencer, where have you been?” She rockets toward him. He stands, worried she’ll fall flat on her face, but she continues to race toward him until she’s throwing her arms around his legs. “I missed you.” 

“Well, I missed you too,” he says, surprised. He gives her back a tentative pat. “I’ve been learning new techniques.” 

“But where did you go?” she asks. 

“I went to Alaska. It was super cold.”

“Hi, Spencer,” you greet, flushed as you plop down on the stone seat opposite him. 

Believe it or not (easily believable), Spencer didn’t ask you your name the first time you met. Or the second. On the third occasion you met, you actually apologised with too much sincerity and said, “I’m so sorry, I never asked what your name was. I can’t believe it. I’m Y/N.” 

So now you’re introduced, and Spencer has a raging crush on you. 

Spencer grins as Sofie sits on his seat, shuffling over so they can sit together. “What, you’re on my team today?” he asks her excitedly. 

“Yes!” She pats the chess board. “Mom, my pieces.” 

“It’s okay, we can use mine.” Spencer’s are already out on the table. He’d been hoping to see you both. 

“I won’t lose them,” Sofie promises. 

“I might. Where have you been, Spencer? Sof made us come here four times last week, we had to play chess with Melinda.” 

“I was working,” he says. “We’re always going somewhere far away, I didn’t realise we’d be there for so long.” 

“‘Cos he’s a special agent,” you whisper to Sofie. 

She puts a finger over her lips, “Mom, don’t so loud!” 

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” You nudge a King back onto his square. “Did I blow your cover?” you ask, your voice a rolling murmur.

Spencer holds Sofie’s back reactively as she wiggles on the seat. He has an answer. He should play along —he’s been reading up on how to flirt like he’s not a lonely weirdo and that’s with confidence and running jokes, but the way you’re looking at him stops him in his tracks. 

No one ever mentions the panic of a shared smile. 

“What happens if people find out?” Sofie asks worriedly. 

“Nothing happens, Sofie, I’m the boring kind of special agent where nothing I do is a secret.” He winces at her crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can have a secret mission together? Me, you, and mom?” 

“Really?” you ask, surprised. 

Spencer nods enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, of course.” 

“Like… dinner?” 

Spencer bites the tip of his tongue, to an immediate sting. It’s not the first time in his life a conversation he’s in has occurred without him: you’re shared smile was you flirting first. His reciprocation, while not intended, has served as flirtation. 

He didn’t mean to do it, but he doesn’t care, he won’t mess it up, “If you want to?” He clears his throat, his voice returning to a more acceptable tenor. “We could go for dinner… tonight.” 

“Tonight?” 

“Not tonight. Not… unless you want to?” 

“We didn’t have dinner yet,” Sofie says helpfully. 

Your gaze falls to the chess board. “I don’t think I’m dressed for dinner. I had such a long shift.” You’re shrugging, minimising yourself. 

Spencer moves his and Sofie’s first pawn. “You always look beautiful.” 

He cannot look at you after he says it, but he doesn’t need to. 

“Mom, you're doing that smile like when Mr. Mailman brings our letters.” 

“Thank, Sofie,” you say. 

Spencer sneaks a glance at your smile. It’s decidedly shy, and if he were to touch your cheek, he guesses he’d find your skin warming. “What does he do when he brings the letters?” Spencer asks. 

You pin him with wide eyes. 

“He says she’s pretty with a big ‘p’,” Sofie whispers. 

“She is pretty,” Spencer whispers back. 

You move a chess piece with a breathless laugh. “Okay, then let’s get dinner after I wipe the floor with you both.” 

Spencer decides now is the appropriate time to reveal that he is very good at chess. He and Sofie win in ten moves. 

[pelova4president]

My treat I

sugarmommies!Ingrid x Frido x sugarbaby!Reader

My treat II

summary~ you get caught staring for the second time and two of the most beautiful women take an interest in you. this is just the beginning, so there’s not much tension yet. not proof read.

As an intern you were supposed to feel a bit out of place, like you aren’t really supposed to be there. Like you’re invisible.

Invisible, it’s the perfect word to describe how you felt. You found yourself in a room full of journalists and professional athletes. You weren’t a professional athlete nor a real journalist, at least not yet.

The room was bright. The lights were fixated on the footballers walking through the door. There were voices coming from all directions of the room. Question were asked and answered. Player after player came walking through that door until the last one arrived.

Engen, that’s what the interviewer from DAZN called her. She caught your eye. Her long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The effort she had put into the game was seen in little droplets of sweat across her face.

The woman answered the question quick and confident. She answered the questions in almost fluent Spanish, it made you wonder where she learned the language. The interviewer thanked her and Engen gave her a nod before she looked over the interviewer’s shoulder, at you.

She had caught you staring. Well, it was kind of your job to do that but for some reason you really did felt caught by her. Engen didn’t give you much of a reaction, only a tiny smirk appeared.

Weeks later, back in Manchester you she caught you staring again.

Done for the day you let your friends convince you to go out to a bar. It had been a long day, writing whatever came to mind in the hopes it was good enough for your assignment. You really needed to get drunk and forget about whatever you had to do the next day.

The bar was dimly lit, something you would’ve found unsettling if you weren’t already four shots down. There was a soft jazz playlist on in the background as your heels hit the wooden floor. Your friend walked you to the bar where you ordered a porn star martini.

As you sat on one of the creaking barstools you looked around. In the booth left to you sat a couple that was clearly in the honeymoon phase. Next to them sat group of men, laughing at some sexist joke.

The bartender placed your martini down when she caught your eye again. But Engen wasn’t alone. There was a blonde next to her and even with the horrible lighting you could see her eyes sparkle.

The dark haired woman had a black dress on and the blonde a dark grey suit. They were gorgeous.

You looked away as quickly as you could but the damage was already done. You sipped nervously on your drink in the hopes she wouldn’t recognise you.

But your prayers weren’t heard. You felt someone tap you on your shoulder. You closed your eyes and when you didn’t turn the person spoke. “I know you saw us, Ingrid recognised you.”

You turned your head slowly, showing a shy smile. “You’re pretty cute, come sit with us.” the blonde ordered more than offered you.

You got up from your seat and followed the woman to her booth. She let you get seated first, next to Ingrid, in the middle. You felt like you were trapped between the two women.

“I knew i recognised you from somewhere. You are the staring girl from that DAZN interview right?” Ingrid asked you. You looked down at your drink and nodded.

Frido and Ingrid looked at eachother and Ingrid spoke up again. “Frido here thinks you’re very pretty.”

The blonde scoffed at that. “Like you weren’t talking about her for the last few weeks. I was just interested to see her in the flesh. And yeah, i’ll have to agree with you, she really is as beautiful as you said.”

You looked at Frido and she gave you a warm smile. “Thanks” you told her.

“So tell us about yourself, your work, your boyfriend maybe?” Ingrid asked you.

“No boyfriend, or girlfriend and uhm i’m an intern at the moment.” you told them. They seemed to exchange a smile at that.

You asked them about their interest and lives. You got to know they both play for Barcelona and were born in Norway and Sweden. Frido placed her arm around your shoulders as you took the last sip of your drink.

The footballers wanted to know more about you, so you told them more. They were practically strangers, but hot strangers that showed interest so that doesn’t count anyway.

It was 1:30 am when you told them you should probably start to get home. Frido hummed at that. “Yeah, we should too.”

Ingrid walked to the front with you as Frido paid for the drinks. “I really enjoyed tonight, maybe we could do it again some other time?” she asked you.

Ingrid’s eyes looked into yours as she stood infront of you “I really enjoyed tonight too. Maybe we could yeah.” you told her.

“You’re really pretty, even with that shitty lightning i could see how beautiful you are.” she told you.

You couldn’t help but smile as the leaned in. The kiss was soft and genuine, just like her words.

It wasn’t until you heard the door shut that you broke the kiss off. “So you gave Engen the first kiss?” Frido spoke.

You really didn’t know what they had, if they did have anything going on at all. This dynamic was beyond confusing for you.

“Oh come on, if you had the chance you wouldn’t wait either.” the Norwegian defended herself.

“Hmm, it would only be fair if i would get one too huh?” she smirked at you. The blonde placed her hand under your chin and kissed you just as genuine. Frido was passionate and controlling the kiss.

When your uber arrived they gave you their phone numbers and told you to text them when you got home. You placed a kiss to both of their cheeks as you thanked them for the night.

You opened the door to your shared apartment, it was dark inside. Your roommates were most likely asleep or staying at their partners place.

Everybody knows that living as a intern is hard. You put all your effort into your work and don’t even get a moment of appreciation. Your salary was low but you already knew that when you signed the contract. But even though it was hard, you really enjoyed the work you did and the people you worked with.

As you got into bed you typed something to the two women. ‘hi, this is the staring girl-‘ no that’s cringe. ‘hey, this is me from tonight-‘ no too weird. ‘hi, i’m home. I really enjoyed tonight :)’ that’ll do.

‘thank you for texting, we loved it too. especially the end ;)’ -frido

‘we only have a few days left in manchester, so maybe we can cook you something on tuesday?’ -ingrid

‘yeah, that sounds really nice. I’d like that.’

A.N. i’ll need some ideas/prompts/hc’s for the next chapter so send them in because i need motivation

[evilmenenjoyer]

Gratitude

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

SEQUEL to City of Love. Probably not a good fic to read as a stand-alone; read City of Love first for context.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), dubious consent, rough sex after a fight, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, bruising, marking, pain play/sadomasochism, mirror sex, manhandling, hurt/comfort (but mostly hurt), lots of angst.

Tags: @apookalypse @thecutiepieishere / I do not have an official taglist yet, but I'd be willing to make one if people were interested. If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, or in any additions to this story, let me know somehow!

–––

It's three days later when you see him again, just when you were convinced he left Paris for good.

You knew it would take a lot longer for the reminders of him to leave your mind as well as your body. He's in the marks his hands left on your hips, in the scrapes and faint bruises along your back from when he tossed and squeezed you against the brick wall, in the ghost of his lips on your skin. You can still feel them every time you close your eyes, hear his voice whisper your name against your neck as he came.

It shouldn't surprise you, after everything, to have him knock on your door right as you’re getting ready to have a night out. It still nearly takes your breath away to see him, looking as impeccable as usual in his dark gray suit, smiling as if his mere presence doesn't rock your world upside down a third time.

“What part of ‘don’t ever contact me again’ did you not understand?” you ask, though right away you can tell you don't sound nearly as firm and assertive as you’d like. You wonder if he can tell you hoped, against every rational thought in your brain, that he would come back.

Judging by his smile, you’d bet he can.

“I couldn't help myself,” he responds, raising his hands slightly in mock surrender. “Can I come in?”

That part of you that still clings to rationality, that can tell a good idea apart from a horrible one, lights up like a loud siren in your brain. There's nothing good that could possibly come out of this. Hasn't he toyed with you enough already? With his weird twisted games, tracking you down all the way to a foreign country, sending you off to those horrific games?

Still, you find yourself stepping aside, leaving a gap for him to come through. You’ve never been good at controlling your impulses, after all.

The apartment you’ve been renting for the time being stands in the heart of Paris. It looks exactly what you pictured a typical, glamorous Parisian apartment to look like – high walls, hardwood floors, large arched windows with a stunning view of the city and the Eiffel Tower. It's furnished with all the essentials, and nothing more. You didn't see the need to bring in new furniture or decorations when you didn't even know for how long you’d be staying in the city. At this point, you’re already considering moving on to somewhere else.

“Make yourself at home,” you say. “But I’m going out soon.”

“I see that.” His eyes run over you as he sits at the arm of the couch, shamelessly lingering on the black dress that hugs all your curves at the right spots. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

You turn your back to him, looking for the earrings you had put down somewhere when you heard the knock on the door. You feel his body heat approach you from behind, his fingertips brushing against a red spot on your shoulder blade that the spaghetti straps of the dress fail to cover.

“Did I do this to you?”

His voice doesn't sound remorseful or apologetic at all. If only, there's a hint of pride to his tone, a small smile at the corner of his lip that you can tell is there without even looking at him. It should upset you, thinking of how roughly he pushed you against that wall, but it has goosebumps blooming all over your skin around the spot he touches.

“Who else would it be?” Your voice shakes ever so slightly against your will, and you clear your throat to get rid of it.

You expect him to pull back, but instead he inches even closer. He has to lean down to mold his chest to your back, his lips brushing the delicate skin of your neck when he speaks. “I can make it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” You turn your head just enough to chase after his lips. Screw the night out. He lets you capture them, indulging you in only a quick kiss before pulling away.

“I’m serious. I have something for you.”

“Oh.” You frown at the loss of contact, turning to face him. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes.”

Your frown deepens, and he raises his eyebrows at you. “Don't you trust me yet?” he asks.

No. Absolutely not. Still, what's the worst that can happen? What would he do while you have your eyes closed that he can't do right now; that he couldn't have done three nights ago at that bar, when you gave yourself to him so willingly?

You close your eyes, with a small sigh as if letting him know it's a nuisance. There's no real heat to it, and you both know it.

The Salesman’s hands find their way to your arms, guiding you further into the apartment. You follow his lead slowly, careful not to bump into any furniture or clutter you left around the place while picking an outfit and getting ready.

“You didn't have to give me a gift,” you say, still confused about what this is about. He stops walking the two of you, leaving you in an unknown part of the apartment. Your heart beats slightly faster than normal; distrustful, but excited. No man has ever bought you a gift before. Gifts are for girlfriends, for women they're trying to impress. Somehow, in all your years on this Earth, you’d missed out on being that woman to anyone.

“I was feeling romantic,” he explains. You feel something cold land over the exposed skin of your neck and chest, and he fiddles with a clasp at the nape of your neck. “Blame it on Paris. You can open your eyes.”

You do so, finding yourself standing in your bedroom, right in front of the large mirror resting against the wall. The necklace stands out against your skin – thin white gold chain and gemstones shining so bright you can immediately tell they're real, a ruby and a sapphire encrusted by tiny crystals. The color choice is an odd one for a necklace, prompting you to take a closer look. That's when any hints of a smile vanish from your face.

The gemstones are placed beside each other, the shapes and markings in them identical to those of the ddakji tiles you and the Salesman had played together in the subway station.

“I had it custom-made for you,” he says. Standing behind you, his reflection on the mirror takes up almost the entire background, but you don't pay him any mind. Your eyes are all but glued to the red and deep blue stones hanging from your neck, hoping against hope that you had seen it all wrong, that this was just a figment of your imagination and the real necklace will reveal itself if you just look hard enough.

It never does.

Reality hits you then. This isn’t some fun new fling, or the beginning of a Paris romance. This is the man who lured you into a horribly traumatic experience when you were at your most vulnerable, who came all the way from Seoul just to rub in your face that you didn't deserve to make it out of there alive. And now here he is. Prying his way into your apartment, your body, your mind. And you just let him.

Horror floods you, nearly pushing you to your knees right here. You touch the pendant with shaky fingers, and it takes everything in you not to grab the chain and yank it off your neck. Finally, your eyes meet the Salesman’s in the mirror.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He blinks innocently. “You don't like it?”

“Why would you do this?” you ask, unsure of whether you want to burst into tears or slap him in the face.

His fingers join yours where they rest on the necklace, only grazing your skin on their way to touching the pendant. “I thought you'd like a reminder.”

That makes you spring into action, pulling away from him and pushing his hand away with a ferocity you didn't know you still had, not since the Squid Games.

“A reminder? What makes you think I want to remember that shit?” You raise your voice; something to make up for how small you feel, by the way you need to tilt your head to look him in the eye. “If I could erase that night from my memory for the rest of my life, I would.”

“I find that hard to believe. Would you erase our night together at the bar as well?” His eyes leave yours only to look back to the mirror behind you. “Look at you. Wearing those bruises so proudly.”

For a moment all you can do is stare at him, unable to believe the sheer audacity he has to stand in your house and say these things. The worst of it all is you can’t fully deny it – you picked the dress deliberately knowing it left the upper part of your back exposed, happy to catch glimpses of the bruises he left you with if you happened to stumble upon a mirror or reflective surface throughout the night.

“I would,” you insist. “What the fuck makes you think I’d want to remember the night that ruined my life?”

A laugh comes out of him; a short, but cruel sound. “I ruined your life, is that what you're saying?”

You scoff. “Don't act like you don't know you did.”

He steps even closer to you. You refuse to step back, even when it feels like his chest is about to bump into your forehead. “Your life,” he says, “was already shit way before I came around. Debt, an awful job, an even worse home, no future prospects, no friends. What exactly was there about your life that was good enough to be ruined?”

Rage consumes you to hear him talk like that about your old life. Things were bad, yes, but there was a positivity about you that's been lost ever since you stepped foot in those games. You could barely make ends meet, and your shifts were long and exhausting, but you had hopes of going to school, of turning your life around. Your home was a tiny, shitty house in an even shittier neighborhood, but you still took the effort to decorate it and try to make it feel more like a home. Where did that go? Now, you have all the money you could ever wish for, and all you do is spend it on clothes and expensive trips you don't even have the motivation to enjoy, your only goal being getting far away from Seoul.

“At least I felt like a fucking person! Do you even know what that’s like? Feeling human?” you all but yell, grateful for the language barrier in case any neighbors happen to be listening. “I’d never killed anyone. I’d never wanted to kill anyone! I didn't have nightmares, and I didn't wake up every day wondering if I deserve to be alive after everything I did to survive!”

“You had nothing,” he reminds you, his voice cold as the winter outside. “Not even your dignity. Or did you forget how we met? How you asked me to play ddakji with you, willing to get hit in the face repeatedly not for money, but just to have my attention?”

You hold back a sob, shaking your head furiously, but it's of no use. The words sting hard enough to bring tears to your eyes; it stings even more to know they're true. 

“Get out of my apartment,” you demand. You wish you'd never let him in. You wish you'd never met him at all.

“Things are different now,” he says, ignoring your order completely. “You’re rich, and you’ve matured. You’ll never struggle again in your life, if you're smart.”

“I said GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Finally at your breaking point, you push him, shoving at his chest as hard as you have the strength to. He barely budges. It's only then that you notice how cornered he’s got you, your back about to bump into the mirror.

He brings his hand towards your face, cupping your chin and forcing you to look higher up at him. You thrash and claw at his wrist, trying to push it away from you, but he only tightens his grip until it's almost painful. There’s a darkness in his eyes that’s unlike any expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“I made you stronger. You're a millionaire now because of me,” he says. “How about a little gratitude?”

Even from your position, you still manage an incredulous scoff at him. “Gratitude?”

“Yes.” A grin stretches the corner of his lips, not a trace of warmth of friendliness behind it. “You should be thankful I pulled you out of your misery.”

He moves faster than you’re ready to, grabbing you by the waist and tossing you down. You brace yourself for the impact of your head hitting the floor, gasping in surprise when your back bounces over the soft mattress instead. He hovers above you, using his heavier body to pin yours down before you even have the chance to start struggling against his grip.

“Get off me!”

“Calm down.” He holds both your wrists together with one hand, while the other manages to somehow pull your panties off your body, using your kicking legs as leverage. Your eyes widen in shock. “I’m just giving you another reminder.”

“W-what?” Your voice wavers with fear. All that fury is slowly but surely being replaced with it, or with a mixture of both feelings that leaves you heaving for breath.

He doesn't have to pull your dress up – your own struggle does it by itself, leaving the fabric rumpled up at your hips and your bottom exposed. You stop kicking him in an attempt to cover yourself, and he takes advantage of that fraction of a second to stick his knee on the spot on the mattress between your legs, stopping you from shutting them. You gasp, the heavy pressure on your core cutting off all your thoughts for a moment. You can think of nothing to do other than to yell for help.

As if reading your thoughts, his free hand covers your mouth.

You voice your displeasure through a muffled grunt. You keep on struggling, trying to kick him off you, but each movement unintentionally rubs your bare clit over his thigh that pins you down. He applies even more pressure and you cry out, mortified to feel heat pooling between your legs.

“Christ, you're wet. I can feel it.”

You can feel it too, the fabric of his pants damp and hot where it connects with you. You're torn on whether to keep fighting and essentially humping his leg or giving up, if only to have a few instants of relief.

“If you scream, I’ll slit your throat,” he warns in a hoarse whisper. “Do you understand?”

Out of options, you nod.

He releases your mouth, then your wrists. It occurs to you to scream anyway, but you force yourself to remember who you're dealing with. He wouldn’t give you empty threats. Anyone involved in bringing people into those games has no qualms about slitting your throat open and leaving you to bleed out on your silk sheets.

The Salesman makes his way down your body, now holding onto your legs with his hands.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you manage to ask, the answer rather obvious but it had all happened so fast, leaving you dazed and confused.

“Giving you yet another reason to be thankful to me.”

The sudden, damp feel of his tongue on your entrance overcomes your senses, and you wouldn't be able to hold back a shout if you tried.

Fortunately, he forgives you for it. You squirm under the sensations, but he holds your hips down against the mattress in a firm grip, immobilizing them completely and prying you open all at once. You hoist yourself up over your elbows only to be met with your own reflection on the mirror across the room, your hair a mess already and your face contorted in fear and pleasure and indignation all at once. You can’t bear to watch yourself like this, mortification entrenched into every muscle of your body that reacts to his touch as he continues to penetrate you with his tongue. You fall back towards the mattress with a broken moan.

“God– Y-you can’t–” Whatever you were about to say dies out in your throat as his lips rise to your clit, enveloping you so expertly in the wet heat of his mouth. You clench your whole body, eyelids all the way down to your toes, and for a moment you’re grateful for the hands that hold your legs open just so you don’t have to face the shame of spreading them wider.

Your hands, perfectly capable of putting up a fight once they’d been released, twist into the sheets beneath you, holding on like your life depends on it. You curse yourself for not trying harder to push him off, for not really wanting to; for always being so unwilling to say no to him. Moans leave your lips like they’re being ripped out of you, growing in volume like you just can’t help it. It makes you wish one of the pillows were within reach so you could bury it against your face and muffle them, or simply to hide yourself from how incredibly good it feels to be at his mercy.

It doesn’t take long at all. Say whatever you want about the Salesman, but this is a man who knows what he’s doing with his tongue. In only a few minutes he reduces you to whimpers and pleading, your orgasm hitting you like a wave crashing full-force over the shore. Your back arches off the bed, mouth open in a long moan, and he continues to dine on you like a starving man until the moment you fall backwards, spent.

When you come back to yourself, you’re covering your face with your hands as he presses kisses to the line of your inner thigh. You feel him make his way up your body, feel his hands on your wrists, gently moving them out of the way and exposing your face, the deep flush that has colored your cheeks.

Looking into his eyes, you’re overcome with a rush of emotions you’re not sure how to name. How can a person make you feel so many things at once? How can you still want him – ardently, desperately, profoundly want him – after everything? How can he be so addictive, leaving you already hooked from the scraps of attention he’s given you? You tilt your head just a tiny bit towards him, a silent invitation, and he leans in the rest of the way to take your lips in his.

He kisses you deeply, hungrily, holding you through the shudders that run through your body from the aftershocks of your orgasm until they subside. Kisses you like you’re more than just a hookup, tempting you to believe there must be something about you that’s special. Kisses you for long enough to get you drunk in it, like he’s happy to do nothing but this for the rest of his life.

The next time he pulls back, he removes his suit jacket and tie. You somehow manage to help him unbutton his white shirt, motivated by the promise of feeling his bare skin on yours. You nearly forget his pants are still on, letting him work on that as you press kisses to down his neck. Of course his body is as perfect as his face. He makes an approving sound that you can feel on his throat, and you follow the vibrations of his vocal chords until his pulse point, pleased to find his heartbeats as fast as yours. You can’t resist taking the skin there between your teeth.

He growls, hands tightening on your hips and flipping you on the bed so you’re facing the other side, your back to him. You hold onto the bed frame to steady yourself, body half-bent forward.

You expect him to thrust into you without warning, just as he had the last time. Before that, he brings a hand underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards, your sight landing squarely on your joined reflection on the mirror.

“Keep your eyes right there.” Now he enters you, and you watch your eyes widen at the sudden intrusion. “Watch yourself get fucked on my cock.”

The sheer filth in his voice prompts you to obey, to look. Your knuckles turn white on the bedframe and your body rocks forward with each of his thrusts; slow at first, but steadily gaining power and speed. He reaches down to rub your clit in circles, and it makes your body jerk to feel it and see it at the same time, to watch your reactions in real time. The sight of the necklace still hanging from your neck prompts you to look away, a confirmation of what’s actually happening to you that you’re not prepared to stare in the face.

His hand leaves your clit to wrap itself into your hair, yanking it back. Your body arches to follow it, your reflection on the glass confronting you once again.

“I said look,” he says into your ear. “Don’t you wanna see what a pretty mess you are for me?”

You shake your head, although his death grip on your hair makes it difficult to move. That’s precisely the issue: seeing the mess that he made you into, seeing yourself so overwhelmed and dirty and ashamed, the sounds leaving you suggesting nothing other than aching, raw need. It’s too much. It doesn’t stop you from pushing your hips back to meet his, trying to match his rhythm. 

He angles his thrusts to hit a spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “Oh God,” you croak, feeling the heaviness of tears behind your eyes and another orgasm fast approaching.

Just when you’re close, impossibly close to your release, he stops. You watch him on the mirror, panting just for a moment before he pulls out of you and releases your hair. You’re about to protest, or maybe plead for mercy, but he pushes you to lay on your back on the bed again, back inside of you before you can even think of a sentence.

“How about that thank you now?” He pounds into you, somehow even deeper from this position.  “Say it.”

“Shut up,” you say instead. The pause, brief as it was, only served to make you more desperate to come, and the last thing you need right now is to hear this. “Please just shut up.”

The necklace gleams over your chest, catching his attention. The Salesman runs a thumb over the sapphire, as if contemplating something, before he presses down on the pendant hard, digging it into your skin.

You gasp, throwing your head back. He’s moving fast enough that the bed rocks underneath you, the headboard slamming into the wall, his fingers still on the necklace like he wants to imprint it into your chest. It fucking hurts, the sharp metal edges unrelenting, digging in hard enough to leave a bruise. It makes your body sing, awakes the deeply-hidden, fucked up parts of you that crave this kind of pain.

“Every time you wake up,” the Salesman says, slightly out of breath himself, but much more composed than you, “and you look out of the window and see Paris, or anywhere that’s not the gutter in Seoul, you thank me for saving you.” He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust. “Say it.”

You don’t want to say it. Saying it makes you feel like it’s true, like you should give in and believe what he’s saying. That you are a piece of trash who got lucky, after all, and you should thank him for anything close to success that you achieve from now on. But your orgasm is so close you can feel the force of it numb your ears, your wrists; and in this moment, you would say anything, do anything, so long as he keeps you feeling this good.

“Thank you,” the words are just barely above a whisper, like you wish you could keep them to yourself as a shameful secret.

“For what?”

He gives you another hard thrust, almost painful if only the lines between pain and pleasure hadn’t been blurred a long time ago. You push your chest into an arch, the pendant digging even deeper into you until it breaks skin and the pain turns into agony.

“F-for saving me.”

“Good girl.”

You come then, thinking about the mark that the necklace will leave on you, thinking about how you’re going to feel it for days, how you’re going to remember it every time you feel it or see it. That there will be evidence on your body that he touched you this passionately. It feels like you’re floating, rising to the sky as you clench and unclench around him, as sound after humiliating sound leaves you.

You collapse back against the mattress when your orgasm finally lets you go, boneless and spent. You didn’t see or hear him come – in another situation, it might’ve upset you to miss it, if you weren’t still riding the aftershocks of that incredible high –, but he’s still against you, breathing hard into your neck. His release leaks from between your legs. He stays like that for a long time, slowly softening inside of you, before he finally pulls out and away from you.

You stay right where you are, unmoving. Somewhere far away, you think you can hear him searching for his clothes and dressing himself. You don’t want it to upset you, but it does; because of course he would come here, humiliate you, give you the best fuck of your life and then immediately leave, without so much as a word to you. Your head falls to the side, and even that small movement feels incredibly difficult, like your entire body is a limb that has fallen asleep. Your vision is blurry, far-away, until it finally focuses on the large window that overlooks the city. Tiny snowflakes flutter over the city lights and the dark night sky.

“It’s snowing.”

That pulls his attention to you. He’s got his pants and shirt on, the first few buttons undone, his once perfectly-styled hair a mess. He follows the line of your gaze to the window. “Were you looking forward to it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” It feels like forever ago since the last time you even thought about it. The Salesman was right; the city is beautiful at this time of the year.

You expect him to return to his clothes then head out the door. Instead, he reaches for the covers over the bed and wraps your naked body up in them like a baby. “Ow,” you hiss when he moves you, pain exploding on your chest where the necklace was pressed against you. A few drops of blood dry on your skin from when the skin had split. You feel the Salesman lift you bridal-style, much to your surprise, but you’re still too dazed to find it in you to question it.

He sits you both on the thick windowsill, him behind you and you leaning against his chest, framed by his legs. It’s gentle, somehow more intimate than you’ve ever been with him even after sleeping with him twice. You watch the snowfall outside, mesmerized, letting the steady rise-and-fall of his chest behind you soothe your aching muscles.

It’s the closest to safe you’ve felt in what feels like forever, and you’re crying before you even realize it.

Once it starts, it’s impossible to stop it. Your body trembles with the force of your sobs, tears flowing from your eyes like they haven’t since you were a little kid, at least not this openly. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you flush against himself and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, keeping his lips right there against your scalp. He rocks you ever so slightly, shushing your cries, the sound as soothing as a soft lullaby. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you sob. You think about the snow in Seoul, about how the first snowfall always made you excited, even when it happened every year. You can feel your tears rolling down your cheeks and into your neck, your collarbones. “I want to go home.”

“Then go home,” he says, like it’s simple.

“I can’t.” How can you walk the same streets you always did, as if your life wasn’t completely changed? As if the price you paid for this change wasn’t much, much greater than you could deal with? “You’re right. I have nothing. No one.”

“You had nothing. You can have anything you want now.” You want to tell him there are things money can’t buy, but you’re so tired, so exhausted. You can’t muster the willpower for much other than wallowing in your own misery, weeping in his arms like a child. “And you have me.”

That only makes you cry harder, shaking your head. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“Look at me.” He nudges you to turn to him, the angle awkward but it’s so worth it the second he cups your face in both hands, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. “I mean it. Come back to Seoul.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your heavy eyelids. “You just need to see things from a different perspective. I can help you.”

He coaxes you to lay back against him, and you do so without protest, burying your face into his chest. For a moment you actually consider it. Dropping the plans you had for a next trip and following him to Seoul, letting him finish corrupting you with whatever twisted worldview he has. Maybe it would be blissful, you think, to see all that violence and bloodshed as a blessing, as something that saved you rather than ruined you. It has to be a trap, or another one of his games. But it doesn’t hurt to dream about it, just a little bit.

Little by little your crying subsides, your breaths returning to normal. He holds you through it all, stroking your hair in a way that’s so tender, so soft, like you’re fragile. Like he cares about you, or even loves you.

You silently wonder if he can love anyone at all, much less someone as broken as you.

With his fingers drawing circles on your scalp, you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

–––

You wake up alone. You’re still naked but on the bed, tucked into your blankets. There’s no confusion over what happened last night, no delusions that your brain would come up with a dream like that. There’s only memories hitting you like a truck, one after the other, and it’s too fucking early for this.

You pull yourself into a sitting position, and you jump at the sight of yourself on the mirror. You barely notice the smudged makeup from last night, your eyes going straight to the star of the show: the angry red spot right on the center of your chest, already turning into a deep purple at the center. You flinch before you even touch it, your hand hanging in the air halfway through like you’ve changed your mind. The necklace finishes it off like the cherry on top of the cake, the pair of precious stones right next to each other like eyes watching you, mocking you.

You button your coat all the way up before you leave the house.

It’s still early enough that the sun has just begun rising, coloring the sky in a bright blue that bleeds into the buildings and streets. There’s probably nothing open right now, but you could really use some coffee. Or a drink. Probably a drink.

You find him at Pont Neuf, watching the river below. There’s no one else around, the city in a rare moment of quiet and peace. He hasn’t spotted you yet, seemingly lost in thought, and it occurs to you that you could sneak up behind him, push him over the edge and just keep on walking. Sever your ties to him forever, and simply keep going like nothing ever happened, bury it along with all the other memories you try so hard to forget.

You don’t do it, but knowing you could brings you a bit of comfort. You lower your head and keep walking in the opposite direction, not sparing him another glance.

[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!!!!