#seth might just die

[d-lanx]

ok but the second he says he's gonna kill punk like drew couldn't, theres a split second of drew being like "EX-FUCKING-CUSE ME?!" and then he composes himself and just like, "ok".

[bratbarzal]

Let It Happen (LH43) 1/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

If you're ready, all I mean is we could go, I've never craved someone's attention as much as yours.

General Warnings: an almost unbearable amount of sarcasm and snark, even more idiotic shenanigans, many affectionate empty threats of murder/violence, fluff, mentions of golf 🤢, cursing and I'm pretty sure that's it for this half

A/N: in line with the general consensus lmao this has been split, part two will be posted as soon as it's finished (lol) but it's best read as one whole fic, it isn't a multi-part situation really!! it was originally supposed to be my submission for the eras tour fic challenge (hence the graphic I'm too attached to to change) but took a different direction to the song I was given, and I missed the deadline, and I pretty much listened to the secret of us exclusively while writing this whole thing. also dropping an overwhelmingly summery fic in december might actually be my brand. keep your eyes peeled for a christmas fic in july.

very special shoutout to shea @sleepretreat I made a random comment one day that luke gives seth cohen energy, and she fanned that flame like a full time job. ily shea!! I hope this lives up to any expectations and I owe a lot to your instigating!!

AS ALWAYS!!! never proofread!! I'll probably get around to it when the thought of a spelling mistake keeps me awake at night. and also!! please let me know what you think I am like a teeny tiny little plant that can only thrive under the constant shower of validation and you don't want me to wither and die do you? (I’m kidding) (I’m not)

You kind of, sort of, think you might hate summer.

You haven’t always felt this way, though. Growing up, it had always been your favourite time of the year. 

No school? Check.

Going on vacation, sometimes multiple, all expenses covered by your parents? Double check.

Getting to do all the cool things you don’t have time for in the school year with all your friends? Concerts, festivals, beach days, bonfires on the evenings. Check, check and check again.

But 4 years ago, your whole world as you knew it was torn apart, and summers have never been the same, since.

A season that was once filled with light and companionship, never ending plans and joviality, became darker - isolated, getting yourself out of the house even if everyone else was busy, driving just to drive and making the best of your own company. 

School ended up becoming your escape, especially since you had started college - your studies and the chaos of Greek life distracting you from the calamitous state of your home life, making new friends that became like family and sticking to them like glue, where possible, clingy and possessive to the point of ruin, almost - and so the lack of it in the summers now actually sends you into some sort of warped spiral.

It’s manageable in the winter and spring, the breaks no longer than a few weeks at a time, but going home for summer is somewhat of a nightmare.

It’s hard to go back, hard to ignore the mess your mind has become when it’s just you and your mother - or, you, your mother and whatever bottle of pinot she’s 3 glasses deep into at any given time of the day - and you’re sat in a house that’s a cold reminder of the warmth that once filled it. 

But when Ellie - your best friend since moving to college, the girl who took the sister part of sorority sister to the next level at all possible opportunities over the years - found out you’d put your name down to be the caretaker for your sorority house instead of going home, she had put her foot down on your summertime sadness session.

Which is how you end up moving into her family home - spending the first few weeks integrating yourself into their routine while trying to grip desperately onto some form of your own - trying not to get too used to the feeling of such a big family when you know it won’t be forever.

You braid her little sister’s hair everyday, kick a soccer ball around with her little brother when he needs someone to stand in goal, wash the dishes with her mom, talk sports with her dad, and before long, you blend like a chameleon into their dynamic.

You pick up a summer job at the country club to cling back onto your independence. Your commute provides the solitude and quiet you‘ve grown accustomed to in the years before, a bus journey through town with headphones on, watching the scenery and admiring the greenery until you get to work, donning your navy blue polo and tucking your little notepad into your hip apron as you serve tables at the clubhouse restaurant and bar. 

It’s a much needed escape from Ellie, if you’re honest.

You love that girl with all your heart, appreciate her housing you more than you’ll ever be able to say, but if you have to hear her sit and mope about how hopelessly in love she is with Jack Hughes for even a second longer, you’re going to vomit. Or scream. Or both.

Jack and Ellie grew up together - their families close, Ellie’s dad best friends with Jack’s uncle, or something - and she’s been into him since he had teeth missing - a point she loves to hammer home when it comes to you always listing that as one of his (many, if it’s up to you) cons. Considering his job, and the fact he already lost one, not too long ago, a toothless boyfriend seems like a massive ick, if you’re honest. 

But Ellie is beyond reason when it comes to him. She worships the ground he walks on - talks about him non-stop, messages him every day, regales you with stories you, awfully, but realistically, couldn’t care less about - and it’s the only real problem about living with her.

Even beyond the summer, you two had shared a room your first two years in college, still live in the same house - and it’s a year round problem.

But being unable to escape, having your days tied to close to hers, and knowing that it’s bound to be worse with proximity, Jack back in Michigan for the summer, himself, she’s starting to drive you up the wall.

It wouldn’t bother you if you had never met Jack, but the two of you don’t exactly get along. He’s rude, and self-absorbed, and had looked down on you the first time he ever laid eyes on you, and you really shouldn’t let it get to you, but you do - the thought that your best friend is in love with an asshole, and that she won’t let you hear the end of it. 

Won’t stop whining about how he’ll never feel the same, or that she can’t handle another summer of biting her tongue, of being around him, feeling the way she does, and not being able to do anything about it.

She deserves better. 

Ellie has a heart of gold, and she deserves someone who handles it with care. If Jack Hughes doesn’t like her back, that’s his loss - but you’re kind of getting sick of telling her that.

Getting through a whole summer of it is going to be hard, you think, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than being entirely alone. So you put on a brave face, use work as your escape in the same way you usually do with school, and avoid blowing your top for as long as you can, suffering through the late nights and heart to hearts where Jack is the sole topic of discussion, and bask in the good stuff.

In the chaos of her siblings, in the closeness of her family, and the way they’ve welcomed you with open arms.

This summer could be okay, you’ve just got to give it a chance. 

Luke Hughes loves summer.

He loves being back home in Michigan, spending his days out on the lake, or making the trip out to parade around Ann Arbor, catching up with all his college buddies, making the rounds at all the UMich sporting events he now gets a VIP pass to thanks to his last name.

The routine of it all is familiar, and warming, and it restores a sense of normality that playing in the NHL for the past year has so brutally ripped from him, already. 

He had enjoyed starting his summer overseas - making the team for the world championships and competing beyond the abysmal end to his rookie season - had enjoyed the time away from his brothers, if he’s honest. Quinn and the Canucks making it a few rounds into the playoffs, and Jack back home recovering from getting surgery on his shoulder - and it’s the latter he needed the reprieve from.

He does love living with his brother.

Jack looks after him in ways he’ll never really be able to make it up to him for. He always has, Quinn has too, but ever since Luke got drafted to the Devils, Jack has helped him adjust to the chaos of his career without much fuss or hardship.

And he really is grateful for that.

But, God, can he be annoying.

Especially when it comes to his infatuation with his best friend, Ellie.

Jack and Ellie have always been close - despite the fact she’s Luke’s age - and grew up thick as thieves, spending summers together, especially when the family moved to Michigan, and Ellie’s family were just on the other side of town. 

He’s always been obsessed with her, even if it hasn’t always been love - but these last few years have been different. Like a switch flipped in his head when Jack saw what Ellie was like when he came to visit Luke in his freshman year of college.

A version of Ellie that was no longer just his - no longer exclusive to their summer bubble, and lived in a world beyond lounging by the lake and hanging out with the Hughes family.

A version of Ellie who liked partying, liked schmoozing and charming everybody she came into contact with, liked being the centre of everyone else’s attention, not just Jack’s.

And it’s that version of Ellie that has driven Luke’s brother crazy, which has, in turn, started to drive Luke crazy. He talks about her non-stop, and it was those much needed weeks away in Czechia that almost had Luke forgetting just how stupid his brother has gotten about the whole thing.

Until he came home to Michigan, and Jack, in all the commotion with his shoulder, with ending his season early and starting his summer off alone, has worked himself into such a stupor about the whole thing that merely a week into his return, he has driven Luke up the wall. 

He’s grumpy, all the time - which leads to him being snarky, all the time. He huffs and puffs around the house so much Luke is starting to think he might need an inhaler, and he really can’t take any more.

Not when he’s making such a show of his irritation, stomping around with heavy feet and slamming doors that don’t need to be shut in the first place. 

“What crawled up your ass and died there?” Luke frowns as he follows Jack into the kitchen upon his return from therapy, holding out for the doors he swings open with a little too much vigour so that they don’t swing back into his brother’s slinged-shoulder. “I thought the physio is going alright?”

“It is,” Jack huffs, storming over to the fridge and yanking it open, the jars and bottles in the door clanking together in a way that makes Luke cringe. “I’m fine.”

“Tell that to all the hinges you’re testing the limits of.” 

“Don’t start with me, Luke, I’m not in the mood.”

“You just said you’re fine.” Luke rolls his eyes as he starts to scroll through his group chat with his friends from college, trying to check who said they might be free today to get him out of this vicious circle.

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly not.” It’s interactions like this that confirm to Luke just how annoying Jack has become - because what reason does he have to be so evasive? Luke is handing him the opportunity to air out his grievances on a silver platter, and he’s rather slam cupboards and create creases in his forehead from frowning 24/7.

“Fine, it’s Ellie.”

Luke wishes he never bothered asking, although he has been wondering why he’s been seeing way less of her already this summer. He had figured Ellie was away with family until he saw her at the gas station the other night - had watched from the car as Jack had what seemed like a heated conversation by the entrance. 

“She’s refusing to hang out with me.”

“Has she said why?” Luke asks, although he doesn’t really care. He’s just asking to get it out of the way in the hopes that Jack talking about it might lighten the load, might make his own life a little easier. 

It’s the bitter muttering of your name that captures Luke’s full attention, his neck audibly cracking at the speed in which his head shoots up, no longer caring what could possibly be going on with the boys in the group chat. 

“She isn’t going back to whatever fiery hell pit it is that she comes from for the summer, and she’s staying with Ellie’s family, therefore Ellie isn’t staying with us.”

Luke hasn’t heard your name in a while. Not since he left college last year, not since he got caught up in the whirlwind life in the NHL, when a schoolboy crush on a girl he interacted with once in his entire college career became the least of his worries.

But one utterance of it has his spine straightening, just like it would have done just over a year ago.

You’re in Michigan. You’re at Ellie’s, on the other side of town. You’re barely two degrees of separation from him.

“Why can’t Ellie bring her here?” Luke asks, throat dry and voice breaking so subtly that he hopes Jack doesn’t notice. That could be fun. Would make up for the hell his brother has been putting him through since he got here. 

Maybe a little glorious sunshine might finally get you to notice his existence. He wouldn’t mind third wheeling Jack and Ellie if you were there, too. It would give him the perfect opportunity to prove he’s worthy of your attention - too shy and too scared to do so, back in college, but he’s different, now. Confident, almost. More sure of himself.

“She hates me.” Jack huffs, “Last time we met she was giving me the stink eye all night.”

And of course it would be his brother to ruin his plans, yet again. You’ll probably hate him, too - a hatred so strong for Jack that it seeps through his entire bloodline, because Luke of all people knows he can be annoying like that. 

“Trust me, she probably doesn’t care enough to hate you,” Luke scoffs, not realising the spool of information he’s just given Jack to unravel. 

“You know her?”

“We had a class together. I know of her.”

Not the truth, but not exactly a lie.

Luke knows a lot about you. It’s borderline creepy, the observations he can still remember, even after so long.

He knows you like only like coffee if it’s iced, had seen you with too many clear plastic cups to count, had watched plump lips chewing at straws by the time you had finished the drink. He had even, one time, tried to zoom in on a picture of your order printed on the side in one of his many states of delusion where he had been trying to build himself up to ask you out. 

He knows you can hold your own in an argument, had watched you debate with the best of them in your business comms class, has watched you shoot down most guys that approach you with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, and has watched you take down a frat guy or two, usually in defence of your sorority sisters - who Luke noticed you’re the most protective of. 

He knows you match your perfume to the colour of your outfit, had notice you smelled citrusy like lemons in yellow, floral like roses in pink, sweet like candy in purple, and clean like fresh cotton in blue. 

He knows the pieces of hair that frame your face curl when wet from the rain. Knows you used to volunteer at the pool on the weekends it was open to the kids of the community, would teach them how to swim. He knows you listen to Taylor Swift and has heard you humming just about every song of hers he knows.

But he doesn’t really know you - not on the level Jack is assuming, when his eyes widen and hope flashes across his crystal irises.

“You know how I’m your favourite brother?”

“No,”

“And I let you live with me all year?”

“My name’s on the lease.”

“Maybe you could talk to her for me?”

Luke sighs, shoulders heavy and eyes rolling practically to the back of his head. “I already told you, I don’t really know her like that.” 

“C’mon, you could at least try! I’m dying here, Luke! She’s hogging all of Ellie’s time, and she won’t give me the time of day if I try!”

If only Jack knew how much time you’d ever given Luke, he wouldn’t be asking him such an absurd request.

You’re so out of his league, it isn’t even funny. He probably couldn’t convince you to light a candle in a power cut, much less to give his annoying brother a shot to prove himself.

“You’re wasting your time, Jack,” Luke responds, “I’m gonna meet Dylan at the club. No, you can’t come.”

And by the time Luke makes it out to his car, he’s relieved to have ditched that conversation, entirely. He knows what’s waiting when he gets home, what his brother is going to be like for the next few months to come, but a temporary relief is all he needs.

He had already been planning on getting a few late morning holes in at the club, and meeting up with Dylan had been a white lie, needing some alone time away from Jack’s incessant whining to think about how he was going to survive the summer - and seeing you on your break, perched on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard by the clubhouse bar, basking in the sun and talking with your co-worker, he feels like he might have just struck gold.

Since when do you work here?

He supposes since you decided to spend your summer with Ellie’s family - it only makes sense. Ellie doesn’t live too far from the club - not as close as the lake house, but closer than Ann Arbor, at least. She’d worked in the club shop last summer, even when Jack insisted he’d pay for whatever she needed while she was staying with them - had said it was nice to pass the time with something else while they all went off doing whatever - and he assumes you’re doing the same. 

It’s the first time he’s seen you in a while, outside of coming across your pictures on his Instagram feed occasionally, or the flash of your figure in Ellie’s stories. 

He had thought that, after the year he’s had, he’d be over schoolboy crushes like this - would be over the way his breath catches just at the sight of you, over the way the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and stand to attention, over the way his throat goes dry as he watches your eyes crinkle from afar, watches your lips curve up into a heart-stopping grin.

But it’s like he’s picked up straight from where he left off at the end of his college career, pining after you from afar with hearts in his eyes and feet that start to shuffle at just the thought of approaching you.

If he’s going to do this, though, he needs to be clever about it, he thinks.

Approaching you on your break, limited to the amount of time he can use to put his point across, wasting yours, doesn’t seem like something that will work.

Which is how he finds himself bypassing you completely and walking straight into the bar, offering a friendly nod to the guy stood at the front of house, and letting him point him toward the right section to be served in. 

It isn’t long before you’re in front of him, sidling up to his booth, and he had almost forgotten how pretty you are up close. Hair clipped up with loose strands framing your face, chewing at your plump bottom lip as you scribble on your notepad to get your pen to work. And your honeyed voice settling deep in the pit of his stomach, warmth spreading throughout as you introduce yourself, like he has no clue who you are, and tell him you’ll be his server, “What can I get for you?”

“Five minutes of your time?”

The Luke that spent his college years obsessing over you might have stuttered - his voice might have broke, squeaked or choked in your presence - but while his throat does feel a little dry, he’s able to maintain his cool now, even when you look up from your scribblings to meet his eye. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he has matured.

His heart might jump in his chest, his mouth might tingle, his spine might stiffen, but he holds your gaze, hoping if you see a reflection of confidence that you might give him the time of day.

He’s seen you interact with guys before, has familiarised himself with the ten-foot walls you have in place, has seen others fold and try find a long way around, but he thinks that maybe matching your energy is the way to break through. 

Who doesn’t love a shortcut?

Your eyes narrow back at him as pouted lips form around a response, looking him up and down before tilting your head, and coming back with, “I all of a sudden feel the need to inform you we do have security here,” you point the tip of your pen to the entrance, where he was greeted on the way in. “I meant a drink.”

“Water’s fine,” his gaze flickers to the movement of your wrist as you click the other side of your pen, not even writing it down. “Maybe with a side of conversation?”

“I’ll go get your water,” you offer a smile, and the insincerity of it does little to cool his bravado, even if you head off with mutterings of why do I always get the creeps?

He watches you as you make your way over to the bar, not creep-like whatsoever, and he channels the nerves that sneak up on him, now that you’re distanced, through fiddling with his fingers on the table, pinching at the tips of them when you glance back over your shoulder, probably telling the girl behind the bar just how lucky you were to once again get the weirdo in your section.

It surprises him how little he cares, possessing more of your attention now than he ever has before, and if he could tell the Luke from two years ago, who spent every shared Principles of Marketing class ritualistically watching you chew on the end of your pen, that he’d be able to make eye contact without dribbling and breaking out into full body sweats, he’d have lost his mind.

He embodies a strange level of dislocated arrogance that manifests itself in his body language, sinking into the booth with arms outstretched across the back, a dangerous smirk teasing the corner of his mouth when you return, placing a pitcher of water down on the table and a glass with ice. 

“I’m Luke,” he tells you, placing a hand on his chest and doing his best to ignore the thudding he feels beneath it. “Hughes. Jack’s brother,” and when you look back over to him with a raised brow, he adds, “Ellie’s Jack.”

“And who’s Ellie?” You ask with a tilt of your head, your voice dripping in teasing sarcasm. 

“Funny,” he quips, biting back the urge to call you what he actually means. He can hardly call you cute, you’d probably pour that water straight over him. “I went to UMich, we had a couple classes together.”

Your eyes narrow again, and he knows it’s an intimidation tactic, a way to make him feel smaller than he’s acting, shrinking him down to a version of himself you can stamp your authority on, but he finds himself being resilient for once, carrying on like he isn’t affected.

He is. Massively, in fact. Just not in the way you probably want. Your indifference drives him in a way that presses into his spine, an inner voice pleading, notice me, I’m breaking through!

“Bauman’s class, Business Comms, you sat in the second row, I sat in the third, you dropped your pencil one time and I-,”

“I know who you are.”

So he’s been yapping on at you for no reason? Fantastic.

He can’t let his momentum slip, though, so he forces the corners of his lips into a victorious smile, and counters, “So you know I’m not a creep.”

“You literally memorised my seat in a class from 2 years ago, so…” 

“I have a good memory,” he’s quick to defend, fighting the urge to let his eyes linger on your pouted lips.

“Right,” you roll your eyes, “What is it you want, again?”

“I came to talk about Jack and Ellie.” He nods to the other side of the booth, and has to roll his shoulders so that his chest doesn’t inflate with misplaced hubris when you shuffle into the seat with a huff, discarding your notepad to the side as you level him with another raised brow.

“What about ‘em?”

“About how they’re hopelessly in love with each other and doing nothing about it.”

“You got hopeless right. What’s that got to do with us?”

Us. Oh, he likes that.

“I’m thinking they need a little shove in the right direction. And maybe we could be the shovers.”

You presses your lips together in faux-apology, a lopsided, patronising, adorable frown taking over your expression. “No can do, I don’t shove, I’m a pacifist.”

“A nudge, then?”

He isn’t giving up easy, no matter how much sarcasm you try to throw his way. You wouldn’t have sat down if there wasn’t something about this situation that irks you, too.

If Ellie is being only half as annoying as Jack is, he knows that you’re having a bad time of it. And you’re supposed to spending her summer with her - it can’t be easy, having your friend constantly pining over someone and refusing to do anything about it, if anything, making it your problem.

“Are you here to eat or annoy me?”

“Both,” he smiles, “I just figured a problem shared is a problem solved, and all.”

“How profound.” 

“C’mon, you sat down, you at least agree they’re into each other, and I know you’re staying with her this year, so I know you’ve been getting the same grief I have.”

“I’ve been on my feet 4 hours, I wouldn’t look too deep into me sitting down.” 

“Jack’s been moping around about her for years, I can’t listen to it anymore, he’s all, she’ll never like me back, this, and, I’ll never find a girl like her, that,” he whines, imitating his brother’s voice in the most annoying, high pitched tone he can muster, “I can’t take one more breakdown of her snap stories, especially not if it’s all summer if she’s not gonna be staying over, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“How supportive,” the sarcasm in your bite does little to hide the beginnings of your smile, your glare softening into what he hopes is the start of some sort of bond, a shared feeling of exasperation. Finding your footfall in common grounds.

“It’s relentless, we can’t go a single conversation anymore without him bringing her up,” he sighs, slumping into his seat, finally giving in to all the ways this is starting to grate on him. “I don’t get why neither of them do anything.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, too, relenting a little. “She talks about him so much it kind of makes me nauseous.”

“How supportive,” he mimics, nerve endings set alight when your eyes meet his over the table, and narrow in a different way, almost appreciative, almost respectable.

“Can it, Hughes,” you scoff, “Me even entertaining this conversation right now is support enough, I’ve had it in my ear for months about how she doesn’t know how she’ll make it through another summer.”

“That’s what I’m saying. If we can get them together this summer, then we’re both better off. No more whining or crying or earaches for either of us.”

“I’d hope you didn’t make your way out here with the mere promise of no more earaches, Luke.” He tries not to preen at the way you say his name. “What’s in it for me?”

“You and Ellie can stay at our lake house.” He suggests, straightening up before he leans onto the table, elbows extending so that he can rest on them, “It’s closer to the club than her family’s place, it’s gotta be better than having her siblings running around you all the time, I can even drive you to work when I’m free, if you want?”

You blink at him slowly, as if to say, and? “So I can stay at your glorified frat house, and you can be my chauffeur?” You ask with an unimpressed raise of your brow, before letting out a humourless scoff of, “What more could a girl want to do with her summer?

“What do you want?” He asks, leaning further forward.

“To go back to work and not worry about strange guys propositioning me, funnily enough.”

Luke laughs, a deep, breathy laugh that rises from the depths of his chest and comes alive in an almost-bark, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker to his mouth when it comes out.

This is fun. 

There’s no way he’s letting you leave this table without agreeing - just the thought of one more singular interaction keeping him on his toes.

“Why don’t we make it interesting, then?”

“It’s about time you tried.” The quiver of your lip tells him everything he needs to know - and that’s without the entertained glint in your eye that accompanies it. You’re enjoying this, just as much.

“We could make a competition out of it.”

“A competition?” You ask, with a curious tilt of your head.

There it is, he thinks. Interest: piqued. He practically has you in the palm of his hand. Who would ever have thought, the way to a sorority girl’s heart would be a friendly little wager?

“Whoever actually gets them together, wins.”

It’s all he can think of in the moment - petulant and part-planned, but it seems to be enough.

“Wins what?” You lean onto your elbows, your gaze levelling his as he mirrors your positioning, having to slouch a little further forward in his seat to meet your pretty eyes. 

“Whatever you want.” He doesn’t intend it to come out as low as it does, doesn’t realise how close the two of you have gotten over the table, but he sees the flicker of something cross your features as your head tilts again, eyes still locked on his as yours begin to narrow, still just as pretty even when they’re glaring at him.

“It’s what you want that concerns me.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he jibes, watching the way your lips part in preparation of another witty comeback. “What do you say?” He asks, not giving you the chance, seeing the way it makes your skin crawl that you weren’t quick enough, for once. “Are you in?”

You heave out a sigh, shoulders slumping - a tell-tale sign that you’re about to acquiesce - and Luke starts to feel his chest puff out in victory. This feels like a shut-out. It feels like the best performance of his life. 

“You’re gonna make me regret this, aren’t you?”

“Oh definitely,” he smirks, eyes tracking you as you lean back into the booth, retreating from him in defeat, a hand running through your hair as he promises, “You’ll warm up to me soon enough, though.”

“I can’t see that happening.”

“I can,” he shrugs, leaning back too. “I’ve been told I’m inevitable.”

Luke can remember, like it was yesterday, the first time he ever saw you.

Freshman year, the week he moved into his dorm at Michigan, Jack had sent him across campus to check in on how Ellie was getting on. He had arrived with some extravagant gift basket in tow, plastic wrapped, a giant blue bow tied around the top and an assortment of snacks inside, and was left knocking for at least five minutes before you showed up.

“Please tell me you’re not another stripper-gram.”

If his throat hadn’t gone so dry all of a sudden, he thinks he would have had more wits about him to have questioned the use of another - a concept that had stuck in his head for weeks until he caught wind of a story of pledges for Pike being sent around campus and forced to lure girls to their house through way of humiliating song. 

But God, you were pretty. 

Siren eyes narrowed toward him, glossy lips pouted pensively, long lashes blinking impatiently as you awaited some kind of response that didn’t come in the form of an open, drooling mouth.

“I’m Luke.”

“Right.” You had sighed, pretty eyes rolling at him. “You’re blocking my door."

“Oh, I’m-,” he stuttered, immediately stepping to the side for you to come forward and insert your key into the lock. “Does Ellie live here?” He asked, confusion etched into his features as he watched you swing the door open, turning in your place to look him over again.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Luke.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I know her.”

“Clearly.”

“This is her basket.”

“Does she need to sign for it?”

“No, I-,”

“I’ll make sure she gets it, thanks, Lu!”

And when you had taken the basket from his hands, he had been too distracted by the way your skin brushed against his to properly respond, or worry if you had called him that as a nickname or had already forgotten his name, entirely.

He then spent days thinking about you, looking for you - at parties, in the campus coffee shop, online, despite not knowing your name - trying to commit to memory the way your eyes had sparkled when looking his way, until his first Business Communications class.

He had been a little early, first week nerves playing out and his constant craving for positive validation coming to the forefront, and was watching the door waiting for the professor to arrive. He had been slouched in his seat, chin in the palm of his hand, foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, and he had almost given himself whiplash when you walked in. 

He learned your name from there, learned a lot just from watching you in that class, but never really captured your attention.

And if the Luke that has been driving you to work every few days, who has been living with you for the past two weeks - who sits around the same dining table, laughs at the same jokes cracked when you’re all lounging around the house, sits out under the same sun, drinks from the same carton of orange juice in the morning - could tell the Luke that sat pining after you all that time, all the little ways in which he’s captured your attention lately, he’d probably have an aneurysm. 

When you and Ellie moved in, Luke had been the only one allowed to touch your stuff - and there’s a part of him that knows it was mainly because you enjoyed watching him work like a packhorse, hauling your cases up the stairs and dropping them in front of you with a huff, but there’s a larger, more delusional part that thinks you preferred him to the others, maybe even trusted him.

He’s taking credit for how quick you’ve adapted to the dynamic of the house, too. Of all the different faces coming in and out - Quinn’s friends, Jack’s friends, his friends, sometimes even his parents. If you’re around, you’re pleasant. You abide by house rules, some of them stupid, but set by the brothers so long ago that they just work now - like no phones outside of your rooms so that you can be more present. You insert yourself comfortably into conversations, you form your own relationships with everyone - you and Quinn trade book recommendations, you and Jack bicker while Ellie mediates. You do your fare share of chores - laundry, dishes, cooking, even. 

And he’s so caught up in just sharing space, just being around you, even, that for those first couple weeks, he forgets why you even agreed to be there in the first place.

At least, he forgets the incentive part - because he watches mindlessly as you interfere in Jack and Ellie’s dynamic, without a care in the world for the fact that it means he’s losing.

He watches you push one of them out of the way to claim whatever seat at the table or in the car forces them to sit beside each other. He watches you taunt Jack to just the right point where Ellie interferes, coos at him protectively and he melts into her affections. He watches you agree to plans he knows you wouldn’t in a million years follow along with, just to get them together - and all he can do is admire how easy you make it seem. 

He admires when you come out wakeboarding with the group, when you let him fasten you into a vest and don’t flinch when his fingertips brush against bare skin. Watches you bite your tongue over the fact you just got your hair blow dried - a fact you have no problems relaying back to him when he drives you to work the next day, and you’re muttering in his passenger seat about lake water giving you frizz - just so you’re not dampening the mood.

And when you agree to tag along to the golf course on your day off, despite the fact it’s so close to work if could be considered triggering, and you stick by Luke’s side so that Ellie can feign some sort of incompetence until Jack takes it upon himself to correct her form.

You stand by Luke’s side, the two of you watching with mirrored expressions of almost-disgust as Jack wraps his arms around Ellie’s body, and send a shiver down his spine when you lean in for only him to hear as you say, “I’d ask if you’ve put any more thought into what you want out of our bet, but I so have this in the bag.”

The bet.

Luke hasn’t thought about it since that day in the restaurant, if he’s honest, but he had known what he wanted then.

He’s hardly going to tell you, now, though. 

If he’s ever going to take you out on a date, he doesn’t really want to force your hand - not that he has a chance, he’s fallen so behind with this Jack and Ellie thing that it isn’t even funny.

He needs to up his game, if only for the fact that you’ll no doubt catch on to his lack of efforts, soon.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he taunts, because it’s what he does best, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“And how long do you plan on keeping them up there?” You call him out so easily, tilting your head when his eyes meet yours, mischief highlighted by the sunshine that speckles in your irises. 

“Maybe I’m luring you into a false sense of security,” he shrugs, “Maybe I’m letting you do all the heavy lifting so I can swoop in when those weak arms get tired.” He pokes at your side, basking in the way you scowl like you pertain any sort of threat to him.

He has you figured out, by now. 

“I didn’t have you pegged as being lazy, Hughes.”

“You spend a lot of time thinking about me, huh?”

“You wish,” you scoff, shoving when he dares to get too close, and it’s when Luke is biting back a full-blown grin that Ellie comes back over. 

“This sun is crazy, I think I left the sunscreen in the locker room and Jack’s nose is going all red, would you come back with me?”

You smile sweetly at your best friend and agree, only glaring at Luke over Ellie’s shoulder when she’s distracted with saying her brief, temporary goodbyes to Jack, and once you’ve turned and made your way over to the cart, he lets his eyes linger on your figure as you retreat.

The soft sway of your ponytail, the expanse of smooth skin along your legs, he’s completely hypnotised, and he needs to pull himself together, he thinks.

He tries to regain focus as he and Jack work their way through the next couple of holes, caddying their clubs around without the cart, and chatting mindlessly until Jack sighs heavily, like he’s been waiting to bring something up.

“I want to take Ellie out on the boat tomorrow,” He states as Luke tees up, resting on his club as he squints against the sun to watch his little brother, “Just the two of us, so we can talk about stuff.”

“Sounds riveting,” the disinterest in Luke’s tone is amplified by the lack of attention he’s giving overall, looking out across the green and trying to measure his swing before he takes it. “Have fun.”

“I was thinking I’d need your help for it to work.”

“I’m not being your boat-butler again,” Luke scoffs, mind immediately going to all the times their parents would make Jack take Luke out with him and his friends, and all the times he was made to wait on his older brother hand and foot to make up for crashing his hang-outs.

“I’m not asking you to tag along,” Jack scoffs, “You third-wheeling would be the ultimate buzz-kill. I thought you could be of use elsewhere.”

“You’re making whatever it is sound so fun.” 

Luke takes his swing, driving the ball and watching it soar to his desired point with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Jack watches too, stepping to Luke’s side to measure how far from his own ball it lands.

“Nice,” he mutters appreciatively as the two of them load their clubs into their stand bags. “I need you to keep Regina George busy, distract her or something, she’s stuck to Ellie like glue, it’s beyond annoying.”

If only he knew, Luke thinks, a worry in the back of his mind about how his brother owes more to you than he even realises. 

“You worried she’s gonna make her see sense?”

Jack swats at his arm and rolls his eyes.

“I’m worried she’s gonna ruin the good vibes like she usually does and I won’t be able to bite my tongue from saying something and looking like the asshole.”

Distracting you isn’t the worst thing he could be doing with his time, Luke thinks. It’s not like he has to go all out, you’ll no doubt be hanging out around the house and the two of you can hang together. All he has to do is keep you off your phone. Shouldn’t be too hard. You’ve adapted pretty well to mimicking the guys when it comes to staying off theirs.

It ticks off the box of trying to fight for a scrap of your attention. With no one else around, you’ll have no choice but to entertain his company.

And it puts him in front of your little race - lending a helping hand to Jack’s plans to talk to Ellie is surely the same as getting them together. It’s all falling so perfectly into his lap. He isn’t being lazy.

But he can’t let Jack know that, so he heaves out a sigh and offers a slow shake of his head for dramatic effect. “Fine,” he groans, “But you owe me. Big time.”

You’re starting to find it harder and harder to pretend like you don’t want to be at the Lake House.

If you’re being honest, you don’t entirely know why you’re even trying to keep up pretences, but using your disinterest as armour has become like second nature over the years, and you’re hardly going to stop now.

Even if there are already so many little things about being there that are starting to wear you down.

Quiet, early mornings, for one - birds chirping just outside your open window, sun rays pouring in through sheer curtains that flow in the slight breeze, that light feeling that blows through your chest when you’re sat out on the deck behind the house with a fresh cup of coffee, looking out over the still lake and basking in the peace of it all.

And even when it’s not so peaceful, when the kitchen is full of bodies swerving around each other to try and throw together some sort of breakfast spread - pastries and fruit, bacon and eggs, various boxes of cereal on the counter. Quinn had even made a whole batch of pancakes one morning, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t come down every day since hoping to see him donning that same frilly apron that Cole had draped around his waist and working his magic with a pan. 

You’ve never really been a part of such a full house. You had been an only child for so long - and by the time your parents split, and it was just you and your mom, on the days she wasn’t already at work when you got up - and were so ingrained in your own routine in the morning that you think you might actually need the chaos to function better. The rush of bodies, the arguments over who drank the last of the juice, the bickering over who’s turn it is to do the next grocery run - it’s a kind of entertainment you haven’t been privy to in a long time. 

Being kind of disconnected from everything else isn’t as bad as you thought it would be, either. You’re not attached to your phone, checking socials to see what everyone else is doing, to see if your dad has sent any messages yet this summer, and you find yourself connecting a little more with the people around you and leaving your family stress on the back burner. You’re more focused on what’s in front of you, and your relationships with other people. With Ellie, with some of the guys in the house, with your friends at work, even.

And it’s nice to be closer to work too. You don’t have to rush around trying to make the bus - Luke has been keeping his word and driving you to the club most days, and where he can’t, either somebody else has offered, or you’ve just ridden one of the bikes in the garage that the boys said were free to use - the helmet hair is an easy fix when you have access to the locker rooms.

It’s an adjustment, for sure, getting used to being in a full house. Especially this one - with a constant revolving door of faces, friends of the brothers switching out week by week to come and stay, departing just as you’ve started getting to know them with a promise of dropping by again soon.

So far, you’re almost at double-digits for the names you’ve had to memorise. Some of them you were already familiar with, guys from Michigan who you already knew or knew of, but others were more Jack or Quinn’s friends that you’d never had the pleasure of meeting before now.

Cole Caufield being one of them. 

He had arrived a couple of days after you and Ellie moved yourselves in, closer to Jack than the other two brothers, you had noticed, and was going to be staying longer than any of the other visitors - having his own designated room in the house, similar to you girls.

You like Cole - he’s good fun, can take a joke unlike his supposed best friend, and has the kind of smile that almost gives you a buzz whenever it’s flashed your way. Your first few interactions with him were seemingly pleasant, despite Jack constantly in his ear with a hardened glare pointed your way and no doubt unsavoury words uttered. Cole would just shrug him off, laugh, meet your eyes and drop a wink your way - a gesture you’d usually squirm and cringe at, but Cole kind of pulls it off. 

He joins in when you chirp Luke, too - which, if your honest, is your main source of entertainment since arriving, so your interactions with him grow day by day.

You haven’t really spent any one-on-one time with Cole yet, though. You were hoping to, before he left to visit home for the weekend - for no other reason than to get the scoop on something you’d happened upon at work last week - and had planned on asking him to hang out on your day off. But with Cole now gone for a few days, Jack and Ellie off doing god knows what, Quinn and Luke working out wherever, you have no choice but to spend your free Sunday lounging around the house, trying to find something to suppress your growing boredom.

You start with your nails, painting them a summery orangey-red and doing your toes to match, then do your laundry, abiding by house rules that you rotate the loads between the machines, and fold out whoever’s clothes were last in the dryer and place them in the hamper on the side. 

You’re hoping you haven’t had to fold Jack’s underwear but you decide to live in blissful ignorance - trying to identify the load based on the rest of the clothing in there is impossible when they all share, so it kind of works in your favour. 

You FaceTime your mom for almost an hour, getting an update on what she’s been up to with work, and giving her updates on how your summer is going, trying to focus on your time at the club and Ellie so she doesn’t worry too much again that you’re spending your summer in a house filled with boys. 

And by the time Luke and Quinn come back from their workout, you’re in the lounge, 50 pages deep into a book you really couldn’t care less about, but there’s something in you that refuses to beg one of them for company, so you suffer in silence.

Even when Luke does join you, throwing himself down onto the opposite side of the couch you’re occupying and pushing your feet off his side like it’s his sole purpose just to annoy you.

“I was comfortable there, asshat,” you frown, lifting your feet back into their previous position and using one to give him a light kick to his thigh.

“Yeah, well, I hardly want your feet all up in my business while I’m trying to relax,” he sighs, sinking into the cushions with hands clasped behind his head, biceps flexing and tightening the arms of his t-shirt in a way that momentarily catches your eye. You’re thankful for his closed eyes, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you divert your attention back to the mundane words on the pages in front of you.

“And yet here you are when there are 2 other couches.”

“Yeah, well, I know how much you like to be near me.”

You try to ignore him, pulling your feet a little closer to your body and focusing back on the book, but it’s hard when Luke has such a presence. You feel the little looks he keeps sending your way like a physical touch, and the couch shifts with every slight movement he makes, so when he constantly shuffles, you start to think he wants your attention.

Of course he wants your attention. This is Luke Hughes.

“Are you just sitting down here to annoy me?”

He lights up, like he’s just been waiting for you to ask, and shuffles in his seat to face you, fully, bouncing in place like a puppy being teased with a tennis ball. 

“I’m actually trying to distract you, if you must know.”

“Bold of you to assume you have enough of my attention to be distracting in the first place,” you scoff, trying not to react to the way he smirks in your peripheral, the words in front of you all blurring together. If you were actually focused on them, you’d have lost your place, already.

“I think you pay more attention to me than you’d like to admit.”

“That’s some ego you’ve got on you, Hughes,” you narrow your eyes as you look above the edge of your book, “Is that what you spend that big NHL paycheque on, charisma classes? How to flirt for dummies?”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing? Flirting?”

Damn. You walked yourself right into that one. 

Sometimes biting back at Luke comes like second nature, words first, thoughts after - and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it that way. It’s easy, the back and forth, and you can’t really think of an instance with him where you’ve sat in a lingering, awkward silence. You’ve really grown to hate silence, lately.

“You wish.”

“You think I’m charismatic,” he teases in a sing-song voice, knocking at your knee and wiggling his eyebrows when you glare at him. 

“I think you’re an idiot.”

“You’re not gonna ask what I’m distracting you from?”

“I don’t really care,” you lie, eyes darting back down and diverting the attention he so desperately craves away from him.

“Jack wanted to take Ellie out on the boat.” He says, ignoring your attempts to ignore him - pushing your buttons like a full time job. Like an operator for your last nerve.

“Good for her.”

“Alone.”

“No shit.”

“To ask her out.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

“Whoop-de-,” Luke straightens up, like a whack-a-mole with his head positioning itself over the top of your book, and you kind of wish you had one of those soft mallets right about now. It would be so satisfying to bonk at his head, you think. “What do you mean, whoop-de-doo, is this not what you agreed to be here for? To get them together?”

You scoff, flicking to the next page of the book in feigned disinterest. “He isn’t asking her out today.”

This is the exact something you had wanted to talk to Cole about - whispers in the staff lounge at work earlier in the week doing the rounds would imply otherwise, but your main source is kind of a gossip, and you’re not entirely sure of their reliability, despite the few degrees of separation to the subject at hand. 

Mutterings of Jack and Cole and their little country club connections. 

You can hardly ask Luke of all people if his brother is as much of a man-whore as everyone is making out. Cole was a safe bet - he’d probably just tell you straight up what they’re up to, wear his pride like a shining gold medal. He’s upfront about his promiscuity, at least. Luke is more protective. Of himself, of his family, you’re not entirely sure. There haven’t been as many whispers about him. 

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because he’s a spineless idiot,” you retort, eyes flicking up momentarily to take in his furrowed brow. “No offence,” comes out of nowhere, and you surprise yourself with the instinct to lessen the blow of your words for the first time in forever.

“None taken, he’s only my flesh and blood,” Luke huffs, “You’re just jealous I’m winning our bet.”

“Sure,” you drawl, eyes widening to emphasise the sarcasm as you make a point of angling your head to the next page, like you’ve taken a single word in for the past five minutes. “He’s been talking to one of the girls from work. There’s no way he’s doing that and asking Ellie out, unless he’s completely brain dead.”

And when you look back at Luke, that furrowed brow has shifted into a full blown frown, pouted lips and eyes cast down as if he’s trying to figure everything out in his head. 

It’s probably the pout that has you cushioning your words, once more.

“Again, no offence, I doubt it’s in your DNA.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m no bio student but I don’t think there’s a genetic marker for being a fuckboy.”

“No, about him talking to one of the girls at the club. He didn’t tell me that.”

Why does he have to sound like that? Let down and unsure, quieter than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s like the tone he carries goes straight to your fingers, clasping the book closed without marking your page - because what business do you have carrying on that charade?

“Do you guys tell each other everything?” You ask as you throw the book until it lands on the coffee table with a gentle thud, shuffling until you’re sat against the arm of the couch with knees bent in front of you, giving him your undivided attention and feeling guilty that it might not be enough.

“I thought we did,” he scratches at the back of his head, nervously, “He literally told me yesterday he was taking her out to talk about stuff, why would he make a point of asking me to keep you busy if he’s not serious about asking her out?”

“You don’t want to hear my answer to a question about your brother not being serious.” 

“Who’s the girl?” He asks, ignoring your comment despite the slight ghost of a smile you see flash into the corner of his mouth. 

“Jessica, she works at the pro shop, apparently they’ve been texting all summer.”

You know for a fact that since you’ve started paying attention, you’ve seen Jack on his phone a lot for a guy who chirps you for your own screen-time, and who has enforced the house rule of no phones outside your room like a prison guard yells out no touching at visitation. So it sort of checks out. You’ve tried to sneak a peak, but he’s protective of his stuff like a yappy little dog with attachment issues at the best of times, so you haven’t really put too much effort into it.

“There were a few people talking about it in the lounge at work the other day,” you shrug, “One of the girls talking about it is Jess’ best friend, so not exactly from the horse’s mouth, but I don’t think she’d be spreading lies about her friend around like that.”

“Can you find out?”

“You ask that like I haven’t been trying.” That gets a full smile, a small chuckle that lifts his shoulder, even, “I was gonna grill Caufield about it but he’s gone. But I know you guys have plans when he gets back tomorrow, so if you want to take Cole I’ll hack away at the grape vine at the club?”

“Does this mean we’re teammates?” 

“No. It absolutely does not.”

Hacking away at the grapevine is really a lot more like plucking absentmindedly at an overgrown patch of grass when it comes to workplace gossip. 

By the end of your shift, you’re leaving the club with a fist clutched full of loose blades, fingers stained green from the amount of information people were willing to ‘fess up.

Liam who works behind the bar had overheard a conversation where Jack had mentioned Jessica, but could only give you useless tidbits, like how he had to stop by the shop for a new putter, and Jess had been the one to ring him up.

Hardly incriminating, but you had a feeling it would be a small piece of a way larger puzzle. That, and guys are notoriously useless at gossiping, there’s definitely more to that story than Liam could even comprehend in his tiny man brain.

Cassidy who works at the front desk had seen Jack and Jess talking in the main lobby last week, definitely flirting, she had said - with hair flips and giggles galore - and way too familiar to be new. 

Much better.

Paola who has the alternative shifts in the pro shop was more than willing to take up ten minutes of your time ranting how Jess’ work is never fully done when it comes to a handover, and she spends half her time on her phone. Kiran, who works the bev cart every Monday, said Jack is always one of the most charming in their golfing group, so it’s no surprise if he is exchanging texts with girls from the club. 

You get dirt from most corners of the place, and it leads you all the way back to your station, to reservations set for the restaurant, where tonight’s list - unfortunately a shift you’re not set to work, although you very much question the serendipity of that - has Jack’s name down at 7pm. A table for 2 in the back corner, shielded from prying eyes and intimate.

And if it weren’t for the fact you’ve already worked a full shift, you would consider staying just to get the full scoop. 

You know Ellie isn’t going to be the one sat across from him, she’s been sending you pictures all day of her various hauls for her quiet night in. New paints and pencils, a sketchpad, some candles - she has all intentions of working on her watercolour technique.

So it has to be for him and Jessica.

Imagine his face, you think, picturing wide, panicked eyes as you roam up to his table to take his order. He’d actually crap his pants. 

But, it’s another set of eyes that you picture when you start to enjoy the scheming a little too much. The sad, teary eyes of your best friend, when she finds out the guy she’s been hung up on for half her life, who she has all but convinced herself isn’t interested, and is - absurdly - ‘far too good’ for her - yeah, right - is dating other girls while taking her out on not-so-platonic boat dates only the day before. A boat date that she had come back to your room, flung herself onto her belly on the bed, and kicked her feet as she gushed all about it. 

So you make your way back to the house after a long day, and resign yourself to the fact that you’re going to have to, yet again, get all your information on Jack’s date second hand.

You primed Cara, your colleague in the restaurant, to keep an eye out, and she promised to send updates on her breaks, and you have been holed up in yours and Ellie’s shared bedroom trying to keep her busy when there is a persistent knock at the door, and a mop of soft, curly brown hair pokes in before his eyes meet yours.

“Hey, Luke!” Ellie chimes, cheery and all too blissfully unaware of the potentially horrific circumstances you’ve stumbled upon. “You need to borrow my conditioner again?”

You scoff from your position on the bed, watching a slight pink hue flush up Luke’s neck.

“What? No,” he denies, running a hand through his hair and seemingly frowning a little at the way it feels. “I’m going to the store, wondered if either of you needed anything?”

“Nah, thanks, we’re good,” Ellie smiles, attention diverting straight back to where she’s drawing in her sketchbook, missing the way Luke widens his eyes and tilts his head as if to encourage you to take him up on his offer.

“Can I come with?” You shuffle from your position on the bed, swinging your legs out from beneath you and over the side as Ellie looks back at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you wanted something.”

“Someone’s got to show the poor guy what’s what on the haircare aisle, El.”

And you’re thankful that Ellie has settled herself in for the evening already by 6:45, showered, pyjamas on, otherwise she might have tried to tag along, too, just for something to do.

You swipe her phone before she can notice and hide it under your pillow before you leave, thinking it might reduce the risk of her getting bored and texting Jack, or, worse, checking his location.

A trip out gives you the chance for you and Luke to debrief each other on your findings of the day - or, as it turns out, just you, because Luke Hughes might be the worst information-gatherer on planet Earth.

Finding his life’s niche in hockey is fortunate, because he definitely wouldn’t cut it as an investigator.

“He just said he didn’t know anything,” Luke shrugs of his earlier encounter with Cole, and you try not to gape at him in disbelief as he fiddles with the screen in his BMW, scrolling through the interface in search of the nearest store. 

You swat his hand away with a scoff, typing in a destination, “And you believed him?”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“You’re about as useless as a chocolate teapot, Hughes. What is it with guys and gossip, are you all really that dumb?”

“That’s the address for the club,” he points out, ignoring your jibe as he starts driving.

“Well done, you can read.”

“Why?”

“Because, thankfully, one of us is a good detective.” You snark, “Jack’s there.”

“So?”

“He’s on a date.”

“No he isn’t,” Luke frowns, attention momentarily taken from the road as he looks over at you. “I’ve been with him all afternoon, he would have told me if he had a date, tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d he say he was going when he left, earlier?”

He hadn’t been home when you got back from work, but that had been around an hour ago. You figured if he was sneaky enough to book into the restaurant when you’re not working, he’d have his wits about him to avoid you, entirely. Whenever the two of you cross paths, you can’t help but try get on his last nerve, and he’s hardly going to want to start his evening in a foul mood.

“To get his hair cut.”

Jesus Christ, you think, he’s so lucky he’s cute.

“You’re so clueless. He’s at the lounge with Jessica, the girl I told you about yesterday.”

“And what are we supposed to do about that?”

“We’re gonna supervise. And maybe interfere, if necessary.” 

You don’t really have a plan, but it seems like the right thing to at least get a look in as to what the hell Jack thinks he’s doing, especially if you’re going to carry on with this whole plan of getting him and Ellie together. If he’s seriously entertaining other girls while making out to Luke that he only has eyes for Ellie, your plans might have to change. You’re not sure if Luke will be on board with the new path you’re willing to take, but you’ll be happy to kill his brother on your own.

“Interfere?” Luke’s eyes are wide, but he keeps them on the road, fingers flexing against the wheel. “I just came out for chips to make nachos, not play spies!”

“Cara’s working tonight, she said she’d keep an eye on them for me. I bet if I cover her hosting shift on Friday she’d sabotage their date. We’d just have to sit back and watch.”

“Oh,” Luke’s brows furrow, as if it’s taking any consideration at all to mess with his brother. “You really are an evil genius.”

You try not to think too hard about who’s been spewing that rhetoric already in his ear, and instead you smile when he casts his eyes your way, proud and pleased. 

“Thank you.”

It takes another 15 minutes to get to the club, considering Luke’s best Driving Miss Daisy impression, so their date is already underway by the time Cara is ushering you to a booth in the far corner, where you can see Jack’s table, but he shouldn’t be able to see yours, and agreeing to play along.

“Can I get you guys any drinks?” She asks as she hands over two menus, and you’re too interested in trying to gauge the vibe at the other table while Luke looks over his.

“Two diet cokes, shaved ice, no lemon,” he says, and you can’t help but frown at the way the specificity of that order rolls so easily off his tongue. That’s your order.

“Any food?”

“Could we just get some nachos, please?” You ask, sliding your menu across the table without even looking, not wanting to give Luke too much of a chance to peruse his own out of fear you’ll be here all night. “And extra picante on the side.”

“Extra guac, too,” Luke adds as Cara scribbles the instructions on her notepad, “And some of those chicken tenders, and extra ranch. And maybe some fries. Yeah, chilli fries. And breadsticks.”

You level him with a glare, already proven right in your decision not to give him too much time to think about what he wanted. He’ll order every appetiser on the menu, if given half the chance. 

“Thanks, Cara, that’s everything.”

“Sure thing, should be around fifteen minutes. They only just ordered,” she points her pen back to Jack’s table, where Jess is leaning onto the table and Jack is leaning back in his seat - heavy on the distance but even heavier on the eye contact. That little shit.

“Does he have any allergies?” You lean onto your own table to ask Luke, quirking a brow up when his eyes darken in response, mischief swirling in his emerald irises.

“Absolutely not,” Cara interjects, “I’m doing this so you cover my job, not make me lose it.”

“Let me guess, he ordered the steak, medium-rare?” Luke asks, and she nods, hesitantly. “Char it.”

“Won’t he complain?”

“He’ll just grumble to himself about how tough it is. It’ll put him in a bad mood. That’s what we want, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding your head to ease Cara’s worries despite what you really want is for Chef Michael to poison the cut, entirely. If Jack Hughes wants to play with your best friend’s heart, you’ll play with his gut. But you can settle for burnt meat. Luke can work some sort of magic with that, you think, convincing Jack of all people that any first date that resulted in him coming home all sour-puss and sulky should never result in a second. “Bad mood. Bingo.”

“Fine,” Cara grumbles, “But if he even thinks about asking for a manager, you’re covering my next 3 Fridays.”

She storms off to the kitchen, and you and Luke simultaneously sink into your seats, attention immediately diverted back to the table in the opposite corner of the room.

“We should have kept the menus,” Luke mutters from across the booth, “Could have hidden behind them.”

“What are we, children?” You snark, “You can’t think of any more creative ways to stay hidden?”

“I heard PDA makes people pretty uncomfortable,” he leans onto the table, dropping you a wink when you glance over out of the side of your eye, “We should make out to throw everyone off the scent.”

“In your dreams, Hughes.”

Luke sort of envies the charm you hold over people.

The way you can convince people to do your bidding with a mere flutter of your eyelashes or a flash of pearly teeth and a glimmer in your irises.

He has trouble, sometimes, skirting around his honesty or hiding his intentions - and he knows that’s not a bad thing, knows that being clear and truthful is an admirable trait, if anything - but the way you persuade others to bend to your whim with intricate white lies based on observations you’ve made or intel you’ve gathered is a praiseworthy level of genius. 

It had taken such minimal effort for you to get Cara on side, to convince her that being a little clumsy is hardly grounds for her termination, and spilling a little of Jack’s drink close to the edge of the table - close enough that it drips onto his pants and Luke can see the steams of frustration exuding from his brother’s skin from all the way on the other side of the restaurant - or bumping her hip on the edge of their table every time she passes are really just harmless irritations, not likely to cause actual complaint. 

You had used the mere tone of your voice to convince Liam from behind the bar to squeeze a little lime in Jack’s water, knowing just from observing him back at the house that he hates the taste, face curling in disgust at even the slightest hint of it, and Luke had watched your eyes gleam in delight every time Jack took a sip of his drink and tried not to spit it back out, seeking much needed reprieve to swallow down the world’s toughest steak cut. 

You’d even worked your magic on him, pouting your lips when the food had arrived at the table, and he had initially declined to share his chicken tenders with you - your grumblings at him ordering enough to feed the five thousand fresh in his memory, but so easily wiped away by the soft, sad look in your eyes, and your whining of, “But I didn’t realise how hungry I’d get. Plotting and scheming is hard work, Luke.”

You ended up eating half, but he could hardly complain - you were doing the heavy lifting out of the two of you.

He was sitting back and enjoying the show - enjoying your company, if he’s honest. Enjoying the way his gangly limbs would sometimes knock into yours under the table, enjoying the way he kept getting little nuggets of information out of you while you were distracted, sipping at your coke and making little comments about yourself, about your life, without even realising you’re doing it. 

And an unplanned, pseudo date ends up being the first time he thinks he’s had a glimpse at the real you.

The you who knows more about hockey than you’ve ever let on before, who comes back to his stories with contextual questions about the game, even has references to a few games of his back at Michigan, and keeps the conversation flowing despite your feigned disinterest, and a constant gaze cast his brother’s way.

That would usually drive him crazy.

He’s experienced it so often that he has come to expect it, people only entertaining his company to acquire the attention of his brothers, but that’s not what you’re doing. Not really.

You pay more attention to Luke than you’d ever let on.

You ask him about his time in Ostrava at the beginning of summer, even though he’s only mentioned being overseas once while you’ve been staying with him - an offhanded comment from Quinn at breakfast that you must have taken on. Ask him about all the food he tried while out there, when he mentions he doesn’t like picante, and you use it as a springboard to talk about what sort of spices he does like, or if he’s the type to try things or stick to what he knows. 

You ask him about being the youngest sibling, and it stems from an offhanded comment Luke had grumbled about always being the last to be clued in on stuff, about how Jack had probably confided in Quinn about his extracurricular activities at the club, and didn’t trust him enough to let him in on the fact he’s going out on dates. You ask if he usually figures things out himself before he’s told them, if that’s what makes him so good at observing and analysing stuff, and he hadn’t ever realised he was particularly good at those things before you brought it up. But then you reference a day in class one time, where he had picked up on something in a textbook that you never would have figured out in a million years, and his heart leaps at the praise you don’t even realise you’re giving him.

You sandwich your perceptions in your usual snark, but he doesn’t miss the slight curve of your lips anymore when he bites straight back, knowing now that there is some part of you that feels the nip of his teeth, that acknowledges his existence beyond him being a speck of inconvenience in your peripheral.

And he gets a little carried away in that acknowledgement - stops paying attention himself to what is happening on the other side of the room and tries to focus on what’s in front of him; the girl he pined after his entire college career, sat sharing nachos and pretending not to know him at a level you so clearly do.

You must get carried away, too, because neither of you notice Jack’s date wrapping up until Luke catches him hand his card over to Cara.

He’s lost count of how long the two of you have been at the club, now - way longer than it takes to get chips from the store, that’s for sure - and all he does know is that if Jack catches either of you two here, after a night of mishaps, bad food, spilled drinks and Cara’s incessant clumsiness, he’ll know who’s to blame. 

“We better get out of here before he sees us,” Luke sighs, not entirely wanting to wrap up his time with you but knowing he doesn’t really have a choice.

“I’ve just got to pick something up before we head back,” you reply, edging out of the booth at the same time Luke does, “I’ll meet you out front just give me two minutes?”

“Be quick,” he tells you before you scurry off, and he flags down Cara, who tells him you already put your bill on your worker tab. He tells her to switch it to his, and that he’ll drop by tomorrow to pay it off, promising to leave her a good tip for her stellar services for the evening. 

He waits where you asked him to, making sure to stick to the side of the entryway where he can duck for cover if his brother makes an appearance - but you show up first, skipping out from the staff lounge with a bag of tortilla chips in hand.

“Let’s go, Lukey boy!” He follows you out like a puppy on a leash, all the way to where his car is parked, almost bumping into you when you stop and turn without warning, stretching your hand out to him. “Give me your keys.”

“Are you crazy?” He snorts, “You’re not driving my car!”

“I know a shortcut!” You reason, stepping forward and making a grabby motion with your fingers, “We gotta beat Jack home, I just paid another server $20 to spill a whole drink on him before he leaves and he’s gonna be pissed. I want to see the meltdown back at the house and you drive like a nun!”

Luke doesn’t know why he gives in so easy - it could be the proximity, the way you’re so close you have to look up at him, eyes twinkling softly under the moonlight, voice carrying over to him like a siren song, or it could just be because he’s weak - but he hands his keys over with a roll of his eyes and climbs into the passenger side, sliding the seat back with a huff to accommodate his long legs and watching as you adjust the driver’s side, cringing at the way he’s gonna have to figure out exactly how he had it before.

You drive like a maniac, to the point where Luke has to screw his eyes shut as you use some back road, can hear the squelch of mud beneath his tires and squirms at the thought of having to take it to the car wash, tomorrow. 

But you make it back to the lake house much quicker than if he were driving, he’ll give you that. So quick that you feel comfortable enough to turn to him once you’ve pulled up, in no rush to unbuckle and get out to get inside before Jack gets home.

“Just so we’re clear, this is a point under my name. You’re not claiming tonight as a win.”

Luke chuckles, turning in his seat to face you, features illuminated by the dim overhead light that turns on when the engine switches off and a slight flush of exhilaration to your cheeks. There’s no pretending you haven’t enjoyed yourself, not tonight. “But the steak thing was my idea?”

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be sat watching baseball and thinking he was getting a 3 hour haircut, you can’t seriously be trying to steal this from me, I thought you athletes had integrity!”

“You’re really keeping score?”

“You’re not?”

If Luke’s honest, he hasn’t really thought about your whole wager all night. He’s been too wrapped up in the idea that his brother had lied to him. Twice. And now his whole plan for the two of you all summer has potentially been messed up. But hearing you mention it, hearing you talk about it like it hasn’t been flushed down the toilet by his brother’s idiocy sparks something in him - excitement, anticipation. He doesn’t want to let this go.

“I actually think we made a good team back there,” he shrugs, eyes meeting yours to gauge your reaction to the thought of doing this together.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re gonna lose,” you retort, eyes sparkling with those same sentiments he had just felt. 

“Probably,” he acquiesces, “Also ‘cause you kind of scare me a little after tonight, last thing I wanna do is go up against you when you have the power to turn half the country club against me.”

You smirk, and his eyes are drawn to the plush curve of your lips, watching them as they form around the softly spoken words, “God forbid you can’t go a round of golf without your caddy breaking down.”

“Exactly.” He mutters back, glad to see your gaze is still zeroed in on him when he meets it again. He can feel the thump thump thump of his pulse in his ears, and takes a deep breath before proposing, “Partners?”

He cocks a brow and holds his pinky out over the centre console, and you eye the digit, sceptically, narrowing your eyes into a glare before raising them to meet his. “Fine,” you grumble, then hook your little finger through his and tighten it to shake, a slight yelp of surprise filling the car when he tugs, your lax arm giving way until your knuckle touches his lips and he kisses it.

“Ew,” you whine, snatching your finger back as he fills the space himself with a hearty chuckle, wiping it on his hoody in disgust. “That’s gross!”

“No take backs,” he smiles, victorious, with his chest puffed out, primed for you to swat at with the flex of your hand, and the two of you are only pulled out of the moment by the sound of tyres pulling up on the gravel behind you, both of you stumbling to unbuckle yourselves and climb out of the car. 

Jack is exiting his own vehicle behind, and stomps down the driveway, shouldering past you until he realises who he has passed, turning back and looking at you with suspicion cast across his features. 

“Where have you twobeen?” Jack asks, glancing a curious eye between the two of you before meeting Luke’s gaze, levelling him with an inquisitive glare.

“We went to the store for chips,” Luke holds the bag up, the crinkle loud enough for Jack to hear, and he feels an insurgence rising within him, spurred on by the way his brother is looking at him like he’s the one who should be ashamed of his actions. “Nice haircut.”

Jack runs a hand through his hair, surprise crossing his features in a brief flash at the call out, like he had never even expected Luke to notice his hair looks no different to the last time he saw him mere hours ago, like he would never even need to question his alibi.

“Oh, yeah, I got the day wrong. Went out for dinner instead.”

“On your own?” You ask from beside him, your presence giving Luke the kind of back up he very much needs right now, a new target for Jack’s narrowed eyes that takes the heat off of him a little, lessens the burden of lying to his brother - despite Jack being the one who started it, it doesn’t make Luke feel any less bad, doesn’t quell the need to word vomit and admit to all the ludicrous things he had done to ruin Jack’s night. “You end up having a little accident there, bud?”

Luke tries not to outwardly laugh as his attention is diverted to the wet patch that still soaks up the front of Jack’s pants, lips quivering as he presses them together, oblivious to the steam pouring out of his brother’s ears as he immediately gets riled up. 

“One of your esteemed colleagues at the club apparently lacks hand eye co-ordination. Plus, some of us like our own company,” Jack scoffs, “Some of us can go an evening without the need to annoy anybody else.”

“It’s not news to me that you’re in love with yourself, dude,” you retort back, entirely unbothered by his jibes. “Bet you’ve got all sorts of riveting thoughts swirling around that ginormous head of yours, must keep you busy for hours on end.”

“At least I have thoughts, at least I’m not some airheaded-,”

“Hey,” Luke’s tone is authoritative when he calls out, stern and demanding, “Cut it out, Jack.”

“She started it!”

“She asked you a question,” Luke frowns, disappointed with how quick his brother had taken to escalating the situation, all in an attempt to deflect the attention from his own deception. He knows you don’t need him to protect you from Jack’s sharp tongue, knows you can very much defend yourself, but he needs to vent his frustrations, somehow, without causing a bust up on the driveway. “You could have just give her a straight answer without biting her head off.”

He feels like you’re a little closer, all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know it’s the slight brush of your arm against his or if it’s something else, something less tangible - but it warms him, all the same. Steadies the static thump of his heart in his chest at the thought of starting an argument with his brother out of nowhere. 

“Whatever,” Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m going to bed.”

And as Jack turns, Luke sees your lips part, ready to send him off with the last word until a large hand clamps itself over your mouth, and your wide eyes meet his over the sides of his fingers.

He’s not sure why he did it, why he all of a sudden feels comfortable enough to cross the boundaries of purposeful touch, but he doesn’t entirely regret it.

Plush lips press mid-word against his palm, and your skin is soft, cheeks warming ever so slightly beneath his hand.

“You gotta let him go, there’s no use fighting with him tonight, it’s better to drag it out. Didn’t think I’d have to teach you about the beauty of the long game,” he says, voice low as he watches his brother retreat to the house, waiting until he’s safe inside to retract his hand. “Not like this, anyway.”

“Your brother’s an asshole,” you grumble, “Full offence.”

“No arguments from me,” Luke concedes, holding his hands as if surrendering to the fact, himself. “What are you gonna tell Ellie?”

“Nothing.” You sigh, stepping a little down the drive and toward the house before turning back to him. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, partner.”

There have only been a handful of times in your life you’ve ever been thankful for work coinciding with huge plans, but when the group had decided that they wanted to go see Zach Bryan play Ford Field, you had thanked your lucky stars you had been put down to work a full shift at the restaurant and wouldn’t be able to go.

Not only for the fact that he isn’t really your thing, but for the fact that you’re finally getting a full evening to yourself.

So far, in your time at the house, most evenings have been spent with everyone else - group dinners, game nights, movie nights, even a couple of girls nights with just you and Ellie scattered in there, but nothing on your own, yet. 

You can’t wait. And with an empty house, you have a full pamper night planned. You’ve been stocking up odd bits on your trips to the store over the past couple of weeks - sheet masks, aromatherapy candles, you’ve even picked up some flower petals from the spa at the club, in the hopes that you might even treat yourself to a relaxing soak in the bathtub. You can play whatever music you want, make whatever food you want, sit wherever you want in the house, out on the deck, overlooking the lake with a book in hand and no chirpy voices in your ear all night.

You can’t wait.

The only downside is not having a ride home, but you haven’t finished too late. The sun will still be up for a couple of hours, and a walk in the simmering heat back to the house doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

Your feet carry you with ease down the back roads, and you even make the journey without your headphones on, taking in the scenery, the blissful peace of your surroundings, so lost in the tranquility of it all that the sight of Luke washing his car on the drive when you get home dampens your mood as quick as a torrential downpour of rain, flash floods coursing through your evening and wrecking your plans entirely. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You can’t help the bite in your tone as you approach, sneakers crunching against the gravel as Luke pauses the hose, looks over at you with the sun in his eyes, and you have to remind yourself he’s just ruined the one night you have for yourself before you get distracted by the fact that he’s shirtless.

“Washing my car?” he calls back, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Detroit right now?”

Luke shrugs, and you have to will your eyeballs not to move any lower than his neck to watch his shoulders lift and drop, lest you get too caught up in the broad expanse of his chest and do something ridiculous like drool.

“Wasn’t feeling it.”

“You weren’t feeling a concert you guys haven’t shut up about for weeks, but you were feeling washing your car?”

He’s dead. When he’s finished with his car and he retreats to his room, you’re gonna smother him with a pillow and discard of his body in the lake. You’re not even gonna let him shower, first. That’s what the lake’s for.

He’s crapping all over your plans because he wasn’t feeling it?

“It needs cleaning,” he shrugs again, and you swear you’re gonna jump in and run him over with the damn thing, “In fact, you really should be helping me.”

There’s a small part of you that feels like the thoughts of violence are worryingly aggressive, but then a larger part of you realises he must have a death wish.

“How’d you get to that conclusion?”

“You’re the one who drove us through a swamp,” he scoffs, a pointed hand flung toward the body of his car, where the sides are lined with a thick layer of dried dirt from the other night, “You get it dirty, you clean it up.”

“As much as I would absolutely love to fulfil your pervy car wash fantasy, I have much better things I could be doing with my time.”

Or you did, until Luke rained all over your parade of solitude.

“Like what?”

“Literally anything but this.” You gesture at the show he’s putting on. The suds dripping from the roof of the car, the hose in his hand, the buckets scattered around the perimeter. “I need to shower, I just walked from the club and I-,”

A death wish might actually be an understatement.

Luke wants you to murder him in the most gruesome, horrific way you could possibly muster - he has to, because there’s no other explanation for why he’d turn the hose on, point it straight at you, and drench the front of you, entirely. 

You can feel the fabric of your t-shirt dampening and sticking to your chest, and you scrunch your eyes shut to stop droplets of water slipping into them, thankful that when they open again, his own are looking back at you, and not any lower.

You’d really have a reason to kill him, then. 

“You did not just do that.” You growl, glaring back at him with a clenched jaw as the fucker beams back at you, pressing the trigger once more in a short burst that fires straight at your chest, again.

“What, that?”

“You’re so dead.”

You drop your bag and launch for him, aiming to take the hose from his grip, but he fires it again out of sheer panic, the water spouting out from between your splayed fingers, cold and pressured, and it soaks the both of you, raining down as you grapple for the head and Luke remains unrelenting.

There are squeals and yelps called out into the misty air between the two of you, and you get to a point you can’t tell what sounds are coming from who, but you manage to wrestle the hose from his grip and point it straight at him as he jets away with a laugh that rumbles straight from his belly.

It’s the kind of laugh that elicits another, and you don’t realise until he’s circling back to you that the laughter is coming from you - giggling, even, as the two of you engage in a water fight like misbehaving children - and it isn’t long until all aggressive thoughts wash away with the suds that slip to the gravel, forgetting why you were even annoyed in the first place.

It shouldn’t be as fun as it is, but after the long day at work, and the tiring walk back, letting your guard down and engaging it a little mindless chaos seems to wake you up a little.

Your childish game gets Luke what he wanted, anyway, the two of you working together to clean his car when you realise he’s only running in front of all the parts that actually need hosing off and relying on you having bad aim to get the job done, and you figure getting your hands a little dirty is harmless when you’re already soaked through and in dire need of a shower.

And your pamper-plans of a bubble bath and self-care don’t entirely come to fruition, but Luke promises to make up for his petulance by ordering pizza and sticking a movie on, so you bite your tongue to refrain from voicing your initial complaints, and decide to just go with the flow, for once - he hasn’t exactly led you astray, yet.  

You take a little longer in the shower than normal, with no one around to complain about hogging the bathroom or worry about them barging in unannounced, and you suppose that’s a small victory - one little luxury you get to cling to as you bask in the steam, letting all the tension slip from your aching muscles after being on your feet all day.

And once you’re out, hair dried just enough with a towel that it isn’t going to drip or soak your t-shirt, and you’re dressed in your pyjamas, you make your way downstairs, where Luke has already set up a plethora of snacks in the living room.

Nachos, popcorn, candy and drinks scattered across the coffee table as he relaxes on the couch, hair extra curly after his shower and an old Michigan t-shirt stretched tight across his now much-broader chest. 

“Thought I’d wait for you to pick a movie,” he chimes up from where he’s sat, gesturing with a lazy point to the wall of blu-rays beside the TV. 

“Did Netflix never make it to the Hughes household?” You scoff in disbelief as you take them all in properly for the first time. You’d seen them in your peripheral when you’d been hanging out down here, before, but actually looking at them up close, reading all the titles, seeing the sheer volume of how many there are, it kind of surprises you.

“We can look on Netflix if you want. They always take stuff off, though.”

You know. All your favourite movies get taken off of streaming, and you only ever find out about it when you’re really in the mood to watch them. As soon as you realise the wall is alphabetised, you know exactly where to look.

“That’s alright,” you shrug, stepping to the side as you track backwards, through M, L, K and J. “You guys are pretty analogue, I’ve noticed.”

“What do you mean?”

“The board games, the DVDs, the whole no phones around the house thing.”

“No phones around the house is common courtesy,” he chuckles, “But I guess we’re a little weird about the other stuff.”

“It’s pretty cool,” you shrug, spotting the DVD you want and sliding it out to assess the case. “It’s old school. Probably better for the brain. My little brothers can’t really function without an iPad and they’re 5, it’s freaky, like they’re haunted by the capitalist ghost of Steve Jobs or something.”

“I didn’t know you had brothers,” Luke frowns where you almost expect him to laugh, and you spin on your heel to face him. He has this look about him like he should have known that - like the two of you have ever conversed in anything other than sarcastic quips and scrunched up faces, or whatever attempts at flirting have been on his part. 

“Technically they’re half brothers,” you shrug, “They live out in Philly with my dad and step mom, I don’t really get to see them much.”

“Didn’t know you were from Philly, either.”

“I’m not, my dad moved out there when him and my mom got divorced.”

It’s not something you really love talking about. 

The few times you’ve tried, you’ve been shot down, patronising tones scoffing at how your biggest trauma is the separation of your parents, as if your whole world didn’t crumble down with the demise of their relationship, the demise of life as you knew and very dearly loved it.

“You don’t see him even in the summer?”

“Him and his family are on vacation in Europe for 6 weeks. England, France, Spain, Germany, the boys are into soccer so they’ll be out there until the Euros.”

You don’t miss the way Luke’s face scrunches at how you call them his family, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him to start pitying you, so you throw the DVD case toward him before you can second guess your choice.

Interstellar. 

You hope he doesn’t pick up on why it might be one of your favourites. Especially not considering the topic of the conversation at hand. Something about the crippling regret Cooper has for leaving Murph behind plucks harmoniously at some unidentifiable strings deep within you, but you’re hardly about to admit that to Luke, of all people.

“I love this movie,” he smiles, almost surprised, as if he expected you to throw The Notebook his way. Maybe next time - he’d probably love that movie, too, if he gave it a chance. 

“Me too. I love space movies.”

“Like Space Jam?” He asks as he pushes himself up, going toward the TV to set up the movie with the DVD in one hand and the remote control in the other. 

“No, like movies about Space,” you say, throwing yourself down onto the same couch he just vacated and tucking your feet beneath you to get comfortable. “Although I guess Space Jam would technically fit into that bracket.”

“I didn’t realise that was a genre,” he chuckles.

“Not the scary ones, though, I don’t wanna be freaked out by space.”

“Is that like a thing? You just like any movie set in space?”

“I like anything about space, period. Movies, documentaries, books. Thinking about it makes me feel really insignificant.”

“Insignificant? Is that not a bad thing?” He asks as he makes his way back, settling into his side and angling his body toward yours.

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

“I guess that makes sense,” he seems to mull it over in his head, the thought of him even considering it and not making you feel stupid warms your chest - makes you forget just how much of yourself you’ve shared with him in the last couple of minutes alone, makes you worry less that you’re sharing too much. “I think I might be the opposite, though. Probably the youngest brother in me, I only feel better if I feel bigger.”

You think that might be why he’s always trying to one up you - sassy comments and inappropriate jokes galore. Not that you mind any of it, not really.

“What about you? What movies do you like?”

“You’re gonna be so shocked.”

“Sports movies?”

“Look at you, knowing me like the back of your hand.” He coos, nudging at your knee with his hand. “I’ll watch anything, though. We should take it in turns, whenever it’s just us,” he says like the thought of spending time alone with you has only just crossed his mind. “Picking a movie to show each other.”

You think there’s a lot of yourself in the media you consume. The movies you watch, the music you listen to, and sharing those things with Luke feels like giving him the only other key to a high security vault. It’s something you’ve avoided so far - letting him play his songs in the car, avoiding making any sort of pick in the group movie nights. It’s daunting, and it’s a lot of pressure, and so you don’t know why you agree with so much ease - a shrug, and a casual muttering of, “Sure, why not?”

The pieces of your dynamic slowly start to slot together, and you start to realise why you’ve been entertaining his company so often, lately. Why your mood so quickly de-escalated itself, earlier. Why you’ve found yourself curled up on the same couch as him, instead of literally anywhere else in the house, doing anything other than this. Why you’re so quick to agree to letting him access all these unseen parts of you.

And why you think he might be able to read your mind, after he asks, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Only if I get to ask one back.”

“What were you gonna do tonight, if you were on your own?”

Thank God, you think, your heart jumping at the thought of anything else he could have asked.

“I was gonna do a sheet mask and steal the bottle of wine Quinn stashed behind the laundry detergent.” You admit with a nonchalant shrug, the plans you had been looking forward to all day seeming mundane in comparison to this. “Why’d you stay behind? You love Zach Bryan.”

“I love sheet masks and stolen wine, too.”

Your lips curve up before you get the chance to huff at his non-answer, and you feel your throat go a little dry at the way his curve, too - the way his green eyes darken when they meet yours, and you feel like he’s looking straight through you.

It’s around half way through the movie that you realise how much you’re enjoying yourself - when you look over at Luke, and the light from the screen is still bouncing off the sticky white sheet plastered to his face, only just able to make out his round eyes through the little slit in the fabric. 

You sip at your wine to hide your smile, and turn your attention back to the TV until Luke nudges at your feet with his, and your eyes meet over the tops of your bent knees. 

“You tell anyone I did this, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Your laugh ripples through every inch of your upper body, rumbling up from your belly and manifesting itself in shaking shoulders, your smile wide and your sheet mask slipping out of place. “You can’t threaten me with a good time, Hughes.”

You spend the rest of the night trying not to think about how there might just be a tiny door in your heart, eking it’s way open for him to squeeze his gangly limbs into.

>PART TWO<

another a/n: I don't want to put a timeframe on when the next part will be posted bc as soon as I do that, my brain will revolt and it won't happen, but I'd love to know your thoughts in the meantime!!! I have a lot of the rest actually written, and what I don't have written, I have drafted, so it shouldn't be too long but!!! like I said no timeframe!! I've had a lot of fun with this dynamic, and hearing any opinions would mean a lot to me!!

this was my first time writing reader insert if you saw any instances of she/her where they shouldn't be, no you didn’t. I tried as best as I could to avoid using Y/N because it takes me out of it I don’t even remember if I put it anywhere but sometimes it's hard to get around I did my best ok!!!

[moonsnqil]

aftg au where neil/nathaniel died in baltimore and andrew knows he's dead, he didnt stop fighting until he had autopsy reports and a closed casket in front of him. andrew knows he died that night but a week later, a week spent rotting and shoving everyone away, he sees neil. blue eyes clear as water, his hair still glows in the sun, when andrew reaches out he knows none of this is real. neil josten is dead, matt has an empty dorm and someone is already adding nathaniel wesninski to a true crime podcast. he knows none of this is real but it's easier to accept a hallucination than it is to accept that he failed, that another person has been snatched away from him. so andrew goes to practice and sometimes he misses balls because neil is on the court aiming left but aaron shot right. he goes to edens and can feel neil's weight behind him as he carries the drink tray back to their table. he watches nicky play games on the xbox and he hears all of neil's commentary. when he's alone, he talks to neil. andrew had always been great at being silent but never with neil. and he knows none of this is real but it's easier to confide in neil now that he's so intimately familiar with his absence. they trade truths and secrets and neil tells him about oklahoma and andrew knows they never talked about oklahoma and he's just remembering a conversation he heard on disney channel when he was eleven. he lights two cigarettes and sees neil smoke it but doesn't dwell on how quickly the flame dies out. he only mentions it once, to bee. when he says "i keep seeing neil" and bee says she understands, people leave traces of themselves all around us, he never brings it up again. it's not like she's wrong on that front either. neil's locker still has an unwashed jersey inside, the phone charger he never used is still shoved somewhere underneath the passenger seat of the maserati, all the clothes andrew bought him are still in a drawer. matt doesn't spend a lot of time in his room anymore. when andrew says "i hate you" and he truly means it, neil says "i know" and his cheeks dimple. andrew knows this isn't normal, nothing about this is okay, his mental stability is a far cry from being good but he thinks maybe having neil beside him, haunting him like this, is better than a reality where andrew is alone. so they follow each other around like ducklings and wymack looks at him like he's a ticking time bomb because in no world does neil josten die and andrew simply moves on. andrew's nightmares have shifted from being seven and begging to watching neil fight for life on a grimy basement floor but it's okay because when he wakes up he gets to hold neils hand and it's a little cold but the divots between his knuckles feel the same as before so he can blame it on the weather. andrew watches neil's banner go up next to seth's on the court and andrew almost wants to laugh because seth is dead but neil is right here, neil is talking about being court, but no that's not right either. neil is dead, andrew knows this. but then how could neil be dead when he's still buying andrew ice cream and pushing all his buttons? they sit a little too close to the edge of the roof nowadays and neil tells him that they could fall but they might not die because it's only four stories so really it's no guarantee. neil tells andrew he has to be careful because what about aaron, what about kevin, his deals and his promises. he keeps his promises, it's what he's good at. he's pretty sure kevin knows something is wrong but is trying to pretend like it's not. they're the same in that regard, really. andrew knows neil is dead, abby's files label him as deceased, but he thinks he likes being haunted. if it means neil is still there, still planning a future and running his mouth, andrew thinks he could convince himself baltimore never happened. maybe neil was never something tangible to begin with.

[eringobragh420]

➔ Pairing — Damian Priest ♡ f!Reader ➔ Summary — Damian’s girlfriend is pissed off. ➔ Word Count — 2.3k 🛑 Warnings — NSFW. D/s undertones, rough, unprotected p in v, slapping, cum. 18+ ➔ Notes — Spanish translations are at the end of the story provided by Google Translate. ➔ Taglist — If you'd like to be added, please click here! ➔ Support — Buy me a coffee! ☕ ➔ MASTERLIST, KINK LIST

“Don’t fucking touch me, Priest,” she says, yanking her arm out of his grasp before shoving his stupid, giant body as hard as she can. He stumbles back a couple steps, arms spread, palms to his girlfriend, and the unadulterated befuddlement painted on his face is enough to make her head explode.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Damian chuckles.

“What’s wrong with me?” she screams. Damian’s smirk is gone in an instant and his muscles stiffen, bringing him to his full terrifying height, but she can’t back down now. Not after what she just saw. Fuck him and the click he claims. “The fuck is wrong with you?” she continues yelling. They’re drawing attention—well, she is, anyway—but she couldn’t care less. She wants these people—his friends, coworkers, bosses, fans—to know exactly how much Damian Priest sucks, what kind of man is, what kind of boyfriend he is.

“Come here,” he grumbles, snatching her bicep, squeezing hard enough she knows there will be a bruise left behind, and he lifts, nearly bringing her feet off the ground, making it completely impossible for her to escape this time. She feels like her shoulder is dislocating the closer they get to the locker room, and she’s nearly flung into the door when it opens unexpectedly.

“Everything … okay here?” Seth Rollins asks, chocolate eyes passing back and forth between the couple.

“Everything’s fine,” Damian roars, swinging the tiny woman inside the empty locker room. As she goes by, she lifts her middle finger at Rollins, who instantly backs away, hands up, not wanting any trouble. Damian releases his death grip on her arm before kicking the door closed behind him. “Okay.” He sets his hands on his trim hips, shrugging, big eyes and raised brows. “Seriously. What’s your problem?”

Her lips purse as she massages her arm and considers his question. On one hand, she’s pissed because the asshole should know what he did. On the other hand, she could accuse him only to have him deny it, and then what does she do? On the other, other hand—a much smaller, less significant, barely existing other, other hand—there’s a chance she’s wrong, and while it would be good news, she would be embarrassed, and their relationship would be damaged … if it isn’t already. But then the image from earlier flashes in her brain and, not only does she want to die a little, she believes she knows the truth, so decides to stay the course.

“You’re—” She clears her throat because suddenly it’s scratchy and it hurts much like the pain in her chest. “You’re cheating on me.”

The allegation hangs heavily in the ether. She feels stupid actually saying the words. She never, in a million years, would have believed him to be the type, but she knows what her eyes saw. Rhea Ripley—the incomparable, exquisitely beautiful—Rhea Bloody Ripley in Damian’s strong arms, her muscular legs wrapped around his waist. They weren’t kissing, but they might as well have been, and somehow, in her crumbling mental capacity, that alone served as plenty of evidence for an affair.

“What?” Damian asks, the tone of his voice lowering several levels. “I’m—” He pauses, shaking his head. “You think I’m cheating on you?”

“Yeah, Damian, you’re fucking cheating on me,” she replies with more force than she thought she was capable of.

He nods, plump lips forming a deep frown. “And you thought acting like a psychopath in front of everyone we know was the way to handle it?”

“I don’t hear you denying it,” she seethes, nostrils flaring. Her skin crawls at the thought of the two of them together. She wants to vomit imagining a life without her Papí. She just can’t fucking believe they’ve ended up here.

“I shouldn’t have to,” Damian replies, bending over to her height. “You’re talkin’ nonsense!”

“I saw you, Damian. I fucking saw both of you.”

He shakes his head, shoulders coming up to his ears as he considers her statement. And then it dawns on him—she watches in real time as the lightbulb flashes on above his stupid man bun. “Are you talkin’ about Rhea?”

Her mind is blank, erased like a math problem on a chalkboard, leaving her heart in control of her body—and right now?—that heart is fractured, splintering, promising to disintegrate at any given moment. She feels her feet moving of their own volition, closing the space between them. She stands before him for half a moment at less than half his height before reeling back and slapping him across the face. The palm of her hand erupts with fire, tears she’s been battling since the moment she witnessed the embrace now streaming freely down her contoured cheeks. Damian stands frozen, looking somewhere over her head. The muscles in his jaws flex as he clenches his teeth, inhaling long and hard through his nose. He opens his mouth to spin a web of lies, so she slaps him again before he can get started. She’s crying now because of the pain in her hand and the pain behind her ribcage, so she slaps him once again because it’s his goddamn fault. Damian catches her wrist as she makes another attempt, and this is a brand new pain.

“Mírame!” he bellows, backing her up until she slams into the nearest wall. She loses her breath a bit, but Damian places his free hand behind her head to prevent any impact. His grip on her wrist is unrelenting as he holds it against her chest. She is miniscule in this awkward embrace, her eyes looking everywhere but where he wants her to. But when he bends his knees and dips down to her level, ducking his head until he’s in her line of sight, she’s forced to meet his gaze. “I’m gonna make you pay for those slaps in a minute …” he cautions. His hand starts applying pressure to the back of her head. “But first I have to tell you, because for some reason you need to fucking hear it, I’m not cheating on you.” 

She swallows, having her breath stolen again because she feels the truth of his words vibrating her bone marrow. She also feels the shame and embarrassment of being wrong. With her free hand she struggles to unclamp his vice-like grip from her wrist, and having had enough of her shit, Damian grabs both wrists this time and smashes them into the wall above her.

“Do you hear me?” he carries on, with quite a bit more hostility than she’s used to, shoving his knee into the wall between her legs. His knee pad becomes a cushion for her pussy—he’s still in his gear, still sweaty, because she accosted him right after his match—elevating her to the toes of her sneakers, and she is completely at the mercy of Damian Priest.

“Yes,” she says through clenched teeth.

“Good. Do you believe me? Hmm?” Capturing both wrists in one hand, he cups her chin with the other and touches his cheek to hers. “Do you believe that I’d rather die than hear someone else call me Papí?” It’s actually an incredibly sweet confession, but the venom in his tone scorches the honey in his words.

She believes him. By all that is good and holy in this world, she believes him and she is equal parts mortified, thankful, and contrite. She’d allowed her imagination to run wild because of an act of love between close friends, never once considering having a civil conversation with either of them about how it clearly made her uncomfortable. Did she just cause a rift in their relationship? Contaminate it with her jealousy? How many people is she going to have to apologize to? Seth, for sure, although he usually deserves any middle finger aimed in his direction. Christ, what’s she gonna say to Rhea?

“Damian,” she whispers, doing everything she can to not sound pathetic, and if her own ears are to be trusted, she is failing miserably.

“No,” he interrupts her, “you started this. I’m gonna fucking finish it. Now answer me.”

She grits her teeth, rolling her hips unconsciously because the position he’s put her in isn’t all that comfortable, probably by design, and suddenly she remembers how and why she’s propped on her boyfriend’s thigh. Even the slightest friction renders a groan from her. Damian tilts his head, eyes unforgiving, a sable shade she’s never seen before, and she regrets having made any noise at all, no matter how unintentional. His cheek is transforming into a furious vermillion, and the guilt that washes over her is nearly unbearable. She has no hand left to play, not that she did in the first fucking place, and she resigns herself to the punishment she’s about to receive. Well-deserved punishment, she understands.

“Yes,” she breathes, his eyes boring into her, chipping away any residual resolve she might have left inside.

“¿Si, que?” he booms, as if he expected the incorrect response. His anger hasn’t abated.

She can’t feel her fingers anymore and she’s struggling to maintain balance on Damian’s thigh. The slightest lean this way or that sends jolts of pleasure throughout her body, and it’s a losing battle trying to keep the satisfaction off her face. “Yes, Papí,” she says, “I believe you.”

He eyes her for a long moment, searching her face for any clue she might be lying or still angry. She keeps her own eyes open and on him, seemingly baring her soul before him, feeling more vulnerable now than she has in her entire life. At last he pushes away from her and the wall, releasing her wrists, removing his thigh from between her legs, and maybe she misses that last part a little bit.

“Now take those off—” He points at her denim shorts. “—and bend the fuck over.” And then he moves his arm to the right, pointing at a giant WWE trunk on wheels wedged against the corner of the room. She knows her place, and she has her orders.

She kicks her shorts toward him, standing before him in nothing but a pair of Nike hightops, a white thong, and a t-shirt-turned-tube-top that demands the audience to ALL RISE. He doesn’t even look at her body before nodding toward the trunk, and Jesus Christ, she’s in so much trouble. She passes him while rubbing her wrists and when she’s standing less than a foot from the trunk, she realizes she’s too short for this fucking thing too. She glances at Damian over her shoulder, and he’s stomping toward her, and her heart jumps into her throat. She hops onto the trunk, tips of her shoes barely kissing the floor just like when she was straddling Damian’s thigh.

The smack to her right ass cheek echoes throughout the locker room, same with the slap to her left, and she yelps.  Damian grabs her hair and pulls, arching her back into a spine-busting half-circle. He lets go, but before she can fall forward, one of his huge hands clamps over her mouth and holds her in position. With the other, he wrenches at her thong to pull it aside—she hears the material rip at the same time—then bends her leg at the knee and props it onto the trunk beside her.

“You know, the jealousy is kinda sexy on you,” Damian comments. Now she feels his hand working at his pants as it bumps against her sore ass. Then comes a different kind of smacking as he swats the sensitive skin with the underside of his rigid cock. He traces the head along both cheeks and along the crack, on down until she feels the huge, blunt head at her soaking entrance. “But don’t you ever fucking slap me again.”

Without warning, he is wholly sheathed inside her, his hips slamming into hers. She cries out from behind his hand, clutching his wrist with one hand as the other claws at the trunk in a desperate search for leverage to launch herself away. Damian is not a small man, in any way, shape, or form, so he’s always allowed her a few minutes to get used to his size. Not this time. This is her penance. He squeezes her hip, in full control of her body, and he’s simply using her pussy to get off now, without regard for her pleasure. She feels almost like a fleshlight, but her hormones are confused because she’s wet as fuck and, whether he likes it or not, she’s liable to get off just from him fucking her.

Damian stretches across her backside, her spine still bowed, and his teeth scrape across the shell of her ear as he grunts, “Say you’re fucking sorry.” He removes his hand from her mouth.

She gulps oxygen before panting, “I’m sorry, Papí. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He kisses her sweaty neck and sighs, hanging his head over her shoulder in unison with slowing the pummeling of her pussy. “I’m sorry, too. Lo siento, mi vida.” His rhythm starts speeding up following several moments. “But I am gonna cum in this pussy,” he advises, standing up straight, gripping both hips. “And you are gonna walk outta here with it dripping down your thighs.”

“Yes, Papí.”

“Because I fucking love you.”

She groans, bucking back against him. “I love you, baby.”

One final thrust and he makes good on his promise. He even squeezes the base of his cock to make sure every drop is inside her before pulling out. He’s much more gentle with her now, his enormous hands sliding up her back to her shoulder and arm so he can assist her into a standing position. As soon as she turns to him, she grabs his face and pulls his lips to hers. Their kiss is long, deliberate, and by the time they’re finished, his hands are cupping her face and hers are clutching his neck, and goddamn it, she’s so fucking stupid. But love makes people do crazy things.

“Now what do I do?” she asks, holding up the tattered side of her thong. Damian inspects the damage, then takes the lacey material in both hands and rips it into several pieces, which fall one by one to the floor.

“Problem solved.”

જ⁀➴°⋆ Mírame — Look at me જ⁀➴°⋆ Si, que — Yes, what જ⁀➴°⋆ Papí — Daddy જ⁀➴°⋆ Lo siento — I'm sorry

[damiansgoodgirll]

cm punk x fem!reader enemies to lovers? in the mood for my fav trope lol

cm punk x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

‼️enemies to lovers, some angst, unwanted attention, touch without consent‼️

NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL

cm punk was insufferable.

everything about him got under your skin. the way he walked around like he owned the place, the smug smirk that always seemed permanently glued to his face, the way he always had something to say, especially to you. he had this aura, this energy, that made you want to roll your eyes every time you saw him.

and it wasn’t just you. everyone knew you and punk couldn’t stand each other. as if everyone could stand him either.

it had started the second he returned to the company. you were backstage, lacing up your boots, when he waltzed in like he had never left. he barely spared you a glance before muttering something like “they’re really letting just anyone into this business now, huh?”

you had clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay calm “and they’re really giving second chances to people who can’t play well with others, huh?”

you were tired already.

his smirk had deepened, like he enjoyed getting a reaction out of you “careful, sweetheart. you might not like what happens when you start playing with the big kids.”

from that moment on, it was war.

every interaction was a battle of quick glances and snide remarks. every glance was a challenge. he never let you breathe, always finding a way to get under your skin.

he’d critique your matches and your way of fighting.

“not bad out there. a little sloppy, but you’ll get there” he would say.

he’d scoff whenever you walked into a room, like your presence was an inconvenience.

“oh great, you again.”

and you gave it right back.

“don’t sound so excited, punk. wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle”

it got to the point where people backstage started betting on how long it would take for one of you to finally snap.

a lot bet on you first. you were the emotive one. and they didn’t know how much you could handle before you started screaming back at him.

“just give in and fight already” seth rollins had joked once, laughing as he watched you and punk bicker over god-knows-what “or, you know, just make out and get it over with.”

you had almost choked.

“yeah bad idea…” seth said “just fight then…hurt his ego, for me” he made you smile a little.

punk heard everything of course. earning a bad look from rollins too.

“she couldn’t handle me” he said as he watched you.

you had shoved him hard enough on your way out that he actually stumbled “in your dreams, old man.”

but no matter how much you hated him, you could never quite shake the feeling that he enjoyed this. like he liked having someone challenge him, push back, refuse to bow down to his bullshit.

and maybe, deep down, a part of you liked it too.

but you’d rather die than admit that.

but then everything changed.

it was after a long show. you were sore, exhausted, just trying to get back to the locker room and call it a night. the arena was quiet, most people already gone or wrapping up interviews.

smackdown had been amazing that night but your tired ass couldn’t wait to lay down for the night.

walking backstage you had just rounded a corner when you heard footsteps behind you.

before you could react, a hand grabbed your arm.

your heart stopped.

the grip was too tight, the voice behind you too familiar.

“where you off to in such a hurry?”

you froze. you knew that voice. one of the guys working backstage who had always made you uncomfortable, who always crossed the line with his comments, his stares, the way he seemed to linger whenever you were around.

you yanked your arm, but his grip tightened.

“let go” you said trying not to sound too scared.

he laughed.

“relax, sweetheart. just wanted to talk” he smirked.

your stomach turned. your pulse spiked.

you were about to shove him away, maybe even scream, when suddenly - he was gone.

ripped away from you so fast you barely processed what happened.

your breath came out in sharp, shallow bursts as you took a step back, heart pounding, adrenaline surging through your veins.

and then you saw him.

phil. standing over the guy, fists clenched, chest heaving, eyes burning with a rage you had never seen before.

the guy on the floor groaned, clutching his jaw, but phil didn’t even look at him. his eyes were on you.

“you okay?” his voice was sharp, but underneath it, there was something else, something almost gentle.

your throat felt tight. you nodded, but your hands were still shaking.

phil exhaled through his nose, stepping closer, just enough that his presence felt protective instead of suffocating.

“what the hell were you thinking?” his voice was low, tense “walking around alone like that?”

you swallowed hard “what? this is my workplace too…i-i wasn’t thinking…”

“exactly. you didn’t think” he ran a hand through his hair, jaw still tight “jesus, y/n.”

his mind was racing thinking about the things that could have happened if he got there too late or if he didn’t find you at all.

you had never seen him like this before. this was real. this was anger wrapped in concern.

he cared.

and that realization hit you harder than anything else.

“come on,” he muttered, his hand finally brushing against your arm, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him “let’s get you out of here.”

and you let him.

because for the first time in forever, punk wasn’t the enemy. he was something else entirely. and you weren’t sure what to do with that.

and from that day on punk didn’t leave your side after that.

at first, you thought it was just because he felt responsible like he had to make sure you weren’t going to crumble or do something stupid. but it wasn’t just that.

it was in the way he lingered a little longer than necessary whenever you were around. the way he always made sure you weren’t walking alone, even if he never admitted he was doing it on purpose. the way his usual snarky comments had softened, losing some of their bite.

you tried to ignore it at first, but it was impossible. especially when he started looking at you differently.

it was after another show, a week after the incident. you were sitting in catering, picking at your food, when he sat across from you.

“you eat like a bird” he commented.

you shot him a glare “you watch me eat quite often, phil.”

he smirked, but it wasn’t his usual cocky one. this one was softer, almost fond.

you hated that it made your stomach flip.

“just making sure you don’t pass out in the ring” he shrugged.

“how sweet of you” you sarcastically remarked.

“i know” he said but then he hesitated, his fingers tapping against the table “seriously, though… you doing okay?”

your eyes met his, and for the first time, you saw it - real concern.

you swallowed, looking away, feeling shy “yeah… i’m okay.”

he didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. instead, he just nodded “good.”

you weren’t sure why that made your chest feel warm.

things kept shifting between you after that.

the tension was still there, but it was different now. it wasn’t sharp, wasn’t full of irritation or frustration. now it was something else entirely.

you caught him staring at you more often, his eyes lingering, his expression unreadable.

he found excuses to be around you, even when he had no reason to be.

and then one night, after a show, it all boiled over.

you had been walking back and forth in the locker room, the same as always, but this time, there was something charged in the air.

his presence was there. back with his remarks and sneaky comments but this time it felt right.

you shoved him lightly, rolling your eyes “god, you’re impossible.”

his smirk didn’t waver, but there was something dangerous in his eyes “you love it.”

yeah you did.

you scoffed “i tolerate it…i barely tolerate it.”

he stepped closer. too close.

“sure you do” he murmured.

your breath hitched. you should have stepped back. should have said something. but you didn’t.

because suddenly, it all made sense.

the tension, the arguing, the way you couldn’t stand him but also couldn’t stay away from him.

it wasn’t hate. it had never been hate. and when he leaned in, his lips hovering just over yours, he smirked.

“tell me to stop” he whispered.

you didn’t because you didn’t want him to.

and when his lips finally met yours, when his hands found your waist, when he pulled you against him like he had been waiting for this all along you knew.

cm punk was insufferable but maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind anymore.

[ma1n-ev3nt]

jey uso becomes much more tragic as a character once you remember he was never like this before roman initiated him into the bloodline. There was no “crashing out”, no breaking down in the middle of the ring while being abused, no yeeting—he was just a normal person tag teaming with his brother.

Sure, Jey Uso isn’t just a twin anymore. He’s his own person, he’s beloved by the audience with his own catchphrase & song & dance, with his own individual appearance; but the torture (both physically and mentally) he had to get there will always haunt him. Roman essentially molded Jey into a monster by ruining his life in various ways (isolation, physical & verbal abuse, pitting him against his own brother) , threatening him if he ever left & FOR leaving, and now he’s on raw and this version of himself was supposed to have died a long time ago.

For war games, the original bloodline reunited. Jey, Jimmy and Sami helped get Roman back into power. Roman never apologized for his actions at all—nor did he even show an ounce of remorse. Even worse, he mocked Jey for being close to Sami & breaking the single boundary Jey placed. The apology from Roman was supposed to be a huge plot point before….it was skipped over bc the reunion was rushed lol. Despite that, Jey is legit just expected to go past everything that’s happened & finally accept his life and the fact that his family will never beg for his forgiveness while he is expected to ride and die for a man who would never do the same for him.

Cut to ‘mania season, Jimmy is literally fucking dead. Sami, the only other person who might understand him, is gone. Nobody is around to help Jey anymore. He’s getting terrorized by a man whose tactics are eerily similar to Roman during the thunderdome era. However, this time there’s no familial connection. No Jimmy, Sami, Seth, or Cody to talk him out of hurting people. The only things that remain the same are Jey’s feelings of guilt, shame, and utter lack of confidence in himself. The thing is, he will probably never get revenge against his abuser, so Gunther is the next best (worst?) thing he’ll get. So while Jey feels like shit because he’s treated like it by Gunther, he won’t ever be pressured to forgive him like he was by Jimmy with Roman. The moment he was zip tied to the ring, Jey finally had an excuse to release all the hatred he’s been holding back for almost two years. He’s finally allowed to be a terrible person again & he won’t be told he’s in the wrong anymore. He won’t have to stop.

The emotionally conflicted & violent part of Jey that was so successful as Roman’s right hand man never really died—it’s just constantly covered by the yeet shades he wears.

[alpaca-clouds]

Dead Gods in Mythology

Okay, another little write up that has been requested. (Note, yes, you can send me requests for mythological and historical contexts. I love talking about this stuff. Just send a DM or Ask, and I will see to it when I get time.)

This came from a discussion about Sekhmet in season 2 in Nocturne, where someone brought up: "Well, she cannot really have been a goddess if she died." And of course I had to go: "Well, actually..." At this. It ended with me promising a write up on this.

See, this is an idea that is prevasive in western culture, and gets brought up again and again in media: Gods don't bleed, and gods don't die. It has been brought up in The Road to El Dorado, The Epic Musical, and in Kaos. But this idea is actually mainly rooted in - drum roll please - Christianity of course. With the Christian God being a single god, who is supposed to be all mighty and eternal. Polytheistic cultures meanwhile tend to have a couple of gods who within the mythology die. Sure, some of them are revived by some sort of magic - or continue to exist in another plane (in those cases often becoming the guardians of some sort of plane of the dead, where all dead souls go) - but yes, the polytheistic mythologies that we know off tend to have at least one god who dies.

So, let's talk about some of them.

Ra

Given our starting point is Sekhmet, let's start with the Egyptian mythology. Here we have two big examples of gods that prominently die.

One example of this is obviously Ra. Ra's entire thing is that he does not only die in the mythology, but that he dies ONCE A DAY, which was the Egyptian mythology's explanation for why there is night and day. Ra dies at the end of the day, and he moved through the duat during the night. This is in fact part of the reason why we know so many details about the duat, as those are described in several mythological texts about Ra's journey through the world of the dead.

Of course, this might be strange example, because Ra obviously gets revived daily, too, but that does not change the fact that he dies once a day. And for a good chunk of Egyptian history (please keep in mind that Egyptian religion shifted during the 3000 years that Ancient Egypt was around) Ra was one of the most powerful gods in their pantheon so to speak.

Osiris

Then Egyptian mythology has probably one of the best known examples of a god getting killed. And that is Osiris. Like almost all of the old mythologies, the Egyptian deities were a lot into siblings marrying. And in Egyptian mythology there were noticable four siblings: Osiris, Isis, Seth and Nephthys - the latter getting usually ignored by modern audiences for some reason.

Osiris married Isis, Seth married Nephthys. And of course, as it goes with godly siblings, Osiris and Seth had a lot of quarelling and rivalry going. Seth - of course - being a god of the desert and chaos. And eventually Seth manages to trap Osiris and kill him. Now, the details of this have shifted once more throughout Egyptian history. In some variations they aphyxiate him, in others Osiris gets hacked into 26 pieces. One way or another, Isis will look for her dead brother-husband, find his corpse or his corpse parts, revive him, get pregnant with Horus, and then they find out that because he was dead he has to become now the god of the dead, being turned into the god overseeing the souls moving into the afterlife.

Baldr

Then there is of course the myth of Baldr in Norse mythology. Another son of Odin and Frigg. And it was said that Baldr was the most beautiful of all the gods. And Frigg loved him so much, that she went around the world and made everything - every stone, every animal and every plant - promise that they would never hurt him. However, she did not get to ask the mistletoe, and Loki noticed this. And being the trickster that he is, he devised a plan. He tricks the blind god Höðr to shoot a mistletoe arrow at Baldr, which then obviously kills him. In the prose Edda this is the reason for Loki's punishment with the acid spitting serpent.

Baldr of course moves onto Hella - the place, not the goddess - and remains there.

It should be noted of course that in the Edda we also know that most of the gods eventually die during Ragnarök. Though this is also where we should note, that the Edda are of course a source that we should use with some care, given that it is not a first hand account by Norse people, but was written up by Christian monks. (Most notable, a lot of researchers doubt by now that Loki ever was an actual god in Norse mythology, but was invented by Christians to fill the roll of a satan-like figure.)

Zagreus

Where are my Hades peeps at? If you have played Hades, you obviously know that Zagreus has this habit of dying and coming back. And this game mechanic is actually based in mythology.

And this is the moment where we should speak about one important fact: We tend to act as if we know everything there is to know about Greek mythology, but actually we do not know this. We know a lot about the most important gods, because we have several written sources about this - but when it comes to smaller or local gods, we absolutely are loosely informed, given we often only have text fragments. At times several text fragments that are contradictory. Zagreus is one of these.

Zagreus is either an alternative name for Dionysus, the son of Zeus and Persephone, or the son of Hades. The latter aspect has been tried to explain by researchers with the fact that we are not sure if the three big gods (Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades) were always distinct entities or might have been for a long while different aspects of the same god.

One way or another: We have at least two different text fragments, in which Zagreus dies. Once he gets murdered by Titans, once he dies in an accident. One way or another he dies. And in the cases where he is a son of Zeus, this seems to be the explanation why he is bound to the Underworld.

The Hades game kinda mixed and matched with the mythology there xD

Lugh

There I go again, talking about another mythology that we are actually not quite as certain about as some people seem to believe we are: Gaelic mythology. Once more, our issue is that while some of this was written down, it was written down after the region had been Christianized, so there is a lot of Christian bias in those texts. In fact it is even more clear in this example, given that the written down accounts of the Gaelic mythology involve references to biblical events. And of course the Tuatha de Danann are in the written down accounts references more as amazing humans, rather than gods - though we are fairly certain they originally were deities, with Lugh in particilar being a god of justice and war.

In the variations of the story we know, Lugh kills another god named Carmait, as that other god had fucked one of Lugh's wives. And in revenge Carmait's sons end up killing Lugh, by spearing him on his own magic spear and then throwing him into one of the Lochs. So, yes, if you count, this story in fact involves two dead gods. Generally speaking, quite a few of the Tuatha de Danann end up dead, though, again, I will point out, that we are not fully sure how much of this is routed in the fact that these myths were recorded by later Christians, who might have wanted to make sure that everyone understands that the Tuatha de Danann were not actually gods.

Izanami

Technically we actually have a variety of Shinto gods (aka kami) who die. But I will focus maybe on the most widely known story, that pretty much everyone who ever played Persona might be aware of: Izanami. And if I recount the tale, you might in fact feel strangely reminded of other myths.

Izanami and Izanagi were the first kami that were created, and they created the land, and then the world around it, through the act of procreation with one another. Eventually Izanami gives birth to the fire god Kagu-tsuchi and he burns her to death. Her remains are buried, but the grief-stricken Izanagi cannot be without her. So he travels to the underworld, Yomi. Eventually he finds Izanami, but she tells him that she can no longer leave the underworld, as she has already eaten from the food of the underworld. He tries to convince her, but eventually he sees her face and realized that she has the face of death, and flees in terror. She gets angry at this, and curses him and the land of the living, before she remains in Yomi as the goddess of the dead.

Vritra

Vritra in Hindu mythology is one of the danava and serves as the personification of drought. In the mythology he once tries to block a river, of course with this causing a drought. The other gods cannot stand by this, and Indra, who sees Vritra as his nemesis, ends up slaying Vritra to stop the drought.

Note, here, too, that there are a couple of deities in Hinduism - as well as the religions that sprung off of Hinduism - that die at least for a shorter while.

If you have ever had the fun of talking to one of the very annoying atheists, you might have heard someone pointing out that Krishna dies and is resurrected in a way that is quite similar to Jesus. Because, yes, this general mythological concept is assumed to probably go back to the progenitor religion of the Indo-European cultures. While we do not know anything about that religion (because back then nobody wrote anything), anthropologists and comparative mythology researchers are fairly sure that there was a tale of a god dying and returning from the dead in that religion as well, which is why it shows up so often in religions of that cultural sphere.

Innana & Dumuzid

Now let's talk about another really old mythology, about which we know surprisingly much, because they have written a lot down - and we were able to translate it. And that is the ancient Sumerian mythology, in which we have Innana or Ishtar (who in Egyptian mythology later became Isis). Again, due to these also being within the realm of the Indo-European mythologies, you will find some similarities - though in comparison to other goddesses in the same role, Innana is a lot more proactive.

Innana is convinced by her brother to marry the shepard god Dumuzid, though it is fairly clear through the poems we have, that she and her husband never quite saw eye to eye. This makes her death also quite interesting. Because Innana dies by her own volition, because her sister Ereshkigal, who was made the goddess of the dead, misuses her position. So Innana dies to be able to travel to the Underworld and fight Ereshkigal to dethrone her. Enki at this point helps Innana to flee the Underworld and return to the world of the living. However, there needs to be balance in the world. So if she returns to the world of a living, someone else needs to take her place in the Underworld.

As she returns to the world of the living, she sees her servants having mourned her, while her husband, Dumuzid, just instantly went: "I am a widower? Sweet! I can fuck around with servant girls now!" And as we say: Fuck around and find out. So Innana goes: "That asshole has not even the decency to act as if he is mourning me!" So he tells the spirits of the Underworld to take him to take her place. And so they do and kill him.

Good for her!

Quetzacóatl

The very attentive of you might have noticed that all myths I have talked about so far (with the exception of Izanami, where anthropologists and comparative mythology people are still arguing about whether or not there was an influence there - mind you, I land very much on the side of "Yes, obviously, there is an Indo-European influence to Shinto-Myth!") are from the Indo-European influence sphere. So let's lastly talk about one other god, who just so happens to be probably important for Castlevania Nocturne as well: Quetzacóatl. Now, historians researching the Nahua, are fairly certain that this myth has come to be because there once was a Nahua ruler named Quetzacóatl after the deity, and that ruler died, which then in mythology got mixed up with the deity. Never the less: There definitely is written down myths about the death of Quetzacoatl.

The short of it is, that a couple of demons plotted to kill him, but knowing that they could not kill a god, they deviced a plan: They would feed him a beer that would drive him mad. While it took a lot of trickery, they succeeded, and drove the god mad, making him commit suicide by burning himself alive.

Maui

Okay, I know what some might say: "But actually is Maui a god?" I will answer: "That depends who you ask." Maui is a character that shows up throughout almost all the Pacifica cultures. He is always a trickster and a culture hero. At times he is a mortal, at other times he is a demi-god, and at yet other times he is a full god. Because those cultures were distant enough to have the myths shift around. So yes, maybe you will call this cheating. But fuck it, let me talk about Maui, because I kinda think his death is pretty darn cool.

So, if you have watched Moana, you know that Maui is a shape shifter. And he was very fond of humans. So, he decided that he wanted to make humanity immortal. His plan to do so was to go to the goddess of the Underworld and death, Hine-nui-te-pō, and reverse the birth by transforming into a worm and crawl into her vagina. However, she woke, and it turns out that her vagina had teeth - so she crushed him with her vagina teeth. Which is... pretty darn badass, I would say.

Lastly

Let me end this entire thing with the note that there probably are quite a few more gods that die within their respective mythologies. I know at least of two myths from North America in which Coyote dies (a lot of North American cultures have Coyote as a trickster god). And I personally am simply not well informed on South American mythologies or a lot of African mythologies. I do not know stuff about the Indigenous pre-buddhist mythologies of Southeastern Asia, and central Asia. So there is a good chance that there are gods that die - or die and get resurrected in those mythologies - but if there are, I simply do not know enough about them.

Generally speaking though: Gods rarely can be killed by normal mortals. Mortal half-gods might succeed at times. But other gods? Yeah, they sure can kill their fellow deities. And some deities also commit suicide to save other people. It is a common thing throughout mythology.

So, please, can we just stop claiming gods are truly immortal? They will usually not die of old age or anything like that, but they very much can be killed by other gods, magical weapons and such things.

[mamirhodessxox]

Could you do a first date hcs for Seth Rollins pls? ⭐️

First Date <3

Seth Rollins x Fem!Reader

Contents: Fluff, mentions of beer, the cute regular stuff ya know?

🏷️ list: @alyyaanna @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @mini-rhodes @southerngirl41 @harmshake @femdisa @kabloswrld @claymoresofinfamy23 @bones-rhodes @cococodysleevlesshoodie @edtomh

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

-Seth & You are two very simple compatible people, The two of you met when you volunteered as makeup and hair help for the wwe ladies when they were short on makeup and hair artists, he would usually spend his free time in whatever room you were doing hair in just to wither watch you or chit chat & this eventually turned into attraction & you two both agreed on taking things very steady

-He didn’t want to immediately start of with a glitz and glamour for a 1st date because that is stressful to get ready for on the ladies part, you two are into the easy fun stuff & what is more fun that an in town carnival? Exactly.

-Seth is the type of guy to be very proud of being able to pull any kind of woman so he definitely proudly shows you off, holds your hand, wraps an arm around you, feeding you personally because why are you as the love of his life putting in work? Exactly stfu.

-If you got a snow cone that wasn’t the flavor you expected it to be and it genuinely tastes awful to you he is already switching cones, luckily for Seth he eats anything so he has no issue trading snacks

-Seth once made the mistake of bringing his beer onto the ferris wheel and once it started up it shook a little bit and it freaked him out and he ended spilling his beer all over his shirt so he had to walk around with a carnival bought t-shirt that was the most embarrassing thing wver

-When you two go on any of those carnival rides he holds you extremely close in the assumption you might get hurt & honestly, he would rather die in a gorilla pit than you get a singular scratch.

-He’s the type of guy to impress you with winning 10 dozens of stuffed animals at the carnival games instead of impressing you with the riches, every-time he wins a teddy bear he immediately gives it to you “I just won this thing are you in love with me yet or what” “yes baby I’m very much in love with you.”

-One mistake you do make though is play a competitive game with him, don’t do that, like ever, he is easily competitive and will make it a goal to win.

-He really likes fire work shows so when the event is closing up you two would sit in the back of his car in the trunk and watch the fireworks and just cuddle while he’s internally freaking out. He has the biggest crush on you if you haven’t already noticed.

-later in your guy’s relationship he hates secrets or having to keep a secret, Seth is a total blabber mouth so if he thinks he’s in trouble over anything he immediately runs to you or calls you in the middle of the night and starts word vomiting over the most stupidest thing he did “I just stood next too Liv Morgan & I was like omg her hair looks good what if the love of my life Y/N did it and i was staring at her hair for too long & She glared at me and now she probably thought I was being some weirdo fucking creep but I swear I wasn’t I WAS JUST TRYING TO OBSERVE WHETHER OR NOT YOU DID HER HAIR I’m sorr-“ “Seth, it’s 4 in the fucking morning GO TO SLEEP-“

Manirhodessxox’s Masterlist

[ihaveareadingaddiction]

"I needed to lose you to find me."

Seth Clearwater x Swan!Fem! Reader

Summary: You and Seth always been childhood bestfriends, one sudden day in a romantic moment, Seth imprints on you and you try to hide your feelings and after a little while, you realize you need him.

Warnings: Angst. Poor sethy boy 😔

A/N: THERE WILL BE A PART TWO, JUSTICE FOR SETH. This is my first fic so I'm sorry if it's cheesy

Your life changed when your sister came back from Arizona. She met the infamous Edward Cullen, you never thought she would date him, yet here you were. These whole two years have been rough. Your sisters vampire boyfriend, your best friends dad dieing, turning out he's also a werewolf, the volturi, Victoria's newborn army, and now it's Bella's wedding day. You thought everything was going way to fast. And it was. She was getting married at the young age of only 18. Of course it was a month before her 19th birthday but you tried to get her to wait another few years, but then she brought up her 'Aging', which you thought was stupid since she was not even 20 yet.

Bella was getting ready and I went in to go see her. As I walked in the room that Rosalie and Alice was working on Bella's hair and makeup. "Aww Bells you look so beautiful!" I said to her. "Thanks,Y/N. You look quite beautiful yourself." She giggles. "You flatter me, sister." She laughs as My parents come in and it's now time for me and my mother to go out. I walk up to Seth and sit next to him. He looks at me with a smile and says, "Well don't you look just gorgeous?" " You don't look to bad yourself." I laugh at him. "Why thank you my dear, you have touched my heart!" He says sarcastically as he places his hand above his heart. "Bella's gonna walk out in a few minutes, she looks stunning." I tell Seth. "I bet she's not as stunning as you." Before I could say anything, it was time for Bella to walk down. I stood up and seen her with dad. She finally started walking and everyone was looking at her. She smiled at me and Seth and looked at Edward.

They said their vows and so on and now everyone was slow dancing and me and Seth went outside. I was laughing at a joke Seth had told me about Eleazar and how he look like actual Dracula. We were just walking and then another slow song came on. "Shall I have this dance?" He said holding his hand out to me. "We shall." I say while laughing and we start to dance.

We were dancing then Seth breaks the silence. "Remember how you said that Bella looked stunning?" He asked. "Yes?" I say. "Well, Y/N, she might have been beautiful along with all the other girls there, but you were the most drop dead gorgeous girl there, anywhere in fact." He said while looking at me intensely. "Umm, thank you-" "No Y/N, I mean it! Seriously." He paused for a second. "I really like you, I have liked you since, I don't know, Forever?" He said and I looked at the ground. Just then Edward and Bella came out, and Jacob revealed himself from the shadows,he unexpected to see me and Seth. Seth didn't care there was people there,he still went on. "Feel this?" He said holding my hand and bringing it to his chest, and feeling his racing heart beat. "That's because of you. You make me so nervous- and I can't stand being without you- hell, Y/N, I imprinted on you!" And just then my world stopped. Everything was going to fast and turns out my best friend was in love with me also. I liked him but I wasn't sure I was ready to do this yet. And the imprint, Seth had told you about imprints a long time ago. Never did he mention, "oh and you're my imprint!" No! He kept it from you! "Don't you feel any love for me?" He asked. "Seth I like you. But I'm not ready... not ready fir this everything is going way to fast- and this! Imprinting? Seth if you would have told me, maybe we could have been together by now!" I replied. "Y/N,we can take this slow-" I was walking away. Till Seth grabbed my wrist. "Seth I need time." Is all I say before I walked away. I had completely forgot that Jacob, Bella, and Edward were there.

I wasn't ready. And quite frankly, I wasn't prepared, nor informed. I like him. But I need to grow to love him.

I walked home and went to my bedroom. A sudden since of sadness hitting my body like I had lost a loved one. I thought he hated me. Little did I know he was waiting for me.

[moonpie2405]

Sorcerers and Primogeniture in The World of Ancient Magus Bride

Primogeniture is essentially the firstborn child's right to inherit.

This post began with me thinking about how Rian's mother Jade is heavily implied to be pregnant in the recent chapters: Rian, an only child who has loudly and repeatedly declared his desire to not join the family business or inherit his place as its head, and is adamant about learning magecraft instead. It's not that far-fetched to believe that the new child is meant to replace Rian, though whether it is because of kindness or disappointment towards him is up to debate.

That's when I realised that pretty much every major firstborn character in the College arc, especially from the younger generations, is in a sense 'failing' at what is demanded of the position, in one way or the other.

Let's get started with the rest of them, shall we?

1. Violet St George

Outright calls Jasmine the heir instead of him. Him wearing women's clothing is not something that is approved by their house, nor is him remaining unbothered by their criticisms. The elders seem to be prioritising shaping Jasmine for the role as his replacement. He also isn't as bothered by the house's issues as much as Jasmine is, repeatedly proposing that they should run away and become magi instead (in a chapter called 'Better bend than break', too, like???). Though he acts like he is joking, we don't know how serious he is about this.

2. Seth Noel

He was born with no talent for sorcery or the family trade, and was kicked out of his home with nothing to his name. Hell, even his last name was changed, and he was asked to never reveal his ties to the Websters and bring shame to their name, like what? Lucy was literally born as his replacement (parallels to what's happening in the Scrimgeour house 🤨?)

3. Adam Sargant

Ran away from home. He literally chose to die rather than return to his position in the family regardless of how good he was at it, that's how miserable he was in that place (not that it is surprising, with Lizbeth Sargant as his mother). Along this line, we also have:

4. Philomela Sargant

Let's be honest. Philomela was always set up to fail in the Sargant house, and would have never been in a position to actually inherit the title of family head: in the beginning she was raised by her parents with love and kept far away from the world of sorcery, and later under her grandmother's "care", she was only ever a scapegoat and a begrudging obligation at first, and then a sacrificial pawn in Lizbeth's plans. Heir in name only, there was literally no place for her in that house.

5. Torrey Innis

Changed his name, and even continents, to avoid his role as the heir. Would literally move halfway across the world than inherit the family business, much to Narciss's frustration.

6. Mikhail Renfred*

Did not even want to become a sorcerer, whatever happened with his father is what forced him into this path. I don't know what the family's exact duties are, but given his drunk ramblings, Renfred himself does seem to feel inadequate in his capability as a sorcerer.

7. Adolf Stroud**

Failed to follow the family profession of becoming a doctor. He seems to have had poor grades as a child, and later on he left home altogether. This might not seem terribly important, but I think that this directly fed into him feeling like he has failed Lindel.

The law of primogeniture constantly being subverted in the manga is just one of the examples of how the current generation is creating ripples of change, both within the rigid structures of the sorcerers and the world of Ancient Magus Bride itself as a whole.

*Okay, I don't actually have any confirmation about Renfred being a firstborn, but c'mon. Just look at him, he's literally the most only child ever. Can you blame me for the assumption? Welcome to the list, Renfred.

**Another exception, seeing that Adolf does not come from a sorcerer family at all. But he has firmly rooted himself in their world (Lindel's words, not mine), so I'm counting him too.

(If you've managed to make it to the end of this, thank you for reading my ramblings!)

[konchitsya-leto]

phrases and dialogues i saw floating out there in the internet as foxes!

-

Neil: i'm going to go and get the healthiest 6-8 hours long sleep. i have 2 hours to do so

-

Allison: yesterday i saw you with a boy

Andrew: it's my friend

Allison: you were kissing

Andrew: my very close friend

-

Dan: after an argument some people feel they might have been too rude. i always feel like i've had to be ruder. like, maybe, starting a fight might've been of a not so bad choice. at least i should have kicked that moron's ass just once.

-

Aaron: ach du heiliges aufmerksamkeitsdefizitsyndromkind

-

Nicky: Seth, hi! i have a favour to ask of you. can you laugh less? you know, they say laughing prolongs your life, and i'd like you to die sooner. sorry for being rude

-

Wymack: for fuck's sake, Andrew Joseph Fucking Minyard! where have you been? we called in every hospital and morgue out there, they said you're admitted to EACH OF THEM

-

Matt: don't aim to do the whole task in one set. break down your main task into subtasks. then break down every subtask into micro-tasks. then break down every micro-task into nano-tasks. and then,

Renee: boom! there are no tasks; everything has dissolved into an existential hole as if it has never existed at all; however, what's even real in this perishable flow of being?

-

Kevin: hi

Aaron: ...hi

Kevin: how are you?

Aaron: good

Kevin: hmm, why not bad?

-

Seth: i have two moods: 1) the fuck you think i'm joking. 2) i'm joking

-

Allison: i haven't completely fallen in love yet, so in my stomach there are caterpillars

-

Aaron: the smartest ones made the smartest move: they died last year

-

Kevin: i drink alcohol and they say i'm alcoholic but when i drink fanta they never say i'm fantastic

-

Neil: i've lost motivation. i need some life goal, my life energy has burnt out

Andrew: i can accomodate you with kicking your ass

-

Nicky: bonjour, motherfucker

Kevin: adios, bitchacho

-

Wymack: don't worry, don't cry

Kevin: drink vodka and fly

-

Renee: do you believe in god?

Andrew: no

Renee: you're such a nice looking guy!

Renee: and such a wrong thing is in your head

-

[during a session]

Betsy: have you ever tried screaming?

-

Andrew: i put the 'hot' in psychotic

Betsy: it's... Totally not how we handle it

-

Allison: sorry, i have no mental resources for that

Aaron: just as how it was yesterday

Allison: just as how it'll be tomorrow

-

Andrew: i like tall men. you walk next to them and can't hear what they are blah-blahing up there

-

Abby: we can't giggle here

Neil: but why?

Abby: well, it's a crime scene?

-

Abby: i'll tell you, jail is no fun

Wymack: you've been in jail???

Abby: once. in Monopoly

-

Abby: you are all really well behaved today. what did you do?

[panlight]

If we want to get into the chess pieces:

The King: either Carlisle, as the central figure without which the game is over/the whole Cullen experiment falls apart, or Renesmee as the one everyone else is fighting for/protecting. I think the fight in the BD2 movie starting when Carlisle is killed sort of supports him as the king. His 'moves' are also limited; Jacob says in BD the book that he'd be easier to kill because he'd hold himself back, not wanting to shifters to die.

The Queen: I mean, I guess it would be Jasper??? He's the most powerful fighter in terms of like, actually fighting vs using powers to anticipate moves. He's the most powerful, most aggressive piece. Most people hold the queen back at first, though, and that doesn't seem like Jasper. I certainly understand the symbolism of the BD cover but Bella's power, however strong, is DEFENSE. She is not attacking anyone, she's preventing psychic attacks. That's not the Queen vibe. The Queen is active, powerful, moving around.

Bishops: Alice and Edward. One of them starts right next to the king (Edward, if the king is Carlisle), they move the same way but on different colors, which mirrors in a way the fact that Alice and Edward are both psychic but in different ways.

Knights: Rosalie and Emmett. Active pieces who get out into a fight early and move unpredictably.

Rooks: Bella and Esme. Steady, protective pieces. If Renesmee is the king, Carlisle's probably also a rook.

Pawns are the visiting vampires I guess? Certainly some of them are powerful enough to be more important pieces but NARRATIVELY they aren't super important. The game isn't over if Benjamin or Zafrina of Siobhan dies, however cool their powers.

If the wolves had their own side, I guess maybe Billy is the king? He's the leader of the whole group, not just the shifters, but has never phased and so can't fight like the others. If we stick to just the wolves, I guess Jacob by default as the heir of Ephraim Black. Or I guess any one of the imprints could be the king, the one everyone else is protecting? Oh no, is Renesmee the king on the shifter's side? Thanks, I hate it.

Leah can be the Queen I suppose? She's the fastest, which might be a decent parallel to how far and fast the queen can move.

Quil and Embry as the bishops because . . . idk. Because. Jared and Paul the knights, more unpredictable and eager. Sam and Jacob, if he's not the king, as the rooks. They hold down the fort. They're strong and dependable.

Seth and the other younger wolves as the pawns, sadly.

[wallofchynax]

SWEETHEART (4/?)

POSTED ON AO3 chapter one is here

Synopsis: Shawn Michaels is a legend. A Hall of Famer. A respected veteran in the wrestling industry. He’s also one breath away from a full-blown breakdown. Because somehow, despite his best efforts, he’s found himself entangled with the worst possible problem: you. You, the young, smug, utterly relentless female wrestler who has made it your personal mission to ruin his peace. Shawn knows this is a bad idea. And yet— He can’t stop.

Chapter Synopsis: Shawn Michaels cannot catch a break when he finds you waiting under his desk. Rhea and Seth are suspicious and lay down bait.

Ships: Shawn Michaels / Bratty!Reader, Stephenie McMahon/ Triple H

Content Warnings: Female!reader, bratting/brat taming, having sex in a risky location and almost getting caught, age gap relationship (older man/younger woman), daddy kink, no beta we die like men

Shawn Michaels just wanted a minute. 

One fucking minute. 

A singular minute to collect himself. To breathe. To remind himself that he is a professional, that he's supposed to be above whatever game you've pulled him into. 

He practically stumbles into his office, slamming the door shut behind him like he’s just finished outrunning a wild bear. His shirt sticks to his back, sweat mingling uncomfortably with the memory of your touch, your scent, your presence. He can still feel the phantom sting of your nails etched along his shoulders, like a goddamn souvenir, marking him in ways he never should’ve allowed. 

He exhales deeply, slowly, as though it might do something to clear the fog in his head. 

It doesn't. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is you. The wicked curve of your lips when you tease him, the playful mischief in your gaze that pulls him deeper into madness, the sinful heat of your skin beneath his fingertips. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with you. Not here. 

Shawn Michaels prides himself on discipline, professionalism. 

Control. 

But you? 

You were tearing every shred of it apart, leaving him scrambling, desperate and breathless. He doesn’t know how to fix this. Walking to the desk, He rounds the corner of his desk, already reaching for the chair, 

And stops dead. 

Because you’re already there. 

You’re already kneeling comfortably like you’ve been waiting for him to arrive. Your eyes sparkle with a familiar mischief that’s incredibly dangerous. A smirk already curling onto your lips as you tilt your head to look up at him.  

“Jesus Christ,” Shawn breathes out, his heart hammering against his ribs in disbelief as raw hunger surged through his body in his gut, “You have got to be kidding me. 

Your smile widens, playful yet predatory, as you rest your chin delicately on your hand, looking entirely too pleased with yourself. 

“You seemed stressed, sweetheart,” you say innocently, letting your eyes drift pointedly downward before meeting his gaze again. “I thought you might appreciate some…relief.” 

He drags a hand down his face, breathing out slowly through his nose, trying desperately to grasp hold of his unravelling composure. Shawn glances at the clock, feeling panic spike sharply through his chest. “I’ve got three meetings lined up back-to-back. The first one is with Hunter, in five minutes,” 

You shrugged lightly, completely unbothered, “Then I guess you will have to multitask,” 

He should have said something. His mind should have scrambled for some sort of semblance of professionalism or something that would give him a reason to say no against his desires but the wicked glint in your eyes and the seductiveness written across your face with enough for any argument he had to be destroyed.  

You came closer and your hands reached up and slowly glided your hands up his thighs, fingers teasing along the line of his belt. Shawn’s breath hitched. 

He should resist. 

Should.  

Needs to. 

But you’ve already popped the button of his jeans open, already began tugging the zipper down inch by inch by slowly agonizing inch, already wrapped your warm hand around his cock, stroking him to hardness. And when you flick your tongue across his tip, tasting him slowly, deliberately, your eyes holding his, filled with teasing defiance, Shawn knows his control is gone. 

Utterly. Completely. 

You hum softly around him, taking him into your mouth, deep and slow, working him with deliberate strokes. And as Shawn grips the edge of his desk, feeling himself slip further into madness with every expert swipe of your tongue, the notification chime of his laptop rings sharply through the room: 

Incoming video call: Hunter. 

Shawn’s heart nearly stopped entirely.  

He jerks his hand back to the laptop before sitting at his desk. You paused briefly to allow him to chance the position. Your mouth still was wrapped around his cock, glancing upwards with an expression of pure sinful amusement. You wanted to see what he would do. 

“You're trying to fucking kill me,” Shawn mutters breathlessly, fingers gripping the desk so hard he’s afraid he'll splinter the wood. 

But you don’t stop. 

Instead, your eyes lock onto his defiantly, and you slide your mouth even deeper onto him, sucking firmly, slow enough to drive him insane. Shawn’s knees buckle slightly, a low, desperate groan caught in his throat. He reaches out and hits the "Accept" button on the video call with shaking fingers, praying Hunter doesn't immediately notice the flush across his face or the sweat forming at his hairline. 

Hunter's face appears on the screen, serious and entirely businesslike, oblivious to Shawn's predicament. “We need to finalize tonight’s segments,” he begins, then pauses, squinting suspiciously. “You alright, Shawn?” 

Shawn nods hastily, forcing a tight-lipped smile as he desperately fights to suppress the urge to thrust forward into your mouth. “I’m good,” he manages, voice coming out slightly strained and higher than usual. “Real good. Why?” 

Hunter’s frown deepens slightly, eyes narrowed in concern. “You just look...” he gestures vaguely, suspicion clearly written across his features, “tense.” 

Shawn forces out a sharp, breathy laugh, gripping the edge of the desk harder as your tongue glides expertly along the underside of his cock, pushing him dangerously close to losing his composure altogether. “Just tired, you know how it is,” Shawn lies, his voice tightening. “Been a long day.” 

Hunter’s gaze remains sceptical, but he finally shrugs, moving forward. “Right. Let’s just get this done,” 

Shawn nods vigorously, thankful Hunter decides not to question further. “Absolutely, sounds good- let’s get it done.” 

But under the desk, your lips curl into a devilish smile around his cock, clearly enjoying Shawn’s helplessness, pushing him closer and closer to the brink. His breathing quickens, heart racing in his chest as Hunter drones on, oblivious. 

However, you knew exactly what you were doing.  

Every slow lick, every teasing little swirl of your tongue, every tightening of your lips around his cock is intentional torture. You’re savouring this, feeling every tremble of his thighs under your hands, drinking in the desperation he’s barely managing to conceal right now. You pull back just enough to flick your tongue over the sensitive tip, tasting the saltness of precum and just him in general, loving the way his hips jerk involuntarily. His breath catches audibly above you, and you smile against him absolutely loving the way you are destroying him right now.  

Above the desk, Shawn gripped the edge with whitening knuckles, desperately fighting to keep his voice steady as Hunter continues to discuss segments and bookings, blissfully unaware of the torment that was happening out of side. 

You slide your mouth down again, taking him deeper, deliberately tightening your throat around him, humming softly, knowing exactly how that vibration shoots up his spine. Shawn’s thigh tenses sharply under your palm. He’s struggling now, shifting slightly in his seat, barely able to sit still, his breath coming out in sharp, uneven exhales as he fights the overwhelming urge to thrust deeper into your warm, wet mouth. 

You glance up, your eyes sparkling mischievously as you meet his tortured gaze, silently daring him to lose control, daring him to break in front of Hunter. 

Shawn feels the pleasure building relentlessly, dangerously close to the edge, every deliberate stroke of your tongue pulling him closer and closer to impending doom. He tries to keep his face neutral, but his heart is pounding in chest. He’s barely paying attention to Hunter’s voice as it faded in and out of his life. 

“You listening, Shawn?” Hunter questions sharply, brow furrowing. “You look distracted.” 

Shawn forces a tight smile, voice strained. “Yeah—yeah, I’m—fuck—I’m with you. Keep going.” 

Under the desk, sensing his closeness, you double your efforts, mouth tightening around him, tongue swirling over his tip relentlessly, pushing him closer to release. He bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes copper, one hand gripping the desk edge like a lifeline. 

Once again, Hunter isn’t convinced that Shawn is truly paying attention.  

“Are you sure you’re-” 

But Shawn can’t stop it. His orgasm hits him suddenly, violently, pleasure flooding every nerve ending as he comes hard into your mouth, his cock pulsing and twitching against your tongue. He barely suppresses a gasp, turning it into a shaky cough as he grips the edge of the desk with desperate strength, muscles tensing painfully to hide the tremors surging through his body. 

Hunter paused again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Shawn?” 

Shawn coughed again, trying to stop his hand tremoring as he raised it to his face. He could feel how flushed his face was. 

“Sorry,” he managed weakly, forcing a strained laugh, “Just...shit, allergies. Yeah, bad allergies,” 

Hunter clearly didn’t believe him but decided it wasn’t worth the energy to pry. 

“Alright. Just send me your notes when you’re done.” 

The second Hunter’s face vanishes from the screen, Shawn collapses backward in his chair, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven bursts. 

You slowly slip off him with a satisfied, smug grin, licking your lips deliberately as you gaze up at him with mischief dancing in your eyes. 

Shawn stares down at you, dazed, exhausted, and thoroughly ruined, his voice raw and shaky. 

“You,” he breathes heavily, voice breaking slightly, “are a goddamn nightmare.” 

Your grin widens, utterly unapologetic. 

“And you fucking love it.” 

- 

You weren’t being subtle, and Rhea Ripley was trying to forget about it. Yet, whenever she had a moment to herself, she seemed to hear your words in her head.  

“When I was a kid, I told everyone I was gonna marry Shawn Michaels.” 

But somehow, when she walks into catering Rhea catches Seth Rollins standing by the vending machines, brow furrowed, arms crossed, just staring off into space like he’s doing mental math and can’t get the equation to make sense. She eyes him suspiciously for a second before stepping over and bumping him lightly with her shoulder.  

"You look like you just tried dividing by zero and your brain gave out," Rhea says dryly, grabbing Seth’s attention. "You good?" 

Seth blinks at her, snapping out of his daze with a sigh. "Honestly? I have no fucking idea." 

Rhea raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Care to elaborate?" 

He shook his head slowly, gesturing to the hallway, “I swear something weird is happening. Twice...Twice now, Shawn has interrupted me when in a conversation with her,” 

Rhea’s pulse spikes slightly. "You noticed that too, huh?" 

Seth frowns deeper, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. And it's like... the man is either gonna punch me in the face or drag her away whenever she's laughing at one of my jokes. I'm starting to get paranoid here. I don’t even like her like that. Everyone knows I’m going out with Becky," 

Rhea snorted, shaking her head, “Relax. No one thinks you’re cheating on Becky. You’re not the one under scrutiny here,” 

Seth groans, dramatically waving his hands. "Then why the hell is Shawn giving me death glares every five minutes?" 

Rhea leans against the vending machine, crossing her arms thoughtfully. "Maybe it's not about you at all." 

Seth blinks at her in confusion. "Meaning?" 

She smirks slowly, eyes glittering with mischief. "Meaning maybe it's about her." 

"You think they're...?" Seth trails off, eyes widening slightly as realization dawns. "No way. Shawn and...?" 

Before Rhea can answer, Hunter’s voice echoes down the hallway as he walks by catering with Stephanie, irritation colouring his tone. "...I don't know, Steph, but Shawn is acting like he's twenty again, ready to throw fists anytime someone so much as looks at her. It's goddamn exhausting. Don’t get me started on him during the meetings. He wasn’t even paying attention to a word I said," 

Stephanie’s laughter rings softly down the hall, amusement clear in her voice. "Come on, Hunter. You’re telling me Shawn Michaels is distracted by a woman? That's hardly groundbreaking news." 

Hunter grunts irritably, clearly exasperated. "Yeah, except it's not just any woman. It's her. He was damn near grinding his teeth the whole meeting." 

Their voices fade down the hall, leaving Rhea and Seth standing frozen, staring at each other in stunned silence. Finally, Seth drags a hand down his face, groaning dramatically. 

“Great,” he muttered, “I’m in the middle of an inappropriate age gap relationship,” 

Rhea looked delighted before turning back to Seth, “You know what this means, right?” 

Seth sighs, “You’re gonna say we have to investigate,” 

"Damn right we do," Rhea replies with a mischievous grin, nudging Seth in the ribs. "Think of it as damage control." 

Seth eyes her sceptically. "I think you mean entertainment." 

Rhea shrugs unapologetically, smirking. "Maybe both." 

They walk together into catering and there you were. You were sitting on your own, having a coffee and enjoying a salad box at a window seat. Shawn Michaels was also there, getting a coffee from the counter. Rhea grinned; this was perfect. 

“Alright,” Rhea says, cracking her knuckles like she’s about to walk into a steel cage match. “Here’s what we do-” 

“We?” Seth interrupts, already sounding nervous. 

“Yes, we,” Rhea replies, grinning. “Except, you’re the bait.” 

Seth blinked and looked at Rhea as if she had grown five heads, “Come again? Why am I the bait? I didn’t even do anything?” 

“Exactly,” Rhea says. “Which is what makes it perfect. All you must do is talk to her again. Laugh. Maybe let her touch your arm or something.” 

“Do I have to flirt?” Seth asks, half-joking, half-horrified. 

“Only if you want Shawn to fully lose his mind,” Rhea says, already looking like she’s enjoying this way too much. 

“You do realize if he figures out what we’re doing, he’s going to superkick me into another timeline, right?” 

“I’ll protect you,” Rhea says solemnly. 

“No offense, but I don’t fully trust you not to film it.” 

She grins. “I would film it.” before turning back to the rest of catering. You weren’t paying attention to what was going on around you and you would have said the same for Shawn apart from he would look over to you every now and then like a lovesick teenager. “Alright, we do this in catering. That’s his usual haunt this time of day. You’ll go in first, sit with her, be your usual annoying self.” 

And then they began. Rhea took up position at a far by table with a clear view of the room. She was watching like a hawk as Seth spotted you at the table. He spots you at a table, looking effortlessly relaxed, scrolling through your phone. You’re glowing. It makes him nervous. But he has a mission. 

“Hey,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you. “You survived training. Miraculous.” 

You glance up from your phone, your lips immediately twitching into a playful smile, “Barely,” you reply with a mock sigh, setting your phone down, “I think I might need therapy after your helpful advice,” 

Seth chuckled, relaxing now that you were engaging with banter, “Come on. It wasn’t that bad,” 

You tilt your head teasingly, smirking. “I’ve seen baby giraffes with better coordination than you today.” 

Across the room, Rhea snorts quietly into her hand, eyes flicking quickly toward Shawn, who had paused mid-pour at the coffee station. His shoulders had visibly stiffened the moment Seth sat down beside you. 

Seth leans forward slightly, playing his part perfectly, clearly more comfortable now that you’re joking with him. “Harsh, but fair,” he grinned, eyes sparkling with amusement, “Tell you what, next time, I’ll actually try not to trip over my own feet,” 

You laugh genuinely, leaning in a bit closer to bump his arm playfully with your own. “Careful now. That almost sounds like a promise.” 

At the coffee counter, Shawn’s jaw tightens noticeably, his knuckles turning white around his coffee cup. 

Rhea watches with glee, barely suppressing a grin.  

Oh, this is going even better than expected. 

Seth can feel Shawn’s gaze burning into the side of his head, but he tries his best to keep a smile on his face, “So, uh,” he clears his throat, glancing over toward Rhea for moral support, “You doing anything tonight? Maybe we can talk more strategy.” 

Your eyes widen in amusement but before you could say anything, you could see Shawn moving.  

Fast.  

“Hey,” Shawn interrupts sharply, appearing beside the table as if summoned by sheer force of jealousy alone. His voice is tight, barely restrained. “Rollins. Got a minute?” 

Seth stiffens instantly, eyes flicking nervously between Shawn and you. “Uh, sure,” he replies, trying to appear casual and failing miserably. 

You raised your eyebrow, clearly intrigued by and thoroughly entertained by this development. 

“Something wrong, Shawn?” 

Shawn turned his intense gaze to you for a brief second before glaring back at Seth. “Just need to discuss something with him. Real quick.” 

Rhea leans forward slightly, eyes gleaming as Seth reluctantly stands up, his expression a mix of dread and resignation. She’s clearly savouring every deliciously tense second of this unfolding drama. 

You simply sit back in your chair, arms crossed, looking at Shawn with an amused smirk tugging at your lips. “Play nice,” you say teasingly as Seth gives you a desperate, pleading glance before Shawn practically drags him away. 

And Rhea could barely contain her laughter as he does. Operation Jealous Michael? Perfectly executed.  

- 

Later that day, you stepped out of the locker room with your shoulder when a strong grip closes around your waist and pulls you abruptly into a nearby equipment room. The door slams shut behind you, plunging the small space into semi-darkness. 

You glanced up but you already knew whose hand is wrapped around your wrist, whose presence has backed you into a corner. Shawn stands there, jaw tight, his gaze blazing and intense. 

“What the hell was that earlier?” he growls, voice dangerously low, eyes narrowed sharply at you. He leans in close, invading your personal space, trapping you between himself and the equipment shelves behind you. “You think you’re funny? Using Rollins to get under my skin?” 

You tilt your chin up defiantly, refusing to back down despite the intensity rolling off him in waves. “Maybe,” you say lightly, daring him with your eyes. “Or maybe I just enjoyed the attention.” 

His grip tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against his body until there’s barely enough room between you too.  

“You’re enjoying it, huh?” he rasped, his voice a rough growl, dripping with possessive jealousy, “Enjoyed making a fool out of me? Flirting right in front of me, just to get me wound up?” 

You tilt your head slightly, your smirk widening. Even now, pinned against shelves stacked with forgotten gear, you refuse to yield control. “Oh, come on, sweetheart,” you tease softly, deliberately running your fingertips slowly down the centre of his chest, “it’s not my fault you can’t handle a little harmless conversation.” 

“Harmless,” Shawn echoes sharply, his voice harsh and strained. His eyes burn into yours, intense, challenging. “You think anything about this is harmless?” 

You arch your brow, leaning closer until your lips brush dangerously close to his jaw. “Careful, Daddy,” you whisper, your voice dripping honeyed sweetness, “your jealousy’s showing.”  

The moment the word slips from your mouth, Shawn freezes entirely. His grip on you turns bruising, his breath hitching audibly as a shudder runs through his body. The tension around you snaps sharply, becoming unbearably thick. 

“What did you call me?” 

You smirked. You knew that you were playing with fire and that’s what made this whole thing so...delicious. 

“You heard me...” You murmured, softly as your lips barely grazed the edge of his jawline, breath warm against his skin, “Daddy,”  

His grip tightened even more. He let out a ragged breath, every muscle in his body tensing as he struggles with the violent consuming desire.  

“You really think you’re clever,” he growls, voice rough with barely restrained hunger, eyes locked onto yours in a heated stare. “You have no idea what you’re doing.” 

“Oh,” you whisper sweetly, boldly pressing your hips forward until you can feel exactly how hard he is against you, “I think I know exactly what I’m doing.” 

Something snaps behind his eyes, raw and uncontrolled, and suddenly his mouth is on yours, rough, possessive, demanding. He kisses you like he’s drowning and you’re his last breath, all teeth and tongue and desperation. His hands roam your body, gripping, squeezing, claiming every curve as if trying to imprint himself on your very skin. 

You moan softly against his lips, arching into him, revelling in how quickly and completely you’ve unravelled him. Shawn pulls back just enough to speak, voice raw and dangerously low. 

“If that’s what you want...” he warned darkly, breath ragged, “Then I’ll see you at the hotel room,”  

And with that, he let you go. He looked at you one last time before...he left. He didn’t care if anyone was wondering around the outside of the room, he had pulled you from, he just left you there and you couldn’t be more excited. 

[sees-writes]

I love that Dale and Warren Burgess full on took their role as older cousins to Kendra and Seth so seriously, becoming as protective of them as older siblings would. I mean:

“‘Maybe you should just feed me to him (Olloch),’ Seth said.

‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ Grandma said…

‘He’ll have to eat me to get to you.’ Dale said. ‘Whether you like it or not.’”

This is Book 2 RotES

“The knife at her side had Kendra’s full attention. She realized that the wrong words or action might get her stabbed.

…

Warren stopped into view, hands in his shopping cart, eyes on Civia. Kendra had never seen him look quite so serious.

…

“Warren stopped. ‘I don’t care who you are,’ he said. ‘You harm Kendra and I’ll break your neck.’”

This is Book 5 KthDP

-

Dale was fully ready to fist fight a whole ass demon to protect Seth. Warren told the LAST Eternal that he did not give a shit and would end her to protect Kendra. I just love how ride or die these to are, pure Burgess blood right there.

[northhopest]

7x08: Wildfire

"Wildfire" is my favorite episode so far this season. My heart soars for Chenford, aches for Jayla, and dreams of the day Tim Bradford goes feral on Seth.

The Rice Cooker

Someone on Tumblr spotted a rice cooker in Tim’s house after it got broken into. Another tried to downplay it by pointing out that he also has a vintage camera like Lucy. And this is exactly the problem. We get so few glimpses of Lucy’s culture on the show—tiny morsels, barely enough to hold onto—yet some fans are quick to generalize or minimize them. This kind of dismissal contributes to cultural erasure, which often goes hand in hand with whitewashing.

Rice isn’t just food; it’s foundational to what it means to be (East) Asian. Nearly every Asian American household has a rice cooker, while most other households don’t. Melissa has even asked the props department why Lucy doesn’t have one in her home, and to give Lucy Chen a rice cooker. Meanwhile, vintage cameras are common in LA and have been seen in various characters’ homes—they’re not culturally specific. But a rice cooker in Tim’s house? That’s different. He’s a white male cop, a bachelor, someone highly unlikely to own one on his own. Its presence strongly suggests Lucy’s influence.

In fact, it’s more significant for Tim to have one than it would be for Lucy. For Lucy, a rice cooker is expected. But for Tim, it speaks volumes about the cultural exchange that happens in an interracial relationship.

This Was NOT a Feelings Confession. It Was a Feelings AFFIRMATION.

This scene contains some of Tim’s best lines since Season 5:

"Do you have somewhere you gotta be?"

"I might say something hateful! You don’t know!"

"Wow, the arrogance!"

Their banter under duress screams old married couple energy. Tim wants to say something heartfelt, but Lucy’s scared and doesn’t want him to. He uses humor to bring them back to a familiar place and diffuse her fears. Then, when she still doesn’t let it go, he affirms her with a big silent DUH before telling her that he still loves her.

His approach is similar to how he looked at her in the 6x02 lie detector scene: He takes a breath, looks at her like she’s his world, and with his whole face, tells her Of course I love you before he actually says it.

Then Lucy yells, “It doesn’t matter!”—because admitting it would mean admitting they might die, and that she still has feelings for the man who broke her heart. Tim knows her too well and cuts through the subtext.

Lucy Chen doesn’t say I love you. She says, “Oh, you’re infuriating!” And Tim Bradford acknowledges her love with, “I know! I know.”

And then he protects the most vulnerable part of her: her neck.

CHENFORD is Code Four.

Their relationship is Code Four. I repeat: Code Four. They’re gonna be okay.

Tim and Lucy bantering like an old married couple.

Tim taking her hand and helping Lucy up.

Wade Grey freaking out over his daughter and son-in-law.

Lucy giving Tim that same look she used to give him as his rookie whenever she needed his approval or reassurance.

Tim giving the reassurance right back to her.

She’s still looking at him even as he looks away.

Wade’s celebration punches 🥹

And the hug.

Lucy resting her hand on his lower abs and belt? Not platonic. No ma’am. If any other woman ever touched Tim like that, Lucy would be pissed. Meanwhile, Tim is holding onto her like she’s his life (because she is).

I half-expected Tim’s signature forehead kiss.

Sergeant Lucy Chen

Lucy needs to keep her last name. It’s not just a name—it’s a critical part of representation. Chen is the only Chinese last name—the ONLY Asian last name—in the main cast. We already get so little of her culture, and losing her name would be yet another erasure.

Some fans joke about the idea of two Sergeant Bradfords, but Lucy is her own person. Chen holds far more weight than Bradford ever could. There are four white male characters on the show, plus four others with Anglo-sounding last names (Grey, Harper, Penn, and Murray). Asian characters even have Anglo last names (Jamie Hall, Chris Sanford, Misha Porter, Chief Coleman, Kylie Thomas to name a few). Chen stands out. It matters. It cannot and should not be replaced with Bradford.

Imagine Tim becoming Sergeant Chen after marriage. Not just imagine it—savor it.

This wouldn't just be "different"—it would be revolutionary in the context of any show. A white male officer taking on his Asian American wife's surname? That's the kind of subtle yet powerful representation that television never gives us.

Tim would wear "Sergeant Chen" like a badge of honor. And in one simple name change, The Rookie could make a profound statement about love, respect, interracial relationships, and cultural identity that would resonate far beyond fictional Los Angeles. It would be an act of quiet rebellion against systemic norms and patriarchal traditions.

The Hospital Scene

Tim Bradford’s priorities are LUCY CHEN and LUCY CHEN ALONE. He’s so in love with Lucy Chen, and he will do anything for Lucy Chen. And as far as we know, Tim is the first person Lucy has confided in about her Sergeant Chen aspirations.

“If you pass, I wouldn’t be your supervisor anymore.”

I’ve seen people upset that Tim turned it back onto himself and what he wants. But it's okay if he’s a little selfish and hopeful that the chain of command will no longer be an issue? He wants her back. And this time, she doesn’t have to put a black mark on her career for them to be together. He also knows that Lucy Chen is a badass. She’ll be his equal and he’s proud of that.

Right before this, Lucy mentioned “moving forward,” and Tim was fighting for his life in that pause before she clarified “in my career.” Moving forward from what? From Tim? From the rebuild he’s been desperately trying to do? From Mid Wilshire? He’s probably stunned into awkwardness and I think awkwardness contributed to the "chain of command" line. It's also a contrasting callback to the 7x06 elevator scene when he reminds her that he's still in her chain of command.

Also: the audiobooks callback!

Lucy knows the Sergeant’s Manual inside and out. She’s read the books, dictated them, and likely edited the recordings. This is just a refresher for her. She’s willing to accept Tim’s help, but she’s not desperate for it. He broke up with her, and she still has her guard up. She nods her acceptance, but she’s not clearly assenting.

And that’s dignity.

The One Scene I Didn’t Like

Lucy, Nyla, and Celina changing in front of Miles and Nolan.

Celina wears a low-cut top and bends down in front of her TO.

Lucy bounces around while putting on her pants.

Lucy takes off her shirt in front of her ex and her ex’s rookie, who used to flirt with her.

Lucy wearing a show-through bra that showed through her t-shirt. Give that woman a full coverage bra!

Nyla is the only one not being sexualized onscreen.

Miles is in his respectful gentleman era, and Nolan is whipped by Bailey, but the ladies did not need to be doing this. This was likely a mix of script, direction, and acting choices. I’m not for it.

Our women are powerful. Them being sexualized for the male audience is not my cup of tea.

Other Observations

When the fires hit LA, firefighters protected others’ homes even as theirs burned down. In large-scale emergencies, first responders must go where they’re assigned. Tim was heading back to the station when Lucy informed him about looting in his neighborhood. They both had their own assignments, and both broke protocol—Tim to protect his nephews, Lucy to protect Tim.

Last episode, Tim promised Seth that if he puts Lucy in danger, Seth will have Tim to deal with. It became abundantly clear to me in 7x06-7x08 that Tim Bradford lives and breathes Lucy Chen. He’d better hope that Tim doesn’t find out about his flub up. Feral Tim is a beautiful thing. Unless you’re Seth Ridley.

I think Seth is a villain. He knows his TO is in danger and shows no urgency. He has four writing pads and knows exactly which one he wrote the Eagle Rock Road closure note in. He shoves the note into his pocket. He doesn’t call LAFD Command like Grey orders him to. Grey’s freaking out over Chenford but Seth’s concerned about his job and not about Tim and Lucy’s lives. I have a feeling he’s going to use his cancer as a shield when and if he gets found out.

Tim Bradford not knowing how to set up a fire shelter? I think he was joking to diffuse tension. Supercop/Army Vet Tim Bradford absolutely knows how to set up a fire shelter in fire country.

[so-much-history-in-these-streets]

AFTG PLAYLIST - NORA'S PICKS

(If Nora blogged it or tagged it, it's here - I hope I got them all, feel free to add if I didn't!)

The Foxhole Court Lean On - Major Lazer & DJ Snake I'm Not A Saint - Billy Raffoul State of My Head - Shinedown

The Sunshine Court Breathe - Lo Spirit

Seth Gordon Hey, What's Up - Munn Someone, Please Come Help - Munn

Neil Josten Scars - Boy Epic

Andrew Minyard Numb Little Bug - Em Beihold

Kevin Day I'm So Sorry - Nico Collins Burning Castles - Nathan Wagner

Jean Moreau Bird Set Free - Sia Movements - Daylily

Jean & Neil Used to the Darkness - Des Rocs

Nicky Hemmick Saints - Echos Cat & Jean My Same - Adele Jeremy & Laila Count On Me - Bruno Mars

Jean/Renee Walk Thru Fire - ViceTone She Is The Sunlight - Trading Yesterday

Minyard Confetti - Charlotte Cardin

Neil/Andrew Perfectly Broken - Banners

Jeremy Knox I Am - Tom Walker Best Day Of My life - American Authors

Jean/Jeremy The Other Side - The Greatest Showman Stargazing - Myles Smith

Carry You Home - Alex Warren

Kevin & Jean

Shinedown - Through The Ghost Xavier & Min A Boy Named Pluto - Hailey Knox Jean & Elodie (I’m Guessing, tagged: J&E) All of the Stars - Ed Sheeran Cody Winter Not Like I’m In Love With You - LEW

"To be tagged later" A Friend Like You - Andy Grammer

(tagged as 'not technically a TSC song' or as 'writing' in 2023) You're Not Alone - Saosin Hear Me Now - Framing Hanley Darkest Hour - Astrid S Might Love Myself - Baretooth My Brother - MisterWives Wings - Birdy Depression - Nathan Wagner Love Me Now, Or Lose Me Later - Kygo, Matt Hansen Untagged - (maybe just music she likes) Shots - Imagine Dragon Let's Hurt Tonight - One Republic La Di Die - Nessa Barrett I'm Doing Fine - Mike Waters Who Are You - SVRCINA Stole the Show - Kygo ft Parson James Sound of Surviving - Nichole Nordeman Pieces - Daughtry