#so I've been finishing up whatever else i can in the house instead but now they're the next best option

[izzy-b-hands]

Should I be sleeping by now? Yes

am i looking up restaurants in CT and NY and Massachusetts to go visit with my friend there instead and making myself hungry lol? Yes, yes i am

[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!!!

[in-my-feels-probably]

Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

I Feel So High School (Every Time I Look At You)

Request: Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

and: art being 10ish years older than reader? that’s all i got. go crazy

Hi! Challengers has been on my mind literally since the day it came out, and I think I've read every single fic on here about it, so I figured I’d give it a shot writing one myself. First of all, I combined your requests, hope that’s ok. Second, this is my first time writing for Art, so please bear with me while I try and get the hang of writing his character. I haven’t written a fic in weeks, so my skills are definitely a little rusty. Please be kind! Anyways, I hope you like this. Let me know what you think, and thank you for the request :)

(Warnings: none? idk, maybe very vague mentions of sex, art is divorced, swearing, i guess the age gap taboo. let me know if i missed anything)

—

You should have known trying to explain your situation with Art to someone else would’ve been difficult, but finally telling your roommate everything was just as humiliating as you thought it would be. She always had a knack for nosing her way into your business, and not even you were immune to her federal level detective skills when it came to getting information out of someone. 

“And I’m seeing him today,” you finished your rant as you sucked in a breath, wincing as you waited for the bomb to drop.

But it didn’t. Your roommate just grinned, standing up and walking over to your closet. You watched with a confused look on your face until she turned to you, already elbow deep in your clothes.

“So…you have a sugar daddy?” your roommate asked, trying to stifle a laugh as she rifled through your closet to help you find an outfit. “No judgment, I’m honestly jealous.”

You picked a pillow up off your bed, launching it at her when she smirked as you flushed. “I don’t have a sugar daddy! I have a…well—ok, I don’t know what we are. But he’s not my sugar daddy.”

“No, he’s just an ex pro tennis player with a famous ex wife who was also a pro tennis player that he had a perfect little girl with, complete with a house in the Hamptons. Now, he’s…what, exactly? A coach? A commentator? Part of Stanford’s glorified alumni? No, I’ve got it! I know what he is — hot. In a beekeeping age, recently divorced, kind of way.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up to help her look through your closet. “He’s only in his thirties. You’re making him sound archaic and washed up.”

“Look at you, gushing over him,” she grinned as she finally landed on something for you to wear, quickly handing it to you. “At least he has good taste. You’re hot, too.”

Your roommate turned around while you quickly changed, sitting down at the foot of your bed. She talked over her shoulder as you got dressed, her voice full of curiosity.

“So, how did this all happen anyway?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Remember alumni week with all the guest lectures and presentations a few months ago?”

“You met Art Donaldson during alumni week? What the fuck! Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have skipped all my classes that week if I thought I was gonna pick up a trophy husband instead of being forced to sit through a mind-numbingly boring presentation from some guy who used to go here that I’ve never heard of.”

“Sucks to suck, babe,” you grinned, finished getting dressed. “I’m good, you can turn around now.”

She quickly turned around, patting the spot on the bed next to her.

“How did this even happen? I’ve never seen you step foot on a tennis court in your life, and I know they wouldn’t have asked him to speak in a graduate lecture.”

You sat down next to her, nodding. “He did a seminar down at the courts for the kinesiology majors or something like that. They were learning about sports related injuries and how to treat them. He told them about how he hurt his shoulder a few years ago during a match, and he talked about all the physical therapy he had to do.”

“You’re telling me you sat through a kinesiology lecture? On a tennis court? When you don’t even study kinesiology?”

“Absolutely not,” you laughed, leaning back against the headboard. “He told me about it that first week while he was here.”

Your roommate giggled, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Oh my god! Okay, okay. Spill. Now. I want to know everything.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, but started ranting again anyway. 

—

In truth, you didn’t really know what your relationship with Art was. You’d met when returning alumni who’d gone on to excel in their fields came to campus for guest lectures and demonstrations.

In a total mortifying cliche, you ran into Art in a hallway while you were rushing to a lecture that had already started ten minutes earlier. You would have been on time, but your roommate accidentally locked herself out of your dorm, and the RA wasn’t answering their phone. She had an exam she needed to get to, which—in her own words—“trumps your boring book lecture.” You had no choice but to turn around and save her, making the trek back across campus to let her in. That’s how you ended up running face first into Art, your bag and all your things scattering across the floor. By some miracle, at least the halls were empty.

You quickly kneeled, scrambling to pick up all your things. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’m late for class.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, kneeling to help you.

It was then when you looked up, and you felt your heart jump into your throat. Art Donaldson—famous alumni and world renowned tennis player—was crouched right in front of you, handing you half empty tubes of chapstick, a pair of headphones, and a stray pack of gum. Oh god, you thought to yourself. Why me? Why today? You quickly cleared your throat, standing up.

“God, sorry. Thanks…Mr. Donaldson.”

You cringed as you said it, the title of Mr. feeling off as it rolled off your tongue.

“Mr. Donaldson?” he raised a brow, shaking his head. “No, just call me Art. Uh, you know who I am? Am I actually still recognizable here? I figured no one off of the courts would have any idea who I was.”

You glanced down at his shirt, pointing. “You’re wearing a name tag.”

Art paled, raising a hand to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. Good one, he thought to himself. Very humble. He cringed to himself as his cheeks flushed, a small smile on his face.

“Right. I knew that.”

You smiled, pulling your bag back over your shoulder as you let out a little chuckle. “I know who you are. Stanford never lets us forget about their prized students.”

“Ah,” he nodded, grinning. “In my day, it was Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Connelly. Although, Reese dropped out halfway through her degree, so they don’t talk about her much—”

“And Jennifer left Yale to come study here,” you finished. “That’s one they do still brag about.”

Art smiled, leaning back against the wall as he looked at you. You suddenly became very aware of your situation, tearing your eyes away from him to look down the hall where your class was. Art’s eyes followed, and he straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Am I keeping you?”

“No!” you said all too quickly, biting your tongue for a second before you forced yourself to calm down and continue. “Uh, my class already started. It’s not really important, he doesn’t count attendance anyway. And, to be honest, he’s pretty dull. He managed to make Jane Austen boring.”

“Not Bazin’s class, is it?” Art asked, making you raise a brow.

“Yeah, it is. How’d you know that?”

Art smiled, letting out a little laugh. “That’s why I came this way, I wanted to see if Professor Bazin still taught English here. He was a dinosaur even when I graduated. I’m surprised they still let him teach.”

“If they actually read the end of term course evaluations they make us fill out, they wouldn’t,” you mused, making Art grin wider.

“I guess I should let you go then,” Art shrugged, glancing down the hall. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on something you could use in your scathing evaluation.”

You glanced back down the hallway at your classroom, but you couldn’t get your feet to move. You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t want to go just yet. 

All you did at Stanford was go to and from class and stay on top of your studies. It was monotonous and boring, and you were always up to your neck in papers and projects. Other than your roommate, you hardly had any people left you talked to or hung out with. They all graduated with their undergrad degrees, and you moved on to your graduate studies. Your education was important to you, but it got lonely. You almost never took risks anymore. But as you glanced back at him, that’s what you did.

You took the risk.

“Or…you could save me from my misery?” you stuttered out, an awkward smile on your face.

Art looked at you with an amused expression, tilting his head as he waited for you to continue. You swallowed, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

“My classes are almost all entirely in this building. I’m sure you’re sick of talking about tennis, but between here and my dorm, I don’t think I see enough sunlight in a day to keep me going. Maybe you could walk with me somewhere that actually sees the sun? Doesn’t have to be the courts or anything, although I can say with full confidence that I’ve never actually seen that part of campus and I’m in my graduate studies. Uh, maybe you’ve got somewhere in mind? Or you could let me buy you a cup of shitty cafeteria coffee? I promise I’ll refrain from asking you about your career. But, as I’m sure you can tell just by looking at me, I don’t really know enough about tennis to ask anyway.”

As you rambled on, horrified by your own rambling but determined to put yourself out there, Art smiled. 

He’d met a lot of girls over the years. Some girls who had a genuine interest in him but didn’t last, and some who saw his fame and fortune as a one way ticket to an easy life. 

None of them mattered. 

He had married Tashi, head over heels from the first moment he saw her. He had a kid with her, a career with her, a seemingly picture perfect life with her. It didn’t even occur to him to look at other girls until his marriage started to strain under the weight of his career, and he’d almost forgotten what it was like to look at a girl for the first time and feel that sickening but addictive feeling of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. After the divorce, it felt so foreign to him that he didn’t even try. He had resigned himself to being a single father who co-parents and lives the rest of his life comfortably and quietly.

But here you were, rambling on with flushed cheeks and bright eyes trying your hardest to ask him out, and he couldn’t be more captivated.

There was just something about you. You were pretty, obviously. Anyone with eyes would’ve been able to see that. But there was something else, too. You were still young and not entirely pessimistic yet, with your whole career ahead of you. Probably no more than a few heartbreaks under your belt, able to muster up some sort of courage to fight for what you wanted. He used to have that, and he missed it — admired it, even. As you finally cut yourself off and looked up at him with mortification written across your face, Art saved you from further embarrassment with a smile. 

“Um…coffee sounds good,” he said with a shy smile. “Not from the cafeteria, though. If it’s as bad as it was when I went here, I’m not gonna let you waste your meal card money on it. There’s a cart outside of the athletics center, I stopped by it this morning. It’s still good.”

Trying your best to mask the shock you were feeling by his answer, you quickly nodded. “Oh, okay. Sounds good.”

You spent the entire afternoon with him. Coffee turned into lunch, and lunch turned into a long walk. Although you both had things to do, neither of you wanted to say goodbye and go on with your day. You skipped the rest of your classes for the day, letting Art show you around campus. He took you to all the places you had never been, and you kept quiet and let him show you anyway when you passed somewhere you had already been a hundred times. He was polite and asked you about your major and career goals, even managing a graceful smile when it was his turn to tell you about his career and how it unfolded after he graduated. He was careful to leave out the end, but he found himself comfortable enough to tell you about the first few years. You asked what you could, but you really didn’t know enough about the sport to ask much of anything.

“I’m boring you to death, aren’t I?” he asked when there was a lapse in silence after you passed a poster with his face on it for a Wimbledon campaign.

“No, not at all!” you replied, tilting your head up towards the poster. “I’m just wondering how you managed it.”

Art cocked a brow, turning towards you. “Managed what?”

“Not becoming a complete asshole,” you shrugged, making him burst out laughing. “I’m serious! You’re not the first celebrity to come here during alumni week. The difference between you and them is that you didn’t show up and immediately start bragging about how successful you had become. As far as I can tell, you’re the same as when you graduated. That seems pretty rare.”

“There’s not much to brag about,” he shrugged, too humble for his own good.

“A career Grand Slam isn’t worth bragging about?” you asked, turning away from him when he gave you a confused look. “Okay, fine, I may or may not have Googled you back in the restaurant while you were in the bathroom. I was running out of things to ask you, and I figured I should know something about tennis. Anyway, I was impressed.”

Art just chuckled. “I’m flattered.”

After walking a few more minutes, the street lamps turned on. It had gotten late enough in the evening that they were starting to light up around the darker parts of the campus. It was your cue to stop walking and look around, both of you realizing how long it had been since you started talking.

“I guess I should be headed back to my dorm,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your voice. “My roommate is probably freaking out by now. She knows I never really go anywhere after class without her—and yes, I heard how pathetic that sounded as it came out. She’s probably gonna call campus security if I don’t show up soon.”

Art nodded, knowing you were right. And yet, his feet didn’t move. Neither of you made any attempt to leave, still standing under the soft light of the street lamps. Art looked at you with soft eyes, absentmindedly reaching to fiddle with his wedding ring with his thumb before he remembered it wasn’t there anymore. Finally, he cleared his throat. 

“Well…I guess this is the part where I ask you for your number.”

“It was nice meeting you, too—” you started, doing a double take once his words registered. “Wait, what?”

Art let out a nervous laugh, shrugging. “You bought me a coffee, it’s only fair that I do the same. I’m here all week. Maybe you’d want to do this again sometime?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied, trying your best and failing to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Art smiled and pulled out his phone, opening his contacts. He handed it over to you, watching as you typed in your number before handing his phone back to him. You fought the heat pooling in your cheeks, fiddling with the strap of your bag. Art grinned, breaking the silence. 

“Go find your roommate. Tell her to call off the search party.”

You chuckled, nodding. “I’m on it. Well…bye, Art.”

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll text you,” he replied, enjoying watching you shuffle back and forth on your heels. 

He made you nervous. And for some reason, he liked that. He’d spent practically the last decade of his life perpetually nervous. It was nice to know someone else felt the same way. 

He watched you go as you turned around and headed back to your dorm, a distant but still familiar warmth in his chest. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he could already tell he liked you. By the time you made it back to your dorm and managed to come up with an excuse for your roommate who immediately interrogated you the second you stepped through the door, your phone was ringing. You excused yourself to the bathroom with a bashful grin on your face, answering the call.

—

You spent the better part of a week with Art when you both had time between your classes and his seminars. 

It felt surprisingly easy and normal talking to him. Your small talk about your careers and plans turned into more personal topics, and then you were talking about anything and everything. You were fully aware of the age gap between you two, but it didn’t bother you nearly as much as you thought it would. If anything, it was part of the draw to him. He was also kind and friendly, with a surprisingly self deprecating sense of humor that made you laugh. Not to mention the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous. You had to actively make sure he didn’t catch you staring at him when his head was turned. He made you want to actually giggle out loud, which is something you never thought you’d do over a guy.

By the end of the week when it was time for him to leave and go back to New York, you both were dreading saying goodbye. 

It was late in the evening, about an hour before he had to leave to catch his flight. He’d finally taken you to the courts, once again only lit by the street lamps overhead. It was the first time all week he’d stepped onto the court and actually wanted to be there, not surrounded by onlookers who knew every nook and cranny of his life and career. Instead it was you, the sweet pretty girl who made him genuinely laugh when you asked him why the points system would ever use the term love to describe a lacking score. 

He fiddled around for a while, teaching you a few serves and how to hold the racquet to hit the ball. Eventually he was on the other side of the net, watching you giggle and chase after the few balls he’d softly serve your way. He could hear you panting and the sound of your shoes skidding across the court, but your laughter was too sweet to make him stop. 

Finally, you stopped to take a break, sitting down on the bench. “Don’t look at me, I might cough up a lung.”

“Very impressive,” he smiled, passing you his water.

“Thank you,” you grinned, motioning between him in the court. “Go on, let’s see what you’ve got. I’m down for the count, but I’m sure the ball machine will be more than happy to fill in for me.”

Art smiled, watching you grin at him with flushed cheeks and glowy skin. If anyone else was asking, he wouldn’t have done it. He wasn’t interested in showing off his skills, or lack thereof to put it more accurately as of late — he’d stopped training as intensely after the divorce, no new tournaments waiting for him to come and win. But the look on your face when you asked was just one he couldn’t say no to. Plus, your knowledge of the sport wasn’t that vast. You probably wouldn’t notice if he slipped up anyway. And if you did, you’d be too kind to make him feel bad about it.

“If you insist,” he groaned, but he was still smiling to himself as he moved to the other side of the court.

You watched him play for a few more minutes. He really was something to see. Every movement he made was smooth and graceful, a far cry from the stumbling around and huffing and puffing you had been doing. Every ball hit its target, every serve lining up exactly where he wanted it to. As silly as it sounded, you actually had to prevent yourself from clapping once he finally slowed down and turned the machine off.

“Look at you go,” you smiled from the bench, handing him back his water as he walked back over.

His cheeks flushed pink, and he was silently praying you couldn’t see it from under the low lights. He was too busy getting all flustered to reply to you, and it made you smile. It was silent for a long moment as you stared at each other, before he finally stood up. You followed him, a sinking feeling in your gut as you realized that it was probably time to say goodbye.

It had been a week you had never even dreamed would’ve happened to you, and yet it did. The one risk you decided to take had led to the most fun you’d had in your entire time at Stanford. You didn’t want to see him go.

As you looked up at him with soft eyes and a melancholy look on your face, like you were looking to him for all the answers, Art felt a sharp tug in his chest. He found himself immediately wanting to fix it, wanting to make you smile again — smile because of him. He’d have done anything in that moment to get you to laugh again.

So, against his better judgment, he leaned in and kissed you. 

It was a spur of the moment decision, one he almost immediately regretted. But then he felt you sink into the kiss, your hands coming up to his waist to steady yourself. He cupped your cheeks and pulled you into him, unable to stop the smile spreading across his lips. 

And that was all it took — he was falling, and falling hard. 

—

That was months ago now, and yet, Art still found reasons to visit you. 

When there was lapses in tours, or it was Tashi’s week with Lily, he always somehow found himself ending up coming right back to you. He’d pick you up from your dorm, and you’d spend the entire day with him. On weekends, you ended up in whatever hotel he was staying at, telling your roommate you were going back home for a few days. When you weren’t together, you were constantly texting or calling. He even sent a postcard once when the ATP took him to Europe. It was cheesy, but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face all day when you got it in the mail. 

You hadn’t exactly put a label on the relationship, but it was clear to the both of you that you meant more to each other than either of you cared to admit out loud. Quite a bit more, actually.

And Art wasn’t stupid — he knew what your relationship looked like. 

Recently divorced, a younger woman by his side. If they knew, the media would paint him as one of two options: an easily manipulated victim of a gold digger, or a washed up athlete who split with his wife that was now taking what he could get, the younger and prettier the better. 

But that wasn’t it at all for Art.

It wasn’t just sex, or a new pretty face. You were something different. A breath of fresh air. Someone who didn’t care about his career or money or fame. You had no interest in what he could offer you, or what you could get out of him. You never made him feel pressured to do anything or talk about anything he didn’t want to. He’d spent so many years craving a sense of normalcy and peace. Time and time again, he’d wanted to go to Tashi and beg for a break in his routine. But, always too afraid to disappoint her and everyone else watching him, he stayed quiet. He never got a break. As odd as it was to say, that’s what you were to him when he met you — a break. A minute to breathe, a moment to relax. He always felt that way around you.

Simply put, he was head over heels for you. He didn’t think he’d feel like that for another woman after Tashi until he met you, and it shocked him how easily the feeling came to him.

And it wasn’t just him that had fallen. 

You practically hung on every word he said, and soaked up every ounce of praise he gave you. You had never been with someone like him before. Someone so experienced and sure of himself, but just as gentle and patient as he was sure. He made you laugh and smile, and he made you feel safe. For whatever reason he had taken interest in you, you didn’t care, you just didn’t want it to stop. You clung to it, enjoying it while it lasted.

And if either of you had anything to say about it, it would last.

—

By the time you finished explaining your relationship with Art to your roommate, she was already pushing you out the door. 

“Go, go, go,” she squealed, tossing you your keys. “Wait!”

She wrapped her hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks as she glanced down at the outfit she chose. “Is that a new dress? Did he buy you a dress? Oh my god, please tell me he has a brother.”

“Not sure,” you grinned, smoothing your hand down your front. “Show up to alumni week next time and find out.”

You were already pressing a kiss to her cheek and rushing down the hall before she could get out another word, giggling as you made your way to the stairs.

On the drive over to the hotel, the nerves in your stomach were making you nervously tap your fingers on the steering wheel. You must’ve got caught by every stop light, making the trip even longer. You were practically vibrating once you finally pulled into the parking lot, grabbing your bag and hurrying inside before your nerves got the better of you and made you stand like an idiot in the lobby, trying to muster up the courage to get in the elevator. You coasted on autopilot as you forced your feet to lead you upstairs to his floor, all the way down to his door. You only came back into your body when you raised a hand to knock on the door, pausing to take a deep breath.

Just knock, you thought to yourself. You’re a big girl. Just knock.

You had barely even knocked twice on the door before the door swung open, and you came face to face with Art. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you took a second to take him in. Still as pretty as you remembered, and every bit as alluring. You could feel yourself melting. 

The feeling was mutual. 

Art let out a sigh of relief, like it was the first good breath he had taken in weeks. A genuine smile crept onto his face as he reached for you, practically making grabby hands like a child. 

“Come here, pretty girl.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle, immediately burying yourself in his chest. You let out a hmph as you pressed your cheek against him, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. You could feel his thumb running along the bare skin of your arm, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He nudged the door closed with his foot, tugging your bag from your shoulder and setting it on the floor without even letting you go. He was warm to the touch, and steady against you. He hummed into your hair, squeezing you tighter.

“There she is,” he murmured, letting out a small laugh. “My girl.”

“Hi, baby,” you giggled, the sound making his heart soar in his chest. 

He slowly walked you backwards to the bed, supporting most of your weight as you laid down. He was quick to follow, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. His arms hooked lazily around your waist, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

This is what you both had been waiting for. This feeling, this moment. Just this.

“You look very pretty today,” he whispered into your skin, pressing a kiss where his lips rested. “All this for me?”

The humor in his voice made you grin, your fingers running through his hair. “Couldn’t let you be that pretty all by yourself.”

Art smiled, pressing his face further into your neck as he let out a breath. You tightened your grip around him, holding him close. You let your eyes close, resting your cheek against the top of his head. 

A comfortable silence fell over the both of you, as easy as it ever was.

—

A/N - Hi! So sorry this took so long to get out, thank you for your patience. I keep rereading this and editing it over and over, I’m not totally happy with it. But something is better than nothing, and I’m tired of staring at, so here you go! Hope this is ok, let me know what you think :)

[sku-nk]

I've been inspired Skunk. Do you lnow that TikTok trend where it's like "When they're all up on my girl in public but she thinks they're just being friendly" and it's that audio that's like COME HERE.

Can I request that.

Come Here.

Synopsis: Some guy's getting a little too close for comfort. Unfortunately for Sam, you're oblivious to it.

Warnings: Language, jealous Sam, Not really controlling but bossy Sam, Just funny shit

A/n: i got your other ask clarifying who u wanted :))

Nothing is ever simple. Never.

Actually, there are a few things that are simple. A lot even. Things that are exactly as they're supposed to be, things that never have any extra complications.

With you nothing is ever simple. there has to be at least billion things that actually prove themselves to be what they should be, yet anything regarding you just can't be one of those things.

Like shopping.

It was supposed to be a boring little shopping trip. It was supposed to be quick. Pick up some things you need around the house, stuff you've ran out of and stuff you've suddenly realized you need. Maybe convince Sam to take you to Victoria's Secret and leave a dent in her wallet.

Honestly, Sam would prefer that to what's going on instead. She'd prefer anything over this. Like sleeping in, or watching a movie, or maybe punching that dude who's got his hand on your back.

What's worse is that you don't even seem to realize what he's doing. You've clearly been standing there for a while now, speaking to some stupid guy with a stupid chain and an even stupider fake deep voice.

At first Sam didn't even know where you were, you'd just wandered off. She'd assumed you were going to get something else on the list. When she caught up to you, finding you at the other end of the baking isle, she wished she'd followed you.

"Just need to start looking right, you know?" This guy says, standing much too close for comfort. "Pull a ten, maybe."

You nod, smiling. "I'm sure you will, Ryan," you say politely.

Sam can see the way his eyes rake over you, the look on his face so clearly filled with want it's actually ridiculous you're oblivious to it. Then again, you always have been. That's how you were with her.

"Shit, if I was like you, I wouldn't need to do all this. But you're just mad pretty," Ryan says, laughing for whatever reason. You're smiling kindly but Sam's got what's probably the dirtiest of looks on her face.

"Oh, thank you," you smile. Sam rolls her eyes. This dude's not your friend.

"Y/n," she says, making her presence known. Your eyes widen and an even bigger smile graces your face, head whipping in the direction you heard the voice. Ryan looks too, though his face is more curious than anything.

"Sammy," you say, as Ryan's hand drops from your back. Sam feels herself let out a breath despite the fact that you're still a little too close to this guy.

"Come here," she says, arms crossing.

"Hold on, this is Ry-" you begin, pointing at the guy who's now a good two and a half feet away, though you don't get the chance to finish.

"Come here." Sam points at the ground in front of her.

You tilt your head, glancing between Ryan and Sam, but you don't protest. You make a face, something between confusion and annoyance. Sam doesn't notice, or else she doesn't care.

"Now," she says, something in her voice possessing an odd sort of finality. You let out an exaggerated sigh and glance at Ryan, who seems to be just as confused as you.

"Sorry, Ryan," you say as you speed up. For some reason, this causes Sam to sigh and roll her eyes again.

She's irritable all of a sudden, you think. She shoots the not so poor guy a look, a look that has him stepping back even further.

"Let's go," she says impatiently as her eyes land on you, urging you to hurry up. You give her a look of your own.

"Why'd you do that?" you ask, despite the fact that you're doing exactly as she's told you to, glancing back like that dude's actually stupid enough to still be standing there. Sam grabs your sleeve and pulls you little closer even though it really doesn't benefit her in the slightest (besides making her feel better) and leans onto the cart.

" 'Cause I did. When you're shopping, you're shopping with me," she tells you, tone suggesting that you doing otherwise is an insult or something alike. "Not some weird ass dude."

"Ryan's not weird-"

"He's weird!" Sam cuts in, throwing a hand up. "Weird and wants you. You're with me, you're shopping with me."

You almost laugh. It's funny. What is she even talking about? Ryan wants you? That guy you just met? Sam notices your little smile out of the corner of her eye and scoffs.

"It's funny 'till he wants a smooch," she says, dead serious.

That does it.

You can't hold it any longer. You burst into a fit of giggles, smacking Sam on the arm. "He was being nice, relax," you laugh, as Sam rolls her eyes for the millionth time.

"He doesn't need to, he's being a little too nice."

"It's not that deep, I promise!" you tell her, grin unwavering.

"It's always that deep! Everybody wants you! All the time! I do!" Sam shoots back, instinctively straightening up as you grab the cart, shaking your head and beginning to push it down the isle. She nearly pulls her hair out when you start fully laughing at her again.

"Made me forget what I was over here for," you say to yourself as Sam follows behind you, saying something about the elderly crossing guard across the street checking you out.

"So you need to stay with me all the time!"

I dunno how to end this guys

[bitterbutblue]

august 1998

~ hii guys sorry for dying! but here is the first chapter to our new series for all our robin lovers, called remember me, 1999! ermm in case u guys r confused where this is set the answer is unclear its a fun little combination of east asia cultures

summer evening is perfect for falling in love, right? so let me show you a world you've long lost before.

tw asian parents idk~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

The familiar ding! of the bell hanging above the door has you heaving out another sigh as you put down the book you were reading, looking up to see whichever customer had walked through the door. An old man- was he here yesterday? He came here once in a while, always got a pack of sweets and cigarettes. You don't ask him much, you always just smiled at him. But today he only gets the cigarettes and you decide it's just best not to ask.

"Thank you."

The gravelly voice cuts through the humid air, hitting you with this chill you can't quite put your finger on but you just nod, swallowing.

"You're welcome. Have a good day."

Scoffing, the man turns to leave and you wonder what you did to piss him off but whatever. With an eyeroll, you lay your head down on the countertop again, flipping open a new magazine to find something entertaining. The flashy photographs of random celebrities really didn't catch your eye, nor were you fully interested in it. But what else can you do when your mom asks you to man the countertop of the convenience store instead of letting you go out with your friends for like, the eigth time this week?

"Again?"

The cheeky voice is like a disruption of your silence, but you can't stop the feeling of your heart leaping slightly.

"Shut up, Stelle."

A tall figure walks in, throwing a bag over the counter and you feel it plop down right next to you as she moves to lean against the counter.

"Seriously, you never go out anymore."

"I'd love to be able to, seriously. How about you ask my mom and tell her to let me out?"

"Oh please." Stelle scoffs "I'd rather jump off a bridge than confront your mom."

You look up, head propped up against the palm of your hand as you eye the girl up and down, a suspicious feeling growing in your gut.

"What's in the bag? Why are you here?"

"Summer's almost over. Bag's full of the stuff I borrowed from you earlier. I just finished delivering newspapers." She shrugs "Got nothing to do now. March is busy. Dan Heng is... god knows where he is."

"Library?"

"Makes sense."

Pause.

"So you don't need anything?"

"Why would you assume I need something!"

She got way too overprotective, pushing herself off the countertop and staring at you with eyes that just screamed 'oh FUCK'. You groan, burying your head in your arms.

"Again?"

"Please, it's the last time I’ll ask you to come with me!”

Another familiar ding, a customer walks in and Stelle pipes down. Her voice quieter, but still holding the same pleading tone as she now throws in the bonus puppy-dog eyes that have you cringing in disgust every time physically but inside you hated how it made you feel rather... warm.

"Please?"

"Oh fuck you, fine." You curse, shoving Stelle away as she whoops and cheers, pushing herself off the counter and you shush her before the customer starts seriously judging you two. "So am I meeting you at 8?"

"Yeah! Same as always, my house. Love you! You're the best!" She calls out as she dashes out the door, the bell ringing through the now empty store once more. You don't realise you're smiling until your face drops at the voice behind you.

"She's always so eager."

You turn around at the sound of your mother's voice, not saying anything as she helps the customer pay for their snacks.

"You shouldn't get distracted-"

"I know, I won't." You mumble "I've been looking at universities already, I swear."

"You apply next year, don't fool around." She warns, her purple eyes narrowing at the magazine in your hands, and you feel a stirring irritation in your stomach you try to suppress. "School's in two days. Pull yourself together."

"Yes ma'am." You mumble as you stuff the magazine under the counter, moving away.

"You have training tomorrow, by the way!" She calls out after you as you head out the door, and you just do throw a thumbs up over your shoulder before shoving the door open.

The humid air hits you before anything else and you half-regret leaving the safety of your very much cool and well ventilated shop that your mom runs. You huff, forcing yourself to walk up the hill across the street up to where Stelle resides as the sun begins to set over the view of the city over the railings. You take in the sight, the city tucking the now-tired sun in for the night as the moon prepares itself for another day of watching over the city. Watching over you.

Stelle had always told you about wanting to travel beyond the skies one day, and you've always just laughed at her or teased her for her antics but you can't shake off this twinge in your chest as she discusses what lies beyond the stars. The idea of growing up haunts you, every day feels like a ticking time bomb and you feel like it's about to implode inside you. Lost in your thoughts, you feel your eyes glaze over slightly as you just move your body, one foot forward, another foot forward, another-

"Hey!"

A sharp tug on the back of your shirt has you letting out a choked cry as you stumble back. With your left foot tripping over your right, you fall to the ground with a dull thud, a searing pain shooting up your back as you land comedically onto your butt.

"What the fuck-"

Roaring, a car speeds by along with a gust of wind that slaps you right across the face. You scramble to your feet, pushing yourself away from the edge of the road you hadn't even realised you reached.

"Are you okay?"

A soft voice next to you causes you to flinch slightly, turning around with a quick whip of the head.

The girl that stood in front of you adorns the greenest eyes you've ever seen, like a lake on a summer day. The same green eyes you saw almost every day as a child, lilac hair now much longer and a shade darker.

Maybe it is best to pretend to not recognise her.

"I'm fine. Thanks." You say hoarsely, quickly getting up onto your feet. You wince at the quick movement, feeling the sharp pain on your lower back and you just know there's gonna be a bruise forming there tomorrow.

"Y/n?"

"Yep. Nice seeing you again, Robin."

You straighten up, looking the girl dead in the eyes now. She looks much more mature, but to be fair the last time you saw her, she was nine. She holds herself with the same elegance and grace, in a way you never could do yourself. She's still the same child you played with at the park, that you saw after school, that you shared snacks with on the swings. You never thought you'd see her again after that day. You never thought you'd want to talk to her after that day but-

"What are you doing here?" You ask awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to another. Her face darkens slightly, shock fading into a look that you can't fully decipher.

"I live here now. I just had a meeting with the school."

You take a small step back, taking in her full appearance. She's wearing school uniform- your school's uniform with the same badge adorned on the left patch pocket.

"You- what? I thought you moved to the states."

"Things happened." Her tone seemed much sharper, much more strained now. She looks at you in a way that makes you feel like apologising for no reason and it's very unsettling.

She was nothing like the Robin you knew.

But it's been years.

"I'm sorry."

A soft look quickly returns to her eyes as she shakes her head, holding her hands out in front of her apologetically.

"Ah- that was too harsh, wasn't it? I'm sorry. I just don't like talking about it."

"It's alright, I'm sorry for asking."

Silence fills the space as you awkwardly look around you- taking in each tree and each rock, each flower that blooms, anything but her.

"I'll see you around?"

"Probably."

Robin nods, shooting you a soft smile that you think hasn't changed since she left, before walking down the path you came from.

"Fuck."

Out of all people to have saved you from a speeding car, you didn't expect it to be your childhood best friend who left to the US one day. Out of everyone, she was the last person you expected to see back in the city. Something must've happened that brought her back, and it was best not to pry.

Stelle is still waiting for you, so you quickly make your way up the rest of the hill, crossing the road that almost killed you before reaching her house.

"Bitch, what took you so long?"

You fight the urge to throw a rock at her when she opens the door.

"I ran into Robin."

Her eyes widened.

"Robin? The Robin who left before middle school started?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t she in the states? I thought her family was loaded.”

“Who knows” You shrug, kicking off your shoes as you step into her house, Stelle moving aside quickly before shutting the door. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Same as before. We can just sneak in through the back up to the roof.”

“Why can’t you do this yourself?”

“You’re telling me you don’t want to see the full moon at it's brightest? Come on!" Stelle groans, throwing herself onto you. You wince, stumbling forward with a small smile on your face as you shove her off you. Stelle shoots you a grin, indicating how she's fully aware of how she's succeeded already. "Oh, you wanna see it so bad."

"I don't! I'm just coming to spend time with my friend." You mumble softly.

Stelle's favourite place to go to was this abandoned building that was technically off limits and would be trespassing if they were ever caught, but she loves seeing the stars from that building so you always accompanied her because you can't deny how beautiful the sky can look even on the days where it's believed to be bad. You can't deny

"Yeah yeah, whatever." She takes your hand, pulling you into her room. You just follow her as she throws the door open to reveal her messy room. A small room, made even more cramped with how she throws her stuff around. Clothes strewn across the floor and books stacked in places it shouldn't be stacked in. The actual bookshelf itself is neglected, filled with random junk Stelle definitely has not touched since she was twelve- and one too many raccoon figurines.

She moves to pull out a backpack that was hidden beneath her pile of clothes, opening it up widely and moving to stuff a blanket inside alongside a notebook and whatever else Stelle needs on her astrology days.

"Should we bring snacks?"

"We're not watching a fucking movie."

"Might as well be." She shrugs, throwing a bag of chips into her bag as well before zipping it up "You hungry? I have leftovers in the fridge."

"I'm good." You nudge some of her clothes away with your foot to clear a space on the floor for you to sit down as she throws herself onto the bed with a grin.

"I'm so excited."

"If I get kicked off the archery team, I'm fucking you up."

"If we get caught, kicking you off the team would be the least of your concerns."

The only sound echoing through the nights was the sound of cars zooming by on the street across the old, abandoned building, and the cicadas singing under the lamp lights. The peaceful sound of a summer evening coming to its end is so graciously ruined by Stelle kicking down the back door to the staircase up to the roof.

"That was so unnecessary." You hiss as she tugs your sleeve, motioning for you to follow her up. You sit on the edge of the roof as Stelle sets up her equipment.

"Shut up. I looked cool as fuck."

"No you didn't."

As the headlights of cars zoomed by like laser pointers on a map, you take in the last of the summer days- the cool evening air brushing by and your heart is racing in your chest. The thrill of your feet dangling over the edge, the thrill of this moment with Stelle, the thrill of falling. You breath in deeply, letting out an audible sigh as you look up at the starry night. It's rare to get such clear nights, and you really would rather not be anywhere else.

"Dude, come take a look."

Quickly, you turn to move yourself off the edge as you walk over to Stelle's telescope set up. It was a rusty thing, something she got at a yard sale but she fixed it up herself with duct tape and whatever screws she could find. It creaks whenever she adjusts it and looks like it's on it's last limbs but she loves it with her whole heart. You can't help but swallow slightly when you take in the sight of her, grinning like an excited child in her oversized tee with a fiery look in her eyes that you only see in the dark when the stars are out.

Looking into the telescope, you smile. The moon itself isn't very clear, and given the status of the telescope you understand why. But its beauty still somehow prevails through it all.

"Looks nice."

"That's it?"

Stelle scoffs, pulling you away from the telescope as she quickly moves to look back at it.

"It's perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You stand next to her, watching her as she looks through the telescope with the softest smile on her face as she mumbles whatever astrological science stuff to herself. The way she's been making you feel for the past couple weeks has you feeling sick to your stomach, because you know you're not supposed to look at your best friend like that.

The sound of a door creaking open has the two of you whipping your heads around to the source of the sound- fuck, did someone see you sitting on the roof?

Stelle looked like she was about to bolt for it until the person behind the door walks out, revealing the girl you saw earlier today. Revealing Robin.

"Oh, I didn't realise people were here."

Her voice is quiet, softer than it was earlier today. You just sorta nod at her and Stelle's eyes widen.

"Robin?"

"Hello. You're...?"

"Stelle, same fourth grade class?"

"Ah, right."

It's terribly awkward.

"You're not actually allowed to be here."

"You're here too."

"Ah, right."

Stelle looks away, clearing her throat as she looks at you desperately, clearly wanting you to take over the conversation before it goes wrong.

"Stelle just likes dragging me up here for the stars." You say softly, gesturing at the telescope "Why are you here?"

"Needed space." Robin shrugs, not looking at you, but at the telescope. "It's suffocating at home. I've been coming here for a bit the past few days. I don't know why I'm telling you all this, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise." Stelle smiles, and Robin forces a smile back. It feels weird knowing that you can't read her as well now, even though frankly it doesn't matter. "Wanna take a look?"

She just hesitates, looking to you before looking back at Stelle.

"It's okay. Sorry for intruding."

Before you can even say anything, Robin closes the door- leaving you and Stelle alone on the rooftop once more.

"She's different."

"It's been nine years."

Stelle shrugs.

"I know, but still. Change is weird."

"You've changed, haven't you?" You raise an eyebrow

"I guess. I don't see it though." Stelle fiddles with a part of the telescope that's sticking out "Have I changed?"

"Of course. From when I met you to now, yeah. But it's just hard to recognise exactly what the change is."

"Hm."

Stelle just leans back down to look at the moon.

"The moon changes once in a while to us, but at it's core it's always the same."

"Philosophical bitch." You grin, shoving her lightly as she laughs. And in this moment you want to take a photo of her smile under the beam of the moonlight, the last days before you're thrown back to a cycle of endless burdens and weights. The last days where you can just smile at the stars too.

Days pass by like hours when you can barely register your own thoughts. You find yourself standing with a backpack and archery bag in hand, standing right in front of the convenience store door as your mom crosses her arms.

"You need to-"

"Yes, I will talk to my coach about the competitions."

"And the-"

"Yes, I'll talk to Ms. Ruan Mei about the bonus credits in second semester."

Your mom heaves out a sigh, nodding.

"Good."

You don't look back at her, feeling her gaze on your back as she steps forward.

"Please start taking this seriously."

You grip the bag in your hand tightly.

"I have been."

You hear her footsteps, before her hand rests on your shoulders. You fight the urge to tense up.

"I'm just looking out for you." She whispers "I don't want you to end up like me."

You swallow.

"I know."

People are walking to school, shooting you weird looks and you notice a flash of lilac before your mother steps into view, forcing you to look into her eyes.

"I love you."

"Love you too." You mumble, looking down.

"Ms. Yukong?"

The voice has you frowning as your mother looks up in confusion, turning around.

"Robin!"

Robin smiles her perfect-girl smile.

"It's been so long, how are you?"

"I'm good." She nods "Transferring back is a large step, so I hope adjustment will be alright."

You just stand there, fingernails digging into your palms as the weight of your backpack starts a slight ache in your lower back but your mother talks and talks, and Robin smiles and responds happily in a way that you didn't see her doing earlier with you.

"Mom, I need to go. Robin, we'll be late."

"Right, yes. Please remember to ask-"

"I will! I will." You didn't mean to snap but fuck, that was the last straw. Robin hesitates at the sound of your harsh voice, looking between you and your mom quickly before bidding farewell with a polite half-bow.

"Why did you come up?" You hiss quietly at her as soon as your mother is out of ear-shot "Seriously?"

"What? You looked so uncomfortable, I was just trying to help." Robin whispers back as you both walk up the hill you almost got ran over yesterday.

"I don't need help." You grunt as you heave your bag onto your shoulder.

"Sorry."

The two of you just walk up in silence, chatter echoing around you but the two of you stay silent. The entire walk has you feeling like the bag on your back is growing heavier, and by the time you reach the school you feel exhausted. Your muscles ache, and you feel the searing pain of the strap of the backpack digging into your shoulders as you gently drop your archery bag down onto the ground.

"God. Fuck. This is a terrible start." You curse to yourself as you catch your breath. You feel this presence standing next to you, and you look up to see Robin just looking down, staring at you. "What are you looking at?"

"Uh- well." Robin shifts slightly, playing with a ring on her finger "I'm technically new, so... where do I go?"

You want to say no. You want to walk away from her.

"Follow me." You grit your teeth, picking up the bag. "We're taking a detour first. What class are you in?"

"4A."

Oh, just great. Same as yours.

"Wonderful." You mumble as you shove your bodyweight against the door to the locker rooms, throwing your archery bag in there before leading her out. "We're upstairs. I'll let you talk to Ms. Ruan Mei."

By the time you arrive, Stelle has already sat down in her usual seat, an empty one next to you. Her smile fades into a look of shock when she sees Robin walk in next to your very much disgruntled looking form.

"Robin?"

"Hi, Stelle."

You force a smile at Stelle.

"It's gonna be great. Great year. Just wonderful."

[fgmetanoia]

Just finished watching Heartbreak High 2, here's my thoughts that no one asked for.

Warning, spoilers ahead

In no specific order:

I deeply appreciated the lack of drama for Harper this season. I was worried, ngl. Also, her enthusiasm for her own house was so cute and relatable. Living in chaotic households (of whatever kind, like going from living with her schizophrenic(?) father to the packed house of her bestfriend... 100% better, but still chaotic) and longing for your little corner of peace... Yup.

Malakai Mitchell the BI ICON that you are

Too bad that his experiences with men always end up badly though

Cash and Darren, my sweet little babies. They better get back together and find a way to make their asexuality and hypersexuality work or I might KILL SOMEBODY

Now, Spider. I've been wanting a redemption arc for him since that scene with Amerie at the concert in S1. Honestly I thought he and Amerie would end up confronting but the storyline with Missy was equally good. Completely unexpected but good.

I also liked that they give us a background story of why he is such an asshole. Like somebody else said (can't remember who it was sorry, if I remember I'll credit), would've been better if it was something more realistic like bad role models, peer pressure and so on, instead of an unrealistic feminist mom.

That said though, I deeply related to the put-downs and constant criticism from a parent as a reason for his assholishness. It makes you feel like you won't ever be enough, so you might as well be as bad as you can. He is still an asshole tho, I'm not excusing him.

Also liked that they put Missy in an equal position of not being able to overcome her own prejudices

And finally doing it TOGETHER! I'm a sucker for these kind of tropes

I clocked Rowan immediately and picked up on the psycho vibes. Then changed my mind because it seemed like he couldn't possibly have a reason to hate Amerie. And it seemed almost too obvious to me... But when they ruled out Zoe, yeah. It could only be him.

I really hoped that they didn't give Amerie another triangle this season, but the fact that Rowan turned out to be a total psycho made up for the lack of originality

But but... The letter 😭 next season better start with a text to Malakai from Amerie.

Finally, IS IT ENOUGH OF TRAUMATIC EVENTS FOR AMERIE AND HARPER?? Let my girls alone, thank you!

[luis-serra-kennedy]

okay bear in mind my co writer for this has been a strong painkiller it's raw a little rough around the edges yknow but it's Serrennedy being terminally stupid and Leon crying a lot and Luis's grandfather yelling at him for being a slut and awake but sweet family time (also pregnancy tests taking 2 hours for results is historically accurate, this AU is set a few years before the quicker/easier ones were a thing)

“Go away, Luis!” Leon barks when Luis knocks on the bedroom door. “I'm done trying to eat your shitty cooking and I'd rather die in this goddamn bed than let you drag me to a hospital. Fuck Spain. Again.”

“I'm not trying to make you eat or go to the hospital anymore, I promise. I have a surprise for you. If I can come in?”

“Fine. Whatever. It's your house.”

“I'm hoping something more familiar might stay down better than what I've been trying to feed you?” Leon sits up and accepts the bag of food, McDonald's, as a peace offering, with a small smile. Luis just stands by the bed awkwardly while Leon starts eating. “Can I sit? Or do you still need space? I think we need to talk about something, if you're not feeling too horrible right now.”

“Yeah, you can sit,” Luis sits on the bed next to Leon, but still keeps a little bit of distance between them. “I know why you want to talk.”

“Oh. You do? That makes this easier.”

“Yeah. You want to break up because I suck at being a boyfriend. Dead bedroom for weeks because I haven't been in the mood. You take me to Spain with all these grand plans. I get sick and fuck it all up. Your grandpa's so important to you and I know you thought he'd like me, but he doesn't. He hates me because I'm just hiding in here instead of even trying to spend time with him.”

“Don't be stupid. He doesn't hate you,” Something about Luis's demeanor is just a little bit different from when he left, but Leon can't quite figure out what it is. “And I'm definitely not going to dump you. I'd marry you tomorrow, if it weren't for the headache the tabloids would make of it.”

When Leon finishes up his food, he scoots over and starts ramming his head against Luis's shoulder. Luis wasn't willing to make the first move and touch Leon, afraid it might piss him off again. But with Leon taking initiative with the ramming, Luis finally feels comfortable wrapping an arm around Leon's back and kissing the top of his head.

Luis smells so fucking good. He must have bought a new cologne or something. He's never smelled bad, aside from after smoking, but he's never smelled so good that he wants to sit and huff his clothes for hours. Suddenly Leon is crying, just because the smell is way too good. No, there is no way he's crying over that, there has to be something else. Maybe he's still worried he's going to get dumped, because he doesn't understand how Luis is being so nice to him when he's spent the past two days screaming at Luis to fuck off and saying he hates Spain. He should be getting yelled at right now, not getting a gentle arm around him and the top of his head kissed.

“Are you sure you don't want to break up with me?”

“I'm sure. I promise. And don't you dare try and say you're sorry for how you've been acting. I… Uh, I think it actually may be my fault…”

“Shut up. You tried. When I threw up a couple days before we left, you were the one trying to talk me out of going, and I said it felt like some random freak thing and I'd be fine. Really thought it was. You had no idea the travel would make me sicker and bitchier.”

“I'm not sure this is actually about the travel… I didn't go out just to get you food. I, ah, I was talking to my grandfather and he made what he thought was a joke about you, but it really wasn't a joke like he thought.”

“He made a joke about me? You said he didn't hate-”

“Don't cry, mi amor. He doesn't hate you. What he said, along the lines of it seeming like he would be a great grandfather if I had brought a girlfriend home instead, because your moods and nausea were reminding him of when my mother was pregnant with me. Suddenly I felt like an idiot, because the boyfriend I brought home could have been pregnant. I got you pregnant,” If the words were coming from anyone other than Luis, they'd just send a wave of dread through Leon. But it's Luis... “I mean, I think I did. I'm not certain, but I bought some tests for you to take. But I'm pretty sure.”

“Okay.” Leon says, still processing things, not sure what else to say.

“Okay? I thought you'd be freaking out a little more. Or maybe that's just because I'm freaking out and projecting on you. Or maybe… you are freaking out on the inside and just hiding it, you are the strong, silent type, aren't you? No matter, just go take the tests, no point worrying until we know for sure.”

“Just shut up and give me the fucking tests! These stupid things are like two hours, I need to get this show on the road.”

Leon doesn't exit the bathroom immediately after getting the kits set up. He gives himself a minute to be emotional and shed a few tears. And question why the fuck he desperately wants these pregnancy tests to be positive. It has to be because it'll make things make sense. He's not dying, just pregnant. Yeah, that's it. He just wants the simple, straightforward explanation for all his symptoms.

Luis is waiting for him right outside the door when he finally leaves.

“You got the tests set up okay?”

“Yeah! I'm not an idiot, I can follow basic fucking directions. Not even the first time I've used one of these. I'm gonna go lay down. Alone.”

“Okay. Do you want me to come let you know when the tests are ready?” Leon nods. “If you need anything sooner, just yell and I'll come.”

All of Leon's energy disappears when his head hits the pillow. Those tests better be positive, because if he isn't pregnant, he's probably dying or something. He's never felt this exhausted. Even with his head spinning with anxiety, he falls asleep quickly. He's out cold until some knocks on the door wake him up and he shouts that Luis can come in.

“So the tests are done?”

“Yes,” Luis is back to being incredibly cautious, so he walks into the room but doesn't sit down or try to touch Leon. “I think this is good news. You're not sick, you're not being a shitty boyfriend, you're just,” Luis has to pause because he's getting choked up. “Carrying my baby, mi amor. We're having a baby.”

“No we're not! Right now you're at the peak of your career. You've got so much shit you need to do, and you also deserve some time to just enjoy your success without more responsibilities piled on your plate. I'm not having your baby right now, I don't want to feel guilty about ruining your life.”

“Do you remember our first night together? Because I do, every second. I came in my pants on your motorcycle, then I gave you the best head of your life, and then, most importantly, we got high and talked. You said that my album better be a success, so that I could buy you a big house and we could start having kids soon. And I said that if you were really being serious, I'd make it happen within a year. I'd buy a house and we could start trying ASAP, sooner if the album was a hit and I got a big check, a bit later if I only had the acting money to rely on. I was being serious. You're way more important than my career, don't even think about it. I want a baby as soon as you're ready for one. If you want this now…” Luis smiles and tucks a lock of Leon's hair behind his ear and gives him a quick kiss on the lips, short but sweet. “Then this is the happiest day of my life. But if this is too soon for you, that's okay. I can be patient. I stuck it out a decade before success in music, I can stick it out a year for a baby.”

“I'm ready. Been ready since you bought the house, talking about how perfect it would be for having kids. I know you'll be a good dad, all I fucking want right now is to see you holding a baby, our baby, and looking at her life she's the only thing in the world and singing to her and…” Leon is softly crying again. “But I'm so scared this is too early and I'll never get to see that because you're just going to resent us for fucking your life up and you're not going to hold her like that and sing, you won't love her like you're supposed to.”

“Her? Her. You want a girl. Me too. If you're having a girl, she's going to be my little princess. Everything she wants. Whole wardrobe of princess clothes, cutest nursery money can buy, I'll be playing with Barbies and having tea parties everyday,” There's so much warmth in Luis's voice that Leon would have no trouble believing he meant it, if it weren't for the fact that Luis was also an actual actor too. He's still pretty sure Luis means it, just not quite certain. “Same goes for if it's a boy. I don't care what the baby's like. Girl or boy. Playing with action figures or dolls. Football or ballet. Whatever they're into, I'll be into. I'll love them the way I'm supposed to. I promise. I already do.”

“Okay,” Leon says, tears finally slowing. “We're having a baby. In… Shit, how long? You remember how long it's been since I let you top?”

“About a week shy of two months,” Luis says with no delay. Leon gives him a questioning look. “I have a very good memory when it comes to things I've done with you. To you. Things you've done to me. You. I love you.”

“You better love me. I'm giving birth to your kid in seven months. Christ. This is real. You should go tell him he'll be a great grandpa.”

“Leon, are you sure?”

“Uh, if you think he'll take it well. I know it's a lot to drop on him. First you bring home a boyfriend to meet him and he thinks he's never getting great grandkids, now he's learning that somehow you've got a pregnant boyfriend. You can ease him into it instead of telling him now. Or just never tell him. Say I'm really just sick, in seven months call him and say we had a kid from a surrogate. I don't want to fuck up your relationship with him.”

“Lying to him would fuck things up far more than the truth. He'll take it fine. Probably better than he took it when I turned 18 and told him I was moving to France to be a musician instead of applying to med school! But seriously, please don't worry. He's not going to hate you because of this, he's not like that. I promise it will go fine.”

Leon is curled up in a ball sobbing and hyperventilating when Luis comes back to the bedroom, because it did not go fine. Leon doesn't know how bad, but he knows it was bad. All he could hear was a lot of very angry sounding Spanish from the other side of the door. Luis's arms are around him almost superhumanly fast.

“Shh, you're okay, you're safe. I'm here. Everything is okay. Can you talk to me?”

“I just hate yelling,” Leon wraps his arms around Luis and squeezes tight, nails digging into the skin of Luis's back, probably hard enough to hurt him. But the squeezing and Luis's scent are enough to ground him so he can try to breathe normally and talk. “Bad memories.”

“I'm sorry. I got yelled at, but that's okay. No one is yelling at you. No one is mad at you. Don't worry about a thing.”

“I know no one yelled at me, that's the problem. I hate other people yelling. Reminds me of when I was a kid.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or I can just hold you, or distract you, or-”

“My parents. Bio parents. Their marriage was fucked. They screamed at each other all the time. I'd hide in my closet and cover my ears but I could still hear them. Sometimes they'd throw shit at each other. They didn't yell at me. Just each other, but it was still scary. That's what I think about when I hear someone yelling. Someone yelling at you. Being a scared kid in a closet, helpless. Break up with me. I can't be the reason someone's yelling at you. Just find a girl to get pregnant so you'll have his approval.”

Leon isn't being entirely truthful. He was frequently the target of his father's anger, any time his mom got fed up and stormed out. Krauser liked yelling at him too. But Luis doesn't need to know that right now. Leon already feels too exposed just talking about his parents yelling at each other, he doesn't want to spill anything more. Luis will have to know eventually, when something else inevitably breaks him again, but not right now.

“No. No, no, no, no, no. I love you more than anything. We're having a baby together! You are not a wedge between us. He doesn't disapprove of you. He's just pissed at me for repeating one of my deadbeat father's mistakes and accidentally getting someone pregnant. Most of the yelling was just about how I better step up and take damn good care of you, and he'll never want to see my face again if I walk out on you or don't treat you well enough. He is happy too, excited that he will be a great grandfather. Just disappointed in me because he raised me to be more careful and plan before starting a family, not to make a stupid mistake like accidentally getting someone I hadn't even been dating long pregnant.”

“It's not your fault. I told you not to worry about pregnancy, you were only careless because I told you to be.”

“I should have realized sooner. For weeks you've seemed… Different. Eating more, taking naps, and your whole demeanor has just seemed off. I noticed all these things, why didn't I realize what it all meant? I'm so damn stupid. If I had just put the pieces together sooner, you would be home right now.”

“I noticed too. I just pretended none of it was real and tried to power through it because I assumed I was getting sick and couldn't handle that and hoped if I kept my head in the sand I'd magically feel better. Pregnancy wasn't on my radar, I mean I really thought those damn pills would work-” Leon suddenly stops talking and pulls away from Luis. “Fuck.”

Luis knows what's happening immediately, but even with lightning fast reflexes, he can't grab the bowl on the nightstand fast enough and Leon starts vomiting directly onto the bed. It's fucking humiliating, but once he starts, he can't stop.

“You're okay, mi amor, you're okay,” Luis whispers. He holds his hair back and rubs soothing circles on his back. While Leon violently sobs and throws up. “Just get everything out, don't worry, you're okay.”

“Sorry,” Leon chokes out, when he's finally done puking up all his stomach contents. “I'm so nasty.”

“Don't be sorry,” Luis says to the still clammy and trembling Leon. “You're shaking like a leaf, corazon. You feel like you can stand..?”

“With help.”

“Then come on! I think you'll feel a little better after getting cleaned up.”

“Is he still out there? I'm not going to do a walk of shame past him. I'm already embarrassed enough.”

“I'll go ask him to step out for a bit, he'll understand.”

Leon doesn't like someone being told not to go somewhere in their own damn home for him, and he doesn't like the thought of needing help just to walk to the bathroom. But he knows Luis isn't backing down, so he doesn't object when Luis goes out to talk to his grandfather, nor does he when Luis comes back and helps him to his feet. He clings to Luis, because he is shaky and needs to stabilize himself somehow. He could probably make it on his own if he stayed seated for a few minutes, but Luis wasn't going to accept anything less than Leon immediately showering.

Luis guides Leon's body down onto the toilet and turns the shower water on to start warming up. “I'll be right back, I'm just going to go get you clean clothes. Don't get up by yourself.”

Not wanting an ER trip resulting from him losing his balance or slipping in the shower, Leon listens and stays seated. He's facing the sink, where there's still several positive pregnancy tests resting. He'd believed Luis when he said they were all positive, but actually seeing them for himself stirred up something in him. Worried it'll get him overemotional and crying again, he forces his eyes away from the sink and starts getting undressed.

That's a mistake, because looking down at his body also makes him emotional. It's changed so much in so little time. Luis had affected it even before pregnancy; the new relationship caused him to be a lot less disciplined about his fitness, often skipping workouts in favor of spending time with his new boyfriend. So his abs were already fading when he got pregnant. Whatever's left of them is gone, hidden underneath the bloating… His chest looks a little bigger too. And his hips and thighs are definitely bigger, though he already knew that because he'd been trying to pretend that his jeans weren't feeling tighter than usual for the past few weeks.

Finally Luis returns to rescue him from his own thoughts. [insert the gay ass monologue abt Luis's body I'm struggling to write]

Even though Leon is feeling more stable and not worried about falling, Luis still insists on getting in the shower with him and hovering, just in case. When they're done, Leon ignores the clean shirt set out for him and instead grabs Luis's dirty shirt off the floor.

“You smell so good today,” Leon says when they're done, ignoring the clean shirt sitting out for him and instead picking up Luis's dirty shirt off the floor and putting it on. “Some weird hormone bullshit.”

“That's flattering. Hey, can I try something? Carry you?”

“You better not drop me!”

Leon is more afraid of being picked up and carried than he's willing to admit. The last time a man picked him up… Krauser always just picked him up with no warning and threw him over his shoulder with no warning, like he was a sack of grain. Then he'd slam him down on some surface, deliberately making it as painful for Leon as possible.

Luis isn't as strong as Krauser or Leon (at least not as strong as Leon at his peak fitness) but he's in good shape, it's a part of the whole famous hot guy thing, and doesn't struggle to lift Leon. He cradles Leon gently, holding him bridal style, and walks from the bathroom to the couch painstakingly slowly.

“Stay here a minute, baby,” Luis says, lowering Leon down onto the couch. “I need to go get clean sheets and blankets on the bed before you go lay down again.”

“Wait,” Leon grabs Luis's wrist before he turns around to walk away. “I think I want to stay out here? Watch a movie or something. Your grandpa can come out here too. I know it's not the kind of thing that you planned for all of-”

“No, no, it's a perfect idea! Do you need anything? More pillows? Blanket? Whatever you need, I'll get it.”

“I'm fine, just need you.”

“I'm getting you a snack and a drink in case you change your mind,” Luis grabs the TV remote and tosses it to Leon. “You pick what we watch.”

Leon flips through some channels absent-mindedly, not really caring what they watch. When Luis comes back and sits down, Leon gets comfortable. He sprawls out on the couch, laying on his side, resting his head in Luis's lap. Luis alternates between petting Leon's hair and his stomach. Eventually they're joined by Luis's grandfather, who takes a seat in the armchair and starts talking. Leon regrets not going back to bed; he feels so awkward because his introduction to the man ended with Luis ushering him off to the bathroom to throw up before he said a word, and now he's talking and Leon can't understand a word. He was so stupid to think he'd be accepted by Luis's grandfather and feel like he belongs here, he doesn't know how to be a part of a normal family. Even if Luis's grandfather spoke English or he spoke Spanish, Leon would be floundering right now. He just looks up to Luis helplessly.

“He says that he's really happy you're sitting out here with us, because he wants to get to know the man who made all his grandson's dreams come true, who also happens to be the man currently carrying his first great grandchild. You don't need to do anything to earn his approval, you already have it,” Luis translates as Leon starts tearing up and tries hiding his face on Luis's leg, and his grandfather keeps talking. “He also says you shouldn't be embarrassed about crying. Or falling asleep, or getting sick. You know he was around my grandmother when she was pregnant with my mother, and around my mother when she was pregnant with me. He's seen all this before, that's how he figured this out before we did. He- No, we. We both just want to make sure you're taken care of and feeling as good as possible, we don't care that I had to change some plans.”

[dairyminki]

elle congrats on 300!!

i'm thinkin about cooler weather at the moment; could i give you autumn with mingi for a prompt? tysm and congrats again!! <33

✨️part of my 300 milestone event 🪄

title: pumpkin spice and everything nice

pairing: song mingi x gn!reader

genre: slice of life, coffeeshop au

warning/s: none

wc: 888

a/n: hello orion!! ♡ tysm for requesting ahhhh i rlly enjoyed writing this one esp the descriptions. i hope this one is to your liking tho ><

* reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated!

—

The sky is quite gloomy as you saunter through the wet asphalt road. A mix of yellow, orange, red, and brown leaves are scattered all over, the previous downpour having them glued to the pavement.

You got quite lucky that the rain stopped when you got out of work, or else you've been stranded at your workplace with nothing but the smell of leather and the sight of your almost robotic-like coworkers surrounding you.

It's a good thing you're out of that hellhole now, and approaching a quaint coffee shop, instead.

The bell by the door jingles as you push it open, the warm and nutty aroma of coffee and sweet caramel welcomes you, beckoning you towards the counter where the barista stood donning a brown apron over his head, his hair, a striking yellow and orange ombre.

The shop was bare, and you're betting, with all of the pennies currently in your pocket, that it had been this way since earlier today and the barista himself wasn't expecting any customers anymore to suddenly pop up.

You, being that unexpected customer, offer him a small smile as you proceed towards the counter.

"Hi! May I please have one pumpkin spice latte?" You state after carefully reading through their menu.

"Anything else?"

"No, that would be all, actually."

The barista merely nods in reply, and as he starts punching buttons on the register, you can't help but stare at him. Now that you think about it, his overall fit including his hair color actually resembles the colors of autumn. A giggle slips out of your mouth all of a sudden, making the barista give you a look.

Fortunately, he doesn't comment on it and just simply hands you the receipt, saying that he'll have your drink ready in a few. And so, you went to pick your seat by the shop's glass windows.

The sky is looking a lot gloomier than before, you take note. Although, not long after you've sat down, the rain came.

The sound of the barista's movements and the whirring of the blender and espresso machine accompanies your view of the falling rain and the dropping leaves from one tree branch to another.

The scene of the colorful leaves gradually forming a carpet on the road seemingly occupied you to a great extent that it took you a while to notice someone clearing their throat.

"Uhm, excuse me?" The barista, who was now standing by your table, says, finally earning your attention.

"I've been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now but you seemed to be engrossed with whatever's outside," He says while he puts your pumpkin spice latte on the table. Embarrassed, you mutter an apology.

"Thanks. It looks pretty, by the way," You tell him with a smile after admiring the aesthetically pleasing drink in front of you.

"Thank you, please enjoy," The barista says, mirroring your smile and then off he goes back to the counter.

—

"Hi, I don't want to bother you but-"

"Oh my god, have I overstayed?" You panic, glancing at your wristwatch and finding out it's already been over an hour since you've sat down in this coffee shop, your drink perfectly empty. "I can leave now, I'm sorry. You probably have to close up already, right?"

It's not like you didn't plan to leave after finishing your drink. It's just that the rain is still pouring hard, you didn't get to bring your umbrella with you, and your house is quite far from here. You're not sure if you're ready to go out and battle it out with the ongoing wetness outside.

"Oh, no, no! I can't let you leave in this weather," The barista had the same panic lacing his voice and he's quick enough to make you take your seat once again.

"And, uh, I actually came here to ask if you'd fancy a few slices of this apple galette…" The barista rubs at his nape, giving you a sheepish smile.

For a minute you look taken aback, and just when you were about to say something, he speaks yet again, exclaiming, "This is on the house, by the way!"

"Wow, that's so…sweet of you."

"Nothing biggie, really. Just figured you'd want something to accompany you since your drink's already finished and I don't think this rain's about to stop any sooner, so," He shrugs, placing the galette in front of you. An aromatic mixture of cinnamon and baked apples wafts through the air, and it awfully smells like home, fall, and everything warm.

"What's your name?" You ask just when the barista makes an attempt to retreat into his spot at the counter.

"My name is Mingi," He answers, pausing for a little bit before he asks you the same question, quite politely.

"I'm Y/N, and if you don't mind, would you like to accompany me, Mingi? We could share these pastries while we talk or something," You say, already standing up to pull up a chair for him, because you're not one who takes no for an answer.

"Well," Mingi drags out the word while he looks down at his feet, one foot lightly tapping against the floor. "Alright, I guess there's no harm in doing that." He gives in finally, taking the additional chair from you.

"Good choice."

[canthavetoomuchchaos]

Quiet houses.

Platonic Asher +David.

This will be set during the Quinn problem, as I can't think of something else to make David tense enough for this.

Tw: yelling, flinching, avoidance,

David is tense at work, Asher tries to help. It doesn't go over well. Tank being Tank has kept their crazy ex boyfriend being loose a secret, so now he doesn't know who is safe and who isn't. (Tank is not in this fic.)

David ran his hand through his hair for the millionth time in the past half hour, his other hand filling out some contracts for the next few upcoming jobs. He blinks and slams the pen down harshly with a loud growl, Angel hasn't answered their phone for 15 minutes and they usually answer right away.

"David?" Asher pokes his head into the doorway of his office, a concerned grin on his face.

"you okay buddy? Sounded a lot like you just threw something just now" he takes a brief look around the room, finding nothing, he makes his way into the office. As he takes the few steps to get behind David he can see the tenseness of his shoulders. He doesn't realize it's not stress tensing him up, but anxiety, which would have changed his course of action drastically. He approaches slowly, gently reaching his hands to his best friend's shoulders and squeezing.

Asher barely gets a few rolls of his thumbs in David's shoulders before he is pulling his hands away, David's hands had slowly gotten more and more tense, gripping his desk as he tries not to snap at Asher. Ash takes his hands away and leans forward to check on his friend, a concerned look to his eyes.

"hey buddy, you alright? You're real tense today.." He uses a quieter tone, maybe David has a headache?

"you need me to do anything? I can get you some meds, or maybe some cold water? Oh! Milo showed me a cool pressure point by your ear for headaches! Do you think that will-" Asher is cut off by David's fist slamming against the desk, a fiery glare in his eyes as he stares straight forward, his mouth spouting words he never, ever, wanted to say to his best friend ever again.

"Asher! Just shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life! I've got too much shit going on for you to be rambling in my ears, especially not right now with fucking Quilt or whatever the hell his name is! so just leave me alone for one Goddamn minute before I fucking hurt you"

David's breath was labored as he finished speaking, Asher was frozen, his face blank and confused as he tried to will the heavy lump in his throat to go away. He nods, picking his lips nervously, and swallows. He takes a breath and walks back to the door.

"okay. I'm sorry." His voice is quiet, hardly a whisper of his naturally loud voice. And he leaves the room.

A week later and David has yet to figure out why Asher won't speak to him, he's confused. Asher will stand next to him like normal, though he seems more tense, more like he's trying to appear professional. He won't come into David's office anymore, instead texting or Emailing him for whatever he needs. It's unbearable. Finally David corners him after a job, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling him into his office. Asher stands there, bewildered and very, very tense.

"....David? Why'd you pull me in here..?" David stares for a moment as he registers his best friend calling him by his name. He never uses his name, it's always one of those nickname she comes up with.

"why aren't you talking to me? I've been trying to figure it out all week, and nothing I can think of would make you avoid me like this. So, you and I are staying here until we figure it out." He says, a concerned look to his eyes as Asher shifts his weight, looking almost....is he uncomfortable?

"...David, it's fine, I'm just having an off week or something. Really we don't have to stay here-" he tries to move toward the door, though he is cut off by David's body.

"I know you Ash, if you were having an off week you wouldn't be avoiding me and only me. You would be pretending you were fine and giving me half hearted innuendos right now. What's going on?" He pauses

"did your partner break up with you?" A very offended "no!" In response.

"did you do something and you're going it from me?" Asher shakes his head. David pauses again.

"....did I do something?" His voice is lowered, now rethinking the past week as much as he can recall. Asher doesn't respond and David says nothing, getting all the confirmation he needed from the silence. It hits him like a truck when he remembers the words he said in his heated stress. His eyes widen and his heart drops.

"Ash, I didn't-" he's cut off by a suspiciously wet, sad voice from Asher.

"it's fine David, really. I get it. Can I go? Please...?" David huffs a breath, feeling helpless. He then, no hesitation, shifts on the spot. A large wolf appearing in front of Asher, head hanging low as he allows himself to let out quiet whines.

Asher wipes his tear filled eyes, a confused frown on his face.

"what're you-" he laughs briefly

"what're you doing David? Shift back" he only gets a short growl in response.

"why not?" He says, fighting the smile trying to grow as he kneels next to David. David has done this to cheer him up since they were kids and he couldn't shift yet. David would shift so Asher could play with the 'puppy' when he was sad.

David huffs and puts a paw over his muzzle, hitting himself multiple times. Asher huffs and sits in front of David.

"okay. I'm not upset anymore. It just hurt. Words hurt a lot sometimes..." David whines loudly, almost like a husky yell. Asher laughs.

"I'm fine big guy. I know you were stressed. I didn't realize I was avoiding you." David snuffs and headbutts Asher in the stomach, knocking him over.

"what- David! I'm fine now buddy, you don't have to keep doing this, I know you hate it." He gets a growl in response as David plops his head onto Asher's chest. Asher lifts his head to pet David.

"really? This is how we're resolving this? A cuddle?" David huffs, closing his eyes and letting out a grumbly sound. Asher snorts and relaxes onto the floor.

"alright. I guess this isn't so bad."

______

TOOK ALL DAY BUT ITS DONE!!! HOPE YOU LIKE ITTTT!!!

@miya-akiko

Ta daaaa~

[griefabyss69]

Ample Fire Within

Hello everybody I hurt my feelings about Steve and so I've decided to inflict that on all of you as well <3

[AO3] [ Tip / Commissions post ]

Platonic Stobin - Rated: G - 1.7K

Angst with a happy ending It's short enough the full thing is under the cut!

"For all of the late night wishing on a star type of bullshit he does, when he's alone in the dark and doesn't even have to properly face himself, let alone anyone else, you'd think he'd be able to handle it when he finally gets what he wants."

You'd think that all of the near-death experiences and injuries and horrible secret knowledge they’d all had would make a group of people like, forthcoming about their feelings.

But when most of those people are hiding deeply under too many layers of irony, insecurity, and maybe an affected teenage distance, feelings come out in stupid little arguments and the decision to be as annoying as possible instead of like.

Talking about it.

The affection is just like that too – drenched in demands - and just like anything, Steve has to assume that being asked for shit means that someone somewhere cares about him.

If they need him, that means they'll think about him, remember him.

It means they won't leave and won't spit his feelings back in his face, drunk off of either expensive wine or spiked punch – he's since forgiven Nancy, and they're good friends, though she could never love him.

Forgiving his mom is something he thinks he'll get around to one day, if she ever gets around to deciding he exists again.

His dad is a lost cause, so he doesn't bother.

---

Robin's hand is tight around his, her nail polish alternating between a shimmery blue and a stark black. It works on her, makes her look cool in the way only she can be.

He studies the difference in their fingers, his nails are neatly trimmed out of habit, though the skin around them peels like he hasn't been taking care of the skin. Hers are doing pretty well, considering she's once again trying to fully kick the habit of biting them.

Despite how much smaller her hands are, he feels like the one who's protected, a bracing grip that keeps him grounded as some of his neighbors head out of the store, the sour feeling of being degraded by nothing but polite conversation about where he might go to school next year and “What are your parents up to these days?” sitting heavy in his guts.

"You want to pick the movie?" Robin asks, adding her other hand into the mix, squeezing his tightly.

He shakes his head, can't stomach the thought of having an opinion on anything right now, on being some kind of real boy who has to make a decision harder than breathe in – good – now breathe out.

She lets go of him to go wander around the shelves, and he misses the comfort deeply, but doesn't say anything about it because he needs to find a way to earn the next one, this one finished with it’s job even if it’s prematurely. He’ll find the next emotional punch he can take and will hope it makes someone notice he could use a hug or something.

He wants to think he's got people in his life now that notice him at least some of the time, really notice him, not like before when he'd sat concussed through his exams and managed to pass because the teachers didn't want to face down the wrath of Harrington Sr.

He tries not to mope, tries to shake everything off, and goes to poke fun at Robin for whatever movie she picked.

---

For all of the late night wishing on a star type of bullshit he does, when he's alone in the dark and doesn't even have to properly face himself, let alone anyone else, you'd think he'd be able to handle it when he finally gets what he wants.

But maybe it's the unexpected timing, or just the way he didn't think they'd ever be those people – but when Robin hugs him goodbye one night, the last one out of the house as Nancy waits up outside to take her home, she murmurs a quiet "Love you" into his shoulder and he only manages to hold himself together by a fucking hair until the door is shut behind her.

He wouldn’t have ever imagined that it would make him crumple to the floor beside the neat rack of shoes he never wears, but he finds himself flat on his ass with his forehead on his knees like someone's packing him away in a box.

Ugly tears already brimming and spilling down his face as his throat closes up around what might just be a banshee's wail.

He knows he's supposed to be happy, and he knows there's a part of him that is, but the rest of him is just hurt – there’s an empty hole that had dug through him until it had grown into a deep well of loneliness, and every little offering of care and attention and love drowns in it.

About thirty minutes and a big pounding headache later, his phone rings, and his voice is rough when he picks up.

"Steve," Robin gasps, out of breath like she'd run to the phone. "What's wrong?"

He frowns, wondering if he sounds that bad.

"Nothing, why?"

"Oh, you just sound… And I'd thought – I just had a feeling in the car and then it got worse and I got worried and I'm sorry I'm sure you're so ready to go get your beauty sleep and I know we'll see each other at work tomorrow – but you sound terrible, Steve. Are you really okay?"

Robin's voice is as soothing as much as it picks at him, all the little threads he'd found on the floor to put himself back together get snatched back up by her soulmate premonition feelings or whatever, and he feels his sore eyes start to sting again.

"Rob, everything's fine," he says, heading to the sink, stretching the phone cord so he can get a cold glass of water. "Just took a little nap."

"Oh, that's good," She sighs, clearly relieved. "I guess… I'll let you go?"

Steve's heart feels full of something that aches, but maybe it's not really in a bad way. He can't tell right now, but he blinks and blinks and blinks until his eyes aren't threatening to un-convince Robin of his fine-ness.

"Yeah, I'll see you in the morning," he says, and pauses, digging his toes into the tile floor to brace himself. "Have good dreams, love you."

Robin's voice is warm and thready when she replies, the phone doing a bad job of replicating it but he can still imagine she's speaking into his shoulder again.

"Love you too, goodnight Steve."

---

He does more crying in the shower, though this time it’s more of a relieved thing.

The little worry in the background of his mind that Robin had said it accidentally earlier is gone – and the larger worry in the front of his mind that he'd somehow ruin their friendship by saying the same thing back at her is gone too.

He's almost excited to get to work tomorrow, though his self esteem hasn't been doing all that great lately, with summer vacation and everyone he went to high school with coming back home from college.

Logically he doesn't care about the judgmental questions and the superior airs they put on, as if surviving another year of schooling could hold a candle to the crazy shit he's survived, but it still like, hurts.

At least the store’s been too busy for them to be scheduled for solo shifts, so he's mostly just working his full day with Robin, and aside from the retail hell of it all, it's been kind of nice just getting to hang out together for hours and hours.

---

Robin's too good at reading him, and he regrets his excitement to see her so soon after his weird love induced meltdown on the welcome mat.

"Oh my God, you lied!" She hisses as he takes his place behind the counter, leaning beside her. "Clearly something was wrong last night."

He knows his eyes are slightly fucked up still, but he's had nights of bad sleep that had him looking worse, so he's truly confused for a moment, and lets her know that, his perplexed frown out in full force as she sets her hands on his shoulders.

"C'mon, the puppy dog eyes aren't going to work," she says, squeezing and shaking him a little bit. "You let me think I was an over-worrier! That I was thinking too much. Tell me, Steve."

He sighs, closes his eyes, and wishes desperately they weren't at work for this.

"Any chance of letting me talk about it in eight hours?"

Robin scoffs, and digs her fingers into the meat of his shoulders.

It's probably meant to hurt, but it's a pleasant pressure, his muscles feeling a little sore from all of the tension he’s been carrying.

"No, tell me now before we have to flip the sign," she says, the little crack in her voice betraying her whole pissed off act.

"Fine just. Don't laugh," he says, wondering if it's more pathetic to ask her not to or more pathetic to experience it if she does.

She raises her eyebrows, eyes lasered in on his as he opens them, and she just looks sad.

"It hurt, you know, in the car. I just… I knew something wasn't okay but I had no idea what it was, but I was sure it was something to do with you," she says, subdued.

The soulmates thing gets pretty freaky sometimes, but Steve's heard of this happening to like, identical twins. So why not him and Robin, honestly?

"Sorry," he says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Just uh, when you. Said you loved me."

Robin winces, loosens her grip on his shoulders.

"Not good?" She asks, and Steve frowns.

"No, it was good," he says quickly, doesn't want her to feel bad for saying it, or worse, take it back. "I'm…"

He thinks about it, the little bright spark in his chest that's been flickering, fighting against all of the heaviness and general stress he's been feeling. It grows a little stronger every time he sees her, and he hopes that one day it can be a proper flame.

"It's just been a while," he whispers, thinks that this isn't fair to even tell her. "Since someone's told me that."

It sounds depressing as hell, and truly, despite whatever his 3AM wallowing would have to say about it, he's been doing fine, has a full enough social calendar with his friends.

"Oh," Robin says, the way it hurts as plain as a clear day on her face. "Well, I love you."

Steve finds himself blinking back tears again, and the smile that sneaks up on him feels like the lightening of a burden, an unpacked suitcase.

"I love you too."

[mrvelocipede]

I spent some time this afternoon in a slightly cold-ish haze, applying stain samples to pieces of wood. Some of the resulting colors may end up on the floorboards, eventually. The weird blue-greens are in there because I want to mix small amounts of them in with some of the browns, to make better shades of brown.

It's absolutely mind-boggling how many different individual components go into building a house. There are obvious materials, like framing lumber and drywall and bricks. (There are so many different kinds of bricks. We got to go to a neat warehouse and look at hundreds of samples of bricks, in many shades of red and orange and brown and yellow and off-white, with and without speckles, spots, textures, kiln-firing marks, and so on and so forth.) But then basically every single visible surface and fixture has to be chosen, and they all have to work together and look reasonably harmonious.

Floorboards. Tile. Faucets. Cabinet doors. Room doors. Doorknobs. Cabinet handles. Sconces and various light fixtures. Window trim moldings. Stair railings. Roof material. Countertop material.

I've learned that kitchen countertops can be made of laminate, like old-school Formica, or else slabs of stone or stone-like materials, and there's very little middle ground in terms of aesthetics or cost. It's either way low-end or way high-end. I mean, there are cheaper and more expensive kinds of stone slabs, but it's all stone, with significant fabrication costs on top of the base material price.

For most of these things, you have to go to showrooms and deal with sales people. And at that point, I begin to run into difficulties.

See, on the internet I get to be the fascinating and mysterious Mr. Velocipede, and talk about whatever projects I've been working on, and post pictures of things I've made. People are willing to think of me as competent, or in some categories an actual expert to some degree, and it's a fairly comfortable persona to inhabit. It's very easy to forget that in the offline world, I'm a very ordinary-looking middle-aged housewife kind of thing. It's not how I think of myself, but it's definitely what I look like to any outside observer.

During the house-building project, I've been constantly, incessantly reminded of why I became Mr. Velocipede in the first place: being a girl in this culture sucks.

I don't actually mind being female (although I often feel like I'm kind of crap at it), but the kinds of assumptions made about you are so fucking insultingly stupid that I've never really figured out how to respond to them. You're supposed to use Pinterest boards and read magazines full of fairy-tale cottages and have a "dream kitchen" that you've been fantasizing about since you got married and stopped fantasizing about your dream wedding.

You're supposed to want to hide all your appliances neatly in tasteful cupboards, so as not to offend guests with your unsightly refrigerator or microwave or washing machine. I've lost count of the number of times I've had to explain to people that I don't want a special board that attaches to my cabinets, to hide the side of the refrigerator. "But you'll see the side of the refrigerator!" they admonish me. "It's not finished the same as the front! It doesn't match the cabinets!"

Yeah, okay, but what if I like having a magnetic surface to stick things on? What if I don't want to spend money on a random unnecessary board that basically dangles from the upper cabinet?

And there is always, always the assumption that you cannot possibly know anything at all about materials and how they work. I got to listen to quite a long speech about how window screens actually block a certain percentage of the light. Did I know that? Well, yes, as a matter of fact I did. That was why I was asking about getting half-screens, instead of ones that cover the entire window.

It turns out that color is a very stressful subject for a lot of people, which I guess I sort of knew, but am now having to cope with more directly. Our architect is all stressed out because I haven't chosen a stain color yet, and I scared him by buying a bunch of sample bottles of weird bright colors of stain. I've been trying to reassure him that I'm very happy to figure out how to mix a custom stain color myself, out of whatever stock colors exist, but this is apparently unheard of.

But I am flat-out refusing to just pick one of the existing stock colors, because they are all too jarringly harsh and simple, and not at all the effect I want. And I can't figure out how to convey the idea that I know how to work with color, I understand that it's going to look different on different kinds of wood, I know what I'm doing, and I'm not going to burst into tears if it doesn't look like some reference photo in a brochure. Those brochures all look awful, and I know I can do better, if only people will stop calling me "little lady" and let me fucking get on with it.

[mysticmjolnir]

thinking about jaws of hakkon in particular and how it contains depth and richness and world-building and story and just good fukcing writing that i've only glimpsed dregs of in dav.

the shrine of andraste adorned with halla statues to make it one to ghilan'nain as well, both mortals raised up by the gods. something that would be considered shameful heresy by dragon age-era dalish and andrastians alike but seems to have just been very normal in ameridan's time. this shrine fucked me up so bad i think about it often still, it healed and wounded me at once.

how important it is that some of your companions hate each other - or are at least so ideologically opposed that their only point of connection is the protagonist and they are constantly in simmering conflict with each other.

the avvar being the only sensible people in thedas but still having strong rules about magic and spirit companions, the culture's existence in stark contrast to basically everything else you've seen so far in thedas. they're earthy and grounded and don't really give a fuck about how weird everyone else is but do want to try and trade a bit.

ameridan, the elven mage with dirthamen vallaslin who was best friends with emperor drakon and led the goddamn inquisition, a time before the racism and divisions of dragon age-era thedas, proof that nothing is immutable, things can get worse and therefore they can get better too. ameridan, who was dalish in that he was a citizen of the dales, the elven homeland that to us is a lost tragedy and to him a beloved frustration as he tries to get his fellow elves to work with humans against the second blight instead of coldly watching orlais burn.

solas is there or possibly long gone, but his shadow remains, someone who knows more someone who is outside of all of this someone who is enraged and enchanted and embittered by the way everything has had the nerve to change in ways he did not anticipate or permit. solas the maker who turned away from the world he made but is now back to cast his aloof gaze over all and decide to start again.

in dav I walk through an underwater elven ruin called the ossuary. at first I was excited for some kind of gothic bone palace but there are no bones. it is very unclear what the original purpose of the ruin was, there are no codices for me to find and read, no half-written diaries no poems no manuals no letters no supply lists no descriptions of the wards holding the water back. the wards are failing in places, actually. i watch the water trickle through and wait for one of my companions to comment, even to simply raise the tension by suggesting we need to finish our quest near before the water fails and we're crushed by the sea. i eventually give up waiting. i cannot deduce why this place is called the ossuary - this is not an elven word, and while it has been taken over for some time by the venatori it is a laboratory, not a charnel house. my companions call it a prison, but i can't tell if it was a prison originally built by the elvhen, or only repurposed recently. why is it called the ossuary. i visit the necropolis later, which is full of bones, lots of bones.

it is very beautiful under the sea, but it is also proof that whatever dav is, whatever merits it otherwise has, the levels of history and world-building and depth of lore that were present in the previous games is utterly gone.

[morgan-weston]

and now i find, we're both alone || self-thread

WHO: Morgan Weston & Granny Weston

WHERE: The Weston Farm, Montana

WHEN: Wednesday the 13th of November

WHY: Morgan gets the most useful advice from his granny.

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of heart attack, illness and death.

SONG INSPIRATION: Jeanette Nolan - Goodbye May Seem Forever

Morgan sat at the kitchen table, staring at the half-empty cup of coffee in front of him. The house was quiet except for the occasional groan of the old pipes and the distant clucking of the hens outside. His grandmother, Evelyn, moved gracefully around the kitchen, making biscuits from scratch like she had every morning for decades. The rhythm of her movements, the sound of flour sifting, and the scent of butter sizzling in the cast-iron skillet made everything feel achingly familiar.

Evelyn glanced over her shoulder at him as she worked. “You’ve got that look on your face,” she said lightly, not unkindly. “The same one you used to wear when you got into trouble as a boy and didn’t know how to confess.”

Morgan huffed a quiet laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I did,” he muttered, not lifting his eyes from his mug.

She didn’t press him right away. Instead, she slid a plate of fresh biscuits in front of him, patting his shoulder as she took the seat across from him. Her hands rested on the table, fingers laced, and she gave him that patient, all-seeing look that only grandmothers seemed to master.

“You haven't talked to me in a long time, bubba,” Evelyn started, her voice gentle but with an edge of concern. However, there was no judgment to be found in her tone. “You've not been doing well.”

Morgan shifted uncomfortably, running a thumb over the rim of his cup. He didn’t know how to explain it all - how he’d felt like a man trying to patch up a sinking ship with band-aids. “I've been chasing after people, tryin' to prove my love to 'em. I sent them flowers, and made them their favorite meals, and everythin',” he admitted, feeling a heaviness press against his chest.

Evelyn sighed softly, her eyes studying him like she was searching for something deeper than words. “Morgan,” she began, her voice steady, “you’ve always been good at trying to make things right. You get that from your granddad, always thinkin’ that if you just worked hard enough, you could fix whatever was broken.”

He swallowed, feeling the truth of her words cut deeper than he expected. It was true - he’d always tried to do just that. Whether it was his career or his relationships, he worked himself to the bone to set things straight.

“But sometimes,” Evelyn continued, leaning forward slightly, “all that work isn’t fixin’ anything. It’s just keepin’ you busy so you don’t have to face what’s really wrong.”

Morgan opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. She wasn’t finished anyway.

“I don’t doubt your heart’s in the right place,” she said softly. “But you need to understand that love isn’t about grand gestures or trying to prove somethin’. What you’ve been doin’- all those flowers and whatnot, bubba, they’re not gonna erase the pain you caused.”

The words stung, but he knew she was right. He lowered his head, staring at the grooves in the wooden table, trying to ignore the way his chest ached.

“I didn’t mean to hurt them,” he whispered, his voice sounding small and lost.

Evelyn reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “I know you didn’t, sweetheart,” she replied. “But intentions don’t always keep people from getting hurt. You were tryin’ to hang on to somethin’ that was already slippin’ away.”

Morgan’s throat tightened, and he clenched his jaw to keep the emotion from spilling out. “What was I supposed to do then?” he asked, his voice thick with frustration. “Just let them go?”

Her fingers squeezed his hand gently, and she gave him a sad, knowing smile. “Sometimes lettin’ go is the kindest thing you can do for someone else, and for yourself. You’ve been chasin’ after them like if you run hard enough, you can outrun what happened. But Morgan, you can’t.”

It finally clicked for him in that moment - the weight of her words sinking into his bones. He’d been chasing something that wasn’t there anymore, trying to fix what was shattered, not realizing that in his desperation, he was only making the cracks deeper.

Morgan took a shaky breath, feeling like the ground had shifted beneath his feet. It wasn’t just about the flowers or the meals; it was about him refusing to accept that some things couldn’t be fixed. And in trying so hard, he hadn’t just hurt Eva and Puck - he’d hurt himself too.

“What do I do now?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was afraid of the answer.

Evelyn’s expression softened, and she reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off his forehead like she used to do when he was a kid. “You start by forgivin’ yourself, Morgan. And you give them time and space to heal too. And maybe, you find a way to heal on your own.”

Morgan nodded slowly, feeling a strange mixture of relief and sadness wash over him. He didn’t know if he was ready to let go completely, but he understood now that he couldn’t keep running himself ragged, trying to piece back together a story that had already ended.

Evelyn squeezed his hand one last time before getting up to tend to the stove, her movements graceful and sure. “Life has a way of teachin’ us lessons,” she said, her back turned to him. “It’s up to us whether we’re willing to listen.”

She turned off the stove, and moved to the coffee pot, grabbing it and went to pour more coffee into Morgan's cup - the dark rings under his eyes could tell anyone that he needed it. “I'm gonna go and check on your granddad.”

Morgan sat there for a long time after she left, staring at his coffee, thinking about what she’d said. For the first time in weeks, he felt something loosen in his chest - a small sense of acceptance. It wasn’t the happy ending he’d hoped for, but it felt like the beginning of something else.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted though, the small footsteps from his grandmother hurrying into the kitchen. "Morgan, come quick, something's wrong!"

[fandoms-in-law]

The Deed

Summary: Steve's parents come home while he's hosting a pool party and try kicking up a fuss. Hopper asks 1 question before much can be said.

Authors Note: I posted this on AO3 a couple months ago but was unsure about posting it here. Got a new sideblog just to share this and other fics for series I've not seen or at least not fully seen.

...

Hopper was the one to arrange it. Actually, he was fairly sure he was the only one to know about it other than Steve.

He'd been aware of the neglect of the boys parents for, well, the entire time since they started leaving him home alone, thanks to the nosey neighbours. The fact that the hospital not only failed to get through to them during the first incident with the upside down due to the injuries that they'd seen but on later occasions both asked him to do so or to suggest Steve choose someone else to be his emergency contact said worlds and nothing good.

So yes, Hopper arranged the change of name on the deed to the Harrington mansion and let Steve pretend he'd forgotten all about it.

Now though he mentioned it. “Show me the deed to the house, Harrington.”

3 people turned to stare at him, one very ready to yell. Everyone else remained glaring at the two people forcing their way into the pool party Steve was holding.

After a moment though, Steve nodded. “It's in my room. I'll go and fetch it.”

That got Richard storming after him. “You never had permission to remove anything from my office, Boy! You better put that and anything else-”

“I never took anything from the office.” Steve's words were calm, but Hopper having followed them saw what everyone still outside and waiting to yell at his mother couldn't. That Steve had instead of going straight to the stairs stopped at the closet and grabbed his nail bat out, holding in ready to use but not in threat as he spoke. “Go and check if you don't believe me.”

“I'll prove you're a liar quite happily!” Richard snarled, barging past his son to go up the stairs, Steve and Hopper now in pursuit.

Hopper glanced over, quietly asking, “Was bringing this up wrong of me?”

“I'd forgotten about it in everything that's happened since that first time, so no, definitely not.” He confirmed, going straight to his dresser once in his room while Hopper hovered in the doorway, listening for anything happening downstairs, though it seemed Mrs Harrington knew better than to say anything when alone with a whole party of people who loved Steve.

Steve didn't wait for his father to finish whatever search he was doing of the office, just heading downstairs calmer than he had been when his parents first arrived. Hopper hoped that was because he'd remembered that he had both the legal power and the police chief on his side for this confrontation, but suspected it was more to do with taking a few moments to breathe away from the pair.

“I have the house deed here, Hopper. Do you want to wait for Richard to return?” Steve stated, as if he hadn't been the first of the pair to return to the garden where everyone remained.

“We'll wait.” Nancy was the one to reply, coming further forward with Robin, Eddie and Jonathon so they formed some type of guard around Hopper and Steve. “You still have that thing?” she teased a moment later, gesturing to the nail-bat.

Steve shrugged, “Got us through some difficult times, figured it could be good luck fighting less flower headed threats too.”

“HERE!” Richard yelled, storming out of the door and shoving a document into Hopper's chest. “The deed to my house.”

Everyone seemed to take a breath in at that moment, but Hopper just nodded, catching the page and reading over it. “Definitely in order, well, except for this date.” He gestured to the top of the page. “It says you brought this house in 1965, correct?”

“Yes, that's when the deed's were signed.” Richard agreed, huffing as if expecting Hopper would roll over now and start doing as he demanded.

“Steve, can I see the deed you brought down for us?” Hopper calmly asked, refusing to get annoyed at the attitude of Harrington.

Steve silently handed it over and Hopper barely glanced it over before nodding.

“As I recalled, this one is from 1983, all titled, signed and correct, with an additional letter even from the government confirming that the house and all it's contents belongs to Stephen Harrington. If you want to claim any control over who stays here or visits, perhaps you should take it up with the Department for Control and Exploration of Communications Methods. They are indeed both cosignatories and the department who provided this letter.” He smirked over at the Harrington's before adding, “Steve, do you permit these people to be present on your property? I can arrest them for trespassing and civil disturbance if they're uninvited.”

Mrs Harrington spoke up then, “Now Chief Hopper, there's no need to be hasty. Richard and I were just -”

“Leaving.” Steve cut her off. “You were both just leaving. Whether that's in your own car to a hotel or the police cruiser to the station, I care about as much as you cared for me when you've left every other time.”

[boffeeceans]

I finished flight of icarus last night, and I like it, I really do, but uh... [EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER]

My biggest complaints aren't even about the new characters, I liked both Ronnie and Paige and Eddie's dad, too. I'm not mad about Eddie's characterization, it fine fine, good even. What I'm most upset about and kept throwing me off are the inconsistencies with canon: making Jeff the bassist when we see him playing guitar in the show, Tommy Hayes instead of Hagan, and most of all, having Eddie move in with Wayne in "84 instead of sometime before November of '83 making Eddie's room in the upside down the way it is in ST4 impossible.

Okay, so, characters.

The romance with Paige was... something. Didn't hate it. Didn't love it. It felt insignificant and the book could've done without it. Overall she's an okay character and did really care for Eddie and wanted to get him that deal unlike some people thought. Their breakup was something else entirely, it's unresolved and I don't like that. She bailed him out and they'll probably never talk again but it's whatever.

I liked Ronnie quite a lot, I've already said how she's similar to an OC I've made and that might have something to with it but Idc. Her relationship with Eddie throughout the book is fun and I enjoyed every interaction between them, but it kinda blows up at some point and then they make up and it just... ends. It's goodbye, she's going off to NYU and Eddie's staying in Hawkins. I wonder if they still had contact after that, if they were still friends during ST4 or if that was really just it.

Eddie's dad is probably my favorite new character, I like his personality, he's funny and charming and a lot like how I imagined him to be, not completely though. At the end, it's revealed that he's been using Eddie all along and then leaves him behind. He's not the way I would've written him, but it was interesting to read.

Love Rick too, Rick was great.

Now Eddie, I feel like he should have cried at least once, like when he was having his speech in front of the trailer or maybe in the jail cell, he just lost everything, his band, hellfire, his best friend, his dad, his house, his mom's records, his maybe record deal, his girlfriend, and he dropped out of school. He has nothing. And sure, some of these things are resolved by end of the book, but he didn't know that yet. I just really feel like he should've cried, let it sink in just how deep in shit he is. I mean, the guy started down the barrel of a gun multiple times...

I'm not taking this book as canon, I've already made up a backstory for Eddie in my head, I'm sticking with that and I encourage you to do the same. Just go [EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER] and move on, write your little fics and have your headcanons. We already pretend Eddie didn't die, we can pretend this book doesn't exist.

[convexicalcrow]

Woke up with some inspiration for how to finally finish the oasis room in Cub's pyramid, and then spent the evening procrastinating so hard on it that I built a mortuary temple for the late Pharaoh instead. bc no pyramid is complete without a mortuary temple. It's not quite got finished interiors? But the external stuff is finished enough.

(and yes i have just noticed the missing quartz block on the far right pharaoh statue. I will Fix That later.)

The purpose of mortuary temples was like a memorial chapel, if that description helps at all. The dead were rarely buried here; that's what the pyramids were for. Instead, there was a ka statue in place to receive offerings, usually ritually enlivened in some way so that the deceased could still experience the living world through the senses of the statue. Offerings were given so that the deceased had all they could ever want or need to access. They often had a lot of other buildings attached to them, as well as shrines for various deities, storage rooms, other ka shrines, etc.

The design for this temple was kind of inspired by Hatshepsut's mortuary temple, but I mostly just built what made sense. I didn't want to build the whole complex, because that would get way too big. So instead, I kept it small, and it's a couple of terraces with one building on the top, divided into three spaces.

The outer flat walls I want to decorate further with hieroglyphs or other Egyptian art, but I haven't decided what yet, so I'm leaving them for now. I do have Cub's name in SGA thrown around the place bc why not lol. And the back has a slightly squished copy of the Pharoah art and the cartouche that he put in the farm section of the pyramid. bc I was too lazy to make it 23 blocks tall, so. XD I may still fix that and move things up a lil but idk we'll see if I can be bothered.

This is the ka shrine. This is what you see when you enter the temple. I moved all of Cub's stuff from where he left it near the shopping district and placed it here as offerings. So he has everything he needs. I used a second armour stand to get the elytra behind the main statue, and ofc I wasn't going to turn off my vex elytra for this so. XD He has his vex wings. <3

There's some storage opposite this that I put in to house offerings or whatever else might be needed for the temple to function. The centre part of the wall clearly needs some kind of decoration but idk what yet.

I haven't decided what to do with these two side rooms though. I have been thinking of building a Boat of some kind, but idk. I may fill the space with more hieroglyphs or build some small shrines or maybe even do a Vex thing idk. I'll think on it some more and see what inspires me. And maybe get around to doing the oasis room eventually. XD

Also, since I forgot that I initially opened this world in 1.19 instead of going back to 1.16.4 (I suspect bc I hadn't figured out mods and old installations at the time so D:), I figured I'd just play this in 1.20.1 so I can throw some camels at it just to complete the picture. What the hell at that point, you know? :D But that's for later as well. It's midnight rn and I've done more than enough for today.