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lilhughesy · 1 month ago

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Baby, It’s You. | Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader, (feat. Ethan Edwards x Best Friend!Reader)

warnings! enemies to friends to enemies to lovers, angsty, mean!Luke, mentions of drinking, stress, slow burn lol, oh and Luke being a dick. word count: 25.5k (im so sorry)

summary: You are the sports media intern for the UMich hockey team which is so great because your best friend, Ethan Edwards, plays for the team. However, his friend and your arch nemesis is also on the team and his name is Luke Hughes. He gets the most joy by pestering you without realizing the effects it had on you.

a/n: another lukey fic for you guys! I tried something new by changing up how I typically write Luke and how I wrote this in general and I am so sorry that it is so long and lowkey super repetitive... I wanted to capture the push and pull between them but I think I went overboard. This was my first time writing enemies to lovers so please be nice if it’s actually awful😭 Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the too-white walls with scratches from chairs scraping against the paint a couple of times, and the scuffed linoleum floor of the student athlete resource center. The buzz of the printer echoed in the mostly empty area in addition to the occasional crunching of the paper jamming halfway through the rollers. The place smelled faintly of printer ink, stress, and forgotten coffee cups.

You stood at the front of the print station, one hand clutching onto the edge of the table, the other pressing the Reprint button repeatedly, “I swear, this machine has a personal vendetta against me.”

Ethan Edwards laughed behind you, the sound warm and easy, like it always was with him, “Maybe it just knows you’re not officially on the team and feels threatened.”

You shot him a playful glare over your shoulder, “Hey, I’m helping you with your disaster of a paperwork situation, you should at least be nice.”

He grinned with his expression unbothered, “You're right, I’m sorry. You’re an angel. A queen, and coach would have my head if I forgot to bring in these papers again”

You snorted, rolling your eyes at him, “These forms are the only thing standing between Michigan Hockey and NCAA travel sanctions.”

Ethan leaned on the counter beside you, his Wolverines jacket slightly rumpled, a half-empty shaker bottle in one hand. His eyes were crinkled at the corners from laughing too much. You’d met him in Sport Management 101 your first semester of college. He’d been one of the only athletes who actually participated in discussion and didn’t act like the class was a punishment. You’d bonded over a shared love for Canadian sports teams, given that you two are both from Canada. He was the kind of friend who texted you links to ridiculous sports Instagram posts at 2 a.m. and brought you a spare umbrella when the forecast betrayed you. Ethan never tried to be more than your friend, never crossed a line, and in a major where networking often blurred into flirting, that made him gold.

“You still owe me for this,” You said, stacking the semi-wrinkled waivers into a neat pile.

He nodded, “A week of bagels, I know. I’m thinking cinnamon sugar. Toasted. Maybe with a cold brew as a chaser?”

You handed him the last sheet with an amused smile, “And this is why you’re my favourite.”

“Tell that to Luke,” Ethan mumbled under his breath. You stiffened slightly at the mention of his name, but before you could reply, the door swung open with a squeak of the hinges.

Speaking of the actual devil, Luke Hughes walked in, dragging the sharp chill of the fall air with him. His team hoodie clung to his frame, still damp from sweat. His skates were slung over his shoulder by the laces, the metal blades clinking faintly with each step. His curly hair was a mess of dark blonde, his jawline sharp, his eyes sharper.

His eyes landed on you instantly, and his expression shifted from neutral to unmistakably irritated in a split second.

“Oh,” He said flatly, “It’s you.”

You didn’t even flinch, “Unfortunately.”

He turned to Ethan, “You ready? Coach is losing his mind about ice time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ethan replied, picking up the forms that you had stacked up for him, “We’re good. She helped me print them.”

Luke glanced at the stack in your hands, then at you, eyebrows arching like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “Didn’t know they taught you how to print in sport management.”

“Didn’t know they taught you how to be a dick in hockey, I guess we’re both learning new things today,” You shot back with your eyebrows raised.

Ethan shifted his weight uncomfortably, clearly sensing the growing tension, “Okay, cool. I love this banter. Let’s… save this energy for the game tomorrow, Hughesy.”

You took a step forward, plopping the stack of papers in Ethan’s hands a little harder than necessary, “Here, good luck with whatever this season turns into.”

You were halfway out the door when Luke’s voice followed you, as smooth and smug as ever, “You know, some of us are actually going places.”

You stopped in your tracks and slowly, you turned around to face him. He was still leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world, arms crossed, half-grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

“My skills come naturally, y’know,” He said. “It’s basically genetic, like my brothers both play in the NHL and I’m already drafted. So while I’m signing pro contracts, you’ll be figuring out how to pay off your student loans for the next ten years.”

The words landed like a slap. But instead of backing down, you met his eyes and smiled sweetly.

“Wow,” You scoffed, “Was being an asshole also mandatory when getting drafted? Or is that just the online hype getting to your head?”

Something flickered in his expression, barely noticeable. You didn’t wait for him to answer, you turned on your heel and walked out, letting the heavy door swing closed behind you.

Outside, the crisp late September air bit at your cheeks, but you welcomed it. Anything to clear the residue of Luke Hughes off your skin. He was the only person who could make a hockey rink feel like a battlefield.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

You hadn’t meant to walk past Yost.

The smart thing would’ve been to take the long way around, down State Street, away from the thick smell of rubber pucks, melting ice, and testosterone. But your marketing lecture had let out early, and your shortcut to your apartment required you to go straight through the arena’s lobby.

The glass doors creaked as you pushed them open. Inside, the air was cooler, the walls were lined with black-and-white photos of championship teams and action shots of hockey legends frozen in time, and Luke Hughes among them, of course.

You kept your eyes down, footsteps quiet on the slick floor. The rink was alive behind the glass, with players slicing across the ice, barked instructions from a coach echoing off the boards. The clatter of sticks and skates blended with the distant hum of the Zamboni, like the building was vibrating with movement.

You were halfway across the lobby when a familiar voice cut through the static.

“Hey,”

Your shoulders tensed before you even turned around. He leaned against the wall just outside the locker room, damp curls sticking to his forehead, sleeves of his Michigan hoodie pushed up his forearms. He looked like he’d just walked off the ice, and right back into your personal space.

You paused, “Don’t you have calls to argue about or something?”

He grinned, all sharp edges and irritating confidence, “I was hoping you’d swing by. Wanted to thank you for earlier, your printing skills were truly elite.”

You tilted your head slightly, “You’re still hung up on that? You must be exhausted from all the grudges you’re carrying.”

Luke pushed off the wall with lazy ease, “Not a grudge. Just a public service. Thought I’d give you a little reality check before your delusions got out of hand.”

You blinked, stunned by the sheer nerve of him, “Excuse me?”

“You act like you’re some rising exec by being in sports management,” He said, stepping closer, “But let’s be honest, you hang around the team like it’ll magically get you somewhere. Like it’s just your golden ticket to the press box, or maybe to dating someone on the roster.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, “I’m in this program because I actually want a career in sports,” You snapped with your voice low, “Not that I owe you an explanation.”

Luke raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered, “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“You think being drafted makes you untouchable. But you’re just another kid with a big name coasting on your back.”

That landed. You saw it, the moment his jaw clenched slightly. His smirk dipped for half a second. But then it was back,

“Don’t act like you know me,” He told you with his voice firm

“Oh, believe me, I don’t want to,” You shot back, “But unfortunately, you keep making that impossible.”

“Wow. You guys really going for Round Two today?” Ethan appeared at the end of the hallway, his hair still wet from a post-practice shower. He looked between you and Luke like he’d just walked into the middle of a fight he hadn’t agreed to referee.

Luke stepped back, his eyes still locked on yours, “Just offering her some career advice.”

“Yeah,” You muttered, brushing past him, “Let me know when you’re finally qualified to give it.”

You pushed through the exit doors, cold air hitting your face in an instant, wind threading through your hair like ice. It wasn’t just that Luke was rude. It was that he saw you and chose to treat you like you didn’t belong. Like your ambition was cute but pointless. Like you’d never belong in the world of sports.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

You stood near the long folding table by the windows, clipboard in one hand, your other hand rifling through a pile of jerseys that weren’t in the right order. Your hair kept falling in your face, sticking slightly from the humidity that rose with the sheer body heat in the room. You pushed it back absently, scanning the team media schedule you’d printed that morning.

Behind you, Ethan Edwards was laughing at something one of the freshmen players had said, but he still caught your eye every few minutes to make sure you were doing okay. You appreciated that about him, how he always managed to make sure you didn’t feel like just background noise.

He wandered over to you between photoshoots, “You surviving the chaos?”

You laughed lightly, “Barely, they keep knocking the sponsor signs off the walls. I’ve re-taped the same Tim Hortons logo four times.”

“Honestly, you’re the only reason this thing is running at all,” Ethan said, peeling the backing off a fresh name tag and handing it to you, “They should put you on payroll.”

You shrugged, “It’s just part of the internship, it helps my resume.”

“Still, you didn’t have to stay this late, I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

You smiled at that, “You said you wanted to hang out after, remember? I figured I’d earn it first by helping out your team”

Ethan looked like he was about to say something else but then the locker room door swung open with a solid thud, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Luke Hughes walked in, late as always. His shoulder pads still on beneath his school-branded jersey, a helmet tucked under one arm. His cheeks were flushed from the cold of the rink, and his eyes landed on you almost immediately.

Something in his posture changed, but you didn’t look away. Luke’s gaze dragged across the room, and then his voice cut through the chaos, smooth and loud enough to turn heads, “Oh. She’s still around? I thought she would’ve made other friends by now.”

The words floated in the air for a second too long. Your heart dropped and you froze, caught in that horrible space between wanting to say something and not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under your skin.

A few of the guys laughed awkwardly, but most went quiet.

Ethan’s face dropped instantly. “Hughesy, chill dude.”

Luke shrugged as started unlacing his skates, completely unaffected.

You tried to brush it off, and try not to let the tears build up in your eyes. But the room suddenly felt too loud, too bright, too small.

“I should just go,” You said quietly to no one in particular as you quickly wiped the threatening tears away from your eyes while you shoved your things into your bag.

“No, hey,” Ethan stepped between you and the doorway with his hand out, “No stay, c’mon you said you’d hang out today.”

“Maybe on your walk back, you can meet some girls you can actually be friends with,” Luke chirped without looking at you, “Then you’ll have someone to hang out with instead of showing up here every day.”

Silence fell again but this time, no one laughed. Not even Mark, who normally matched Luke’s sarcasm beat for beat, looked down at his phone and said nothing.

You felt your throat tighten as you clutched the strap of your bag, “I just—” You started, barely holding your voice steady, “I should go… I’m sorry Eddy, maybe another time.”

You shoved the clipboard you held gently into Ethan’s chest and turned toward the hallway, footsteps echoing too loud in the silence that followed. You didn’t hear Luke say anything else, though whether he actually stopped or you just blocked him out, you weren’t sure.

Ethan caught up with you a few seconds later, his brows furrowed with a mix of concern and quiet frustration. You shook your head at him, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to sting.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly

You looked up at him, “I’m really sorry, Eddy. I just… I don’t want to be there if I’m not welcome. I don’t get why he’s still acting like this,” You told him before you paused as your voice cracked slightly, “It’s been over a year. I was hoping he’d drop the bit by now.”

Ethan sighed, running his hand through his hair, “Me too. I thought he had.”

You crossed your arms, hugging yourself without realizing it, “I don’t even care that he doesn’t like me, but I know that I don’t deserve to be humiliated in front of half the team.”

“You don’t,” Ethan’s jaw tightened, “And if he says anything like that again, I’ll call him out harder.”

“I don’t want you to fight my battles,” You told him gently, still trying to hold onto your pride, “I just want to do my job and not feel like I’m a joke for showing up.”

Ethan nodded, like he understood on a level deeper than just sympathy.

You took a breath, mainly to steady yourself, “Thanks for coming after me.”

“Always,” He said with a gentle squeeze to your shoulder, “You’re not alone in this.”

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The post-media day haze settled like a fog over the house as each of the boys slowly walked in, dropping their hockey bags by the door. A half-eaten pizza box lay open on the coffee table, the TV screen glowed with some muted sports replay, and the clatter of video game controllers had faded into nothing. The guys were around, with some on their phones, others talking in low voices, but for once it wasn’t loud.

He hadn’t said a word since you left Yost. Not when Ethan went after you with that look on his face. Not when Mark gave him that sharp, disappointed shake of the head. Not when no one cracked a joke to break the tension in the media room.

He sat slouched at the end of the couch, bouncing his knee, a lukewarm Gatorade bottle clutched in one hand. The kind of silence that stretched on too long had always made him feel itchy, like he was standing on a sheet of thin ice, and everyone else could hear it cracking but him.

God, what the hell had he said? He reflected on how the words had come out fast, too fast. That smug, sharp tone that always cut too deep when he let it. He hadn’t meant it the way it landed. Except maybe he had.

The front door opened, cool night air slipping in as another one of his housemates entered the house. He heard them shut it behind themselves with more force than necessary. The guys kept their heads down, Luke didn’t look up until Ethan dropped into the chair across from him.

“You seriously need to cut the shit,” Ethan told him, his voice wasn’t loud, but there was an edge in it and disappointment. A lot of it.

Luke exhaled, slow and heavy, “It was a joke.”

Ethan’s laugh was empty, “You think that was funny?” He asked, “Making her feel like garbage in front of everyone?”

Luke shrugged, jaw tight, “She doesn’t need you to defend her. She gives it back just fine.”

“Yeah, she does. But that’s not the point, Luke,” Ethan leaned forward as elbows pressed onto his knees, “You don’t get it, do you?”

Luke didn’t answer and Ethan continued to stare at him, “You think she’s just some girl hanging around the team for fun?”

“She’s always around,” Luke mumbled, with a roll of his eyes, “It’s not like-”

“She’s around because she’s doing work,” Ethan snapped, “The kind of work no one thanks her for. The kind of work that makes our lives easier.”

Luke blinked, clearly taken aback from Ethan’s tone.

“You ever filled out a compliance form? Coordinated team travel with six guys forgetting to turn in their info? Talked to a professor to help get someone excused from a class for away games?” Ethan’s voice rose, “No? Because she does all of that. Quietly. Without complaint.”

Luke opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“She goes to class, works a part-time job, handles internship stuff, runs media days, helps keep the coaching staff sane, and still finds time to show up and support this team more than half of the people getting scholarships to play here.”

Luke stared at the floor, his throat dry and his fingers fumbling with the silicon bracelet that surrounded the rim of his gatorade bottle.

“And you treat her like she’s in the way,” Ethan’s voice had dropped to a low tone, “Like she’s some annoying fan who doesn’t belong.”

A beat passed, then Ethan added, “She told me the other day she thinks you hate her.”

Luke sat back further into the couch cushions. He hadn’t realized she thought that, but he remembered the look on her face from earlier. The way her voice cracked when she said she should just go. The look in her eyes when she apologized to Ethan, like she was the one at fault. Like he hadn’t just dragged her down in front of the entire team for a quick laugh.

“I don’t hate her,” Luke said, but even to his own ears, it didn’t sound convincing.

“Then what is it?” Ethan asked, softer now, “Because if you like her, you’ve got the worst way of showing it. And if you don’t, then why can’t you leave her the hell alone?”

Luke didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to explain the way something in him twisted up whenever he saw you laughing with the guys, how he hated that it felt like you fit in better than he did sometimes. That you didn’t carry the weight he did, of the Hughes name, the fourth overall draft pick, the spotlight, and still shined like it came naturally. Like you didn’t have to try.

That when you looked at him, he couldn’t tell if you saw Luke Hughes, third brother, NHL-bound golden boy... or just Luke, who didn’t know what the hell he was doing half the time.

“She didn’t want to make it awkward,” Ethan told him, “She just wanted to help and you made her feel like an inconvenience.”

Luke looked up from his lap to his friend who was already staring back at him.

“You’re gonna go pro,” Ethan continued as he kept his voice gentle, “You’ve got everything lined up. But if you keep pushing people like her away, you’re going to get there and find out you lost something way more important.”

And with that, Ethan stood and walked down out of the living room, his footsteps fading up the stairs and into his bedroom. Luke sat in his same position on the couch, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor as he thought back to your interactions that day.

You didn’t go to the rink the next day, you didn’t even leave your apartment. Your desk lamp was the only source of light in the room, casting a warm glow across your cluttered desk, dimly lighting over your half-finished notes. Outside the window of your bedroom, morning had come and gone, unnoticed. The sky was overcast, soft and heavy with the threat of rain and occasionally, wind rattled the loose pane in the top corner of the glass.

You pulled your sweatshirt tighter around your frame with your legs tucked beneath you in the chair by your desk. One hand rested on your trackpad, aimlessly scrolling through your mock proposal for University of Michigan Sports and Athletics’ Management Department though you hadn’t read a word of what you have written in the past twenty minutes.

It didn’t matter. You couldn’t focus. Not after yesterday. Your mind drifted back to the locker room, the scuffed tile floors, the sharp tang of sweat and men’s deodorant in the air, the echo of camera shutters, of laughter that didn’t feel like it included you. And then, his voice. That perfectly timed jab that landed like a punch to the chest, right in front of everyone.

“Oh she’s still around? I thought she would’ve made friends by now.”

You hadn’t said anything. Just laughed awkwardly, a fragile sound that cracked at the edges. And then you left, before your throat could fully close and before anyone could see your face fall.

You were drawn out of your trance when your phone buzzed for the third time that morning.

Ethan :) : Hey, you good?

Ethan :) : We’re doing promo photos. You usually run the form chart, remember?

Ethan :) : Melanie said you haven’t been in all day, where are you?

You bit your lip, staring at the screen, thumb hovering. The memory of Luke’s smirk flickered in your mind, rather than responding to Ethan like you usually did, you opted to turn your phone facedown. Let them figure it out without you for once.

The air in your room felt heavier than usual, like it hadn’t been moved in hours. Maybe it hadn’t. You hadn’t opened a window and you didn’t shower in the morning like normal. The coffee from this morning was still sitting in the mug beside your laptop, now cold and untouched.

It wasn’t just the embarrassment that was chewing away inside of you. It was the accumulation. You’d worked your ass off all freshman year to prove you could hang in the sport management world, especially one so saturated with guys who either underestimated you or overestimated your interest in them. But you did it. You'd navigated the politics of team culture, built trust, juggled fifteen-hour weeks between your classes and your assignments, and somehow made it all work.

And still, with just one careless comment, Luke Hughes had managed to reduce all of that to nothing. Like you were just there, tagging along, tolerated but not wanted. Worse, no one really stood up for you. Even Ethan, who you knew meant well, had tried to smooth it over like it was just Luke being Luke. It wasn’t some harmless teasing joke anymore, not when it had chipped away at your confidence, your joy, and your reason for showing up.

You exhaled shakily and clicked to your email inbox. One new message notification.

From: Coach Email Subject: Missed you at the rink, everything alright? Hey Y/N. Noticed that you didn't show up today for team photos. Just checking to see if you're alright.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over your keyboard as you debated your options. You could lie and say you had a midterm or caught the flu. Something they’d believe, no questions asked. Instead, your fingers typed something honest.

From: Y/N Email Subject: Re: Missed you at the rink, everything alright? Hi Coach. Would it be possible to reassign me from hockey media duties for a few weeks? I think it might be good to rotate to another varsity team. I’m happy to take on football or rugby if coverage is needed. — Y/N.

You stared at the blinking cursor for a moment before pressing send while inhaling sharply, within seconds, a response message appeared in your inbox

From: Coach Email Subject: Re: Missed you at the rink, everything alright? Understood. Thanks for the heads-up. We’ll switch you to football for now. Hope all is well.

You leaned back in your chair, your eyes still glued to the email as you tried to accept your changing reality.

Outside, the wind finally delivered on its promise. Rain began tapping against the window in soft, uneven rhythms. First as a drizzle, then steadily, soaking the glass and blurring the view of North Campus in watercolor streaks.

You watched students walk by on the sidewalks in front of your house, each under umbrellas, some sprinting for cover, some strolling like they had nowhere to be. Each of them moving, existing, belonging. And you? You felt frozen and stuck in a space you had once loved, now made hollow by one boy’s casual cruelty.

Your phone vibrated against your desk again.

Ethan :) : Wasn’t the same without you today.

Ethan :) : Let me know if you want to talk.

You stared at his text message, you sighed and typed out a reply, deleted it, and tried again.

You: Hey. Sorry I’ve been off. Yesterday just kind of… sucked.

You didn’t know what else to say to Ethan, and Ethan, ever the fast replier, his response came.

Ethan :) : Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, he was way out of line. I talked to him last night.

Ethan :) : You didn’t deserve that, okay?

You closed your eyes and you wished you could believe him. You wished the ache in your chest didn’t twist tighter at the thought of walking back into that locker room, or bumping into Luke in the hallway, or sitting next to players who had laughed but said nothing.

So instead, you stayed wrapped in your hoodie, feet curled beneath you, fingers tracing the rim of your forgotten coffee cup. You opened your planner and started filling in blocks with highlighters, pretending that color-coded to-do lists were enough to restore control, but you found yourself staring blankly at the pages. And for the first time in a while, you let yourself cry.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The locker room had long emptied out, but Luke stayed in his locker with his phone in hand as he texted his brothers. His curls were sticking to the back of his neck and his hoodie was draped over his lap. The air reeked of sweat and stale Gatorade, the blinding lights above casting their dim yellow tinge that made everything look more tired.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t left yet, even though he was certain that his teammates and housemates had already gone back. Just that something about the silence tightened the knot in his chest. Then he heard Ethan’s voice from down the hall, “Hey, hey, slow down. I can barely hear you.”

His tone was unfamiliar, nothing like the playful Ethan that Luke was used to hearing. His voice was gentle but strained. Luke sat up straighter.

Ethan was near the coaches’ offices, standing in that narrow hallway with his phone pressed tight to his ear. His back was to the wall, shoulders slightly hunched like your voice on the other end of the call might crack if he breathed too loud.

Luke didn’t need to ask who he was talking to, he already knew.

Your name wasn’t said. It didn’t have to be. There was a trembling edge in Ethan’s voice, and in the silence between his words, Luke could hear you sniffling, breathing in those tiny hitched gasps that meant you were crying and trying not to be and something cold twisted in his gut.

“Where are you right now?” Ethan asked you, there was a pause that was filled with silence. Luke looked away. He hated himself for listening, hated himself even more for wanting to, “You don’t have to apologize, alright? You’ve done so much for us, hell, we’d be lost without you half the time.”

Another pause, “I mean it. None of the guys know what you're juggling. You show up early, stay late, you handle everything. And you never ask for anything in return.”

Luke’s heart dropped like a stone in his chest. He had noticed those things, every one of them. He’d noticed how you always showed up to the rink earlier than anyone, laptop in hand, hair still wet from your morning shower. How your shoulders stiffened every time the locker room doors opened and you had to brace for whatever mess someone left for you. He noticed how you never complained. How you always figured it out and he’d respond with sarcasm and smug little digs, like an idiot.

Ethan’s voice was quieter, “I'm coming to get you, okay? Just tell me where you are.”

Luke turned slightly, just enough to glance around the corner and that’s when Ethan saw him. The glare he sent felt like a slap. It wasn’t fury. It was disappointment, deeper and sharper than anger ever could be.

Ethan shifted the phone slightly away from his mouth, “You hear that?” He asked him, “She’s crying right now because of the way she’s been treated around here.”

Luke couldn’t breathe and his jaw remained clenched. Ethan stepped forward, voice rising just enough to slice through the stillness, “You think this is just some joke? That teasing her is funny? You think she didn’t show up today for no reason?”

Luke opened his mouth, but the words dried up before they formed.

“She skipped today. Reassigned herself to another team,” Ethan snapped, “And I don’t blame her.”

He looked Luke up and down, shaking his head, “You have no idea what she gives up for us. She stays late editing your goddamn interviews. She helps organize schedules, puts out fires we start, reminds guys about deadlines we all ignore. She makes this entire operation work, and you make her feel like a fucking joke.”

Luke couldn’t look him in the eye because every word was true.

“You act like you’re the only one under pressure. Like your problems are heavier than everyone else’s. And maybe they are. But that doesn’t give you the right to treat her like she’s beneath you,” Ethan stepped toward the door now, phone back to his ear, “I don’t know what your problem is,” He mumbled, half to himself,

“But if this is how you treat someone who gives a shit about you… maybe you’re not the guy I thought you were.” Ethan told Luke firmly as he threw his letterman jacket over his shoulder and grabbed his bag. He headed out of the locker room and gave one last look over his shoulder, “You want to be a leader? Then stop pretending you don’t care now that she’s gone.”

And then he left. Luke sank back into his locker, the weight in his chest collapsing in on itself like an implosion. Your voice, choked and quiet, haunted the edges of his memory.

The house was silent with your roommates out for the night. You sat curled up in the corner of your couch, knees tucked close to your chest, a throw blanket draped over your shoulders like some kind of protective armor. The tears had come and gone, leaving your eyes dry and sore. Every time you blinked, you felt the sting of regret, the regret that you couldn’t just brush it off. The way Luke had treated you, the way he’d smiled with that arrogant little tilt of his head. You had almost convinced yourself it didn’t matter. That it didn’t hurt.

But it did.

A soft knock on your door jolted you from your thoughts. You didn’t even have to check the time to know it was Ethan. It had been twenty minutes since you’d hung up with him, and you could feel the weight of his concern lingering even through the distance between your two worlds.

You stood, letting the blanket fall from your shoulders, and walked over to the door. Your legs felt heavy, like they weren’t entirely your own as you unlocked the door.

Ethan stood there, the cool night air behind him, carrying the faint scent of rain. His eyes softened when he saw you, his brows pulling together in a way that made your chest tighten. He looked like he was trying to keep it together, just like you had been trying to do.

"Hey," he said, his voice gentle but firm, like a steady hand reaching through the chaos, "I’m here."

You nodded, stepping back so he could enter. The door clicked softly behind you, sealing you both inside the small, dimly lit home. Ethan didn’t waste time. He walked toward the couch and when he sat down beside you, the space between you felt vast despite how close he was.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid the wrong question would send you further into yourself. You wanted to lie, to say you were fine, but you couldn’t at least not to him. You shook your head, not trusting your voice. Instead, you wrapped your arms tighter around your knees, curling into yourself.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that felt like understanding, like Ethan knew you didn’t need words right now, just presence. He’d always been that way, a friend who could sit with you in your mess without expecting you to explain.

After a few minutes, Ethan sighed deeply, and when he spoke again, his words were measured, like he’d been holding them back for a while.

“Listen… I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but you need to hear it.” He hesitated as you glanced at him, his gaze steady but full of something else. Worry? Pain? You weren’t too sure, but it made your throat tighten.

“I hate seeing you like this,” He told you, “I hate seeing you put yourself last just to clean up our messes. You’ve been doing that for way too long.”

You blinked, unsure of how to process his words. You weren’t sure if you’d ever heard him talk like this. Ethan continued, his voice growing more intense, “You take care of everyone else, Luke, Mark, all of us. But who takes care of you when you’re the one falling apart?”

The truth of it hit you hard, but you couldn’t let him see that. You didn’t want to seem weak, especially not now, “I’m fine, Ethan,” You said, your voice shaky but trying to sound confident, “I’m just tired.”

His eyes softened, and he shook his head lowly, “No, you’re not and you’re burning out, and I can’t stand watching you do that to yourself.”

You swallowed thickly, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. But they were there, just below the surface, and you could feel them threatening to spill again.

“Luke…” you started, your voice soft and shaky, but you couldn’t finish.

Ethan didn’t interrupt. He just looked at you, his gaze understanding, “He’s an idiot, you know that, right? You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who doesn’t make you feel like you’re invisible just because you’re not on a damn hockey rink. You’re smart, you’re hardworking, and you matter.”

The truth in his words, the way he said them like they were facts, made something break inside you. You looked down at your hands and holding your tears back,

“He’s not a bad guy,” You whispered, your voice so small you barely recognized it, “He just... he doesn’t see me, Ethan. Not really.”

Ethan’s face softened, his hand reaching out to gently pull your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, “He does see you, but he’s too scared to admit it.”

You blinked up at him, confusion and disbelief swirling in your chest, “What do you mean?”

He sighed, running a hand across his jaw, frustration flickering across his features, “Luke doesn’t know how to handle someone like you.” His words came slowly, as if he was trying to choose them carefully, “He’s not used to people who don’t fit into his world of high expectations and constant pressure. You’ve got it all together in ways he never will and that makes him uncomfortable. So he pushes you away,”

You opened your mouth, but Ethan quickly cut you off.

“I know you think it’s you, but it’s not. It’s him, okay? He’s the one who’s scared.”

Your chest tightened at the weight of his words. For the first time, you wondered if maybe it had never been about you. Maybe it was always about him. You took a deep breath, the air feeling thicker now. You had no idea what the next step was, or if there even was one.

Ethan’s eyes softened as he watched you, his hand still resting lightly on yours and giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, “You don’t have to do this alone,” He told you softly,. “I’ve got your back. I always will.”

You squeezed his hand back, grateful for his unwavering presence, but still, part of you wished you could just step away from the mess of it all.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The sound of your phone buzzing on the table in the library barely registered at first. You were focused, as always, on the pile of work in front of you. A mix of emails, assignments, and team-related documents from the last few days had kept you buried in your thoughts. But when your phone buzzed again, the name that flashed across the screen made your stomach twist.

Luke.

You stared at the message for a long moment before reluctantly tapping on the notification. It wasn’t the first time he had tried to reach out, but the sting from his words and actions still hurt you enough to make you not want to reply.

Luke Hughes: Can we talk? I’m sorry. I really need to say something. Meet me at the rink?

You didn’t know what you expected, but something about seeing him try made you hesitate. But the words that followed weren’t what you had hoped for. They felt like empty promises. And you had spent far too much time dealing with apologies that came too late.

You typed back a quick reply before you could talk yourself out of it.

You: Fine. But I’m not sure there’s anything left to say.

He stood at the edge of the rink, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, the cold air nipping at his face. The glow from the bright lights above reflected off the ice, casting a soft sheen on everything below. His gaze flickered back toward the entrance, where you were supposed to meet him. His heart pounded, he wasn’t too sure why, but the weight of this conversation felt heavier than any game he had ever played.

It wasn’t like him to apologize. It wasn’t even something he was good at, but Ethan’s words had been haunting him for the past few days, replaying in his mind with every mistake he’d made, every moment he had taken for granted. If there was one thing he knew about himself, it was that he was good at running away from his problems.

When you walked into the rink, your face was hard to read. The walls you’d built up around yourself were even stronger now, like you were trying to make it clear that you didn’t even want to be there. You stopped a few steps away from him, arms crossed over your chest, your eyes studying him with an unreadable expression.

"I’m here," You said flatly, your voice echoing slightly in the large space of the rink, "So say what you need to say."

Luke swallowed, trying to push the lump in his throat down, trying to find the words that he had been avoiding, "I—" He paused, running a hand over his face, "I’m sorry. For everything. The way I’ve treated you. The way I’ve acted. I know I’ve been a complete asshole,"

He looked at you, trying to read your reaction, but your face remained neutral, like you were shutting him out, guarding yourself from getting hurt again. It made his chest tighten. You didn’t immediately respond. Instead, you let out a slow breath, your arms uncrossing, but your body language was still closed off. You stared at him, your eyes full of something he couldn’t quite place, maybe it was the look of hurt.

"You’re sorry," You repeated, your voice calm but with an edge that made him wince, "That’s great, but I’ve heard it before and I’m tired of hearing it."

Luke flinched, the words landing harder than he expected, "I know I’ve said it before, but," He took a step toward you, "This time I mean it. I don’t want you to think I don’t care, because I do. I just-"

You cut him off before he could continue, and your words stung like a slap across the face, "Have you ever thought that maybe not all people care about sports? Some of us care about more important things in life. Family. Friends. And working to support our living. Not everyone has the luxury of being able to screw up and have everything handed to them because they’re good at a stupid game."

Luke blinked, clearly stunned by your words and for a moment, he couldn’t find a way to respond. All of his usual defenses like the sharp retorts and the sarcastic comebacks felt useless.

You shook your head, the cold rink air swirling around you, "I’ve been doing this for so long, Luke. Watching you walk around like the world owes you something, pushing me to the side like I don’t matter. But you don’t get to just pull me back in with an apology, I’ve spent enough time trying to make myself fit into your world, only for you to push me away again."

His chest constricted as you spoke, each word feeling like a blow to the gut. He had always seen you as strong, independent, someone who could handle anything thrown her way. But hearing you say those words, he realized he had never really seen the pressure you were under, the sacrifices you had made just to keep everything in balance.

"I’m sorry," He told you again, the words coming slower now, "I was an idiot. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. Hell, I don’t even deserve it, but I want to make it right. If you’ll let me."

The air between you and Luke felt colder than the rink’s steel beams above you. Luke’s apology lingered in the space between you, but the bitterness you had carried for so long wouldn't let you accept it. You shook your head, staring at the frozen surface beneath your sneakers, your arms once again wrapped tightly across your chest. If you let yourself believe him this time, if you let your guard down even a little, you’d be putting yourself at risk. And you couldn’t do that anymore.

"I don’t know why you expect me to believe that, Luke" You said to him, "You’ve apologized before, and you’ve said the same damn thing before, and look where it’s gotten us. You never change."

You looked up at him, your gaze hard, "It’s exhausting. Always waiting for you to actually do something to prove it but you never do, so why should this time be any different?"

Luke opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. The anger and regret mixed into something like desperation as he took a hesitant step toward you, "I get it and you should feel that way because I’m the one who’s messed up, and I’m the one who has to fix it. But please," He hesitated while his eyes searched your face, "Give me a chance. I will prove it this time."

“I don’t know, Luke,” You whispered, your voice softer now, the walls you had built around yourself slowly starting to crack, “I just don’t know.”

The silence stretched between you both, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. But then, just as you thought you were about to leave the conversation behind you, Luke’s voice broke the quiet.

“Please,” Luke said with a gentle tone, “At least come back to the team. It’s not the same without you. The team misses you. I miss you.”

You could hear the genuine plea in his voice, but even then, it didn’t sway you easily, “I don’t know if I can, Luke. It feels… complicated now.” You shifted your weight, “It’s not just about me being there for you anymore. I need to take care of my own priorities.”

“I get that,” Luke replied, stepping closer, “But you’re not just some background figure. You’ve always been a part of the team, and it’s weird without you there. I miss working with you, with everything you do for the guys. It’s not the same without you.”

You stared at him and despite yourself, you felt a small flicker of something, something like warmth, something like a reminder of the bond you once shared. But it was buried beneath so many layers now, so many wounds, that it felt almost impossible to touch.

“I don’t know, Luke. I just… I need some time.” Your words were softer now, quieter, but no less firm. “I don’t know if I can just pick up where we left off like nothing’s happened.”

Luke took another step, just a fraction closer, and his eyes softened with understanding. “I don’t expect you to, I know I’ve lost your trust but I just want to make it right.”

You looked down at your feet, the weight of his words pressing against you like a physical force. Maybe, just maybe, you could give him a chance, but you weren’t ready to let him back in just yet, “Let me think about it, okay?” You said quietly before turning toward the door.

He nodded, the silence between you both growing heavy again before you pushed past the glass doors and started heading home for the night.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

You hadn’t expected to feel so out of place, but the moment you stepped back into the team’s office for your internship, it was like you had never left. The familiar hum of printers, the clutter of gear bags stacked in corners, the whiteboards covered in tactical diagrams, it all looked the same. But the atmosphere felt a little different now, like everyone was walking on eggshells around you.

Ethan and Mark were the first to notice you walk in, their heads snapping up from their conversation as if they had been waiting for you to return. Ethan’s face immediately broke into a smile, his expression clearly thrilled that you decided to come back rather than work with the football team. Mark, on the other hand, gave you a short nod, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you with a protective, almost assessing look.

"Hey," Ethan greeted as he walked over to you, making a point to stand a little closer than necessary, his broad frame almost shielding you from the rest of the room. It was a subtle gesture, but you noticed it, "Good to see you back."

You smiled weakly, "Thanks, Eddy, it’s good to be back."

Mark’s gaze flickered toward the door, his expression hardening slightly. You followed his gaze just as Luke entered the office, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe. The room seemed to tighten in response, a collective shift in the air as everyone adjusted to his presence.

You could feel the old tension immediately. Luke’s eyes briefly met yours, but you didn’t acknowledge him. You weren’t ready to let him in, not yet. Instead, you turned to Ethan and Mark, who seemed to sense your discomfort instantly. Ethan leaned closer, lowering his voice to make sure only you could hear.

"Just let us know if you want to step out, okay?" Ethan told you, his tone barely above a whisper, "We’ve got your back."

You nodded, grateful for the quiet support, but you didn’t want to make it obvious to Luke that you needed it. That would give him the satisfaction of knowing he was still affecting you, even now.

"Hey," Luke said, his voice uncharacteristically soft for the first time in a while. "Can we talk for a minute?"

You didn’t answer right away, and instead, your eyes shifted to Ethan and Mark. Both were standing just a little too close to you, their arms subtly brushing against yours in a way that felt comforting. They didn’t say anything, but the protective stance they took was clear. They were not going to let you be alone with Luke.

"You can talk to her later, Luke. Maybe after the team meeting." Ethan told him with his tone that was casual yet protective, "We’ve got things to do now."

After a long breath, Luke nodded, giving you a final hesitant glance before turning to walk toward the back of the office, muttering something under his breath to one of the coaches. You could feel the weight of the conversation lingering, but you couldn’t bring yourself to follow.

Mark gave you a brief glance, "You okay?" He asked you

You nodded, though the tightness in your chest told you that you were anything but okay, "Yeah. Just a lot to figure out."

Ethan, ever the optimist, gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. We’re here for you, and don’t worry about Luke. He’s not going to get in the way of what you need to do."

You gave them both a small smile, feeling the weight of their protection and support settle over you like a blanket. As the hours passed, you kept your focus on the work at hand, doing your best to ignore the tension between you and Luke, even as it lingered in the air, thick and unspoken. Ethan and Mark were there, making sure the space around you remained safe, and though you appreciated their efforts, you couldn’t help but feel the pull of something unresolved, something that needed to be addressed sooner or later. For now, you were surrounded by the team again, your internship resuming with a new sense of wariness, and the fragile thread of your relationship with Luke hanging in the balance.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The arena was nearly empty, the echo of your footsteps echoing off the cold and concrete walls. The usual hum of activity from the hockey excitement had long since dissipated, the buzz of the game had been replaced by the silence of late-night work.

You should’ve been home hours ago, but there was always more work to do. Always another form to fill out, another task on the checklist to complete. The workload never ended for you, not when there was always something else to be done, another deadline to meet. It was the price you paid for being one of the few students with an internship tied to the hockey team. The job wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours, and you were determined to prove you could handle it. Even if it meant spending a Friday night buried in paperwork while everyone else had already gone home to their weekend plans.

Your back ached from being hunched over the desk for so long, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. You ran a hand through your hair before pulling it into a messy bun and adjusted your hoodie over your frame.

The facility felt colder now, quieter. The team’s locker rooms were dark, the zamboni machines in their corners waiting for their next shift. You sighed, rolling your shoulders back to loosen up the tension. It had been a tough week, just one of those weeks where everything seemed to pile on top of you at once. You didn’t even have the time to think about the tension between you and Luke, let alone confront it.

The sound of sneakers padding against the cold concrete broke the stillness, and you didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

"Late night, huh?" Luke asked, his tone wasn’t the usual sarcastic you’d grown used to. He sounded... neutral, maybe even a little concerned.

You didn’t have the energy to deal with it tonight. Not with everything already weighing you down. Not with the frustration you had bottled up every time he had pulled that same smug attitude around you.

You looked up at him, annoyance flashing in your tired eyes, "What do you care?" You snapped, your voice sharper than you had intended, "Shouldn't you be getting some rest for your next game or at some frat party?"

Luke blinked, taken aback by your tone, but he didn’t pull back as he just stood there, his gaze softening slightly as he studied you, "I wasn’t trying to make fun of you," he said slowly, his voice almost hesitant now.

But you were too far gone, already on the edge of your limits. All the exhaustion, all the stress, all the things you’d been bottling up came crashing down on you in that moment, and before you could stop it, the words slipped out.

"It’s not just hockey," You breathed out, your voice cracking slightly, a tear you hadn’t even realized falling down your cheek, "It’s everything, I’m always running on empty, trying to do everything for everyone, trying to prove I’m good enough for this stupid internship when no one even thinks I belong here in the first place. It’s too much."

You blinked your eyes quickly as you tried to stop yourself from letting the tears fall, but it was already too late. The tears came, spilling over in frustration, exhaustion, and all the pressure you had been holding in.

Luke’s expression shifted to something softer, more vulnerable in his gaze now, something that made you pause even in the midst of your breakdown.

“Hey,” He said, his voice low and steady, stepping closer to you, “Please don’t cry.”

No one had ever said that to you before, not like that, and not with that kind of genuine care, like he wasn’t trying to fix you, but just to be there for you. You tried to brush the tears away, frustrated with yourself for even letting them fall, but it was impossible to stop now. You were too tired, too broken down, too stretched thin to keep up your mask.

Luke hesitated for a moment, and then, without saying another word, he moved closer, his presence suddenly surrounding you. He was still quiet, his steps tentative as though he wasn’t sure whether to comfort you, but it was clear he wanted to. He just didn’t know how to do it without making things worse. But the hesitation, the careful nature of his actions, was almost comforting.

“You’ve been doing this alone, haven’t you?” His voice was soft, almost like he was reading your mind, “All of this pressure and you’re carrying it all by yourself.”

"I’m sorry," You mumbled out, your voice trembling as you were embarrassed by the tears, "I shouldn’t be acting like this."

Luke’s hand suddenly appeared on your shoulder and this touch was gentle, “It’s okay,” He told you and his eyes were sincere, like he wasn’t just saying the words but actually meant them for once, “I never really understood what you’ve been managing, but I can see it now and you’re doing your best. You’re doing something a lot of people wouldn’t even think to do.”

The quiet sincerity of his words hit you like a wave. For the first time, in that moment, you felt seen. The tension between you that had been simmering for a while now, it didn’t matter anymore.

You sniffled, wiping at your face with the back of your hand, and nodded again as you tried to regain your composure. Luke stood still, not rushing you, just waiting. When you finally looked up at him, you saw the same hesitant expression, but there was something else in his eyes now, like something more gentle and less guarded.

“Let me walk you home,” He offered suddenly, which broke the silence that fell between you two, “It’s late and you shouldn’t be walking home alone.”

You hesitated, there was a part of you that wanted to turn him down, mainly to maintain your distance. But, at the same time, you were so tired, and the thought of walking home in the dark alone didn’t feel safe.

You looked at him and for the first time in a while, you felt that maybe he wasn’t the same person who had been so rude to you earlier in the year.

"Okay," You nodded, the word slipping out easier than you expected it to, "Thank you."

Luke gave you a small and genuine smile that tugged at the edges of his lips, and for the first time since you had met him, the tension in your chest seemed to loosen a little. Tonight, he wasn’t the enemy, rather he was someone who was there, offering to help you find your way home. The two of you left the arena side by side, the cold night air surrounding you, and for the first time, you didn’t feel like the defenseman hated you.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The campus was quiet the next morning, the kind of quiet that only came after the rush of classes and team practices. The late autumn air had a crisp to it, carrying with it the faint scent of fallen leaves and the promise of cooler days ahead. You walked across the quad, your backpack slung over one shoulder, the late night still fresh in your mind. You had spent the rest of the evening trying to shake off the exhaustion that seemed to have seeped into every part of you. You somehow felt lighter. Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel like you were holding your breath, constantly bracing for the next blow from Luke. Maybe it was just the relief of finally not being alone in your stress.

When you turned the corner of the crosswalk, you spotted Luke leaning against the brick wall with his hockey bag at his feet, eyes scanning the campus like he was waiting for someone. The moment he saw you, he pushed off from the wall and made his way to you..

"Hey," He greeted with his voice a little rough, like he hadn’t quite woken up yet, "I thought I’d catch you before you headed to class."

You nodded as you unsure what to say, you weren’t exactly expecting to see him this morning. Last night had been a turning point, but it felt too soon to figure out what it all meant. Was it just a random moment of kindness? Or was something changing between the two of you?

“Oh, thanks for last night,” You said quietly and Luke’s expression softened.

“Don’t mention it," He told you before clearing his throat, "You were... you seemed like you needed someone. It’s no big deal."

The easy, almost careless way he dismissed it made you smile despite yourself. It was almost like he was trying not to make a big deal out of his actions, but you could tell by the slight shift in his tone and the way his gaze lingered on you that he was at least starting to understand. Before you could respond, a voice from behind you interrupted the moment.

"Really?" Ethan called out, you turned to see him approaching the two of you with his eyes narrowing slightly as he caught sight of Luke.

"You’re really gonna start acting like a good guy now?" Ethan scoffed, but Luke didn’t flinch. He just stood there with his jaw clenched like he was trying to hold something back.

“Ethan, it’s okay,” You reassured him while keeping your voice steady, though you could feel a tiny shake of nervousness running through you, “I’m not a kid anymore, you don’t have to defend me from everyone.”

Ethan’s brows furrowed, his gaze flicking between you and Luke, searching for any signs of insincerity from either of you, “I know you’re not a kid, but you’ve been through enough with this guy. He’s not just going to suddenly change and become your best friend, just because he’s decided to play nice now.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, but you had to admit, Ethan had a good point. You had your doubts too, although you felt like something was different this time. The apology wasn’t just a word, you had felt the sincerity behind it.

“I know, Ethan,” You sighed, “But last night when he helped me, it wasn’t like how he used to act, I just need you to trust me on this.”

“Doesn’t matter,” He told you as his voice stayed low, “I’ve been watching you get pushed around by this guy for the past year and whatever number of months, I don’t care if he’s showing up with some half-assed apology now. He hurt you (Y/N), you can’t just forget that.”

Luke didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, letting the silence hang between them and for a moment, you thought maybe it would escalate into something else, but then Luke broke the tension, his voice quieter than it had been before.

“Dude, I get it,” He said as a sigh escaped him, “I don’t deserve forgiveness, and I don’t expect it to come easy. I’m trying to do better for her. I just need a chance to show I’m not that person anymore.”

You glanced at Luke as you searched his expression. There was no arrogance there now, just an honesty that made you think maybe he was telling the truth. Ethan was still hesitant, his gaze hard, but his posture softened as he looked between you and Luke.

“I don’t know,” He mumbled, with his eyes still on you.

“You don’t have to,” You reached out to place a hand on Ethan’s arm, “But I trust him, okay? I need you to trust me, too.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything but with a slow nod, Ethan stepped back, still wary,

“Fine,” He breathed out but still not fully convinced, “But if he messes up again, I’m not letting you go through that again.”

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

Luke sat next to you on the wooden bench in the hallway outside of the locker room, with his legs stretched out, a half-empty Gatorade bottle dangling from his fingers. Practice had ended nearly an hour ago, but you’d stayed behind, sorting through a pile of tangled jerseys and team media requests at the small table. You didn’t notice he had stayed behind too until you turned around and he was leaning against the wall, watching you without saying a word.

That used to annoy you, with the quiet way he hovered, like he was too good to speak unless it was to make a snide remark. But now it felt slightly different. He was still quiet, still awkward in his stillness. But his presence wasn’t sharp anymore. It was softer, less suffocating. He didn’t speak unless you looked at him first. He didn’t push. He didn’t tease. He was just there and honestly, that meant more than you could say.

“Here,” He said, finally breaking the silence as he offered you the bottle. You took it without thinking, the plastic cool against your palm even though you weren’t even thirsty.

“Thanks,” You murmured as you kept your eyes on the hallway floor. You were just tired, drained from balancing everything: classes, your internship, the emotional strain of still trying to believe Luke wouldn’t shoot some insult to you at that moment.

“You always stay this late?” He asked quietly.

You glanced over at him, “Lately, yeah.”

He nodded slowly, “You ever get a break?”

You gave a dry laugh as you typed away at your laptop, “Not really.”

He went quiet again, and for a moment you worried he’d say something backhanded or smug. That old instinct to brace yourself coming up, but it faded as you caught the way his brows pinched slightly, like the idea of you constantly overworking yourself actually bothered him.

“You shouldn’t have to do all of this by yourself,” He commented as he fiddled with his phone, “The team relies on you for everything. I didn’t realize how much until you stopped coming around.”

You shrugged, “No one really noticed before.”

“I noticed and I was a dick,” He added, “To you for no reason.”

You stayed silent, your fingers curling around the edge of the table in front of you.

“You were always just so good at everything, smart, and confident. People actually wanted you around. And I don’t know, I guess I hated that.”

You blinked as the words continued to fall from his mouth.

“I mean, not hated,” Luke corrected quickly with his cheeks slightly flustered, “I just resented it. You didn’t have to constantly prove yourself the way I do. You’re not expected to be some golden child or carry a last name.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the words spilling out now, “And Ethan, he’s always been close to you. He talks about you like you’re this genius superhero, and it pissed me off. I told myself you thought you were better than everyone, but you weren’t. You were just doing your job. You’ve always worked harder than the rest of us and never asked for anything back.”

You stared at him for a moment as you felt your chest tighten

“That doesn’t make it okay, but I need you to know I know that now.”

You took a slow and slightly shaky breath. The hallway in Yost was so quiet you swore that you could hear your own heartbeat. You didn’t want to forgive him, not entirely, however a part of you recognized how hard it must’ve been for Luke to say any of that. You gave him a small nod, “Thank you.”

He nodded back and gave you a small smile.

Over the next few weeks, things began to shift between you and Luke, not all at once, but slowly. A conversation here, a shared laugh there, just the little things.

He stayed behind after practice more often, offering to help with things you knew he probably hated, like paperwork, setting up video equipment, and adding transcripts on video footage. He didn’t complain, though. He just did it.

One evening after another long day, you handed him a media release form with a weak smile, “You do realize you don’t have to be my assistant, right?”

Luke smirked, “I don’t mind, it makes me feel useful.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him. What surprised you most wasn’t the change in behaviour, but it was how easy the silence between you had become. It was comfortable and friendly, and it didn’t weigh you down anymore. If anything, it started to feel like something you could lean into.

Of course, Ethan still kept a close eye on you. He noticed every time Luke lingered a little longer in the media office. Every time he offered to carry a stack of folders or filled your water bottle without being asked. Every time his gaze lingered on you like he was trying to learn your behaviours and habits that he’d never bothered with before.

One afternoon, as you and Luke stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the gear room, laughing at a crooked helmet sticker, Ethan walked in and froze.

He crossed his arms, eyebrows raised, “You good?”

Luke grinned with amusement, “Better than ever, Eddy.”

You shot Ethan a glance, trying to silently reassure him. You could see the conflict on his face, his desire to protect you and the fact that you weren’t pushing Luke away anymore.

Later that day, as you were packing up your things, Ethan pulled you aside.

“You sure about this?” He asked you gently.

You nodded, “Yeah, it’s different now and I can tell he’s trying, I’m not saying we’re best friends or anything, but I want to see where it goes.”

Ethan sighed as he leaned his head back against his locker, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“I know,” You whispered, “But I don’t think he wants to hurt me.”

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The rink was quiet again as it was nearly midnight. The majority of the team had left hours ago, and you should’ve been gone too, but the pile of rosters and unfinished budget forms on your laptop had kept you longer than intended, yet again.

You sat in the small lounge next to the training room, legs curled beneath you on the old leather couch, the only sounds were the hum of the vending machine that stood in the corner and the shuffling of papers on your table.

You didn’t hear Luke come in, it was only when you looked up, when you saw him leaning the the doorway with his hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, a quiet sort of tired etched into his features.

“You live here now?” He chuckled as he leaned further against the doorframe.

You managed a half-smile, “Sure feels like it.”

He gave you a smile before he walked in to grab a chair, and sit across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like being here with you, even past midnight, was exactly where he wanted to be.

You closed your laptop slowly, sensing something different in the air tonight, “You okay?”

Luke looked off as if he was debating whether or not to tell you about the thoughts running through his head, “I used to think if I wasn’t the best, I was nothing.”

You blinked as you were startled by his confession.

He stared down at his hands, picking at a thread on his sleeve, “My brothers, Jack and Quinn, they’ve always been incredible. NHL stars, everyone talks about them like they’re gods. I love them, I do. But growing up in that constant shadow, it messes with your head.”

You stayed quiet, sensing he wasn’t finished as his mouth opened and shut a few times in the silence,

“I got drafted and everyone said I’d made it. But I still feel like I’m just trying to catch up, like no matter what I do, I’m always just Luke Hughes, the little brother.” He looked up at you, eyes drooping slightly from fatigue, “You probably think that’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t,” You told him softly

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw, “You always seem like you have it figured out, Ethan thinks you’re the glue holding this whole program together.”

“That;s not true,” You mumbled, “I’m just holding myself together long enough to get through each day.”

His brows furrowed as you spoke, you took a shaky breath, the words slipping out before you could catch them, “My parents are barely getting by at home, I’m working this internship unpaid, taking on shifts at the student center, applying for scholarships every semester just to stay here. Some nights I don’t sleep, so I just try not to drown.”

The room fell into a weighted silence, you looked at him and you saw not just the hockey player. Not the cocky, golden-boy persona he typically wore. You saw the boy behind it all, tired, afraid, trying so hard not to fall short of the people around him and it felt a lot like looking into a mirror.

“I think we’re more alike than we realized.”

Luke met your gaze, something soft and quiet flickering in his expression, “Yeah,I think so too.”

Neither of you moved for a long time, you didn’t need to. It felt safe and it felt like the start of something new.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

You weren’t even sure why you agreed to come.

The hockey house was already booming with music by the time you got there, windows glowing blue and gold from the inside, bass thumping hard enough to feel in your chest. They were celebrating yet another win. You hadn’t been to one of these in a while, but Ethan had asked, and the way he’d looked at you with that half hopeful and half protective look, made it impossible to say no.

Besides, you missed this, not the chaos and not the sticky floors or the overpowering cologne clouds. But rather the people and the moments when you could just exist without carrying everything on your back.

“Come on,” Ethan had said, slinging an arm around your shoulder as he led you into the house, “We’ll stick together, just like old times.”

For the first hour, it was fine as you stayed near the kitchen while Ethan handed you a solo cup with something vaguely citrusy inside. You talked with Mark and Dylan, laughed with a couple of the rookies who had no idea how much of the team’s media magic was your doing. You felt seen and in a way you hadn’t for a while.

Then Ethan got pulled away, something about someone stealing his speaker and you found yourself standing alone by the counter, your cup mostly empty and your body buzzing more from exhaustion than the drink you held.

Luke showed up like he always did, the sleeves of his black t-shirt hugging his biceps perfectly, curls still damp from a shower, and his usual smug energy was replaced by something lighter. He didn’t say anything at first as he just nodded at you like he’d been waiting for a moment like this all night.

You raised a brow, “What? No sarcastic comment about how I’m slumming it with the peasants?”

His lips curved into a slow smirk, “I’ve been working on that.”

“Your sarcasm?”

“No, not being a jackass.”

You snorted, and he laughed, the sound warm and open in a way you hadn’t heard from him before. A few people brushed past you as the hallway was tightening with bodies, so he shifted closer, not too close, but enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Ethan ditched me,” You told him as you glanced around, “So much for sticking together.”

Luke tilted his head with a small knowing smile, “Guess that makes me your emergency contact now.”

You gave him a side-eye, “That’s a terrifying thought.”

He grinned, “I’m excellent in emergencies, watch this.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he darted away and returned seconds later with a fresh cup with same citrusy drink, but colder this time.

“See? Life-saving,” He said while handing it to you with a cocked bow.

You rolled your eyes but took it, “Heroic.”

You ended up finding a quieter spot in the corner of the living room, where the music wasn’t as deafening and the couch cushions didn’t smell like beer yet. The two of you talked, like really talked. About stupid things, like the worst pregame pump-up songs on the team’s playlist. About more real things too: how overwhelming classes had been and upcoming exams and deadlines.

At one point, you were both laughing so hard your drink almost spilled. Luke was telling a story about Mark locking himself out of the team bus in only compression shorts, and you could barely breathe, cheeks aching from the large smile that was stretched across your face.

“I forgot you were funny,” You said between giggles.

“I forgot you could stand being around me,” He replied.

You looked at him and there was no mask this time and no shields. Just Luke, and it startled you how comfortable you felt because of how easy it was to be near him when the tension was stripped away.

Someone bumped into the couch which caused some of the cushions to shift. You swayed slightly, your shoulder brushing his, and he didn’t move but neither did you.

“Hey,” He added after a moment, voice low, “I like this.”

“This?” You asked, pretending not to notice the closeness of your bodies.

“Being around you when I’m not screwing it up.”

You swallowed hard as your heart skipped a beat or two while you didn’t know what to say. You enjoyed it too, it was easy and comfortable. The way your laughter hung in the air between you. The way the noise of the party blurred into the background. The way Luke looked at you like a person he wanted to get to know.

You were content to stay right where you were.

The party had started to thin out by the time you stepped outside, the music still humming behind the walls like an echo refusing to die. The night air wrapped around your shoulders like a relief, it was cool and calm, scented faintly with pine and wet pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed by, headlights cutting briefly across the sidewalk before disappearing into the dark.

Luke stood beside you. He hadn’t said anything when you pulled your jacket on. Just followed you to the door like he’d already decided he wasn’t letting you walk home alone. You didn’t argue. It was late, and your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and a few drinks, and, if you were being honest, a small part of you wanted him there.

You walked in silence at first, shoes scuffing along the uneven pavement, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. Every so often, your arms would brush. Neither of you pulled away.

“Thanks for not letting me sit in a corner all night,” You finally said, your voice quiet in the hush of midnight.

Luke glanced over, eyes catching the glow from a streetlight, “You were holding your own pretty well.”

“Still, you didn’t have to hang out with me.”

“I wanted to.” There was no edge to his voice. No teasing. Just honesty.

You glanced down at the sidewalk, counting cracks to keep your thoughts in order. You weren’t used to this version of Luke, the one who didn’t talk like he was trying to win a game. The one who laughed without smugness, who looked at you like he actually saw you and was doing things to your chest you didn’t want to think about.

At the corner of State Street, the world felt softer and quieter. A few golden leaves skittered past your shoes. You slowed your steps.

“You’ve been different lately,” You told Luke while keeping your eyes straight.

Luke exhaled, like he’d been expecting that, “Yeah. I know.”

“What changed?”

“You did,” He answered

That landed harder than you expected. You looked at him, and he was already looking at you. Something bloomed in your chest, small and uninvited. A warmth that had nothing to do with the drinks earlier or the brisk November air. It curled around your ribs in a way that made breathing harder.

“Well,” You said, mustering a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “don’t get used to me being impressed by your emotional growth.”

Luke laughed quietly. “Noted.”

You reached the steps to your house with the yellow porch light flickering overhead. You paused, turning back toward him, “Thanks for walking me,”

He shrugged, but there was something almost shy about the way he stood there, rocking slightly on his heels, “Anytime.”

The silence stretched again but it wasn’t awkward, just filled with something that wasn’t there before. Like something had shifted between you and hadn’t quite settled.

You gave him one last smile and turned toward the door, but as you slipped inside and leaned against the back of your front door, heart beating a little too fast, you realized something.

You were starting to feel something for Luke Hughes and it terrified you.

So you shoved it down and buried it deep beneath school and work and exhaustion and self-preservation, because caring about Luke meant giving him the power to hurt you again. You weren’t sure you could survive that twice.

Luke had watched you disappear behind that door, a quiet click sealing the space between you, but he didn’t move right away. Just stood there on the sidewalk, staring at the empty step like it might give him an answer. The walk back to his house felt longer than usual. The November air had dropped fast, cutting through his sweatshirt and nipped at his skin. He shoved his hands deeper into the front pocket, footsteps loud against the quiet streets. The city was asleep, but his mind? It was restless.

He wasn’t sure what was happening, all he knew was that something had shifted between the two of you.

He could still hear your laugh echoing in his memory from the party earlier, the way you leaned into him when Ethan disappeared, trusting him enough to stay by your side, and the way you were starting to let him in, piece by piece.

It scared the shit out of him.

By the time he made it home, his head was buzzing. Not with adrenaline, not with nerves before a game, but with you. With thoughts of how tired you looked tonight, how you still stayed until the end, how your smile lingered even when you tried to hide it behind sarcasm.

Luke plopped onto the mattress of his bed, stretching his legs out before relaxing. His phone vibrated in his pocket.

It was Jack, so he pressed the green button without thinking.

“Yo,” he mumbled, one hand on his forehead.

Jack’s voice crackled over the speaker, “How was the game?”

“Good. 4–1 win. Felt solid.”

“You looked sharp, I saw the clips.”

Luke let the compliment pass, the game already felt like a memory and the only thing still playing in his brain was you.

“You good?” Jack asked after a brief moment, “You sound off.”

Luke hesitated, “I walked her home.”

Another pause, “Her?” Jack repeated and Luke could practically hear the grin forming on his brother’s face, “Wait, like the girl you’ve been beefing with since freshman year?”

Luke ran a hand through his curls and sighed, “Yeah.”

“No way.”

“She’s not who I thought she was.”

Jack laughed, “You’re telling me the girl who’s been busting your balls for a year suddenly has your attention?”

“It’s not sudden,” Luke said a bit more quietly like he was afraid that one of his teammates would hear him through the thin walls, “She’s always been something. Smart. Sharp. But tonight I saw her actually relax. She’s amazing, Jack.”

“Damn,” Jack mumbled, “You’ve got it bad, dude.”

Luke didn’t argue as he leaned his head back on his headboard, eyes on the ceiling, “She stays late for the team. Does stuff no one even notices like Ethan was telling me, she makes everything run smoother and she never complains. Never asks for credit. She’s just there, holding everything together.”

Silence stretched for a moment too long which made Luke’s stomach twist since Jack was typically quick at saying something back.

“She sounds awesome,” Jack told him carefully, “But Luke...”

“I know.”

“You don’t know when the call’s coming.”

Luke shut his eyes. The call. The inevitable weight of it, like the clock he couldn’t see but always heard ticking in the back of his head.

“It’s gonna be soon, I can feel it. Like you could be in Jersey next week. You don’t want to get attached, man.”

Luke swallowed hard and his voice was dry, “Too late.”

There was a rustling on Jack’s end like he was pacing his apartment, “Just be careful, alright? I know you want something real, but you’re not in a normal situation. Don’t give her something you can’t promise, it’s not fair to her.”

Luke didn’t respond right away because he knew that Jack was right. And it hurt.

Because in the flickering light outside your door, Luke had seen something he hadn’t let himself want in a long time, you. The one person who didn’t expect him to be anything but himself and still somehow made him want to be better.

He didn’t know when the call would come, but for the first time, he kind of wished it wouldn’t.

“Yeah,” Luke said eventually, “I’ll figure it out.”

Jack sighed, “Alright, I gotta crash but you’ll be okay.”

“Night, man.”

The call ended. Luke stared at the dark screen as you were still lingering in his thoughts. And now, you were in the one place he didn’t know how to guard anymore, which was his heart.

He should’ve kept his distance, but it was already too late.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

You noticed the shift.

It started subtly like a slow retreat, soft and quiet and careful. Luke still showed up. He still flashed that crooked, boyish grin whenever your paths crossed in the hallway outside the team room. Still bumped your shoulder with his when he passed by and still called you “rookie” even though you were both well past that title.

But there was something different now.

His texts used to come quick — fast, teasing replies in the middle of the night or a random meme that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. Now they came late, hours after the conversation had moved on or sometimes they didn’t come at all.

He used to lean against the wall and talk to you until the equipment room emptied, until it was only the two of you in the entire arena. Now, he always seemed to be somewhere else. Skates half-laced. Phone in hand. Eyes drifting toward the exit like he had one foot already out the door.

“It’s just the Frozen Four,” Ethan said when you mentioned it offhandedly, “He gets like this before big games, like hyper-focused and shit.”

And maybe that was true, maybe Luke was just locked in and chasing the championship that had been dangling in front of them since the start of the season. Maybe it had nothing to do with you at all.

But still, something in your chest curled in on itself every time he passed you in the hallway without stopping. Every time you said hi and he said hey back but didn’t linger around you.

Tonight was worse.

You were alone in the equipment room, the dull lights making your eyes ache. The clock on the wall read 10:03 PM. The arena had long since emptied, the hum of the Zamboni now replaced with the occasional sounds coming from your typing. Everyone had gone home, except you.

Your laptop was open, with its battery almost dead. A spreadsheet full of media schedules glared back at you. You’d been finalizing graphics, sending press requests, and rewriting email drafts for the third time, your brain foggy with exhaustion. You couldn’t remember the last time you blinked.

A cold can of Diet Coke sweated on the desk beside you, untouched and you were so tired.

Not just physically, but in that deep, bone-heavy way that comes from caring too much and never knowing where you stood. You told yourself you didn’t care about Luke, about the distance and the confusion, but it was a lie you were starting to trip over.

You cared and you cared way too much. You blinked hard when your eyes started to sting. The door creaked open, and your head snapped up, heart skipping a beat.

Luke stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed, hair damp from his shower, his stick slung casually over his shoulder. His eyes found yours instantly.

“I didn’t think anyone was still here,” He said, voice lower than usual.

You swallowed, fingers dancing over your keyboard, “Just wrapping stuff up.”

He stepped inside as his footsteps echoed softly against the floor, “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” You mumbled, “I lost track of time”

Luke glanced at your screen, “You’ve been working on that all night?”

“Someone has to.”

There was a pause. Something shifted in the air, it barely a breeze but enough to unsettle the dust.

“You okay?” He asked carefully.

You let out a bitter laugh, “Are you seriously asking me that now?”

His brows furrowed, and he stepped closer to you, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Your voice cracked, and you hated it. You stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a soft scrape, “I mean don’t act like you care when you’ve barely said two words to me in days. Just say what you want to say and go.”

Luke looked stunned, like you’d slapped him.

“I-” He started, but you were already lowly shaking your head.

“I’m tired, Luke. I’m tired of trying to figure out what version of you I’m going to get every time I see you and I’m tired of pretending like I don’t notice you pulling away.”

His expression faltered, “I’m not- I’m just focused right now. With the tournament and the pressure and-”

You laughed again, but it came out shaky and broken, “No, it’s fine. I get it. You have hockey. You have everything. I’m just the girl behind the spreadsheet who makes your life easier and then vanishes when you don’t need her.”

“That’s not fair.”

You looked up, eyes glassy, “Isn’t it?”

And then, without warning, the tears came. You’d been holding them back for hours, maybe days, and now they blurred your vision and burned down your cheeks before you could stop them.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N” Luke said suddenly, voice cracking in the process. Luke didn’t try to explain himself again. He just stood there, frozen for a moment, then quietly set his stick against the wall and crossed the room. You felt his presence beside you before you saw him, and then gently, he wrapped his arms around you.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat but then your body gave in, softening against his chest as your hands clutched the fabric of his hoodie. You didn’t sob. You didn’t collapse. You just stood there, trembling quietly while he held you.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, and it felt too late and not enough and somehow still everything.

After a while, you felt him shift.

“It’s late,” he said, still soft. “Let me walk you home.”

You hesitated, but then nodded.

He didn’t try to talk on the walk back, just kept his steps steady beside yours, hands tucked in his hoodie pocket, glancing at you every now and then like he was making sure you hadn’t changed your mind.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The locker room buzzed with pregame energy, the thuds of tape rolls hitting the floor, the music playing off of one of his teammate’s speakers, the echo of chirps bouncing off the walls. Familiar chaos.

But Luke barely heard any of it.

He sat at his locker stall, lacing his skates with more focus than usual, jaw tight, muscles already coiled from the morning. His hands moved methodically, over-under, tug, loop, but his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

More specifically, with you.

He’d seen the way your hair fell slightly into your face as you worked on your laptop the night before, the soft glow of your screen casting delicate shadows across your cheeks. You’d looked tired but determined.

“You gonna stare a hole through the floor, Hughesy?”

Luke blinked, pulled from his spiral by Ethan’s voice. The guy was leaning casually against the stall next to his, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Luke looked up from his skates, “What?”

Mark plopped down on the other side, grinning, “You’re acting like you’re about to propose. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Luke mumbled.

Ethan gave a low whistle, “You know she’s here, right? Upstairs. Putting together final media edits before puck drop.”

Mark wiggled his eyebrows, “Ohh, is that why you’ve got that dreamy little look on your face?”

“I don’t have a look on my face,” Luke muttered, yanking a little harder on his skate laces than necessary.

“You totally do,” Ethan said, nudging him. “It's the ‘I’m trying not to smile because I might give myself away’ look. Classic move.”

Luke sighed, “You guys are insufferable.”

Mark leaned in closer to the curly headed hockey player, “We’re just saying it’s nice to see you two spending good quality time together in the arena”

“She deserves better than that,” Luke told them before he could stop himself.

Both Ethan and Mark exchanged a glance, a quick flicker of surprise and something else. Ethan’s expression softened,

“That’s the first true thing you’ve said in weeks,” Ethan chuckled, “But for real, man. Don’t pull her into your storm unless you’re gonna be the one to give her calm too. She’s been through enough.”

Luke met his eyes and nodded, “I know, I’m trying.”

Mark clapped a hand on his shoulder, “Then try harder. 'Cause if you screw it up again, Ethan and I have already agreed to run you into the boards. During practice, accidentally.”

“‘Accidentally,’” Ethan repeated with a grin.

Luke rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah alright.”

From the hallway beyond the locker room, he heard your laugh just faintly, carried on the air like a thread pulling him forward.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The energy in the arena was a living, breathing thing. It surged in waves, pulsed through the crowd like an electric current. You could feel it, even sitting in the media box, the blaring music, the chatter of excited fans, the scrape of skates on the ice, it all blurred into a constant roar.

But amid the noise, there was a moment of perfect, ringing clarity, it came when the puck dropped and everything snapped into place.

You glanced down at the ice, your fingers still tapping away at your laptop, but your attention fully absorbed by the game. The Michigan Wolverines were skating fast, tight, focused, the kind of play that made your heart race in time with every stride. You were typing out updates without really thinking, eyes flitting back and forth between the rink and your screen.

You didn’t expect it to happen so suddenly.

One swift pass. The sound of blades cutting ice, the swift snap of a stick, and the puck was heading toward the net with such force you could hear the wind whistling past it. The goalie was out of position, his eyes locked on a different angle, and you knew that this was it.

The puck hit the back of the net with a sharp, satisfying thunk. The crowd exploded into noise and then you saw him.

Luke.

You’d been watching him all game, but this was different. This was something else entirely. He was skating toward the corner, arms raised in victory, his mouth open in a shout of celebration. His face was flushed with exertion, his eyes gleaming with the kind of pride that could only come from the buildup of hard work and focus.

But then he looked at you and it wasn’t some offhand glance or a passing acknowledgment.

His gaze found yours from across the rink, as if the rest of the world had fallen away, as if there was only you and him in that entire moment. The noise, the celebration, the flashing cameras, it all faded into the background. His expression softened, just the slightest bit. His lips curled into that small, hesitant smile that made something warm unfurl inside your chest. It wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t arrogant. It was just… Luke.

The smile wasn’t for the crowd. It wasn’t even for the game.

It was for you and it melted something in you.

You couldn’t stop the smile that grew across your face, the one that started in your chest and spread through your limbs, the one that mirrored his without even thinking. For a second, it was just you and him, standing on the edge of something delicate and raw, something neither of you had been ready for until now.

The smile that passed between you both said more than a thousand words could. It was a silent agreement. An understanding. Something unspoken but clear.

And just as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Luke turned back to his teammates, joining the celebration, the roar of the crowd crashing back into your senses like a wave breaking against the shore. The noise was overwhelming again, fans chanting, clapping, the buzz of excitement reverberating in the rafters.

But you didn’t turn away.

Even as the game continued, and even as Luke disappeared into the cluster of his teammates, you could still feel that moment between you both lingering like the aftertaste of something sweet.

You had to look down at your hands to steady yourself, fingers trembling slightly as you typed out the next update, but your thoughts were far from the game. They were with him and with that smile.

It was a small thing. A fraction of a second, but it meant everything.

The game moved on, as games do. Goals were scored, hits were delivered, and the clock continued ticking toward the final buzzer. But no matter what happened, no matter how many times the puck crossed the line or how loud the crowd cheered, you couldn’t shake the weight of that smile.

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of the game. The players were already heading off the ice, their faces flushed with adrenaline and victory. But Luke didn’t leave with the rest of them. He stopped just at the edge of the tunnel, looking back over his shoulder, as if searching for something in the crowd.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew he was looking for you.

And, somehow, in that moment, you realized you were looking for him too.

The media room buzzed with its usual energy after the game. Reporters crowded in, shouting questions at the players, capturing every moment, every word that might matter. The players, flushed with victory, moved through the room with that familiar mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. They were still riding the high of the win, but the overwhelming noise of the media was enough to dull the edge of excitement.

You sat at your desk in the corner of the room, hunched over your laptop, fingers moving quickly as you typed out the post-game details. The rink lights were still shining into your vision, the feeling of the crowd’s roar still ringing in your ears, but here, in the quiet corner of the media room, the world felt distant. For a moment, you could breathe.

There was a shift in the air. The room was full of voices, but you could feel his presence through the noise. You looked up to find Luke standing at the edge of the room, still in his full gear, sweat glistening on his brow, his jersey clinging to his chest. His eyes scanned the room, but the moment they landed on you, they softened.

You didn’t expect him to approach you, not tonight at least. The high of the game, the energy that had been building between you both, was still there but you’d expected him to be swept up in the aftermath, caught up in the celebrations, like every other player.

But he wasn’t. He was here, standing still, like he was waiting for something.

Waiting for you.

He pushed through the crowd with a natural grace, his broad shoulders brushing past the reporters, his movements easy but purposeful. And then, he was standing in front of your desk, slightly out of breath, his eyes on yours in a way that made everything around you feel still.

“Hey,” He said, his voice soft but thick with emotion that wasn’t just adrenaline

“Hey,” You replied, blinking as you tore your eyes away from his, trying to focus on your laptop. Your fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, unsure of what to type, unsure of what to say but nothing came out.

There was a quiet beat. You could hear the buzz of conversations behind you, but in the space between the two of you, it felt like everything had gone silent.

Luke shifted slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the chaos of the room. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he seemed to hesitate.

"Great game," You told him as you broke the silence. It was all you could manage. It felt awkward, out of place, but it was all you had at the moment.

Luke gave a tight smile, but his eyes betrayed something more. There was a weight behind them, something deeper than just the game, "Yeah," he replied, his voice quieter now, "It felt good. But I’ve got to admit, it felt better when I saw you smiling."

Your heart stuttered at the words. You glanced up at him, trying to gauge whether he was teasing you again, but there was no hint of sarcasm, no playful edge. Just the raw sincerity in his eyes.

"You saw that?" You asked, almost breathless.

He nodded, his gaze fixed on yours, "I’ve been seeing a lot of things lately."

The air between you shifted again, something unspoken passing between you like an electric pulse. The words you couldn’t say, the things you’d been dancing around for weeks, felt almost too close now. It was as if the game had peeled away a layer, making it impossible to ignore anymore.

Before you could say anything else, one of the reporters called out to Luke, breaking the tension in the room. Luke turned briefly, acknowledging the noise before glancing back at you.

"I’ll let you get back to work," He said, "But I just wanted to say thanks. For being here. For everything."

You opened your mouth, not sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you should say anything at all. But before you could form the words, he was already moving toward the door. Just as he reached the doorway, he turned back. His expression was a little more serious now, a little more vulnerable than you had ever seen him.

"Hey," he called softly, and you looked up, meeting his gaze again, "I meant it, about the smile."

You nodded, something tightening in your chest as his words lingered between you.

"I’ll see you after," He added with a small smirk on his features, before disappearing into the hallway, leaving the chaos of the media room behind.

You sat there for a moment, the hum of voices, the clatter of equipment, and the soft scrape of shoes on the floor all feeling distant. You stared at your screen, but your mind was elsewhere with Luke, with that smile, with the unspoken words that hung between you.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The excitement of the quarterfinal win was still lingering in the air, thick with the scent of victory and the hum of celebration. The locker room was filled with shouts, high-fives, and the victorious clinking of water bottles against one another, but you weren’t really paying attention to the noise. You were standing to the side with your camera bag slung over your shoulder, trying to make sense of the blur of emotions from the game.

You were drained, but in a good way. The tension, the stress of the past few weeks, had all melted away after the final buzzer. And it wasn’t just the win itself. It was the way everyone had worked together, the effort, the adrenaline.

But what kept you there, sitting on the bench, wasn’t the excitement of the team. It was Luke.

He’d scored that crucial goal in the third period, the one that solidified the lead and kept the game in their favour. You could still hear the roar of the crowd when it happened, the way his eyes immediately sought out the stands with his eyes looking for you.

The locker room was starting to clear out now, with the guys starting to head to the showers and preparing for the post-game celebration. You reached over to grab your things, your hands still a little shaky from the excitement.

Just as you turned to leave the room, you felt a presence behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Luke standing there, his damp curls falling over his forehead, a slight crooked smile on his lips. His jersey was soaked with sweat, but he still looked so effortlessly cool, like the victory was just a part of his routine.

"Hey," He greeted you softly, "You’re not leaving already, are you?"

You shrugged, the familiar comfort of his voice making your heart flutter a little, "I’ve got some stuff to finish up with the media team. You know how it is. But it looks like you guys are having your moment."

Luke chuckled, rubbing his jaw with his hand, "Yeah, it’s chaotic in there but you’re not the type to get caught up in that, are you?"

You smiled at him, feeling a warmth spread through you at how he seemed to understand you so well, "Not really. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes kind of person."

Luke nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at you, "Well, I noticed that today with how you were right there the whole game, capturing everything, even when I didn’t expect it. It’s like you’re always one step ahead of the rest of us."

You raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was teasing or being sincere, "Really? You’re not just saying that because you scored?"

He shook his head, the smile on his lips deepening, "No, I mean it. You capture the moments that people miss. And I’ve seen it in the locker room too, how you’re always making sure everything’s running smoothly. You don’t get enough credit for it."

You felt your cheeks warm as they flushed a light shade of pink, the genuine praise catching you off guard, "Thanks, Luke, that means a lot."

He took a step closer, and for a moment, the buzz of the locker room seemed to fade into the background. It was just you and him, standing there in the quiet after the storm of the game. Luke ran a hand through his curls, his smile turning sheepish for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure how to act in the softer moment between you two.

"You know," He said slowly, "I’ve been thinking about how we don’t get many moments like this. All the chaos, the games, the practices, and it’s easy to get caught up in it. But after today, I realized I don’t want to just be another face on the team. I want to be someone you can count on. Someone who’s there for you."

"You are someone I can count on," You told him, "You’ve been there for me a lot recently."

"I know I was a pain in the ass," Luke added, "I didn’t make things easy between us."

There was a long silence before Luke looked back over at you, his blue eyes steady, “I don’t know what it is, but you’re real with me. I don’t have to pretend and I don’t want to mess that up."

A small smile tugged at your lips, "You don’t have to try so hard. Just be you."

Luke grinned, stepping a little closer to you. He was inches away now, the air between you charged with something soft, something both of you had been trying to ignore for far too long.

"That’s what I’m trying to do," he said, his voice quiet.

The moment hung there, delicate and fragile. Then, without warning, Luke reached out, offering you a fist bump, his playful side creeping back into his voice.

"To the win," He said as his grin returned.

You laughed, the tension finally breaking. You bumped his fist with yours, the laughter easy and comforting between you.

"To the win," You repeated.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The Frozen Four semifinal game was underway, and the intensity of it all gripped the arena like a vice. The Michigan Wolverines were up against a fierce opponent, both teams hungry for victory, and the air was thick with anticipation. Fans in maize and blue filled the stands, chanting, cheering, and holding their breath with every second of play.

You were seated near the glass, the smell of fresh ice and the sound of skates cutting across the rink blending with the loud noise from the crowd. As much as you tried to focus on the game, your attention kept shifting to the players, Luke in particular. You could see the tension in his movements, the fire in his eyes. It was clear that he was giving everything he had, but you could also see the toll it was taking on him. The pressure of this game weighed heavily on his shoulders.

The game moved fast. There were hits, fast breaks, and thrilling shots on goal. Luke was everywhere dodging his opponents, pushing the puck up the ice with precision. You could hear the heavy breathing from the players as the game wore on, every moment stretched thin by the stakes.

The tension was unbearable as the final minutes of the third period ticked down. The score was tied 3-3. The whole arena was on edge, holding their breath with every shift. Fans jumped to their feet as Michigan pushed for one last offensive drive, hoping for a miracle to break the tie. And then, as if the game had a mind of its own, disaster struck.

A last-ditch effort by the opposing team ended with a quick goal and then Michigan was trailing 4-3, with only seconds left on the clock. The crowd gasped, disbelief washing over them. You could feel the collective sinking of hearts, the weight of reality crashing down.

Luke didn’t even flinch. His eyes were locked on the ice, his jaw clenched but you could see it, he was devastated. The final buzzer rang, and the arena exploded into an unsettling mix of cheers and groans. Michigan had lost in the semifinals of the Frozen Four, and the weight of that finality was immediate. The stands slowly emptied out, the cheers of the opposing fans echoing louder as the Wolverines stood there, crushed, trying to comprehend the game that had just slipped away from them.

You stayed in your seat for a moment, letting the sound of the crowd wash over you, trying to hold onto something familiar. There was no denying the sting. You felt the loss in the pit of your stomach, but your thoughts quickly turned to Luke. You’d seen how much he had poured into this game with his effort, the focus, the pride in every play, and you knew this loss was hitting him harder than anyone else.

As the players began to file into the locker room, you stood up slowly from where you were seated. Ethan was already looking at you, his brow furrowed in concern. He was trying to hold it together, but his frustration was evident. You could see him glancing toward the locker room, his eyes darting to Luke, who had already disappeared inside.

“Let’s go talk to him,” Ethan said, "He’ll need someone."

You nodded, but as you walked together, you could feel Ethan’s unease. He was trying to be brave for both of you, but you knew he was hurting, too. You could see the subtle tension in his posture as he approached the locker room and when the door swung open, the cold, sterile air of the space hit you — the smell of sweat and ice mingling with the stench of defeat.

You saw Luke right away, slumped in his locker stall, his face twisted in a mix of anger and disbelief. His usual relaxed self was gone but replaced by something else, something you didn’t recognize. He didn’t even acknowledge you at first, his attention fixed on the floor. The space around him was tense, and even Ethan seemed unsure of how to approach him.

You stood there for a moment, unsure whether to speak or not. The silence was thick, suffocating, but Ethan broke it with a heavy sigh.

"Hey, man," he started, his voice trying to stay calm, "We’ll get ‘em next year. It’s not the end of the world."

Luke didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the shift in the air with the heaviness in the way Luke pulled away from the words. His jaw clenched, and when he finally spoke, his voice was strained, biting.

“Yeah, whatever,” Luke mumbled, not looking up from the floor, "Next year, great. I just don't know why I bother anymore."

You felt the sting of his words even though they weren’t directed at you. His frustration wasn’t aimed at Ethan, not at first, but there was an obvious sense of anger in his tone, like he was trying to push everyone away. Ethan glanced at you, his eyes softening, but he knew better than to push further. Instead, he turned to you, his gaze asking for a sign.

You walked over to Luke, your steps slower, more cautious than usual. The air between you two was tense, but you had been through too much together to leave him alone now. You tried to meet his gaze, but Luke wouldn’t look up.

“You did your best,” You told him quietly with your tone full of the comfort you wanted to give him, even if he didn’t want it right now, “You all did.”

He scoffed, his shoulders tensing as he finally looked up at you. His eyes, usually so full of fire, were dull now, clouded with frustration. He shook his head, the words coming out rough, “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to put everything into something, only for it to slip away at the last second," His voice cracked slightly before he quickly masked it with more bitterness.

You could feel his pain, his anger bubbling beneath the surface. It wasn’t just the loss; it was everything else he was dealing with like the expectations, the pressure, the constant feeling like he had to prove something to everyone. But you didn’t back down, instead you nodded and tried again to comfort him

“Maybe not,” You hummed, “but I know what it’s like to have everything riding on something, to try your hardest and still feel like it’s never enough, but you can’t keep beating yourself up. This isn’t all on you.”

He looked at you, his eyes flickering between anger and something softer, something that made your heart ache. But before he could respond, Ethan stepped forward, his voice much lighter.

“Come on, Hughesy,” Ethan’s hand clapped onto Luke’s shoulder, “We still have next year, right? We’ll get ‘em then”

Luke didn’t even smile, he didn’t meet Ethan’s eye. His gaze was stuck somewhere far off, locked on nothing in particular. The air was thick with the weight of his frustration, but he wasn’t ready to let anyone in.

You gave Luke one last look before turning to Ethan, “I’ll be outside, okay?” You told him as you kept your voice gentle.

Ethan nodded and gave you a look that said it all, he was worried about you too. He was always protective, but this time, he was just as vulnerable as you were. As you walked out of the locker room, the sound of Luke’s heavy silence lingered in your ears. It seemed as though Ethan opted to follow you, his arm wrapping around your shoulder in a comforting gesture. He squeezed you once, then sighed deeply.

“He’s taking it harder than I thought,” Ethan murmured, almost to himself.

You nodded, “I know, but I think he just needs some space. He’s not used to this feeling.”

“Yeah,” Ethan agreed quietly, “But just be careful, okay? I know you two have been getting closer, but he’s got a lot going on right now. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

You stopped walking, glancing up at Ethan, "I won't get hurt. I just want to be there for him, you know?" You gave a soft sigh as you rubbed your eyes, "But I’ll be careful."

"Alright, I trust you. Just don’t let him shut you out completely, okay?"

You nodded and headed toward the exit, the cool night air outside a sharp contrast to the warmth of the locker room. Despite the sting of Michigan’s loss, you couldn’t help but feel like this moment, this shift between you and Luke, was something significant.

The rest of the night would unfold in its own way, but for now, you knew you’d be there for him. Even if he wasn’t quite ready to let you in yet.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

You were hunched over your laptop, the glow of your laptop screen casting a soft light against your tired face. These late hours were taking their toll on you with your eyes burning from exhaustion, shoulders stiff from too many long nights spent in front of the screen. But you were almost done, and there was one more media release to finish before you could head home for the night.

The door to the media room creaked open, and you didn’t need to look up to know it was Luke. But tonight, the usual warmth in his approach had been replaced by a quiet and cold, almost detached energy. He didn’t say anything at first, but the silence that hung between you two was deafening.

Ethan was keeping you company but was currently grabbing both of you something to eat from a cafeteria in a residence building, and you thought that maybe you could escape the awkwardness that had been lingering between you and Luke for the past few days. You finally looked up from your work, meeting his eyes. You didn’t know what to expect anymore and you were growing tired of this push and pull relationship that you and Luke had going on for the past month or so.

“What?” You asked him

Luke’s lips curled into a smirk, “You still here, huh? Thought you had better things to do than sticking around this place.”

You frowned, feeling the sting of his words, “I have work to do, Luke, you know that I’m not here for fun.”

He scoffed, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, sure. Work. Like we need your media expertise around here. You could be doing something more... important, don’t you think?”

The words cut through you like a blade. You knew Luke had his moments of teasing and joking around to keep things lighthearted. But this wasn’t his playful teasing, it felt like he was deliberately trying to hurt you.

“Excuse me?” You shot back, “I’ve been working with your team for months now, Luke. I’m doing my job.”

“Yeah, your job,” He repeated putting air quotes around the word like it was a joke, “I didn’t realize media work was so important when you’ve got a bunch of guys on the ice doing all the hard stuff. But hey, what do I know?”

You clenched your jaw, trying not to let his words affect you, but the weight of them was unbearable. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could get a word out, Ethan walked back into the room with two white take out containers in his hands and a look of confusion crossing his face as he took in the tension between you two.

“What’s going on in here?” Ethan asked, eyeing Luke, who had now turned his back to you, clearly ignoring the situation.

Luke shrugged, still keeping his distance, “Nothing, just telling her the truth of her position. Media work’s not as important as she thinks.”

Ethan’s gaze flickered between you and Luke, his brow furrowing, “If you’re going to talk out of your ass like that, at least turn around so I can hear you better,”

Luke’s eyes narrowed, “What’s your problem, Edwards?”

“My problem?” Ethan stepped forward, his voice becoming more firm, “My problem is you being a jackass when she’s just trying to do her job, and you being an even bigger one when you’re talking down to her like that. I’ve had enough of your shit, Hughes.”

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated. You hadn’t expected Ethan to step in, but part of you was grateful. It didn’t make the sting of Luke’s words disappear, but at least someone was standing up for you. Luke shifted uncomfortably but didn’t back down, “She doesn’t need you to protect her, man.”

“I’m not protecting her. I’m telling you to stop being a dick,” Ethan snapped.

But Luke didn’t seem to care. He just scoffed again as he said something just under his breath, and walked out of the room without looking back. You stood there, staring at the door long after he had left, the coldness in the room making it hard to breathe.

Ethan stood beside you, his expression softening, “You okay?”

You nodded, though it wasn’t entirely true, “I’m fine.”

“Don’t let him get to you. You don’t deserve that.”

“I know,” You mumbled, but the weight of Luke’s words still hung in the air, “I just don’t understand what’s going on with him and I’m so sick of this back and forth we’ve been having. Like we’re fine for one week but the next he hates me again”

Ethan let out a long and tired sigh as he placed the food onto the table for both of you, “I don’t know either, but you don’t have to take it. You’re doing an amazing job here, don’t let him make you question that.”

You smiled weakly at him, appreciating his kindness, “Thanks, Eddy”

He gave you a quick embrace before motioning towards the food, he reopened his laptop to continue the movie he was watching as he ate. You sat back down at your desk, trying to focus on the work in front of you, but all you could think about was Luke. His coldness. His sharp words. It hurt more than you cared to admit.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The phone buzzed in Luke’s pocket, and for a moment, he thought about ignoring it. He had just finished a grueling practice, the kind that left his legs burning and his head buzzing with exhaustion. But something in the pit of his stomach told him this call was different. Something was going to change. He pulled the phone out and glanced at the screen, the name Tom Fitzgerald flashing in bold letters. He was the general manager for the Devils, meaning this call could be the opportunity Luke had been waiting for, but never truly expected to happen.

“Hey, Tom,” Luke answered, his voice tight as he tried to control the sudden surge of adrenaline in his veins.

“Luke, listen. We’ve been watching you closely, and we think it’s time. We want you to play next Wednesday”

The words hit Luke like a freight train. His pulse quickened, and he had to grip onto the nearest bench to steady himself, “Wait… what?” He asked as the disbelief made his voice crack.

“We’re calling you up, Hughes. You’re going to join the team. It’s official. You leave in two days, I’ll have Jack send you your flight tickets. We’re excited to see you, kid”

Luke’s mind raced, his heart pounding in his chest. He had always known this day would come and he had always dreamt of it. But now that it was here, it felt like his world had just shifted beneath his feet. The weight of the moment hit him like a ton of bricks, and for a second, everything else faded into the background. He had worked for this. Had put in the hours, the sweat, the pain. Every early morning and late night, every sacrifice. It had led him to this moment. The New Jersey Devils. The NHL.

But then his thoughts drifted as they always did these days to you.

The sudden warmth he felt for you was buried beneath layers of confusion. He had been shutting you out, pushing you away, and now here he was, about to leave without even telling you. The thought made him feel selfish. Maybe it wasn’t just about the career move or maybe it was more than that.

“Alright, thanks, Tom,” Luke breathed out, his mind whirling with thoughts he wasn’t ready to confront, “I’ll get the details from you and I’ll tell my coach and team here”

The conversation ended, and Luke stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, the weight of his decision sinking in. This was it. His future was set. But it was a future he’d be leaving behind everything and everyone for, including you.

Later that day, Luke stood in front of his teammates, the weight of the moment settling heavier with every passing second. His coach was there, standing at the front of the locker room, a rare expression of solemnity on his face. The team had just finished another intense training session, but now, the room was full of hushed murmurs. Everyone could sense something big was about to happen.

Luke stood tall, feeling the eyes of every single player on him, their curiosity evident in their faces. They all knew something was off, they knew he’d been distant lately, snapping at them for reasons they couldn’t quite figure out. But this was something different.

“Alright, guys,” Luke began, his voice steady, but a slight tremor betrayed the emotions brewing inside of him, “I’ve got some news, big news.”

The room went still.

“I’ve been called up,” He continued, letting the words hang in the air as a small smile crept onto his face, “I’m heading to New Jersey to play for the Devils the day after tomorrow.”

A collective gasp echoed through the room. The weight of the announcement hit the team like a wave. There were slaps on his back, congratulations, but Luke felt strangely detached from it all.

Mark grinned as he slapped him on the shoulder. “Look at you, man. Going pro. Gonna leave us in the dust.”

Luke forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes, the excitement of the moment felt distant.

Ethan, always the emotional one, stepped forward with a grin for his friend, “That’s awesome, Hughes. You’ve earned it, I’m really proud of you.”

Luke nodded absently, trying to hide the storm swirling inside of him. He had expected this moment and had rehearsed it in his mind a hundred times. But none of those scenarios had prepared him for how empty it would feel.

“Thanks, man,” Luke nodded.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

You sat in the seat in front of your desk, staring down at the scattered papers in front of you, but not really seeing them. You were supposed to be working, supposed to be focusing on the media notes for the team, but every time you tried to concentrate, your mind would inevitably drift back to Luke. His sudden departure felt like a punch in the stomach.

It wasn’t just the fact that he was gone, but rather it was the way he left. No goodbyes, no explanations. You had barely heard from him since the day he told everyone he was leaving for New Jersey and even then, it was brief. The Luke you had once known as the one who could light up a room with his sarcastic humor or annoy the hell out of you with his attitude felt like a memory now.

The door creaked, and Ethan stepped in, his presence immediately filling the empty space in the room. His smile was soft, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You could see the concern in his gaze as he took a seat next to you.

“Hey,” Ethan told you gently, nudging your shoulder, “You doing okay?”

You nodded, but the tightness in your chest told a different story, “I’m fine.”

Ethan didn’t believe you for a second, and you knew it. He had been there for you through it, with the games, the late nights, the times you had gotten frustrated with Luke and even the moments you had found yourself falling for him. But now, after Luke was gone, things felt different. It was like the silence was suffocating you both.

Ethan let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, his eyes still fixed on you, “You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay to not be okay.”

You glanced at him, forcing a small smile, “I know. It’s just… it feels like everything’s changed.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Ethan said as he sat back, stretching his legs out in front of him. “It’s not easy. For any of us. I mean, I know you two had your… issues, but he’s gone now and that’s gotta hurt.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening at the mention of Luke. You had thought that with time, you’d be able to move on, to get over the emotional rollercoaster that had been your relationship with him. But instead, his absence felt like a gaping hole in the team, in your life, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that things would never be the same.

“I don’t know why it hurts this much,” You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, “It’s like he was never really there, but I still feel this emptiness now that he’s gone.”

Ethan’s gaze softened, and he leaned in slightly, “It’s because he mattered. Even when he was a jerk, you cared about him and that doesn’t just go away overnight. Hell, it doesn’t go away at all. But I’m here for you, okay? I always will be. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

You took a shaky breath as you nodded, “I just don’t understand him, Ethan. One minute he’s pulling me in, and the next he’s pushing me away. I thought we were getting somewhere, but then…” You trailed off, your voice cracking slightly, “And now he’s gone, and I feel like I’ve lost something I didn’t even know I needed.”

Ethan’s eyes flickered with something that resembled a mixture of sympathy and concern. He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm, but not overbearing.

“You didn’t lose anything,” Ethan said softly, “You gained something. You gained a lesson. You learned how to not let someone else’s bullshit affect you. You learned that you’re strong enough to survive even when things don’t go the way you want them to.”

You met his gaze, the intensity in his eyes giving you a sense of comfort you hadn’t realized you needed, “But I still care and I don’t know how to stop.”

Ethan’s smile was small but genuine, “It’s not about stopping. It’s about moving forward, one step at a time. You’ll get there, I promise.”

You let out a breath, leaning back against the bench and closing your eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of everything start to lift, “Thanks, Ethan. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Ethan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he sat leaned against the wall next to you, the two of you staring at the rink in silence, the occasional sound of skates scraping against the ice breaking the stillness. It was comforting, in a way. There was no need for words, just the presence of someone who understood.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

Life with the New Jersey Devils was everything Luke had dreamed of. The adrenaline of skating out onto the ice, the roar of the crowd, the pressure of each game, it was the stuff he had worked for since he was a kid, and now it was his reality. His brother, Jack, was right beside him, and it felt like everything was falling into place.

The mornings were filled with drills and team strategy, followed by afternoons spent lifting weights and studying film. It was a routine that Luke had grown to love, each day a reminder of how far he’d come. Playing with Jack was something he had always fantasized about, and now that it was happening, he found himself enjoying every moment. There was an unspoken understanding between them, like a shorthand that allowed them to communicate without words, a bond that made everything on the ice feel effortless.

But for all the things he loved about this life, there were moments when the noise of it all quieted down, and the emptiness of his decisions crept in.

It was late one evening after a team dinner when he found himself alone in the locker room, sitting on a bench, his skates still on as he stared at his reflection in the locker room mirror. The hum of the arena was faint in the background, and the sound of his teammates talking and laughing in the distance seemed so far away. He felt restless, like there was something missing.

The chaos of the NHL, the intensity of the games, the pressure, it was all exhilarating but something inside him was unsettled. He ran his hand over his face, eyes drifting to the messages on his phone, his thumb hovering over a number that used to feel like second nature.

Your number.

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind. Getting drafted, making the roster, joining the team, all of it had happened so fast. He hadn’t allowed himself the time to slow down and think about anything beyond hockey. The reality of playing professionally, of having this spotlight on him, had consumed him. But in these quiet moments, the weight of his own decisions was heavier than ever.

He had been cold. He had pushed you away when you needed someone, when you had been there for him more than anyone else had. He had told himself it was for your own good, that you deserved someone who could give you more than he could, but deep down, he knew the truth. It wasn’t about that. It was about him. He had been afraid. Afraid of letting someone get too close. Afraid of needing someone who wasn’t a part of his world, afraid of the vulnerability it brought.

And now, here he was. The NHL was everything he had wanted and everything he had worked for, but a part of him missed you. He missed how easy it had been to talk to you, to laugh with you, and to be around someone who saw him for more than just the player. He missed the way you would text him about the little things, like how your day went, how classes were going, how you were looking forward to the next time they’d hang out in the media room.

He missed your laugh and the way you made him feel like he was seen, like he wasn’t just the hockey player everyone expected him to be.

It was strange, this feeling. He had never been one to question his decisions. He had always been focused on what was in front of him, never looking back. But now, as he sat in the locker room, it was hard to ignore the tug of regret.

Jack’s voice broke through his thoughts as he walked in, tossing his bag into his locker, “You good, man?”

Luke looked up, forcing a smile, “Yeah, just tired. Long day.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, he knew his little brother better than anyone, “You sure? I mean, you’ve been a little off lately. You’ve been kinda quiet.”

Luke leaned back against the locker, his eyes flicking back to his phone for a moment before he put it down, “I don’t know, dude. Just thinking.”

“About what?” Jack asked with more curiosity evident in his tone, “You’ve been killing it out there, Luke. First season and you’re already making an impact. I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but you’ve got everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Luke let out a sigh, running a hand through his curls, “I know I do, it’s just… I don’t know, Jack. There’s this feeling I can’t shake, like something’s missing.”

Jack tilted his head, “Missing? What are you talking about?”

Luke hesitated, his thoughts drifting back to you, “I don’t know, man. I thought I had it all figured out. I pushed some things aside...people aside, actually. But sometimes, it feels like I might have made a mistake.”

Jack’s face softened, understanding the weight of his brother’s words, “You’re talking about her, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, Luke,” Jack said, his tone gentle but firm, “You’ve been acting off ever since you got here. You’ve been so focused on the game, I get it. But you don’t have to shut out everyone else, especially not her. You made a decision, I know, but you also know that sometimes the hardest thing to do is admit when you’re wrong.”

Luke’s jaw clenched, “I didn’t want to drag her into this. I didn’t want to risk messing things up because of my career. She deserved better than me, especially with what I’ve got going on right now.”

Jack shook his head, “I get that you’re trying to protect her, but Luke, sometimes you can’t protect people from how you feel. You’ve got to decide, do you want to keep running from this, or are you going to do something about it?”

Luke didn’t answer right away. He stared at the floor, contemplating his brother’s words. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken thoughts and feelings.

“Maybe you’re right,” Luke finally said, his voice hushed, “I don’t know what to do, but I can’t stop thinking about her, Jack. I think I might have messed things up too much.”

Jack gave him a knowing look, his hand resting on his brother’s shoulder, “It’s never too late to make things right, Luke. But you’ve got to decide if you want to fix it or if you’re going to let it go.”

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The late night breeze brushed against you when you stepped outside the arena that night, the air causing your hair to blow around your head. The sky was dark, and the world around you was quiet and you were tired of pretending you were fine, tired of trying to move on from something that had never really ended.

You weren’t expecting anyone to be waiting outside of Yost, but there he was.

Luke stood just outside the parking lot, hands shoved into the pockets of his joggers, his head down like he didn’t quite know if he had the right to be there. He looked up when he heard your footsteps, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Your heart slammed against your chest,

“What are you doing here?” You asked with your voice barely audible

He stepped forward slowly, “I needed to see you.”

You swallowed hard, “You left.”

“I know,” His voice was thick, his eyes filled with desperation, “And I regret it every single day. I thought I was doing the right thing by choosing the career, staying focused, keeping you from the mess I was becoming, but all I did was hurt you and God, I hate that I did that.”

You stood still, breath caught, as he spoke like you couldn’t quite tell if you reached the level of exhaustion where you started hallucinating.

“I’ve had everything I ever dreamed of handed to me in Jersey but none of it feels right.,” He sighed as his eyes locked on yours, “Because I don’t get to share it with you. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like more than just the youngest Hughes brother. You saw me. You made me feel grounded and real, like I had a place to land after all the chaos and I tried so hard to forget that and to move on, but I can’t.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, “Baby, it’s you. It’s always been you.”

A tremor rippled through you as your heart skipped a few beats and your cheeks reddened.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for so long I don’t even remember when it started. I was scared. I thought if I let you in, I’d lose focus, I’d mess it all up, but losing you… that’s the only thing I got wrong and I can’t stand not having you in my life.” Luke confessed with his voice dropping a bit as his throat tightened

Your voice was shaky, “You broke my heart.”

“I know. And I swear to you, if you give me even the smallest chance, I will spend every day proving that I’m worth trying again for.”

You were crying now, but it didn’t feel like the pain you’d carried for the past weeks, it felt like release, like everything you’d bottled up was finally being let out. You stepped toward him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, “You’re such an idiot.”

He let out a broken laugh, chest shaking, “Yeah. I am.”

And then you kissed him.

Not gently. Not cautiously. It was a collision of longing, of anger, of all the unsaid things finally being spoken in the way you knew best. His hands cupped your cheeks, your fingers twisted in the collar of his sweatshirt, and the breeze swirled around you as if the universe was finally giving its blessing.

When the kiss broke, your foreheads rested against each other, his breath warm against your skin.

“I love you too,” You whispered.

His lips curled into a smile, soft and a little stunned, “God, I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x you #luke hughes fanfiction #nhl x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nj devils x reader #umich hockey x reader #umich hockey fanfiction

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live-love-be-unique · 1 month ago

Text

P. R Nightmare

Series summary: A public relations job typically involves managing an individual or organisation’s reputation and building relationships with the public and media. It generally does not include superheros, terrorist organisations, middle-aged Russian super soldiers who breach media regulations and crushing on a client/ coworker.

This is a Robert (Bob) Reynolds x fem!reader series

Warnings: fem!reader, afab!reader, no specific details about reader appearance are given. Specific warnings will be provided at each chapter.

After battling the New York subway system — which you’re pretty sure had a vendetta against you — you’d made it to your office later than you’d liked. There had been no time to stop and grab a coffee and breakfast from your favourite little cafe near your office, so you’d have to contend with a stale granola bar that you were hoping was still buried in your desk behind some notebooks and a coffee from the communal kitchen.

“You’re late,” your assistant whispered as you walked in.

“I know, I know.”

“There’s someone in your office.”

“What? Who?” You were certain you didn’t have any meetings until at least 11am, you glanced towards your office where you could make out the shape of someone sitting in front of your desk.

“Congressman Barnes, he’s even more handsome since the last time he came by.”

“Aren’t you married, Dorris?” You smirked, she’d been nursing a crush on him since he’d last stopped by your office.

“Barry doesn’t need to know,” Dorris waved her hand dismissively, smirking as she answered her phone.

While it wasn’t uncommon to find someone waiting for you in your office most mornings, most visitors didn’t come bearing a steaming hot cup of coffee, “You join a new team and you’ve given up on the suits? You’ll break Giuseppe’s heart.”

“He’ll live, I’m sure you’ve referred other senators to his tailoring and I’m pretty sure you get a kick back on each suit he makes,” the man chuckled as he watched you walk around your desk and take a seat. “Hi kid.”

“What do you need Barnes?” You lean forward, resting your head on your hands, offering a wry smile, “I doubt you’re here to discuss the finer points of haberdashery?”

“I’m here to offer you a job,” Bucky says, placing your coffee in front of you.

“Last time you offered me a job, you wanted me to help you impeach Valentina de Fontaine,” you eyed Bucky as you took a sip of your coffee. Valentina had been a little too good at covering her tracks for anything solid to actually stick, the hunt for anything incriminating had dragged on for months. “Is this caramel?” you asked, savouring your first mouthful of good coffee.

“Of course,” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This time it’s a little less…political. The team needs an assistant, someone to handle the public relations.”

“Really? You were all doing so well,” you smirked. “I saw the Wheaties boxes.”

“Alexei’s idea.”

“The Russian guy?”

“It was his dream,” Bucky shrugs. As he stands he places a file on your desk, “Think about it”

You watched him leave your office before picking up the file, it contained a dossier for every member of the Thunderbolts.

Bucky’s was first, heavily redacted as you’d expected. You knew a little of his past, or at least what he had shared with you while you had helped him with his campaign, but he had kept the details of what had happened while he was under control of Hydra to himself.

John Walker. Former decorated army ranger and Captain America for a short time before the murder of a civilian in a public setting led to his less than honourable discharge.

Yelena Belova. Former Red Room trained assassin with the Black Widow, working as a contract killer for Valentina before the Thunderbolts.

Alexei Shostakov. The Red Guardian, Captain America’s counterpart in Russia. The one behind the Wheaties box…and ‘encouraging’ people in supermarkets to buy them.

Ava Starr. S.H.I.E.L.D operative turned mercenary who could phase through objects due to a constant state of molecular disequilibrium. You made a mental note to look that up later.

And…Bob? You turned Bob’s, Robert Reynolds’s, part of the file over to find that the page in your hand, containing next to no information about the man, was it. There was a picture — he was cute in a boy next door kind of way — and a few sparse details about the man but nothing more.

You quickly closed the file as your office door slammed open, your 11am meeting had finally arrived. Some trust fund baby who wanted you to fix his public image to keep him out of prison. He was charged with several assault counts, all of which he argued were the other person's fault and daddy’s money had brought him two hours of your time.

After his time was up, he had offered you his number like it was some kind of reward. You declined and dialed a familiar contact.

“Barnes? When do you need me to start?”

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #thunderbolts*#robert bob reynolds #P.R Nightmare

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heliosunny · 2 months ago

Text

Steam beneath the surface

Veritas Ratio x Reader

You never understood what you did to make him hate you. First day of class and Dr. Ratio already had it out for you.

“Since no one is volunteering” he said flatly, “you’ll answer, Y/N.”

Again.

That made three times today.

The others chuckled under their breath, some with pity, some with that cruel glee that came from not being the one in the crosshairs. You sat stiffly at your desk, mind racing as you tried to recall whatever abstract theory he was droning about just seconds ago. You muttered a passable answer. He tilted his head—barely.

“Acceptable,” he murmured. “If we’re grading on mercy.”

What was his problem?

Because what you didn’t know -what none of his students knew- was that when the sun dipped and the academic world clocked out, Ratio worked another job. Not for the money, of course. No, he worked at the bathhouse in the old part of town. The quiet, traditional kind.

> One Week Before the Semester <

You had just passed the bathhouse's old stone gate, scrolling your phone, barely glancing at the sign outside. There was something vaguely elegant about the place, but you were just cutting through to shave a few minutes off your walk home.

You didn’t even notice the man in the open hallway.

“Don’t use your phone around here” came his voice.

You didn’t hear him. Your music was too loud.

He stood still, watching your retreating back, a shadow stretching behind him in the lantern light.

You hadn’t meant to trespass into his sanctuary.

But you had.

> Present <

“Y/N!” Dr. Ratio called from the front of the classroom, barely glancing up from the papers he was sorting. “Stay after class. We need to discuss your participation.”

A few classmates ooh’d quietly. This was the third time this week.

You gathered your things slowly, annoyed but trying not to show it. You hadn’t even done anything wrong. But Dr. Ratio had zeroed in on you from day one. Always picking you for questions, assigning you "extra practice" making snide comments about your "disengaged energy."

“Tell me, Y/N,” he said, setting down his pen and folding his hands on the desk, “do you enjoy underperforming, or is this a performance art piece I should grade more generously?”

“I’m not underperforming.”

“You’re not present,” he said. “Mentally, emotionally, or otherwise.”

You frowned. “I think you’re reading way too much into this.”

“Oh, I always read too much into things,” he murmured, “It’s how I stay ahead.”

“I’m assigning you weekly reports. On everything we cover. Typed. Double length.”

“What? Why?”

“To help you focus. And because I said so.”

You clenched your jaw. “Isn’t that excessive?”

“Excess,” he said, “is what’s required when prevention is the goal.”

You stared at him, baffled.

> Later That Week – The Bathhouse <

You were tired. Between the surprise reports, Ratio’s constant hovering, and whatever personal vendetta he seemed to have against your existence, you needed a reset. And where better than the bathhouse you passed by so often?

It was quiet that evening, just like before. The air inside was warm, damp, and heavy with the scent of wood and herbal steam. You slipped off your shoes, dropped some coins into the slot, and entered the changing room without a second thought.

A cold splash suddenly hit your side.

You gasped, twisting sharply as water soaked the edge of your clothes. A wooden bucket clattered against the tile, still dripping.

“What the hell—?”

“Oh,” came a voice you knew too well, “it’s you.”

There he was. Wearing a simple yukata tied at the waist, sleeves rolled up, a mop leaning against the wall beside him. His damp hair clung slightly to his forehead.

“You… work here?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“I clean,” he said simply. “Among other things.”

“You splashed me.”

“I was cleaning,” he repeated, his tone was everything but apologetic.

“…Right.”

You turned slightly, intending to just continue whatever you were doing, maybe pretend none of this happened.

But Ratio’s voice followed you like a hook behind the ribs.

“Planning to tell anyone?”

“What?”

“About seeing me here.”

You scoffed, frowning. “Why would I care?”

You finished your soak in the mineral bath, tension slowly easing from your shoulders. The brief exchange with Ratio still lingered in your mind but you pushed it aside. He was just your teacher. Weird, maybe even a little paranoid—but harmless.

You dried off, changed, and left, humming to yourself.

It wasn’t until you got home that you realized your headphones were gone.

> The Next Morning – Faculty Office <

You tapped on the frame of the open door. Ratio’s office was dark except for the natural light pouring through the blinds, slanting across piles of paper. And there, sitting right on the edge of his desk, were your headphones.

He looked up from a stack of graded essays. “You’re early.”

“I left those at the bathhouse,” you said, trying to sound neutral. “Can I have them back?”

“I’m holding them for observation” he said.

You blinked. “They’re just headphones.”

“Which is what I would say, too, if I were trying to convince someone they weren’t bugged.”

“…What?”

He set his pen down slowly, folding his hands in front of him. “You think very little of my intelligence, if you assume I’d overlook the possibility of surveillance.”

You stared. “They're literally from a convenience store—”

“Low-budget cover. Clever. But not clever enough.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You couldn’t be rude. He was your teacher.

So you just sat there.

That’s it, you thought later that day. He asked for it.

You started small.

Chalk balanced on the door.

He caught it.

Switched the sugar in his office drawer with salt.

He sipped his coffee, adjusted his glasses, and said, “My tolerance for bitterness must be improving.”

You tried slipping a fake notice into his inbox about a mandatory dress code violation.

He didn’t even react, just circled the typo in red ink and pinned it to the board labeled “AMATEUR ATTEMPTS” with your handwriting copied underneath.

It was infuriating.

Despite his personality, or maybe because of it, Dr. Ratio had a strange pull in the school. Students tried to flirt with him, constantly.

None of it landed.

He never entertained it beyond a dry “I’d advise focusing on graduating before fantasizing.”

But the weirdest part?

They liked that.

And he wasn’t the only one.

There was another teacher, Aventurine, who always hovered close to Ratio’s orbit.

They were opposites, but close.

Rumor had it they shared lunch daily.

Students’ attempts to flirt or get attention were met with condescending amusement. Like watching children play pretend.

> Two Weeks Later <

You stopped going to the bathhouse.

Whatever peace it once gave you had been ruined.

The idea of seeing him in that setting again made your stomach twist. Curse him. Curse his cryptic attitude and his obsession with making you the center of everything. You hoped his numbers dropped now that you were gone.

Your focus shifted. With all the extra reports he assigned, you didn’t have much choice. Pages and pages of analysis, summaries, theories—Ratio turned your free time into a footnote. But strangely… after a while… he stopped.

He stopped assigning you extra work.

It was like the storm had passed.

Maybe he realized he overdid it. Maybe he was wrong, and too prideful to admit it out loud. Either way, you weren’t about to ask.

Fine. Let him go back to whatever twisted little schemes he cooked up in his free time.

You ignored him.

You reminded yourself—he’s just a teacher.

That afternoon, your grandma sent you out with a neat list folded in half. Groceries: soy sauce, tofu, green onions, some sweet buns she liked. You took the usual shortcut through the shopping street.

As you exited the small bakery, plastic bag in hand, you heard laughter.

Your eyes flicked toward the source instinctively.

There he was, standing under the warm glow of an old lamp post, speaking with a small group of bathhouse guests—well-dressed, older types who clearly respected him. He wore his casual yukata again.

He smiled at something one of them said.

And then—his eyes caught yours.

He soon looked away.

You stood there for a beat longer than you should’ve, then kept walking. Your feet hit the pavement faster now. You didn't look back.

You returned home in silence.

But the entire way, you felt the heat of his gaze pressed against your back, even though he wasn’t following.

----

It was just a quiet Saturday afternoon. You were upstairs, scrolling through your phone while half-listening to music.

Then you heard voices. The first one is your grandma's.

You frowned, sitting up. You didn’t remember her saying anyone was coming over.

You stood at the top of the stairs, then froze.

Him. In your house.

Your first instinct was to retreat. Maybe out the window. Maybe fake illness. Anything but dealing with this. But it was too late. Your grandma called out sweetly, “Why didn’t you tell me your teacher was visiting, dear? You should’ve warned me so I could prepare tea!”

You descended slowly, blinking in disbelief. “I didn’t know he was coming…”

Ratio sat on the floor cushion.

He gave a faint, respectful bow. “Apologies for the sudden visit. I was nearby delivering materials to another household. I figured I’d return this before it got forgotten.”

He held up your headphones.

You stepped forward hesitantly. “You could’ve just… given them to me at school.”

“Some things are better returned in a proper setting.”

What the hell did that mean? You took them quickly. Your fingers brushed his. His skin was colder than expected.

Your grandma kept talking, but you barely registered it. All you could think of was the way he looked at you.

Like he was dissecting something.

After a quick chat and polite exchange, he excused himself and asked if he could speak with you 'briefly outside.'

You obliged, unsure why.

“You stopped showing up.”

“…To the bathhouse? It’s not like we had a standing appointment.”

"No. But you didn’t even say goodbye."

You scoffed. "Why would I?"

"Fair." His tone didn’t change, but something in his stare sharpened. "Just thought you’d be more consistent."

Then he stepped away with a nod, as if this was perfectly normal behavior.

-----

You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

What was he trying to prove?

You lost track of time during his lecture. Your notes trailed off into nonsense halfway through the second blackboard.

“Y/N” he called, not even turning from his writing.

You snapped to attention.

A piece of chalk whizzed past your head.

“Focus” he said, still facing the board.

Later that week, you were sent to deliver a stack of paperwork—probably punishment for not dodging Ratio’s chalk faster the day before. You balanced the forms carefully as you navigated the quiet hallway.

The door to Ratio’s office was already ajar.

You knocked lightly and stepped in, only to freeze mid-step.

A student stood in front of his desk, clearly flustered, holding out a small envelope, probably spritzed with perfume if the scent in the air meant anything.

Dammit. You walked in on a confession.

“…I’ve admired you since last semester. I—I just thought you should know.”

He reached for a stamp. Pressed it onto a document without lifting his eyes.

“Admiration is not the same as understanding,” he said. “Please redirect your energy toward something measurable—like improving your test scores.”

The student’s expression crumbled.

You slowly backed up, trying to pretend you were not there, not part of this disaster. But his eyes flicked toward you in the same moment the student turned to leave.

You quickly approached his desk, dumped the paperwork, and muttered, “Delivery.”

Ratio’s voice followed as you turned to leave. “Do try to watch your step.”

“Huh?”

Your foot hit a small box.

You yelped as your balance vanished, but you didn’t land on the floor.

Your hands gripped his sleeves.

Well that was...

Then a laugh echoed behind you.

“Ohhh, what’s this now?”

You turned, and there stood Aventurine, leaning in the doorway. His grin said everything.

“I leave for five minutes and you’re already catching students in your arms?” Aventurine teased, striding in with a swagger that made you want to melt into the floor. “Is this what the paperwork’s hiding these days?”

Ratio gave him a withering look. “It’s your toy box.”

“Crafting kit,” Aventurine corrected, reaching for the package you’d tripped on. “Limited edition. Very important.”

You stepped away from Ratio quickly, brushing off your sleeves. “I didn’t see anything. I’m going.”

But Aventurine wasn’t done.

“Oh, no no.” He stopped you from leaving, facing Ratio with a wider grin. “I never thought you’d fall before me. You owe me dinner if you make it official, you know.”

Ratio simply returned to stamping papers.

You fled before either of them could say another word.

You cursed every god that ever existed when you saw Aventurine.

Leaning against your school gate with the same smirk, the same posture, the same glint in his eyes that had always meant trouble. You knew that smirk.

He used to live next door to you. You used to babysit his pet.

And now he was a teacher.

Worse, he remembered everything.

“Hey, neighbor. Or is it ex-neighbor?” he greeted, sliding into step beside you as if he hadn’t been absent from your life for years. “You know, I’ve been thinking—I should drop by again sometime. Say hi to your grandma. Maybe dig up that photo album she keeps. You remember the one with the duck pajamas?”

You glared. “That was ten years ago.”

He winked. “And yet, timeless.”

From that day forward, he never left you alone. Probably, just probably, he was trying to get anything from you that could be used against Ratio.

Between classes. After school. Even during lunch, he’d somehow “run into you.” Ruffling your hair. Poking your cheek and saying things like, “Still as pouty as ever.”

And of course, always right in front of Ratio.

He didn’t say anything at first.

When Aventurine appeared beside you, Dr. Ratio’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

To avoid anything that would happen out of his control.

He’d call on you to run some errands.

That day you stayed after class, Ratio set a new boundary.

“Do you enjoy his company?” Ratio asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“You know who. He seems to be around you quite a bit.”

“We’ve known each other for a while. He’s just teasing.”

“Is that all it takes to make you smile like that?”

“…Excuse me?”

He didn’t clarify. “Just an observation.”

He dismissed you with a wave.

But the truth is, he’d underestimated you. He couldn't sleep that night, thinking back everything he has ever done.

At first, he thought you were a troublemaker.

Well he hates people figuring out his second job and all.

And you somehow kept showing up in this peaceful life of his.

But now?

He’d grown used to your presence.

No.

Maybe if he stop worrying over such things, his life will be just like before.

Yes, that's it.

-----

You swore you’d never come back here.

And yet, here you were. Because your grandma had that look in her eye. The “I want to relax, and I’m dragging you with me” kind of look. You couldn’t say no, not after everything she’s done for you. So while she headed off for a soak, you wandered near the refreshment corner, cracking open a cold bottle of milk and parking yourself on a stool by the fogged-up window.

And then he walked in.

His hair was still damp, slightly messy like he’d just run a hand through it. The robe hung loose, gaping just enough to show a glimpse of toned collarbones and a frame that looked more like a personal trainer’s than a teacher’s. A towel was draped over one shoulder, but unlike the rest of us, flushed and scrambling after practice, he looked completely unbothered.

You looked. Just a flicker of attention, half a second longer than you meant to.

He noticed. His foot hovered mid-step. Then that slow tilt of his head, eyes locking onto yours with quiet, amused precision. Like he’d been waiting for it.

“Staring at others in public isn’t polite, you know.”

“I wasn’t—!”

“You were. I wonder, should I assign you a reflection paper on boundaries and professionalism?”

You glared, taking another sip of milk just to avoid speaking. You couldn’t argue. Not here. Not in front of your grandma, who was somewhere behind the sliding doors and would not tolerate “talking back to adults.”

A voice cut through the air.

“There you are!”

You both turned at the same time.

A woman, clearly a guest, approached with an air of flirtation so thick it made your teeth ache. She didn’t even glance your way, too busy pressing into Ratio’s space, her fingers grazing his arm like she had every right to.

“Oh, you’re so tense,” she purred, tracing a line down his bicep. “Do you work out? Or is it just natural…?”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t move, but he didn’t return the gesture either. You couldn't watch another second of this trainwreck. The pawing, the baby-talk voice - fucking disgusting. She might as well have started licking him right there in public.

“That’s enough,” you said sharply, stepping between them. “You’re making him uncomfortable.”

The woman blinked, as if noticing you for the first time. Her lip curled.

“And who are you?”

Ratio’s voice cut clean through the tension.

“We’re in a relationship.”

Your stomach dropped, like -what the hell? but you recovered fast. “Security, actually.”

You snatched the towel off Ratio’s shoulder and dunked it in the nearby basin. “And you’re harassing guests.”

The woman barely had time to shriek before you flicked a wall of water straight at her. “The fuck—?”

“Bathhouse rules.” You wrung out the towel with a sharp twist. “Now move.”

Ratio watched, impassive, as she scrambled back, makeup running. “You—you—” She finally stomped off, slippers slapping like a drowned cat retreating.

You tossed the towel back at Ratio. “In a relationship? Seriously?”

He caught it without blinking. "It was the first thing that came to mind."

"Wow." You wiped your hands on your pants, grinning. "You suck at chasing women away, huh?"

"And you're exceptionally good at it. I should assign extra credit. A 5,000-word essay on conflict de-escalation techniques, perhaps?"

"You wouldn't."

"3,000 words. Due Monday."

"I yield!" You threw your hands up. "Next time I'll just let her climb you like a jungle gym!"

----

You started dreaming of him.

Not his voice. Not his face.

Just… him. Specifically: Professor Ratio shirtless in the bathhouse steam, towel hanging dangerously loose, water sliding down those unfairly sculpted shoulders like even physics was simping.

You’d wake up pissed.

Why him? Why your brain’s insistence on rendering him in 4K detail?

But dreams don’t negotiate.

Last Tuesday, you dreamed he hugged you, except it was less hug and more biceps chokehold. You tapped out. He didn’t let go. You woke up wheezing into your pillow, half-convinced you could still smell his cologne.

Then came the bad one: Ratio waiting in a dark classroom, idly curling a 50lb dumbbell. "You’ve been skipping lectures" he said, smiling. "Let’s… discuss your attendance." You ran, then woke up as the dumbbell whooshed toward your face.

You tried to ignore it at school. You really did.

But then the tiniest things started catching your attention.

Like how he always wore his shirt buttoned perfectly, until he was too distracted grading to notice one undone near his collarbone.

Or the way his sleeves rolled up just enough when he leaned over a desk.

The line of his throat when he tilted his head.

It got harder to hate him.

----

The exam period hit Ratio like a freight train.

You barely saw him on campus anymore, just fleeting glimpses of his back as he vanished into faculty meetings, or the ominous click of his office door locking mid-conversation with the dean. Rumor was he’d taken over grading three departments’ worth of papers after a colleague quit.

Which made it infuriating that he somehow still worked more shifts at the bathhouse.

You caught him one evening, as he scrubbed the mineral stains from the soaking pools. His hair was a mess, his knuckles red from hot water.

“Staring is rude.”

You jerked your gaze up. Ratio hadn’t even turned around.

“I wasn’t— You look like hell.”

“Eloquent.” He wrung out his rag. “If you’re here to complain about your exam score, I finished grading those at 4 AM. My patience is—”

“I’m here to help.”

Ratio finally turned around.

“Help, huh?”

“You’re clearly drowning.” You snatched the spare apron off the hook. “So here’s the deal: I work your bathhouse shifts. You get to sleep for once. And in exchange…”

You paused. He waited.

“You stop failing people for breathing wrong in class.”

Ratio’s expression didn’t change. “No.”

“And,” you barreled on, “you teach me how to get—” You gestured vaguely at all of him.

“…A doctorate?”

“That!” You pointed accusingly. “That right there is why no one likes you!”

Ratio exhaled through his nose. For a terrifying second, you thought he might actually laugh. Instead, he tossed you the rag.

“Terms amended: You assist, I consider curbing fail rates. The rest is delusional.”

“You literally look like a Renaissance statue.”

“And you,” he said, stepping past you to grab a bucket, “have the work ethic of a napping cat.”

You grinned. “So we’re agreed?”

Ratio didn’t answer. But when you showed up the next day, he’d left an extra uniform out.

---

Aventurine’s entrance was about as subtle as a firework in a library.

One moment, you were elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the bathhouse tiles. The next, a familiar voice purred directly into your ear

“Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite little workaholic.”

You jumped, sending suds flying—straight into the face of your childhood menace-turned-unwelcome-admirer. Aventurine blinked, water dripping from his unfairly long lashes. Then, slowly, he grinned.

“Missed me that much, huh?”

“I missed the days when you moved away.” you shot back, wiping your hands on your apron.

Aventurine just laughed, leaning against the counter like he owned the place. “Heard you were playing bathhouse attendant now. Had to see it for myself.” His gaze flicked over your uniform.

You were about to retort when the temperature in the room dropped.

“The standard bathing time,” came a voice like iced tea, “is thirty minutes.”

“Professor! Didn’t know you moonlighted as a lifeguard.”

“Twenty-five minutes”

Aventurine opened his mouth.

“Twenty.”

“Oh-ho? Someone’s territorial—”

“Fifteen.”

Aventurine, wisely, threw his hands up and sauntered off—but not before winking at you. “Save me the hot spring next time, yeah?”

The second he vanished, Ratio exhaled through his nose. “That is your neighbor? You sure he didn't escape from any prison or mental hospital?”

“Regrettably.”

“He’s banned from the cedar baths.”

“We don’t have cedar baths.”

Ratio didn’t smile. But the way he nudged the hot water valve just a little hotter as Aventurine yelped in the distance? That was something.

----

Ratio had insisted you stop working at the bathhouse. "Your academics take priority" he’d said, as if he hadn’t been the one drowning you in extra assignments before.

You obeyed, what else could you do.

"Ohhhhhh~ He’s into you!" Aventurine declared like a self-proclaimed romance expert. "But the man’s emotionally constipated. So! We help."

You eyed the fake love letter in his hands. "What is that?"

"This is strategy! You ‘confess.’ We reveal it’s a joke. He gets mad—which means he cares—then boom! Clarity!"

"Or he fails me."

"Risk versus reward, sweetheart." He grinned. "Besides, when have my plans ever backfired?"

Every time. But you still agreed.

You waited until after school, as you slipped into Ratio’s office. "You’re late for your club."

"I—" You shoved the letter at him. "I have something to say."

Ratio’s expression didn’t change as he read. But his grip creased the paper.

"This is… Unprofessional."

"But do you—"

The door slammed open.

"GOTCHA!" Aventurine crowed, phone out to film the whole thing. "Ohhh, Professor~! You should’ve seen your face—"

Ratio stood.

"Out."

Aventurine blinked. "Huh?"

"Get. Out. Now."

Aventurine fled. You didn’t.

Ratio didn’t look at you. "You too."

-----

You tried everything. Morning greetings, putting his favorite drink on his desk, volunteering to grade papers,.. Nothing works.

Even Aventurine, now banned from your texts, had the decency to look guilty. "Okay, maybe I underestimated how petty he could be."

You gave up.

When your grandma invited you to the bathhouse, you begged off. "Not feeling it today."

She eyed you. "You’ve been moping like a kicked puppy."

"I’m fine."

She went there on her own.

The bathhouse storage room door creaked open. "Young man? Could you help an old woman with these buckets?"

Ratio looked up from his inventory logs to your grandmother struggling with two overfilled water pails. As he took the buckets from her, she squinted up at his face in the dim light.

"Well now," she chuckled, "I know you. You're that strict professor from the university." Her eyes twinkled with sudden recognition. "The one who's got my grandchild moping around like a wet chick these past weeks."

Ratio nearly dropped the buckets. "I—"

"Ah, ah." She waved a finger. "No need for teacher talk here. This is bathhouse business." Taking one bucket back, she gestured for him to follow. "Come, come. These won't carry themselves."

As they walked, she continued as if discussing the weather: "You know, when I was young, there was a boy who fancied me something terrible. Handsome as sunrise, dumb as a post." She laughed at Ratio's expression. "Oh yes! He once stood outside my window for three hours holding a turnip because he heard I liked soup."

Ratio opened his mouth, then closed it. The grandmother hummed as they set the buckets by the soaking pools.

"Took me years to realize - men either say too much or nothing at all." She fixed Ratio with a knowing look. "The smart ones are worst for it. Think they need perfect words when really..." She patted his arm. "Even a turnip would do."

Ratio stared at the rising steam. "It's... complicated."

"Is it?" She tilted her head. "Or have you just been thinking so hard you forgot to feel?" With that, she shuffled off.

That night, your phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Your grandmother is terrifying.

You sat up.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Meet me at the bathhouse. 8 PM.

YOU: Are you going to yell at me again?

RATIO: No.

RATIO: I’m bringing tea.

You arrived at the bathhouse to find Ratio already there, two steaming cups of tea set neatly on the counter. He didn’t look up when you entered, but his shoulders tensed—just slightly.

"You came" he said, as if he hadn’t been the one to text you.

"You asked"

Finally, Ratio exhaled. "Your grandmother is… persuasive."

You snorted. "She threatened you or something?"

He pushed one of the cups toward you. "Drink. I brewed it the way you like"

"You remember that?"

"I remember many things. Including how… unfairly I acted."

You sipped the tea. It was perfect. "Yeah, well. Aventurine’s the one who should be apologizing, not you."

"He will. Extensively."

"I overreacted," he admitted, staring into his cup. "Because the idea of you… pretending to care for me was…"

"It was a stupid prank. But you ignored me for days. You don’t get to be the wounded party here."

"You’re right."

"And if you had just talked to me instead of sulking—"

"I know." He finally met your eyes. "But I did care. That’s the problem."

"I hated how much it mattered," he continued "And then you—"

"I what?"

"Nothing.."

"If you’d just talked to me instead of being a drama queen, maybe we could’ve figured this out sooner."

"So what now?"

The door slammed open.

"DON’T HIT ME I BROUGHT SNACKS—" Aventurine skidded to a halt, arms full of convenience store bags, eyes darting between you and Ratio. "…Oh."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Ohhh." He grinned, "You two made up."

"Get out."

"Nope! I’m here to apologize." Aventurine dropped the snacks on the counter with a flourish. "And also to witness whatever this is."

You sighed. "We’re talking. Like adults."

"Boring." He ripped open a bag of chips. "But fine. I’ll be your emotional support menace."

And for the first time in days, you both sighed in unison.

-----

You could tell were the inspiration came from.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #dr ratio x you #veritas ratio #ratio #dr ratio

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irisintheafterglow · 5 months ago

Text

touya todoroki doesn't like talking. sure, he'll quip and joke and mock a dead horse until it's begging to be killed again, but discussing serious topics were as foreign to him as the next galaxy. not just about his family or his accident or his vendetta against endeavor, but he is the man of few words. physically, it tears his throat to speak for extended amounts of time, and emotionally, he's not the type to share his inner anguish at length.

so when he starts to murmur something in the darkest hours of the night, your head on his chest as he gently runs a fingertip in spirals on your bare back, you tense. and, since he never misses anything when it comes to you, he tenses too.

"something wrong?"

"no," you say too quickly, already aware of how you'd essentially blown up his train of thought. "nothing. keep going."

"you're lying," he mutters against your temple, his voice darker and sharper than whiskey. "thought we said no more lying."

"we also said you'd never end up back in my bed, yet here we are," you remark and there's a small puff of air when he huffs, amused. "it's nothing, really." your eyes fall shut and your body syncs to his breathing rhythm, on the verge of sleeping when he speaks so quietly, you could've missed what he said.

"i don't like when you say that." you blink slowly, fighting to stay awake.

"say what?"

"that something is nothing, like i'm supposed to ignore what you said."

"maybe it was something stupid that you don't need to worry about," you propose but he has none of it.

"then i'll be the judge of that." sighing, you prop yourself onto one elbow and look down at him, his lower half covered by your comforter and his upper body completely exposed. your thumb lightly brushes the seam of his burn scars, stalling in hopes that he'll forget what you were arguing about. he doesn't, of course. "so?"

"so what?"

"if you're gonna keep ogling me, you might as well say what you want to say," he smirks and you roll your eyes.

"ogling is such a strong word." your lips purse and you make to pull your hand away, but he's fast to grab your wrist and press your palm to his heart. it's a steady thump, thump, thump that you could recognize as his in any other world. "i'd say 'admiring' is a better word for it."

"you'd be the first to think so, sweetheart."

"you don't like when i ogle you?" you ask teasingly, your fingertips grazing his collarbone, over the spot that vaguely held the mark of your teeth.

"well, yeah," he confirms like it was written in neon graffiti on your bedroom walls. his eyes flick down to your hand as it caresses the mottled skin. "no one thinks this is pretty. 's just not the way the rest of the world works." his eyes flutter shut under the safety of your touch; something pangs in your chest and you suddenly have the urge to cry. "don't start with all that."

"how did you know--"

"you swallow and blink a lot when you're about to cry."

"but your eyes are--"

"i can imagine your eyelashes fluttering, dear, and you're too sensitive when it comes to me," he explains patiently, with only the slightest patronizing tone. cracking a single eye open, he pulls you back down to his body and presses his lips softly to your forehead. "don't cry for me. i'm not worth it."

"of course you're worth it," you insist and he scoffs. "maybe i'm not like the rest of the world, because i think you're beautiful." it's his turn to fall silent, unsure of how to respond to such blunt statements of adoration. "stop it."

"stop what?"

"stop...stopping," you shrug and he snorts.

"what are you on about?"

"stop not talking," you frown in spite of his smirk. "i want you to keep talking." his chest rises and falls beneath your ear, warm and nothing but yours. "please?"

"if you insist," he murmurs, "but only for you."

---

i miss my bf again man...it's iris misses touya hours every hour

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya x reader #touya x you #touya x y/n #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n

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horny-marbles · 1 month ago

Note

Hey babe can I pretttttyy please request some Ben Drowned my queen my diva literally anything smut ;) or fluff is amazing with me if not it’s totally fine much loveee <3

bro i have so much shit with ben in my notes app from a few months ago when i was fixated on him it's not even funny. headsup that i hc him as a chill ass stoner with piercings because hot! 🤓☝🏻 kissiesss enjoy <33

(also can you tell i like the word molasses lmfao)

Wetware (BEN Drowned x F!Reader)

CW: drug use and sex under the influence, oral (f receiving), face sitting and rimming, light nipple play on ben, riding, creampie

summary: you and your weed bud get bored of smoking and lounging and decide to try something new.

wordcount 5.2k + a little bonus (epilogue?) at the end because i heart ben fr

Ben’s room is a black hole of time. You’ve gotten lost in it more times than you can count—somewhere between a third bowl and the fourth replay of whatever pixelated horror game playthrough he was hyperfixated on that week. There’s no clock in here. No windows, either, not really—just blackout curtains held up with thumbtacks and stubbornness. It could be 3AM or noon, it doesn't matter.

You’re sinking into Ben’s mattress like it’s got a personal vendetta against spinal support, the springs threatening to divorce the fabric entirely every time you shift. It’s not gross, not really—just lived in. The pillows are criminally soft, like they’ve been through a hundred late-night existential crises and held strong. The air smells like weed ghosts, synthetic berry vape, and Ocean Breeze air freshener that expired in spirit if not in can. It’s too warm, too humid, your skin already buzzing under your clothes—but it's comforting. Familiar. Kinda gross actually. Whatever.

This is where you always end up. When the world gets loud, when your head’s heavier than your spine can carry, when you both decide—without words—that it’s a “fuck everything” kind of night. No better place to waste time than this little cocoon of LED hell and lava lamp glory. Neon signs blink overhead in god-awful Comic Sans. One says “NO THOUGHTS, JUST VIBES.” The other one is just a glowing PNG of Shrek’s face, flickering like it's high with you. He swears they're ironic, but you don't really believe him.

Ben’s across from you on the bed, one leg draped lazy over the side, arms behind his head like he owns the place—which, okay, he does, but it’s more about how he owns it. Effortless. Messy. Cocky in a way that never tips into annoying. His eyes catch the LED glow like they were made for it—red pinprick pupils in oceans of black, alien and warm all at once. That shaggy ass hair always in his face, and he never fixes it. You don’t think he’s looked in a mirror on purpose in years.

You’ve been his smoke buddy since forever. It just happened. One shared joint on the porch after a rowdy party in the mansion you both bailed on early, and suddenly you were always crashing here. Sometimes in the same bed, sometimes on the floor. No weirdness. No expectations. Just easy passes of the blunt and lazy banter between coughs.

But tonight’s different.

You’re both cross-legged, facing each other like it’s a summit meeting, except instead of discussing treaties, you’re cradling two little capsules in the sweaty curve of your palms.

Molly. Because weed’s gotten too safe, too expected. Too routine. You needed something new. Something soft-edged and alive under the skin. And Ben just shrugged and said, “Sure,” like you’d asked if he wanted Taco Bell instead of McDonald’s.

He rolls his capsule between his fingers. His nail polish is chipping, some see-through black from last week still clinging to the corners. You feel the shape of this night settling over you just watching his fingers move. Not heavy. Just close. Intimate in that slippery way—like if either of you thought about it too hard, it might feel like more than it is. But you’re too chill to overthink. That’s the whole point.

“Bottoms up, bro,” he mumbles, voice thick with cotton and calm, and you both knock yours back like it’s communion.

Ben’s gone quiet. Not unusual. He’s a drifter when he’s high, floats between tabs and videos and zoning out completely. But this isn’t that. He’s on his back beside you, head pillowed on his arm, watching the LED lights morph from pink to blue to red again like they’re telling a story. You’re turned toward him, fingers curled loosely under your cheek, your body floppy in that too-much-sensation kind of way. Like every nerve ending’s been gently unsheathed and is just vibing out under your skin.

You feel it in the edges first—like your thoughts are melting down the inside of your skull, softening at the corners. Breath deepens without asking. Jaw’s a little tight, but not in a bad way—like your body’s clenching in on itself, holding on before it lets go. Your heartbeat thuds a little louder than it should, pulsing in your ears like background bass. You blink slower. The lights go smeary at the edges. You feel the mattress underneath you in high-definition, every lump and warmth patch suddenly personal, almost intimate. Your teeth feel good. Everything is soft. Everything is so fucking good.

The LEDs don’t flicker anymore—they pulse. Soft waves of color across the walls. Everything feels like it’s syncing. Like the room has a heartbeat, and it’s climbing up your spine.

You and Ben haven’t said much in a while. Haven’t needed to.

The silence isn’t heavy. It’s glowing.

It’s been—what, thirty-five minutes? Forty? Doesn’t matter. You feel him now. Not just his presence, but the gravity of him. Like he’s warmer than the rest of the room. Like your chest expands more when he breathes. Like his exhale brushes your skin even though he’s a full arm's length away.

You laugh, breathless, for no reason. He turns his head, sluggish and drowsy, and smiles like your laugh was a spell.

You blink at him. He blinks back. His pupils are blown, looking like they could swallow you whole and you wouldn’t even mind. There’s a line of soft blue light tracing the bridge of his nose, the slope of his cheekbone, the little dip at the corner of his mouth.

“Shit,” he says softly, like it’s a revelation. “You look crazy good in this lighting.”

You snort, eyes rolling but heart thudding, and it’s stupid how warm your cheeks feel. “Shut the fuck up. You’re literally glowing like a Twilight vampire.”

He just grins wider, and it’s lazy and beautiful in a way that doesn’t even make sense. You’ve looked at him a thousand times—lit by smoke clouds and YouTube autoplay and dying lamps—but now it’s like his skin is gold leaf. Like every freckle, every lazy shift of his lips, every breath is shining.

“You’re high as shit,” he says, voice honey-slow, syrup-lazy.

“So are you,” you shoot back, but you’re smiling stupidly. Your face feels too big for your skull. Ben lets out this slow, breathy laugh, and fuck, even that feels good. You watch his jaw flex with the smile, the little hitch in his shoulder when he shrugs like he can’t even be bothered to be cocky about it.

He shifts a little closer. Doesn’t say anything, just lets his fingertips brush the soft inside of your wrist, featherlight, and you both inhale like it’s the first time you’ve ever touched anything. You roll your arm a little, letting his fingers graze along the underside. Your skin sings under the touch, tingles that chase each other like static up your elbow, your shoulder, your spine.

“Dude," you murmur, voice wobbly with the hug of seretonin, "touching stuff feels insane right now.”

Ben’s grin goes lopsided. “Yeah?”

You grab his hand lazily, your fingers barely holding his, just enough contact to spark fireworks in your palm. “Yeah,” you whisper, and your voice sounds thick and sweet and sleepy. “Touch my arm.”

He does. Slow, dragging his fingertips up from your wrist to your shoulder, and fuck. It’s nothing. It’s everything. You feel each ridge of his fingerprint like it’s being engraved. You suck in a breath, involuntary, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Your fingers are still tangled with his. You roll onto your back and tug his hand with you so he follows, half-leaning over you now, both of you blinking slow, pupils so wide you’re practically seeing stars.

His hand finds your waist—slow and curious—and the second his fingers touch the curve there, you moan. Barely audible. Embarrassing. Real.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, pressing your face into your elbow. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Nah,” he says, voice dropped to something low and smooth and warm. “Don’t even trip.”

His hand spreads across your waist, fingers dragging up the fabric of your shirt, and it feels like lightning. You both start laughing, delirious and giddy, like you’re high on each other instead of this fucked up little pill you don't even remember where you got it from.

You open your mouth to say something stupid—probably “your hand feels like velvet, what the fuck”—but he kisses you instead.

And ohhh.

It’s soft. Like kissing in a dream, like your mouths are made of heat and velvet and instinct. No teeth, no rush. Just press and melt. His lip ring is warm against your mouth, smooth, the perfect little edge in all that softness. You let out this tiny sound—barely anything—and he presses closer.

His hand slides to your jaw, just his fingertips touching you, like he’s scared to press too hard and pop the bubble. His lips taste like whatever berry vape he’d been hitting earlier and maybe a little weed residue, maybe a little Ben—static? It doesn't matter. He kisses like it’s just something to do, like breathing, like gravity pulling him closer.

Your whole body is heat and nerves and cotton. You kiss back lazily, high and weightless, lips dragging open just enough to deepen it a little. Just enough to breathe into his mouth, and when you do, he shudders. Just a little. Just enough for you to feel it in your chest.

You murmur against his lips, “Is it just me or does this feel crazy good?”

His mouth brushes your jaw, his voice low and cracked open, “It’s not just you.”

Your lips find his again—hot, open, slower now. Tongue against tongue in a wet slide that feels like drowning in syrup and rapture. Your mouths fit like they’ve done this a hundred times. Like they’ll do it a hundred more. There’s nothing messy about it. No grabbing. No biting. Just this lazy, drugged gravity pulling you back into each other every time you drift a millimeter apart.

Every inch of him feels woven through every pore on your body. Every place he touches you, you feel ten times over, and it sends this slow throb through you—low, soft, but steady.

You hum against his mouth, light and dazed.

“Feel good?” he mumbles, lips brushing yours, voice scratchy like he hasn’t talked in a hundred years.

“Mmmhm.” You nod once, small. “So good I might cry.”

Ben lets out a quiet, surprised little laugh—breathy and deep, warm where it puffs against your cheek. “You’re such a lightweight.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, fingers skating under the hem of his hoodie, “you feel stupid good too.”

His breath catches, just slightly, when your palm flattens against the bare skin at his hip. He's so warm and smooth it almost feels fake. You trail your hand up, slowly, just feeling. Muscles shifting under your palm like slow waves, the stretch of them under soft skin. You feel like you could cry just from the warmth pooling in your gut.

“Jesus,” you murmur, “what the fuck are you made of?”

Ben groans, low in his throat, and that’s when he finally presses his hips just a little closer—barely a grind, barely a shift—but the heat of him slots perfectly against you and fuck. It’s not frantic. It’s not a need. It’s just there. Like his body wants to be against yours. Like it was always gonna end up here.

The throb between your legs tightens, sudden and thick, and the moan that slips out of you again sounds so helpless it makes his lips stutter on yours. He stills. Smirks a little, but his breath shakes. “That was so hot,” he murmurs, voice low and so close. “Fuck, you sound hot.”

His hands slide under your thighs, gripping just enough to guide, and you shift without thinking, letting him tug you upward and over until you’re straddling him. The movement’s effortless, but it feels like the earth tilting. Like gravity changed its mind.

Your hips start rolling before your mind can even catch up, like it just started happening. You’re barely aware of it, but the friction is fucking heaven, slow grinds over the hard line of his cock under his sweats. His hands are on your waist, guiding the motion—not pulling, just letting it happen. You kiss through it, drugged and soft and soaked between your thighs.

He’s looking up at you through drags of his mouth over yours like you hung the stars just by sitting there. He grunts, tilting his hips up into the drag of your cunt—just once, slow—and he murmurs low and sweet and way too casual for how hard he sounds, “Wanna sit on my face, pretty?”

You whimper. Like a full-body shiver that leaks out your throat. The words hit somewhere between your ribs and your cunt, hot and sudden and unbearable. You swear you nearly cum just from hearing him say it. The audacity. The casualness. You clutch at his shoulders, blink down at him like he just opened the fucking gates of heaven.

“Fucking—yeah,” you gasp, already shifting. You scramble up to your knees, laugh breaking out when you nearly fall sideways because your limbs are all molasses and light. Ben steadies you with a soft noise, then just lays back, arms folded behind his head, that stupid stoned smirk on his face like he’s the pillow now.

You pull your shirt off awkwardly—get it halfway stuck, then give up and shove it over your tits, braless and flushed and fucking glowing. His eyes drop there instantly. Lingers. His tongue wets his lower lip and he mutters something that sounds close to awe as you start crawling up his chest.

And when you do—when you finally get your knees to the mattress and your thighs cage in his face—you hesitate just long enough to process what’s happening. Just long enough to see his face under you—black eyes locked on your dripping cunt like it’s sacred, watching the sway of your tits, hands coming up to grip your thighs just under the curve of your ass, holding you steady.

“C'mon, pretty,” he groans, voice so fucking deep it vibrates through your whole lower body, “have a seat.”

Then you lower yourself—and his mouth meets you.

And holy. shit.

The second your cunt touches his mouth, it lights you up. It’s like being kissed by heat itself. His tongue drags flat and slow from your entrance to your clit, lapping with a pressure so lazy and steady it feels like it’s been happening forever. His nose presses right against you, his mouth open and eating like you’re ripe fruit—sweet, messy, tender. There’s nothing polite about it. He’s fully in it, no teasing, no precision. Exploring for himself as much as he's pleasing you.

You moan, broken and loud, hand flying to his head to hold on. His hair’s soft and sweaty, and you can feel the way his mouth curves into a grin under you.

“Jesus fuck, Ben—”

He groans, nosing deeper, sucking your clit just once—slow—and you swear your brain fractures. You jerk, thighs quaking, hands flailing for something to hold, something to feel so you don't yank on his hair because the sensation is so good it’s horrifying.

“Ben—fuck,” you gasp, breath snapping in half. “Fuck—”

His arms wrap around your thighs, strong and steady, pulling you down until you’re seated fully against his face. Sloppy, deep licks that dip and circle and press up into you with devastating slowness. He tilts his head just a bit and stays there, lips wrapped soft around your clit, tongue flicking slow, deliberate circles until your whole body is tightening.

Your body’s gone nuclear. Like your skin is lighting up, nerves raw and too alive, every drag of his tongue a lightning bolt that melts back into syrup. It’s lazy. It’s wet. You’re gushing on his mouth and he just takes it. Tongue buried, lips parted, devouring.

He hums low like it’s good, like you taste good, and the vibration punches right through your clit and lands somewhere deep in your stomach. You roll your hips once, instinctive, and a moan punches out of him right into your cunt, like you just gave him a hit of something purer than anything he’s ever smoked.

He noses up into your clit as he works, lips soft and open, tongue licking slow under the hood with maddening care. One of his hands slips up, palm cupping your hip like he’s grounding himself there, the other sliding back to your ass, pulling you closer, tighter, until your pussy grinds against him again—this time on his face.

He tilts his head just enough to suck your clit into his mouth—soft and slow and so fucking good—and your whole body jerks. Your hands tighten on the headboard, tits bouncing slightly with the movement, and Ben opens his eyes just to watch.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice muffled but needy, “ride my fuckin’ face.”

Your hips start to move without you thinking—just lazy little rocks, forward and back, riding his face like it’s the only rhythm left in the universe.

Ben’s hands tighten, fingers bruising in the best way, and his thumbs pull your cheeks apart just slightly, spreading you open so he can really lick you. You gasp again, voice wrecked. He laughs under you, muffled and arrogant and so pretty.

He watches your tits bounce softly with each breathless grind, eyes heavy-lidded and drunk with it, like he’s seeing a dream in real time. His tongue is relentless. Your thighs are shaking. And then, just to watch your reaction, his tongue slips lower, past your dripping hole, licking a slow, slick line across your rim.

Your whole body jolts like he electrocuted you. You freeze for half a second—but your pussy pulses in response, clenching around nothing so tight it aches. You can’t even speak. Your chest heaves. Your thighs twitch. And he hums, pleased, like this was the plan all along.

At first it’s just a breath. A ghost of a tease. He licks between your cheeks, slow and unbothered, casual as hell, just a lazy upward drag of his tongue over your ass. Your breath catches, whole body jolting, and you whimper—high and confused and wrecked.

You barely notice your hand creeping down your chest, palming your own breast like you need the grounding. He groans under you again, tongue still moving in sync with the tiny, wet grinds of your hips over his mouth and nose, slow and deliberate—back and forth between your soaked cunt and your ass.

You come like your body’s caving in on itself.

No warning. No rhythm. It cracks through you in pulses, long and drawn out, muscle-deep and fucking perfect—like it’s wringing you out. Your thighs lock around his head, hands flying to the wall to stay up, and your mouth drops open on a soundless moan as your whole body shudders. Pussy pulsing so tight you feel it squeeze his tongue. Brain splitting like lightning down your spine. Your muscles melt but your nerves won’t stop firing.

You feel crazy. You feel amazing. Like your brain doesn’t know what to do with all the good. The molly, the mouth on you, the weight of your body draped over his head while the room glows warm and golden around the edges. Your skin’s sticking to his in spots. Everything feels hazy and whole. Like this is the best place on earth to die.

His hands move with you—up, warm and slow, from your ass to the small of your back. One of them slides higher, fingers spread wide like he wants to hold your whole spine in his palm. The other comes around, smooth over your ribs, thumbing just under your tit before finally cupping one with lazy reverence.

Then, all slow grin and and eyes glinting redder, he mumbles,

“So, like… you gonna ride my dick too, or you need a nap first?”

You snort. Half laugh, half moan, rolling your hips once like your body’s answering before your mouth can.

“Jesus—Ben—”

But you’re already climbing back down his chest, already fumbling for his waistband like you’re drawn to it, not choosing.

He just grins up at you, eyes low-lidded and glowing.

“C’mon, dude. You gotta know I’m dying over here.”

And he is. His dick’s flushed and hard and slick at the tip, twitching against his stomach like it’s got a pulse of its own.

You wrap your hand around it, slow, just to guide him, and his hips lift like he can’t help it. You have to take a moment just to admire the throb in your hand, the flex of his stomach, the glimpse of teeth showing when they sink into his bottom lip. And when you sink down, when your pussy finally wraps around him, hot and soaked and still fluttering from your orgasm, your hips stall. His jaw drops. Both of you go still.

It’s like a fucking detonation. A slow-blooming, devastating kind of silence. It’s not even how tight you are—though you are—it’s how hot it feels. How slick, how intimate, how molly makes it feel like he’s not just inside you, but part of you. Like your whole body was waiting for this exact moment to exist. You clench once, and his hips jerk like you electrocuted him.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, voice caught somewhere between a moan and a sigh.

You start to move eventually. Slow. Just a tiny grind forward, a slow circle back. Not even up and down yet. Just wet, slow drags. Like your body’s trying to memorize him from the inside out. You’re both gasping, breathing harder, but there’s no rush in it. No urgency. Just pleasure. Thick and consuming.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes, barely audible, like he’s praying to your cunt. And fuck, maybe he is with the way his head drops back to the pillow, throat exposed, jaw slack, brows furrowed like he’s on the edge of something just from the way you’re grinding on him.

You drag your hands up his sides, still moving slow. The friction is everything. Your clit brushes against his pelvis with every roll, every grind, and you can feel yourself start to tremble again, thighs burning but too high to care. His hands find your hips, not to guide—just to hold. Fingers twitching like he wants to tell you to slow down—if going any slower is even possible—but his body saying otherwise.

Your palms slide under his shirt, pushing it up inch by inch. The way it rides up under your fingers makes your mouth water. It bunches under his arms, revealing his stomach, his chest, and when his pierced nipples come into view—flushed and tight from the heat of you or both—you lean down, lips brushing over one.

He twitches. Breath stutters.

You lick. Just a soft kitten lick. Then another.

Ben chokes on a moan. Hips buck helplessly up into you, cock grinding deeper inside you.

“Fuck, dude—”

You do it again. A slow lick around the ring, then another just beneath it, teasing, playful. Your hips never stop moving, just grinding down into his cock like you know how deep he is, how he’s splitting you open and making you whole at the same time.

He grabs your ass tighter now, still not forcing, just grounding, needing.

“Gonna fuckin’ cum, what the fuck," he breathes, eyes fluttering open just to watch you mouth at his chest. “What the fuck are you doing to me.”

You grin against his skin, eyes glazed and happy and wrecked.

“Riding your dick,” you whisper, and he groans like you just blessed him.

You lean back slow, hands smoothing down his stomach again, and you plant your palms on his waist, arch your spine just to feel how your tits bounce with the motion—half for yourself, half because you know he’s watching.

His gaze stays on you like he’s seeing you for the first time and the thousandth all at once. His pupils are blown wide and bright, lips parted like he can’t even close them without gasping. There’s sweat at his hairline. His chest is heaving.

Then, for one perfect second, his face twitches. Just a shift—mouth curling up into this crooked, gritted-teeth grin like the sight of you fucking yourself on him is too much to bear but he loves it.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty it’s pissing me off,” he mutters, voice low and dazed and almost laughing.

You bark a breathless giggle and bounce a little harder on him just for that. And he groans, eyes rolling halfway back, hands flexing on your hips like he’s trying to be chill, but his body’s begging for more.

His hips roll up under yours with slow precision, timed to every bounce like a perfect rhythm only the two of you know. Slow. Deliberate. Meeting your movement with this thick, upward grind that punches a moan right out of you. Not fast, not rough—just deep. Skin slapping sticky where you’re soaked all over him now, the noise heavy and lewd.

“Yeah, fuck me, just like that—holy shit—"

He moans it like a prayer, voice cracking as you grind down harder to match his thrusts. Your clit’s catching on the base of him just right, and your walls pulse so tight around his dick you can feel the way he throbs inside you. Every drag is wet and obscene, every slide in so thick and hot it feels like your brain’s sloshing in your skull. The molly makes it bloom. Every sensation feels like it echoes, spreads, deepens.

Ben’s head drops back, throat arched, his hands gripping you firm but not forceful—like he’s bracing for impact. His abs flex under your palms every time he fucks up into you, low and slow, building the pressure like he knows you’re both about to see God in a minute or two.

“Jesus—” he breathes, jaw tight, “fucking Christ, love this fuckin' pussy, baby, ride it, c'mon—I'm close, fuck, please—”

You whimper and keep riding, chasing the drag, the slide, the stretch. The friction is everything. Wet and relentless and perfect. The way he fills you, the way your bodies meet with slick, noisy thrusts—it’s like being gutted slow, like a star collapsing in on itself.

You slam down once more and his hips snap up into you at the same time, so deep you choke, stars bursting behind your eyes, and you come. Together. Throb on throb, your bodies synced up like it's something celestial.

Second orgasm hits hard, violently soft, like you're being peeled open from the inside and having honey poured over every exposed nerve ending. Your whole body seizes up, mouth open in a silent scream as your pussy milks him through it, sucking him deeper. He spills into you with a whiny, cracked “fuckfuckfuck—goddamn—”, hips jerking, breath breaking apart against your neck as he holds you down through every pulse. You feel every throb deep inside you, feel the warmth spread between your thighs like it’s part of the drug, like it’s burning you alive from the core out.

You’re shaking. Still grinding just a little, just enough to ride out the waves. Your legs are jelly, your hands barely holding you upright as you collapse forward, sweaty chest pressed to his, your face buried in his neck.

Ben’s arms wrap around you, loose but strong, and he breathes through his nose, still catching up. One hand runs up your back, gentle, and the other smooths down to your ass again like he just needs to feel you.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment. Just breath. Just skin. Just that slow, echoing after of molly and sex and feeling way too much to care.

You don't even realize you’ve slumped off of him until your cheek’s mashed against his chest and he’s laughing, soft and breathless, palm skating down your spine with the weight of molasses.

“Bro,” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded and voice fried. “That was... unholy.”

You hum something between a laugh and a wheeze, forehead sticky against his skin. “I think I saw God.”

He snorts. You feel it rumble through his chest, and for some reason that makes your heart twitch. He lifts a lazy hand to push your hair out of your face, fingers catching in it but not bothering to fix anything, just letting it tangle. His other hand's still on your ass, more out of habit than intention. Neither of you move to clean up yet. Just breathing. Heavy and slow. Still connected in the heat of it, even if his dick slipped out somewhere along the way and left a mess between your thighs.

Eventually—slowly—you peel yourself up with a grunt and a stretch, making some squelchy sound that earns a quiet “ew dude” from him and a slap to his chest from you. He wheezes out a laugh again.

“Okay, okay,” he says, sitting up just enough to grab a crumpled hoodie off the floor. He tosses it toward your legs like a sad little towel, and you use it without complaint. Still giggling, still glowing.

Once the worst of the mess is handled with zero grace and zero effort, you both flop back down into the sheets. He groans, rolls over enough to reach into the drawer next to the bed, and pulls out a pre-roll like it’s a religious relic. Or more like something to dampen the horrendous comedown that's looming just around the corner.

“You’re disgusting,” you mumble, watching him dig around for a lighter with one eye half open.

“I’m thriving,” he corrects, sparking the joint with practiced laziness. The tip glows red-orange in the blue-pink lava lamp haze, smoke curling into the air like incense for a post-sex shrine. He takes a long drag, then offers it to you without looking.

You take it, hit it, let the smoke settle in your lungs like it’s a warm bath.

Then his voice, low and sleepy against your forehead, smoke soft in his exhale, "Yo. You wanna hit Waffle House in, like, three hours?”

You giggle into his neck.

“Absolutely.”

BONUS:

The Waffle House parking lot is mostly empty, just one tired cook inside and a waitress who gave you the side-eye when you walked in to grab your to-go order like you were smuggling out contraband. Ben didn’t step a toe out of the car—too many security cams, one too many people who’d ask why his pupils are glowing red like a demon on a bender.

He waited slouched in the passenger seat, hoodie up, tapping at the cracked dashboard with fingers twitchy from the tail-end of a serotonin flood. When you slid back into the car with a bag full of grease and sugar, he moaned like you just proposed marriage.

Now you’re parked under a busted streetlamp, eating waffles and hashbrowns out of styrofoam with plastic forks, legs up on the dash, his seat fully reclined. He looks like sin. Hoodie half-off, hair a wreck, the last of the weed still burning slow in the ashtray. He smells like syrup and sweat and sex and smoke.

You're still giggling at nothing.

"Why," you say, licking butter off your thumb, "does Waffle House always taste like it was made by someone who’s lived through war."

Ben stares at you like you’re the second coming. “Because it was, bro.”

You laugh hard enough to choke on syrup, and he takes the opportunity to steal a bite off your plate with no remorse. The light from the LED “OPEN 24 HOURS” sign flashes red across his face every few seconds, making him look even less human than usual. But to you, right now, it’s just... hot. You’re high and full and floaty. He looks sticky-sweet and stoned and so fucking pretty in that lazy post-fuck way, lips glossy with syrup and smiling like a troublemaker.

You lean across the console and kiss him.

It starts soft. Just sugar on lips, mouths sticky from breakfast-for-dinner. He tastes like maple and smoke and something a little burnt, and your brain short-circuits at how good it is. You lick into it, messy and slow, and he hums low in his throat like it’s better than dessert. Your fork clatters somewhere by your feet but you don’t care—your hand’s cupping his jaw, and he’s tugging you halfway into his lap.

His tongue drags syrup off your bottom lip like he’s starving. You moan into it, more sound than intention. He grins crooked, still kissing you, still high, mumbling against your mouth:

“We might have peaked tonight, can't even lie.”

“Mmm,” you breathe back, not even pretending to disagree.

Neither of you stops. Not for a while.

Eventually, when your food’s cold and your thighs are back across his lap and he’s kissing your cheek with lazy pecks just to hear you giggle again, he sighs through his nose and rests his head back against the seat.

“I think,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple, “we should definitely fuck in this lot before we come down and contemplate suicide for the next week.”

You laugh into his shoulder.

“Absolutely.”

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